#saw the full orange moon outside and thought of this song for some reason

[spookyfemboy]

Don't tell anyone about this band 👀

[jimlingss]

Maybe Baby Retreat

➜ Words: 12.7k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut

➜ Summary: In an attempt to conceive, Taehyung discovers a five day retreat dedicated to help with the impregnation process but you're fairly certain that the entire thing is a scam.

[Day One]   Taehyung should be fucking you.   It’s a bit crass to be grumbling that he’s not sticking his sperm in you, but your fertile window begins today and if he really wants a kid as much as he says he does, you wouldn’t be on a godforsaken bus.    The yellow school bus jumps and jolts as it goes down the jagged, unpaved road. Every bump is felt in the back by ten folds as you’re rocked from side to side on the seat and not on your husband’s dick. Said man is too busy singing along with the guide that’s living it up with a mic in hand and his voice on the intercom. He’s trying to bring up the morale, but you’re not having it.   Instead, you turn to the window and stare out at the empty countryside that stretches across the horizon. There’s not a car in sight and if you swear to god if you’re being shipped to a serial killer’s farmhouse, you’re dragging Taehyung down to hell with you.   “You’re frowning, sweetheart,” he says while leaning over to you, flashing a blazing grin much to your chagrin. “You know stress isn’t good for the baby.”   “It’s not like it matters. There is no baby.”   “Not yet.” Taehyung throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him as you scoff. You’re aware being a Debbie Downer isn’t going to help anyone but it’s hard to loosen up when you’re so on guard and skeptical about this whole thing. When you’re surrounded by noisy strangers who are all too overfamiliar.   You suppose it was your fault to begin with.   All those nights of staying up to read about tricks and tips of conceiving led Taehyung to discover the Baby Retreat. A five day sanctuary that ensures people will be able to conceive.    The moment you saw it, you were certain that the whole thing was a scam, but your sweet summer child husband was wholly convinced and no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change his mind.   “Who knows, it might actually work, right?! And if it doesn’t, then it looks fun anyway! When was the last time we had a vacation together?”   It’s also your fault for being so soft. You couldn’t shut Taehyung down when he was so enthusiastic, so here you are. You took off a week off work and on your fertile day, you’re shipped onto a school bus out into the middle of nowhere.   “Oh! Looks like we’re here, folks!” The vehicle slows as it turns into the gravel parking lot and the guide smiles as he peers out the windshield. “Welcome to the Baby Retreat! I hope you leave with a few buns in the oven! And if not, then don’t worry, you can still eat for two here!”   There’s a few snickers and once the bus parks, everyone gets up, slowly shuffling out and stretching their legs.   The air is sweltering hot and the sun beams down onto the back of your neck, making it uncomfortable to breathe. You’re panting with sweat built on your hairline as you drag your luggage through the grass. But no one seems bothered by it. Maybe because they’re excited that they’re here, they have the energy to fill the field with their chatter.    Even Taehyung is grinning and he’s a certified whiner when it comes to hot weather. The guy blasts the air conditioner during summer until it feels like it’s winter. Though you have an inkling it’s just a tactic so you can cuddle up to him for warmth before bed.   “Come on, slowpoke!” Taehyung breaks through your train of thought and then abandons you by running ahead like a hyperactive five year old.    “I’d be faster if you helped me!” Taehyung doesn’t hear you. You wonder if you married a child — but you suppose that’s why you called him the light of your life during your vows. Like Yoongi once said at the dinner reception, Taehyung’s excessive energy is indeed a double-edged sword.   You follow the stream of people to the center building, a modern wooden structure in the middle of the fifteen yurts that form a circle. It surprisingly looks alike to the advertisements, each with a porch and steps up to the door. The grass is verdant and pliant beneath your feet, the numerous trimmed trees around providing some nice shade and the flower beds give bright splashes of colour to the place. If this retreat wasn’t oddly centered around impregnation, you would’ve been convinced that it was a fancy camping resort.   “Welcome everyone! Welcome to the Baby Retreat! I hope the trip here wasn’t too bad!”   You finally join Taehyung’s side and look towards the stage in front of the main building. There’s a man with a half-moon smile and chubby cheeks in a loose tunic and taupe pants. He stands next to a woman in a baggy poncho holding a ukulele for reasons beyond you.   “I see some familiar faces here! To all those already familiar with the Baby Retreat, welcome home. I’ll try to keep this short and simple, so you’re not too bored.” He claps his hands together with a bright smile. You look around at the crowd to see elated expressions. “My name is Park Jimin and this is my girlfriend, Song Hyunjin. A little about us, we’ve been together for over ten years and yes, we have an open relationship with each other, but that does not mean we aren’t in love with each other.”   He draws her in, nuzzling into her without shame and she giggles. “To our new faces, trust me, you’ll find out soon enough.”   Jimin pulls away with an enormous grin. “We haven’t had any children ourselves, but don’t worry. We’re reproductive endocrinologists with proper training and medical degrees. But we started this retreat four years ago to take a more unconventional approach to reproduction. And for the next five days, we have the honour of hopefully helping you ladies conceive and you males impregnate your partner!”   There’s some exchanged smiles and Taehyung looks at you with hopeful eyes. It feels better to hear these people aren’t uneducated and talking out of their ass, but you’re still unsure how to feel.   Hyunjin laughs. “Not only that, our goal is to help you relax and truly deepen your relationship with your partner. While we can’t promise a hundred percent success rate, hopefully you’ll leave this place feeling more refreshed than you did before. With that being said, please feel free to come up and ask us any questions. We’re very open people who are more than happy to help you in your process of expanding your wonderful families. There is nothing more beautiful than pregnancy and birth.”   She jumps off the stage and grabs a wooden crate. With a smile, she begins passing out packs.   Jimin continues, “For the next five days, we’ll be helping everyone improve their diets and exercise habits while getting plenty of vitamin D. What my lovely Hyunjin is handing out now are your survival kits!”    “For men, fenugreek supplements are given to improve your sperm counts and for the ladies, there are prenatal vitamins and folic acid. There’s also a guide to the activities provided around here and a map, some sunscreen and other knick-knacks to remember your time here. Don’t worry, we won’t bombard you with any pregnancy pamphlets or information. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about that.”   It’s a bit refreshing to hear. You’ve been neck deep in research about conception that it’s been hard lately — another reason that you agreed to Taehyung’s whims.   “Are you the Kim family?” Hyunjin asks and when you confirm it, she hands both you and Taehyung cute pouches. You reluctantly take it, but when you thank her, she happily smiles. “Welcome to the Baby Retreat.”   The introduction drags on for a bit more before Hyunjin admits that it’s hot and that everyone’s probably tired, so the meeting ends and you open your pouch and find information on your yurt.   “Not too bad, right?”    Taehyung can tell by the look on your face as you gaze up at your white-tented yurt.   “We’ll see,” you mumble and he takes the luggage, following behind you. “I thought we were going to spend five days in an orange tent, so I guess this is better by default.”   “An orange tent?” He laughs. “But I showed you the commercial! Did you not pay attention?”   “People lie on advertisements all the time, Tae.”   But to your surprise, the interior of the yurt is even better than expected. It looks like a cozy cabin, wooden panel walls that separate the full kitchen from the full bathroom and provides some privacy to where the queen sized bed is. Light comes in from the top, filling the space with luminescence. There’s a mini-fridge filled with goods, plush towels set on the table with a personalized welcome card, down duvets that are soft to the touch.    And it’s wrecked the moment Taehyung jumps on the bed with his arms and legs wide open like a starfish. He rolls over and props his head up with his hand — in the position where he often asks you in a breathy voice to paint him like one of your french girls. And he uses the same voice on you now while wiggling his brows, “Wanna ruin the sheets with me?”   You burst out laughing, but it sounds all too tempting. He could probably dump a load in you within five minutes, though you’re not sure if anyone could hear you from the outside. “Didn’t they say there’s planned activities in an hour? What if we don’t show up.”   “It’s fine. People come here for one reason anyway.” There’s a pause. “To fuck.”   You roll your eyes, setting your suitcase next to the bed and you look at the nightstand to notice mineral oil lubricants. You’re mildly impressed at the details. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”   “They won’t miss us.” Taehyung’s own attention is taken to a wooden basket on a shelf of the irregular shaped bookshelf and he comes over, only to grin when he sees what’s inside. “Honey. I think we should have some fun tonight.”   You turn around, wondering what he’s up to now. But any snarky remarks die on your tongue when you find a leather whip in his left hand and a ten inch, neon pink dildo in his other hand.   “Is that...even sanitary?!”    You can’t imagine how many people have used it.   “We can find out.” Taehyung fiddles around with it, pushes a button and the dildo begins to rotate, making the both of you laugh. “Honey, we gotta give them five stars on Yelp! They have a communal sex toy bin for us to use! We can’t get this anywhere else.”   “Oh god. I’d rather not share my sex toys with anyone.” The two of you are interrupted by muffled folk music that begins to leak inside and it persuades you to go out. “C’mon, we should go check out what they have. If we have to spend five days here, we might as well meet some other people too and be social or whatever.”   Taehyung grins, tossing the dildo back into the basket and joining your side. “You’re liking this place, aren’t you?”   “No. I just think the yurt’s half-decent.”   Taehyung can see right through you, but it’s a bit too early for the ‘told you so’ spiel so he holds back and the both of you step outside of the yurt. There’s a few people hanging around and the weather is more bearable as the sun slowly begins moving and setting over the horizon. You meet friendly newlyweds who are surprisingly having their honeymoon here.   “We just can’t wait to have kids,” Rose, the young twenty three year old, says as she embraces her husband, Hoseok. They’re no strangers to publish displays of affection, openly kissing up on each other. It would make you a bit uncomfortable if not for how touchy Taehyung is as well.   When you first got together all those years ago, your friends teased you about it but it’s been years since. No one’s a stranger to how you plop yourself down on Taehyung’s lap or how he might kiss you and then steal your food right off of your own plate.   “When we saw that the retreat offered a honeymoon package, we just couldn’t resist,” Hoseok says, but you’re not sure if he’s talking to you and Taehyung or his wife with how much he gazes at her. It’s a sweet sight though. You remember that honeymoon period.   “Remember when we were that young?” you ask as you leave to the other side, giving the couple some much needed privacy. It was obvious they weren’t up for more conversation with the way they’re shifting and staring at one another.   “When you were still hot? Yeah. I do—” Taehyung bursts out laughing when you jab him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! You’re still hot, okay? The hottest chick here and you’d make the hottest MILF too.”   “Damn straight.”   The pair of you also run into another couple that’s older and appears a lot more comfortable with the place. “Oh, this is actually our second time here! The first time gave us the four year old troublemaker running amok back at home.”   You blink in surprise, suddenly more interested in the conversation. “This place...worked for you?”   “It sure did.” The woman, Dahyun, smiles. “Some people didn’t have as much luck as we did, but we had so much fun last time that we knew we just had to come back. We were actually staying in your yurt last time.”   She points and you swivel your head over, intrigued. “Huh.” Taehyung raises a brow, noticing how engaged you are and the corner of his mouth tugs.   Her husband, Seokjin, chuckles heartily. “We thought it was time to give our son a younger brother, so here we are! Tonight’s the welcome party and just a word of advice, I really recommend getting some of that grilled salmon. It’s absolutely delicious.”   “Just let them eat whatever they want, Jin,” his wife sighs in exasperation.   “I’m just saying! I would’ve liked to know last time — I would’ve gotten two plates before they ran out.”   “This is why the doctor told you to eat less of everything. You ate more than I did when I was pregnant with Youngjae.”   “I can’t help that I’m eating for three! For your information, I’m carrying the entire family on these broad, broad shoulders of mine. Soon, I’ll have to start eating for four.”   Dahyun turns to you and Taehyung who are amused at their bickering. “I’m sorry. Please ignore him.”   It’s not a bad place, at least not so far. You weren’t sure what you were anticipating, but on the entire way here, you were worried that it was a scam your poor husband fell for. Luckily though, it seemed like the accommodation is good and the people around are friendly and welcoming, coming from different kinds of backgrounds and walks of life. It makes you feel better about not having internet connection or being murdered in the middle of the night.   The welcoming party turns out to be fairly nice too, and like Seokjin said, the food is delicious.   It’s a buffet style with tables set out, full of what Jimin declares is antioxidant-rich foods. He and Hyunjin go on a tangent about the benefits, how soy and estrogen foods have been limited, how there’s an emphasis on fruits, vegetables, carbohydrates, proteins and folic acid, and you’re sorely impressed at the attention to detail they provide.   “Oh my god. The salmon is amazing and have you tried these beans, Tae?!”   Taehyung laughs as he watches you eat, eyes lifted to look at you across the rounded table. “I thought you hated beans.”   “I do. But try it.” You lift your fork and he happily leans over, taking a bite. He swallows it down and smiles at how you stuff your cheeks.   After dinner, the pair of you gather with the rest to watch a few performances held on the main stage. Jimin introduces other staff members who sing, dance and Hyunjin even does a number with her ukulele, belting out some indie songs while standing bare feet.   It’s bizarre and a bit surreal to be sitting back in a lawn chair and watching some chick with flowers in her hair jump around and try to entertain you, but it’s not completely unwelcome. If anything, you were sort of having fun. The sun had set, making the weather milder. The breeze was warm against your cheeks and the fairy lights strung above were twinkling.   The whole atmosphere lulled you and with your head leaning on Taehyung’s shoulder, every blink became heavier and heavier. “This is nice,” you mutter and he catches it.   Your husband turns his head with a tiny smile. “Yeah?”   “Mhmh...”    You feel a wet kiss being planted at the top of your head and you decide to indulge, closing your eyes for just a moment. But the next time they open, you realize that the crowd has thinned, they’ve put on music on the stereo and Taehyung’s windbreaker is draped on top of you as a makeshift blanket.   “Hey there, sleepy head.” He grins at you when he notices your lashes fluttering. “Want me to carry you back to the yurt?”   “I’m fine.” It takes a second to get up and you stretch your arms out before the both of you make your way back to the yurt. There were a few younger couples lingering around and still taking in the scenery, but the years were catching up to you quickly and all you wanted was to dive into the sheets and satiate the rest of your sleepiness. “How long was I out for?”   “About half an hour?”   Taehyung fishes for the key and opens the door. “I didn’t even realize I was so tired.” You manage to kick off your shoes and beeline to the bathroom to brush your teeth.   “Of course, you were tired. You didn’t even sleep on the bus and for the past few days you’ve been up late doing research.”   You mumble incoherently, not having enough energy to argue with Taehyung and he grins, nudging you aside so he can grab his own toothbrush.    In the next ten minutes, it’s lights out. You’re rolled onto the bed, tucked into the warm sheets like a burrito, and Taehyung’s settled in as well. You hear his exhale and you allow your muscles to relax in the comfortable darkness. The exhaustion that’s been built from the entire day washes over you. But before you can drift off, in the quietness of the room, you remember.   And you reach out, arm stretched, feeling for your husband.   Taehyung hums when you tap his shoulder. You feel him shift and mumble, “What’s wrong?”   “I’m fertile,” you mutter with your eyes closed. “You need to stick your dick in me.”   He bursts out laughing and his arm slings over your abdomen. “It’s okay if we don’t have sex tonight, you know.”   You sigh, too fatigued to get up and do the job yourself. “We’re gonna miss our opportunity, Tae.”   A soft kiss is pressed to your temple, and you feel yourself losing the fight to keep your consciousness. “We’ll have other chances. Relax.”   “Relaxing….isn't gonna give us a baby.”   “No, but it will keep my current baby sane.”   After being together for so many years, Taehyung knows how to make his words sound sweet and enticing. And before you can even damn him for always catering to you and babying you, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

[Day Two]   Breakfast is as incredible as dinner was. There’s a full fruit platter that’s apparently all organic and a number of carbohydrates to fill yourself all the way to lunch. But you begin to regret eating so much with the scheduled activity that follows.   “Couples yoga is a way to build intimacy and trust with your partner.” Hyunjin and Jimin smile brilliantly and you wonder if they’re happy go lucky all the time. It must be fucking exhausting.   “Taehyung.” You nudge the man beside you who’s intently listening and he turns his head. “You know I’m not flexible at all.”   “Don’t worry.” He flashes a blazing grin. It’s way too early for this. “This is just for fun and I’ll catch you if anything.”   “No. Last time I tried doing yoga, I pulled a muscle in my thigh—”   “Oh look. They’re doing the first pose!” Your husband excitedly lugs you down and you’re forced to comply, crossing your legs and facing him.    It’s simple at first. There are basic poses with him leaning against you. Although it is hard to find a good balance considering how tall Taehyung is and even for being lanky, he’s quite a bit stronger than you are. But when Hyunjin and Jimin begin to twist themselves around and Jimin holds her up by the feet with a single hand, you know it’s impossible.   Unlike Taehyung, you never did cheerleading or any acrobatics.   “You’re going to drop me or I’m going to snap your spine, Tae!”   “Don’t you trust me?”   You look at your half-monkey, half-clown of a husband. “Do you really want to know the truth?”   The both of you collapse into a heaping mess before he can confirm or deny. He laughs and starts tickling you for not being able to listen until you’re begging him to stop before you look more like an idiot than you already do.   There’s a few couples who do a good job and you giggle when Taehyung mutters passive aggressive comments on how they’re teacher’s pets or that their form is awful. But there’s the fair share of other pairs who do as bad as you, namely Seokjin and Dahyun, the old couple from last night, bickering at being unable to do any poses.   You can’t say that couple’s yoga is particularly relaxing, but it’s silly and you find yourself having fun.   Hyunjin leads the cool down exercise and Taehyung nearly whacks you in the head with how he stretches. Your glare gains his exaggerated pout then cheesy smile. “Now as the very last cool down exercise, we’re going to take our partners by the hand.”   You mimic her and clasp Taehyung’s hands, awaiting further instructions.    “And we’re going to gaze into their eyes.” What? “Focus into the colour of their irises, how brown or blue or green they might be, or even the pattern of them. Sometimes we don’t truly look at one another like we should.”   “What are they even saying?” you mutter and the corner of Taehyung’s mouth twitches. In spite of how bizarre it is, you follow and stare into Taehyung’s rounded eyes. They’re brown. Like they’ve always been.   But you must admit, when the morning sunlight catches his irises at particular angles, the colour is a lighter shade than usual. They’re quite bright too.   “They say if we gaze into the eyes of someone we love, our heartbeat synchronizes together.”   What? Your brows furrow skeptically and you’re about to turn away, but suddenly Taehyung grabs a hold of your chin. “Don’t look away,” he commands with an authoritative voice and you swallow hard.   “Okay.” You focus your eyes to enlarge and focus. “I’m looking.”   You wonder if this is a staring contest, but even with his wolfish smile and being married for so long, Taehyung’s intent stare starts to make you feel vulnerable. You wonder if he’s always looked at you so affectionately. More importantly, you realize that even with all his dumb antics — like deciding to paint the fence green and then stopping halfway or ripping out the cabinets in the kitchen and never replacing them like he intended — you still love this sweet and kind dummy.   “Alright. Everyone can relax now,” Jimin announces softly as he claps and you finally blink a few times, eyes stinging from how you forced them open. “That’s the end of this session. Thank you for joining everyone.”   Yet, Taehyung holds your gaze a moment longer. And before you can pipe up and tell him it’s over, the man leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. He smiles when he pulls away. “As much as sweat is a good look on you, I think it’s time to shower, Mrs. Kim.”   You scoff and he holds your hand with an enormous grin, dragging you back to the yurt.   The two of you hop into the shower together, a habit that Taehyung insists is to save water for the good of the environment, but you swear half the time, you end up wasting more than if either of you do it separately. You’re sure that right now is one of those times.   “Hey.” You turn around as he’s lathering up his shampoo.   “Hey, yourself.” He smiles and shifts towards the stream of water before screaming at how hot it is. Taehyung quickly adjusts it, dissipating the fog on the glass. “Why do you like bathing in molten lava, woman?”   “You always make it too cold.” You scoff, but don’t dwell on the argument as you lean into his backside. “Listen, should we get a quickie in?”   Taehyung frees himself of the soap and looks at you. “If we do, we’ll miss lunch and then the hike.”   “We’re going on a hike?!”   “Yep, so hurry up cause if we don’t get lunch, we’re not gonna make it!” He gets out of the shower, leaving you to be bludgeoned by the ice, cold water. You sigh in exasperation.   The purpose of coming here is to conceive, not go on a hike. But with how enthused he is, you begrudgingly join.   Afternoons are the worst out here. The sun is sweltering and there isn’t an ounce of a breeze or a wind. As a result, the heat stifles and lingers without dissipating, causing sweat to dampen your clothing and stick to the back of your neck. The weather exhausts you and you feel your creamy lunch pasta up your throat again as you lug your legs up the steep, rocky incline.    No matter how much you try to keep up, you fall behind from the group.   Taehyung twirls around with a big grin, mouth perfectly symmetrically. “Are you okay?”   “W-What does it look like?” you pant. It’s unfair that Taehyung works out once a year and treats his body like a candy trashcan but is still more fit than you are.    “I can carry you if you want.”   “You’re going to snap in half carrying me.” You pass him as he laughs.    You hear him catch up, feet skipping along like he’s playing hopscotch. Then suddenly, you feel yourself being lifted off the ground and you shriek, arms looping around Taehyung’s neck. You’re scooped up in his arms like he’s about to kick down the door into the bedroom, but instead, he starts sprinting up the path like a maniac.   “Taehyung!” you squeal and he laughs again.   “Isn’t this better?”   “Aren’t you tired?”   “If I say yes, you’re gonna think I’m trying to tell you to lose weight, but for the record, I like how soft you are.”   You roll your eyes, embarrassed as you pass a few couples, but none of them seem to find it bizarre and they even smile warmly at you and Taehyung. Yet, he starts to slow down tremendously after a few minutes, panting and sweating profusely. You ask him if he’s going to put you down yet, but you underestimate just how stubborn your dear husband is. Taehyung refuses until you’re up at the top of the trail, making it to where Jimin and Hyunjin are by the waterfall.    There, you’re finally on set on your feet again.   You pass him your water bottle. “Drink it before I’m the one dragging you down.”   He grins and downs it.   Up here, it’s much more refreshing and easier to breathe. There’s a tiny waterfall coming from the higher mountains and there are trees around to provide shade. When you squint, you can see the campsite at a distance with all the yurts.   “We should take some pictures!” Taehyung declares when he steadies his breath and pulls out his selfie stick from the hideous fanny pack that you still won’t admit is pretty convenient.   “Your mom is gonna want a copy so don’t pull any ugly faces, Tae.”   “My face is never ugly.” He tugs you beside him and snaps a few shots before reviewing them carefully. Taehyung always had an eye for these kinds of things. “We didn’t get a good angle of the water.”   “I can take it for you.”   “What’s the point if we’re not together?” His thick brows are furrowed, lips lopsided, sighing.   A matronly and friendly voice pipes up next to you, “Do you need any help?”   Dahyun is smiling with Seokjin beside her and Taehyung appears relieved. “Yes, please.”   She takes his phone as he folds back his selfie stick and she stands off to the side, capturing you and Taehyung smiling with his arm around you. “One. Two. Three. I’ll take another one.”   Dahyun changes the angle a bit and Taehyung leans over to pull on your cheek while you feign a glare at him. The second picture is taken while the woman and her husband laugh, endeared. “There we go. You can check them to see if they’re good.”   The phone is handed back and by Taehyung’s expression, it seems acceptable. “You two are too cute. When did you get married?”   “Oh, I think three years ago? Yeah. Three.”    It’s much longer than it actually feels. It seemed like it was a week ago when you first met in class and thought he was annoying. Like yesterday, he was supposed to propose at a fancy restaurant but failed when you found the ring box the night before — how he screamed at you to stop, but it was too late and he ended up going with it. They’ve all become memories that you cherish.   “We met back in school and dated a while before getting married.”   Dahyun smiles. “Have you decided how many kids you want yet?”   You hitch a thumb to Taehyung. “He wants four, but I’m fine with two.”   “The bigger the family, the better, right?” he says, looking up from the screen of his phone.   “Wait until you have kids, you’ll end up wanting more,” Seokjin chuckles, “That or you’ll want to give them all away, but personally, I could raise a whole football team if she’d let me.”   His wife jabs him in the ribs. “Yeah, because you’re not the one who has to give birth to them.”   “And that’s why you’re the boss of the house.” He pouts at her while the corners of his mouth tickle up into a smile, and she relents.   “Let’s be honest, the real boss of the house is our little troublemaker. I swear he took after all your bad traits.”   Seokjin gasps. “Excuse me, Youngjae is my most masterful creation...even if he painted all over our leather seats and popped our car tire with his batman toy.”   She shakes her head with a light sigh, but it’s hard to hide her beaming expression. “I should’ve known he would give me trouble when he went past the due date for two weeks.”   “T-two weeks?” you sputter.   Dahyun nods, finally having the sympathy she was trying to fish out of her husband. “My stomach was as big as a watermelon and I was in labour for fourteen hours before I ended up getting an emergency c-section and he came out a whopping ten pounds.”   Your head is swirling as you try to imagine a ten pound baby in this petite woman.   It almost seems like a horror story that’s waiting to be picked up by Hollywood.   “But honestly, the hardest part wasn’t the whole pregnancy or birthing process. It was afterwards.” Her exhale is long and fatigued. “Suddenly there’s another human being you’re responsible for and you have to take care of them while you’re still in recovery. I remember when Youngjae couldn’t stop crying in the middle of the night. I always had an idea that having kids was a lot of work, but you really don’t have time for yourself once they’re born, and not to mention my bladder was completely done for after the whole thing.”   “Alright, alright.” Her husband pulls her close. “I already know you’re a woman warrior. I saw it with my own eyes.”   Dahyun smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes and she turns to him, deadpanning, “No, you didn’t. You passed out half-way.”   “I was there in spirit,” Seokjin insists humorously.   Dahyun scoffs while Taehyung grins at their back and forth that’s reminiscent of his own dynamic with you. “But were they worth it?”   “Oh, a thousand percent,” Dahyun responds without needing a second to consider, expression softening. “Enough that I would want to do it all over again.”   She doesn’t get a chance to say much else when Jimin’s voice pierces through the chatter and everyone gathers together with the last stragglers who have finally made it up. “Thank you, everyone, for coming all the way up here. This is Serenity Falls that was actually…”   But his voice drowns out.   You linger on what Dahyun said, about child rearing and birthing, and there’s nothing that can be done to the uneasy emotion swelling inside of you.   The walk back down is silent. Done without a single complaint from you about the hot weather or how your feet ache. Taehyung notices, glancing at you several times. He doesn’t say anything until you’re back at the yurt.    “What’s wrong?”   You look at him from across the room. “Nothing, why?”   “You’ve just been quiet.”   “I just….” You inhale and decide to divulge him. “I was just thinking about what Dahyun and Seokjin were saying. Do you think we’re cut out for this, Taehyung?”   His head quirks to one side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”   “You and I can barely take care of ourselves.”   “That’s not true.”   “We forget to buy food all the time.”   “That makes midnight snack runs fun.” He grins.   You exhale an unsteady breath and Taehyung approaches you. He doesn’t mind how sweaty you are and wraps his arms around your waist. “We’ll figure it out. You said it yourself, right? One step at a time.”   “But what if it’s too much and you decide you don’t want to do it anymore? Or that...you don’t want to be with me?” He opens his mouth, but you keep going before he can jump in. It’s not just about you being self-conscious or needing reassurance. You’re simply trying to imagine the worst case scenario as realistically as you can. “Like when I’m still bloated like a whale and in a bad mood and the baby’s crying and no one knows what to do.”   “I’ll still love you no matter the changes,” Taehyung murmurs earnestly, searching your expression. “Even if you’re bloated like a whale and in a bad mood and the baby’s crying and no one knows what to do. I’ll use google to figure it out and get the baby to calm down and I’ll get you some chocolate and I’ll rub your feet.”   You scoff lightly. “You make it sound so easy.”   “Maybe because it won’t be as hard as you think. I’m great with kids and we got killer teamwork, you know, plus this baby’ll be the best project we’ve ever done together.”   “A project that’s gonna last us eighteen years.” You smile.   Taehyung laughs, the sound mellifluous in the room. “Which isn’t that long considering how fast time moves.”   You hum and encircle your arms around his neck. Taehyung gets the hint and leans in to seal your lips against his, slotting them together to kiss you the way he knows you like it.   It’s slow, comforting, an opportunity to revel in the softness of his lips. Taehyung gives you courage — he always has and when you break apart, smiling against each other, you feel worlds better than before. “I’m gonna start a bubble bath. You can join me if you want.”   It’s less of a suggestion and more of a demand, one Taehyung fully recognizes and makes him smile in amusement as you saunter away. Taking advantage of the tub in the bathroom, you lower the stopper of the drain and dump in the soap they offer. The water gets filled three quarters way with a layer of bubbles and you strip. You sigh as you get comfortable in the tub.   “Is it warm?”   Your husband leans against the doorway, arms crossed and the corner of his mouth curled.   “Uh-huh.” You loll your head on the edge of the tub and lift up your foot, watching the way the water cascades off your skin. “Are you not going to get in?”   “Maybe later,” Taehyung surprisingly replies. He rarely rejects any chance at jumping your bones when you’re being this forward about it. There’s no hike or lunch to catch that’s preventing him from having fun with you either. But as your husband walks out, you catch him unceremoniously stealing the clothes you have prepared and the stack of towels by the sink.   “What are you doing?”   “There’s no point in covering yourself up if I’m gonna strip you anyway.” He flashes a mischievous grin and you sigh, relenting in his antics. You simply lay back to enjoy the water, muscles relaxing and your brain that’s constantly in overdrive empties.   After ten minutes, your skin begins to wrinkle, so you drain the water and get out. But the moment you stand up, the cool air conditioning slams into you and your body starts to shiver.   “Taehyung!” you shout and hear silence. “At least give me a towel!”   Fortunately for you, there’s a smaller one on the rack he missed so you swipe at it and wrap your shoulders to protect yourself. But you’re still dripping wet and in need of your clothes, so you stomp out to find your ridiculous partner who’s apparently five years old and—   “HA!” Said man you’re searching for bursts out of the closet and you scream, startled half to death, nearly falling to the ground. Taehyung starts to laugh like a maniac.   “Are you serious?!” You gawk at him. “How long did you even wait there for?”   “Like five minutes ago.” The bastard wolfishly grins. “Worth it though.”   You cock a brow at him, sighing. “So that’s why you didn’t join me in the bath?”   “No. I didn’t join you, so I could do this.” He yanks the towel where your breasts meet, leaving you nude. Goosebumps rise all over your skin and your nipples harden in the frigid air.   You screech, arms trying to cover yourself. “Taehyung, it’s cold!” “I can warm you up,” he says but then runs away when he reads the glare on your face, giggling boyishly. It’s completely childish. If anyone was watching, you’d be mortified, but it’s been a long time since there was any shame in your marriage, so you stomp after him while nude.    You hunt the man down while he tries to evade by rounding the coffee table. It’s no longer about grabbing clothes or covering yourself up, it’s time for revenge.   Luckily, the yurt isn’t big enough to have a game of tag. You manage to reach him and you steal the opportunity to yank his pants down. Taehyung, mid-laugh, trips on his feet and stumbles on the carpet. You burst out giggles, looking at his ass in the air and he giggles too from the infectious sound bubbling up your throat.   “Oh, you’re gonna get it now,” He mutters in a low voice with half-lidded eyes and you scramble away with another shriek.   “You started it!” You jump onto the bed and Taehyung kicks off his pants. You don’t ask why he’s skipped out on wearing boxers, but you notice he’s already half-hard and that only makes you laugh louder.   He chases after you as you duck and steal his own tactic of rounding the coffee table. But unfortunately for you, Taehyung has always been destined to win with his longer legs. He catches you within two strides and snatches you as you scream. You’re thrown over his shoulder like you’re a sack of potatoes and he smirks. “Caught you.”   “Taehyung! People are gonna hear!” You laugh in spite of being the one who’s making most of the noise and he tosses you onto the bed. Usually, you hate to be manhandled, but your husband’s the only exception to the rule.   “Let them hear.”   He hovers over you and the laughter dies down. Taehyung stares earnestly into your eyes and your breathing becomes shallow. But you don’t like to lose and as his wife of three years, you know his one, true weakness.    Your fingers lift to Taehyung’s armpits and he seizes when you start tickling him. You laugh when he does and once he doubles over, there’s an opening to the left, a perfect escape route. You steal the opportunity while you still have it and start to climb off the bed, but he regains his breath and grabs your ankle, tugging you back to him in one swift motion without even needing to try.    Taehyung grins. “God, you’re such a brat sometimes.”    “Yeah, and I know you like it.”   He grabs your wrists before you can make another tickle attack and pins it above your head. You can tell that there’s no more time for jokes or any more playing around, not when you can feel his hard cock against your stomach.   “You smell good,” he sighs into your neck, inhaling deeply. “Cherry blossom? Peony?”   “Strawberries,” you answer. “You smell like sweat.”   “You’re gonna end up like me anyway.” Taehyung smiles and leans in to kiss you. It isn’t shy or chaste. His tongue licks into your mouth and you exhale, a strangled moan muffled against his lips as you melt against him. He finally has you where he wants and you let him take control.   The pair of you swap spit for a few minutes until he releases your hands, allowing you to curl your fingers into his shoulders as he caresses your waist.    Taehyung eventually breaks away with a playful glint in his eyes. “You wanna try the toys?”   You both look at the basket half across the room and he rolls off of you. You get to your feet to inspect it for yourself and discover an array of colourful gadgets, some that you’ve tried before and others that you’re sure needs to have an instruction manual with it.    “I’m not putting any of these dildos in me, Tae. I don’t know where they’ve been.”   “I know.” He lays with his head propped up by his hand and you eye something at the bottom of the basket. You pull out a leather whip and look at him. “Ooh, a classic pick there, sweetheart.”   A whip seems more sanitary considering it doesn’t have to go in anyone’s orifices.   “Is it?” You approach with a tiny smile, staring down the innocent man. “Roll over.”   “What?”   “I’ll whip you.” You grin and he blinks at you. More often than not, you’re the more submissive one in bed, but the idea of having Taehyung crying out and the idea of you cackling at his pain has him immediately rolling face down in intrigue and you stepping up on the bed.   He turns his face to the side. “Do you know how to do it?”   “How hard can it be?” There’s a pause. “But tell me if it hurts.”   “The point is to make it hurt, Y/N.”   “Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt you-hurt you.”   “I can handle it.” Taehyung smirks and you scoff.    Even in this position, he’s trying to maintain his dominance.   You grip it tightly and don’t count. Simply, with a flick your wrist, you slam the whip across his backside. It makes a loud cracking sound and you hear Taehyung sharply inhale. His teeth grit and you freeze, watching his expression carefully.   “How was it?”   “Is my back split open?” he asks, trying to look over his shoulder.   “No.”   “I think I might have to go to the ER.” He sits up completely, overdramatic in the way he fumbles around and his tone filled with some mischief. “I think there’s internal bleeding. Or my spine is broken. I wouldn’t be surprised.”   “It’s fine, Tae.” you laugh. So much for telling you to go for it. But you already had an inkling Taehyung wasn’t one for receiving pain. After all, he’s still your whiny baby who only eats vanilla yogurt. “Not your thing?”   “Not my thing.” He takes the whip from your hand and tosses it across the room. “I have a better toy in mind.”   You’re about to remind him you’re not gonna put any of those communal toys inside of you, but he instead walks over to his suitcase and starts tearing some clear packaging open with something pink inside. You read the label — it’s a remote control vibrating egg.   Your brows furrow. “When did you get that?”   “Two days before we left. Amazon prime, babe.”   “So that’s what you were looking at when you told me you were doing some online shopping?”   “Precisely.” Taehyung grins and you’re not sure if you should be pleasantly surprised or in dismay since the two of you have already made a pact not to buy anything else online. The treadmill bought on an impulse is still taking up half the space of the living room.   Before you can think too much, Taehyung gets it open and comes over. He nudges your thighs to open and you lay back, leaning against the headboard. You’re not that wet yet, if at all, but it doesn’t stay that way when his long fingers rub against your clit in circles.    With his other hand, he strokes against your slit and then sinks his index finger in knuckle deep. You throw back your head, moaning his name at the intrusion while he remains silent, intently watching your pink cunt squeeze. Taehyung curls his finger and swallows hard. The sloppy sounds of your cunt fill the room and he hums in satisfaction.   “Okay. Ready?”   “Uh-huh.”   The head of the cold egg meets your folds and it slowly enters. While the toy might not be big or long, the girth stretches against your warm walls and you keen. Taehyung makes a low noise, encouraging you to take it. When it’s in, he smiles brilliantly. “Good job, sweetheart. You did it.”   “Now what?”   “This, of course.” Taehyung dangles the remote in front of you and then like a psycho, he ramps it up to the highest possible setting. Intense vibrations are felt through your body instantaneously and you cry, head knocked back against the headboard as your velvet walls squeeze and tremble.   “T-Taehyung!”   “Good?”   “I-It’s too much!” You’re completely at his mercy and he takes advantage of it, drinking you in with a wolfish smile. You’re unable to muster a glare at him, reduced to a complete mess while your center leaks and drips onto the sheet. Still, you try to reach over to the remote.   He dodges when you lunge at him. “Nu-uh.”   Luckily, you get a hold of your husband and climb over to him. His arm is extended straight up, laughing as you try to snatch it from him. He waves it inches away to mock you while enjoying the sight of you quivering on top of him. “T-Tae!”   “Okay, okay.” He laughs and transfers it into his other hand, about to turn the setting down a notch. But right at the moment you’re about to snag it for yourself, the remote flies out of his hand. It falls through the gap between the wall and the headboard.   It clatters to the ground.   “Oh shit.”   “Taehyung!”   “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rolls off the mattress and looks underneath the bed before abruptly standing. “I’m going to need a long stick or something.”   He starts to look around the room, searching for a tool to grab the remote that’s out of reach, and you don’t know if you should suffocate him with a pillow or facepalm yourself hard enough to get knocked out into a coma.   You can pull out the egg yourself, but the violent vibrations were beginning to thrum pleasure through you, so as your useless husband goes fishing for the remote, you finish the job. Your fingers play with your clit, rubbing the bud as your slick drips down your thighs and you come hard on the toy.   The same moment light flashes beneath your eyelids and your toes curl, Taehyung grabs the remote with the help of a rolled brochure and shuts it off. The both of you are winded for different reasons.   “You know, I'd say that was pretty hot if not for how stressful that actually was.”   “You’re an idiot.” You tug the toy out of you and bat him over lazily, feeling spent on how hard you came. “Now dump some sperm in me, idiot.”   Taehyung has a cheesy grin and climbs over you. Despite the struggles of grabbing the toy’s remote, he’s fully hard from the noises you were making. “I’d tell you to ask more nicely, but I’ll let it go.”   He aligns the head of his weeping cock to your swollen cunt and leans his weight into you. He starts to push in and you whine, gripping his forearms. As wet as you are, Taehyung is still well-endowed — less girthy than the toy, but there’s a considerable length to him.    When he bottoms out, you can feel him all the way to your throat.   He tucks sweaty strands of hair behind your ear and kisses you. “Sorry about earlier.”   “’t’s okay. It was fun,” you admit and he smiles, starting to work up a good rhythm. You feel hot in your face with the pressure of his body on top of yours, hardened nipples brushing against his chest. Your cunt pulses and squeezes around his length. It draws Taehyung’s groans into your neck.   “F-Fuck. You’re so tight.”   It feels good and you know he’s reveling in the pleasure too. His eyes are shut tight, the scrunch made between his brows and it entices you to reach up and kiss him to which he sweetly indulges you. Your tongues twine as you pant against each other and Taehyung starts to lose his pacing.   He bends your knee, hitting you at a deeper angle as his strokes become increasingly frantic and quick. You egg him on and he groans once more before he thrusts himself as deep as he can go and cums. Ropes of white paint your walls, the head of his cock against your cervix and filling your cunt and womb up. You can feel some of it dribbling out, seeping past your folds and when Taehyung’s about to withdraw, you quickly grab his forearm.   “Wait. Just stay put for a second. I have to keep it in.”   He nods and kisses your lips. “Okay.”   Taehyung nestles into you, nuzzling into your neck and you hope this is the one.

[Day Three]   There were lots of activities and amenities offered and advertised by Jimin during the introduction of the retreat, but you realize you might’ve missed over the most important one of all.   “How does that feel?” the massage therapist asks as she works a knot out of your shoulders and smooths your skin with the oil.   “Amazing,” you murmur from the corner of your mouth, melted against the table.    Couples massages were something you always scoffed at, but holy shit, it’s absolutely paradise. With the breeze blowing through the pitched tent and the glowing humidifier releasing a fresh scent, you’ve never been more relaxed as all the stiffness is worked out of you.   You open your eyes to see Taehyung enjoying it as well — though not as much as you are since he’s quite ticklish. Sometimes, he squirms a bit too much and his massage therapist is at a loss of what to do.   But when it’s all done, you feel like you’re in a new body. “Oh my god. I think I’m more flexible than before. Look, Tae!”   You stretch your leg and he giggles at how happy your mood is. “If I knew you liked it this much, I would’ve signed us up for one at the spy near the gym.”   Your eyes are wide, catching the sunlight. “Do you think they’re as good as this place?”   Taehyung grins. “Probably.”   “We should go when we get back then. Oh, do you wanna check out the library?”   “Sure.”   You grab his hand, lacing your fingers together and he smiles to himself.    It’s a free day without many planned activities, giving you both an opportunity to look around the retreat for yourselves and take it easy. And the pair of you take full advantage of the opportunity. Since morning, you were lazing around the yurt and after breakfast and the massages, you decide to lay in one of the hammocks by the trees while Taehyung naps with you.    Said man hasn't seen you this stress free in a while, so he happily indulges you in all your wishes. Even when night falls and you step away from the stage where Hyunjin is performing again to stargaze. It’s an odd activity for you since mosquitoes love to especially swarm around you when given the chance and on numerous occasions, you’ve been a moth landing spot.   But tonight, the breeze is soft and gentle, and you don't feel any tickles on your skin that isn’t Taehyung’s hand grazing against yours. The grass is pliant beneath your feet and the fairy lights twinkle far away enough that its luminescence doesn’t obstruct. You knock your heads back to view the horizon, allowing the darkness to engulf you and the stars to emerge.   “Remember Bali?”   “When you lost your passport?”   “When we went stargazing with the tour group,” Taehyung corrects. “It still wasn’t as beautiful as this.”   “You think everything in front of you is the most beautiful thing you’ve seen. You said that about the Eiffel and then Tokyo Tower.”   He laughs. “Hey, my mind doesn’t change that often. You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.”   You scoff, looking away from the sky towards him with a pout. He always knows how to lay on the sappiness without needing to blink. Your dear husband has always been shameless in that aspect and you adore him for it. “So I’m a thing to you now?”   “You know that’s not what I mean.” He wraps his arms around your waist. The both of you stare up at the sky. “Is that the big dipper?”   You look at where he’s pointing to the large clusters of stars. “I can’t see it. Maybe that’s scorpio.”   “Nah, I don’t think so.” Taehyung tries guessing, “It might be taurus or gemini. Or libra.”   “Aren’t you just naming astrological signs now?”   “Maybe.” He grins. “I’m a capricorn.”   “Yes, I know.” You two of you clearly don’t know anything about constellations or how to find them, but it doesn’t make the moment any less enjoyable. Yet when your necks start to ache, he takes your hand and strolls down the path through the trees. “Taehyung. What if we get lost?”   None of you have your phones or any flashlights. There’s only the crescent moon giving off its light. “Don’t worry. I have a great sense of direction.”   “You and I both know that’s not true.”   “You have a great sense of direction, so we won’t get lost,” he says and you sigh without putting much of an argument up. Not when you knew he was headed to the lake you had peeked at earlier in the afternoon, and now it was shimmering with the moonlight, reflecting the starry horizon in its water.   There’s a certain kind of peacefulness, a serenity that you would never get back in the city or even the suburbs. Certainly not without light pollution or the occasional car whizzing past. Here, there is none of those noises, none of those distractions, just you and Taehyung savouring the view⁠—   “Hey.” But of course, your mischievous husband has to have ulterior motives for coming all the way here. And you know there are ulterior motives by that glint in his eye and the sly smile he has.   “What?”    “Wanna take a dip?”   Your brows shoot to your hairline. “Are you crazy? It’s probably freezing! What if we get hypothermia and die?”   “For the record, you’d make one beautiful angel. But I’ll warm you up before it gets to that point.” Taehyung grins and starts stripping, tugging his shirt right off his head. It’s always been like this — him proposing something out of your norm, you try to voice your concerns, and then you’re the one who’s diving head first into it without hesitation and end up having more fun than he does.   “God, it’s so cold!”    The moment the water touches your toes, you recoil. But you brace yourself and continue onward with your entire body shivering. It’s your first time skinny dipping ⁠— something normally reserved for rebellious teenagers and most certainly not for late twenty-some year olds. Yet neither of you have qualms, even if you’re shrieking and Taehyung is laughing and following behind you.   “It’s freezing, Taehyung!”   “Come here.” He pulls you to him so your backside is pressed to his front and you wonder how Taehyung can be so warm all the time. The pair of you get waist deep into it and you turn around to grip him. Your husband smiles and holds onto you, eventually going far enough that the water reaches your shoulders. “See? Isn’t this nice?”   You hum, gazing up at the stars and the moon, the sight reflected on the water and how you’re pressed to Taehyung. “Seems like the beginning of a horror movie.” He laughs and your feet try to reach down to find stability, but you realize you can’t touch the ground anymore and your grip on him tightens. “Walk back a bit, Tae.”   “Why?”   “You know I can’t swim.”   His mouth curls. “But I like how you’re holding onto me. I won’t let go,” he adds after a long pause, “if you beg me not to.”   Your arms immediately come to loop around his neck and your legs wrap around his waist, latching onto him in a vice grip like a koala does to a branch. “Taehyung! I’m not kidding.”   “Oh...oh!” The bastard pretends that he’s gonna let go of you and actually does for a split-second. He laughs at your panicked expression. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”   You feign a pointed glare that turns out to be more of a pout. “You’re lucky I like you.”   “You only like me?”   “Yeah and if you keep going, I’m going to demote you from husband to friend.”   Taehyung makes a pained, sharp sound. “Can’t let that happen then.” He suddenly hoists you up higher, grip secure on your thighs and smiles brilliantly while you scoff.   You savour the view and the warmth of his body heat, but you’re slightly distracted. “Do you think anyone’s gonna steal our clothes, Tae?” You squint at the small pile near the shore.   “Who would?”   “I don’t know. What if a bear comes from the bushes and takes them? We’ll have to walk back naked.”   “I’m pretty sure there aren’t bears here, Y/N. Stop overthinking it.” Taehyung suddenly grabs a hold of your chin and turns your head for you to look only at him. Then, he kisses you in a soft and gentle way before the tip of his tongue meets the seam of your lips. You happily oblige, parting them and allowing him access to your tongue and giving him a taste of you.   The man hums in satisfaction as soft smacking noises fill the surroundings. You lean into his firm frame while Taehyung’s large hands slinks from your thigh to the curve of your ass. You feel his thumb probe against your folds.   “T-Taehyung.” His hard length is beneath you and you grind down on him, feeling empty. It draws a groan from his throat.   After a moment, you get his cock inside of you. The stretch soothes the itch you had, filling your cunt deliciously. But unlike the movies, it’s not enough for you. The water washes away the lubricant, each stroke rough and the glide slower than you’d like. So you beg him and the both of you are dragged up onto the shore again.   You turn on all fours. The pebbles uncomfortably dig into your knees, but it’s a distraction that blurs into the background when Taehyung pounds into you. You feel all of him, his body heat against yours, each thrusting movement flicking off the droplets of water from your skin. And when Taehyung turns your head to kiss you while rubbing at your clit, you cum around his cock.   He finishes as you beg for it and Taehyung’s sticky fluids leak down your thighs on the trek back.

[Day Four]   Taehyung blinks blearily, slowly coming to consciousness. He scratches his bed head and groans at how his muscles ache. But when he turns his head, the other side of the bed is cold and empty. His eyes widen in confusion and he feels more awake than before.   He checks the time and realizes he slept in, a total of ten hours, which isn’t a surprise considering how last night’s rendezvous continued and was more intense than usual. What is unusually, however, is that you’re gone.   But he soon finds you outside. Bathing in the sun. Laying in a hammock. Napping with a book next to you.   Your eyes flutter open as his shadow covers your figure. The corner of his mouth pulls.   “Morning.”   You sheepishly grin. “Morning.”    “What time did you get up?”   “Like an hour ago. The breeze was nice so I thought I’d do some reading, but I guess I accidentally fell asleep.”   “Looks like you’ve gotten comfortable.” Taehyung’s enormous smile aches his cheeks. You’ve fallen in love with this place more than he has, but he doesn’t mind whatsoever. He loves watching you have fun.   The two of you have breakfast, inhaling in the food, and then head to a meditation class on the grass led by Hyunjin. Typically, Taehyung has to convince you to take part in such a session and you’d usually wave it off as a waste of time. But there are no qualms or an ounce of hesitation in your expression when you head over.   “Now breathe in, and out, a steady stream of breath. Think about all that you are grateful for. Everything that has made your life amazing, and let that positive energy surround you as the negative energy releases.”   But while you’re eager, Taehyung, on the other hand, finds out that meditation is not cut out for him. He’s bored out of his mind from the lack of stimulation. Time feels like it’s dragging on slower, each second a minute and a minute is an hour. Somehow, meditating makes him feel even more exhausted than before and his mind ends up wandering.   Taehyung thinks about how he’s really craving some fatty burgers instead of the organic oatmeal and yogurt he had — how hot the weather is — how it’s hard to breathe — how sweat sticks to his skin.   “Hold your breath for three seconds and release for three seconds.”   He sighs and peels back an eye to see you with your hands pressed together, concentrated in following instructions. The corner of his mouth tickles into a smile.   As bored as he is, it’s worth seeing you happy.   //   The more excited you are about something, the more you run around from place to place and Taehyung’s resorted to looking for you. Luckily, the resort is small, so he finds you in front of the main building, chatting to a certain brunette with a half-moon smile and chubby cheeks.   “—heard that doggy actually works for some people, but for me, it doesn’t feel right...like…”   “The head of the cock isn’t right up against the cervix?” Jimin hums thoughtfully. “Have you tried angling your leg better? Sometimes you need to bend a bit and he needs to be leaning towards the side rather than just hovering straight on top.”   What.   Taehyung’s brows lift and he quickly approaches. Your face lights up when you see him. “Oh, hey.”   “I was looking for you.” Taehyung throws his arm over your shoulder and subtly tugs you into his chest. He looks at the other man, eyes narrowed in on him which he doesn’t seem to notice.   “Sorry, I was just caught up with Jimin.”   “What were you talking about?”   “What position is best for conception.” You blink innocently like it’s not a big deal you’re exploiting the details about your sex lives to another guy, and while he’s not embarrassed whatsoever, it was a bit too much information being shared for Taehyung’s liking. “Turns out elevating the hips might not help as much as we thought it does.”   “Huh.” Taehyung deadpans, “That’s interesting.”   “I know, right?” Your expression is bright, oblivious to his turmoil. At the same time, Hyunjin exits from the building in yet another flower crown and flowy skirt. She smiles at the both of you and joins Jimin’s side, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek and holding his hand.   “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important.”   You smile at her. “No, it’s okay.”   The woman nods and looks to her partner while her voice drops into a more private tone. “Just wanted to let you know that Taehoon and I are done.”   As if to validate her words, a timid yet tall man exits the building and they wave goodbye to one another before he walks off towards the parking lot. Jimin smiles. “Did you have fun?”   “Yeah. It was nice.”   Both you and Taehyung exchange expressions. He wonders if you’re thinking what he is or if he’s understanding the insinuations correctly.    As if they catch the inquisitive looks on your faces, they smile in a relaxed way. There’s no need to explain anything to either of you when you’re strangers, but they’re open enough and Hyunjin says, “Taehoon’s my second partner.”   “Second...partner?”    “Hyunjin and I are in an open relationship,” Jimin clarifies in a friendly manner. “It’s not really traditional, but it works well for us.”   “Oh.” Taehyung and you wordlessly bob your heads. He’s pretty sure they mentioned it during their introduction but it slipped his mind. They must get asked a lot of questions too since Hyunjin answers what he’s thinking, telling the both of you there’s not a lot of jealousy involved since they trust each other wholeheartedly and communicate a lot. And rather than finding it bizarre, you’re left intrigued. Taehyung notices as you walk away.   “Do you want an open relationship too?”   “You know it would never work for us.” You lean over, hugging his arm. “I’m too possessive for that.”   He laughs. “Then what about talking to Jimin about our sex positions?”   “He’s a professional.” You shrug. “I thought I could get helpful advice. Why?”   “Nothing, it’s just kind of weird.”    Jimin doesn’t look like a professional. He looks like just some dude in khaki shorts and a white shirt, obnoxiously bulging biceps, probably has rock hard abs, and he’s in an open relationship and clearly doesn’t mind chatting up you, aka Taehyung’s wife.   “Are you jealous?”   “What? No.” Taehyung scoffs, suddenly defensive and you give him that look like you know him better than that. “I just don’t think we don’t need to ask for help yet, and at least not about our positions. We’re gonna have a baby one way or another, Y/N. We just have to be patient.”   “Tell that to my dying eggs.” You walk off and Taehyung grins.   “My sperm’s strong enough that it’ll rescue your dying eggs.”   //   Evening eventually comes and you try to revel in the surrounding sights, the atmosphere of the entire place and the very cozy yurt you’ve grown to adore. It’s sad knowing that tomorrow you’ll have to depart from the resort. You regret not coming here with a more open mind. That way, you could’ve enjoyed and embraced this place much sooner.   “Actually, I’m kind of glad. I’m getting sick of them serving the same food.”   You’re shocked at your husband’s apathy. “But it’s antioxidant-rich—”   “I just want some fried chicken or a burger.”   You scoff. “That’s why the doctor told you to lower your blood sugar and you’re not even over forty yet.” But still, you’re taken aback that he’s not in love with the resort. “Out of everyone, I thought this would’ve been your haven. I was expecting you to beg me to build a cabin here or something to stay.”   Taehyung hums, leaning back into the chair. “I’m not saying the resort is bad. As long as I get to spend time with you, I like it. And I like that you like it.”   “Psh.” He always knows how to say the right thing, especially when he’s doing it absentmindedly and not trying to get something out of you. You lean over, hand lifting to squeeze his cheeks together and you turn his head to kiss him. Taehyung smiles at the soft and affectionate gesture. But you look at him with half-lidded eyes that mean more. “Wanna ditch?”   It’s the final celebration that Jimin and Hyunjin are happily hosting, but you don’t mind leaving for some more quality time with Taehyung, and he happily agrees.   The both of you sneak out of the crowd, stumbling back into the yurt, giggly and giddy like you’re still teenagers trying to be stealthy at midnight. Taehyung kisses you silly and soon, your back is hitting the mattress. He almost rips your dress with how hastily he tries to tear it off your head and you’re stuck for a moment until you manage to get it off.   But in spite of how childish your antics are or how Taehyung blows raspberries on your tummy, each one of his touches is intimate and loving. He holds your hips down and eats you out until you cum twice. Then you’re flipped onto your stomach with him on top of you — his cock is dug into your pussy, every draw and thrust delicious. Your walls pulse along his length and you moan his name and clutch the sheets with tight fists.   You relish in the pressure of his body pressed on top of yours as he pounds into you. It only takes a few minutes before he’s releasing into your womb, cumming hard enough that you feel it too.   He rolls off of you, spent, but you gather your energy and hold him down for a second round.   You’re a woman on a mission and you’re going to make sure you leave this resort with Kim Taehyung’s baby inside of you.

[Day Five]   The final day of the resort has arrived much to your dismay, and you feel sad enough to cry.   “Thank you so much for all you’ve done.”   “It’s our pleasure.” Hyunjin grins, her arms wrapped around Jimin’s. “We just hope you had a great time at our resort.”   “Yes, I really loved it.”   “Our doors are always open,” Jimin affirms. “If nothing’s stuck, you can always come back or if you’re ever looking for more siblings for the little one, you can come again too. We’re happy to welcome anyone that’s family back.”   You’re moved by their words and much to Taehyung’s dismay, you give a brief embrace to each of them. You also manage to see the newlywed couple, Hoseok and Rose, who are still smiling and somehow look even more in-love than when they arrived. Dahyun and Seokjin, as well, wish you luck on your adventures.    “We might be coming back real soon.” The woman sighs, hitching her thumb over her shoulder. “That husband of mine is planning to book another trip next month.”   “So soon?”   Dahyun nods with a long exhale. “I think he’s hoping I’m not pregnant so we can come here again.” Your laugh spurs on her own and you’re able to resonate with the hopelessness of husbands.   Everyone is boarding the same bus, but this is the last opportunity to gather when people are getting dropped off from different places. So you make sure to savour the moment, get your last goodbyes in, and Taehyung pulls out his phone to snap several pictures of you for keepsakes.   Then, the two of you board the bus with your luggage and settle in your seats.   “You know,” you pipe up and Taehyung turns to you. “Even if we didn’t conceive, it was still fun.”   He smiles while taking his hand. “Yeah? I’m glad.” Taehyung laces his fingers with yours and you lean your head on his shoulder as he, too, leans his head on top of yours.   The bus pulls out of the lot and onto the road. Jimin and Hyunjin wave with brilliant grins, and together, you and Taehyung watch the little resort become a particle in the distance.

[Epilogue]   This is terrible. Unexpected and spontaneous.   “I have bad news.” You’re leaning against the door frame of Taehyung’s office and at your tone of voice, your husband looks away from the computer screen with wide eyes.   “Are you divorcing me?”   “No.”   “Did you lose your job?”   “No.”   His entire body deflates in a sigh of relief and he leans back, hands grasping the armrests of his swivel chair. “Thank god because I just bought those new shake weights that were shown on TV.”   “Yea— wait. What?”   Taehyung’s bubbling laughter comes from his chest. “What is it?”   He doesn’t notice the stick in your hand, so you throw it at him. Luckily, Taehyung’s reflexes are still in good shape and he claps his hands together, catching the stick before it hits his head. But then his brows furrow in confusion.   “You’re probably going to need to wash your hands after that. I peed on it.”   He doesn’t answer. Your oblivious husband instead takes a long second to inspect the stick and his pupils dilate. He finally realizes what it is and looks carefully. In the meanwhile, you hitch your breath, feeling unsettled. But then the most enormous smile stretches into his cheeks.    It almost looks like his smile is about to break his face.   “You’re pregnant,” Taehyung murmurs.   “I sure am.”   He looks at you. And then the stick. Then he looks at you again. Taehyung searches your expression in alarm as your words echo back to him. “Why is this bad news? D-did you change your mind? Do you not want kids?”   You shake your head. “No. This is fantastic news. I just wanted an excuse to go to the retreat again.”   He laughs and exhales a long breath. Taehyung scoots his chair over using the heels of his feet and comes to you. He throws his arms around your torso in a secure embrace while his ear is pressed gently to the flat plane of your stomach that’ll soon swell in the coming months. “God, you’re going to be the death of me, woman.”   Taehyung’s brown eyes are lit with mirth and you ease into his hug as your fingers comb through his dark locks. Finally, you’re going to be parents. After waiting and hoping for so long, it was now on the horizon. There’s a sense of fear in you both, but you’re overwhelmed with euphoria and excitement.   “We can always go back for the next kid.”   “I haven’t even had this one yet and you’re already thinking of another.”   “I can’t help it.” Taehyung grins, looking up at you and you lean down to kiss his smile.   You have a feeling this baby’s going to be loved beyond belief.

[tundrainafrica]

a song recommedation: for me the biggest levihan song is Skulls by Bastille. i don't know if you've ever heard it (or maybe it's a basic song for every levihan fan out there and everyone collectively knows about it)...it sounds like they're having a conversation the entire time. especially these lines: "when all of our friends are dead and just a memory, we're side by side, it's always been just you and me" "i don't want to rest in peace, i'd rather be a ghost that annoys you"

Title: Milestones

Summary: 

“And just like with every loss he had ever felt, Levi would count down the hours, the days, the months and the seasons following the death, labelling them each as a milestone to trudge past. In that aspect, Hange’s death was no different.”

Levi has this habit of counting milestones following the loss of a close comrade.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Notes:  Thank you for the song rec anon! I made it a little homework for myself to listen to this song today while I did some grocery shopping and this really screamed Levihan, so loud I got a little inspired and I came up with this small ficlet.

The grieving process had always been respected.  

Soldiers could easily request time off to mourn the death of comrades and loved ones. In the survey corps, one or two days after a mission were usually given as a little gift for those who had given their lives and for those left to pick up the pieces.

It was a generous gift at face value but for many who had experienced too many deaths to count, it had started to twist into something a little short of cruel. 

Soldiers who had experienced more than enough deaths after all, eventually realized that the losses only completely sink in when they finally go back to their routines. The largest and strongest waves of grief come when the soldiers are left to navigate their routines, changing around their daily routines to fix what the dead had left behind. 

For some cruel reason, losses were rarely felt in the losses and the memorials that celebrated them. They were felt in routines that followed.

Levi had survived one of the longest in the survey corps and had experienced more losses than he could count. Having to quickly go back to routines after dealing with losses and having had to navigate these same routines peppered with continuous losses of squad members and teammates, Levi had developed a little habit, something to occupy himself between expeditions and missions. 

As Levi quickly noticed, that habit had gotten a little out of control that time around. 

Of course it would, there was nothing else to do. Levi had made the decision to retire. There were no expeditions to prepare for. The government was more than eager to grant humanity’s strongest pension already. He was also certain he couldn’t fight like before anymore either. 

And that extra time and mind space had given his grieving brain a little more wriggle room and consequently, a little more power. Levi found himself scrambling for a routine. With that free mental space, that habit decided to take control again. 

Levi had nothing much else to do but let it take over. When he was at his most vulnerable, when he was at his most alone, that habit had ended up becoming his best friend. 

He allowed that best friend to guide him once again as he went about the daily routine of a retired soldier. As it did with every loss, that best friend would religiously remind him that time continued to pass. 

And just like with every loss he had ever felt, Levi would count down the hours, the days, the months and the seasons following the death, labelling them each as a milestone to trudge past. In that aspect, Hange’s death was no different. 

At the same time, Hange’s death was special. Possibly because they had been working together for five years. Possibly because compared to the other times when he had wanted to grieve, he was in no pressure that time to recover quickly or go back to a routine. 

There were no distractions that time to fall back on. Levi was left with memories, milestones and himself. 

First sunset without Hange. 

The sunset and the gradual flashes of colors from yellow to orange to red. Levi had always found sunsets beautiful. Objectively, nothing had changed about that sunset. Somehow, Levi couldn't help but notice that he was seeing less colors than before. 

First Monday without Hange. 

Levi hated the typical Mondays in the office. The paperwork always made it unbearable. He had always preferred expeditions and combat. He was retired though and Levi was sure the paperwork would be nothing more than a memory moving forward. But reflecting on that monday in particular, he was certain he would have given up the world for it. 

First Friday without Hange. 

Depending on who won the argument or bet of the week, Fridays could be either drinking or heart-to heart-in-the-office-over-tea days. That particular Friday, Levi made sure to do both. He wasn’t sure what she would have wanted and it’s not like he could have asked her. 

First full moon without Hange

He didn’t even know he had built that habit of staring at the full moon until he looked out the window and felt time stop for a few seconds. In those few seconds, he was brought back to a time long ago, when Hange had been next to him, staring in complete awe at the full moon in front of them. He was too distracted by her then to have looked at the moon. 

Time started to move and Levi was reminded that he did not have much to distract himself anymore from the full moon in the sky. 

First spring without Hange 

Levi, when this war ends and I retire as commander, I really wanna explore the flora and fauna outside the walls. Let’s study them together!

He had tried to appreciate nature. He had tried to sit on the grass and just stare and touch the prettier or the uglier weeds that stuck out of the common grass. They were all weeds dotted with some flowers.  

Hange would have found them beautiful either way. He just found it mocking. 

First summer without Hange.

Hange loved ice cream. Ever since the first ice cream shop in Paradis opened. They made sure to get one as a treat after a hard day of work. Levi hadn’t gone back to the shop since he had last been there with Hange last summer. He wasn’t thinking of going back there either. 

First autumn without Hange. 

First autumn without Hange. 

Autumns were always special. The cool nights that only got colder and the days that only got shorter could have been depressing for most. Levi saw beauty in it because they built up to something else. 

They built up to her special day. That one special day Hange kept as a little treat for herself. She always decided what to do and she always made sure to rattle off her plans to him during down times between meetings and deliverables. 

Every year, she always had something she wanted to do and somewhere she wanted to go and every year, she always made sure Levi tagged along.

And as Levi thought back to their last conversations, he quickly figured out she had suggested one place she would have wanted to go with him. 

That passing thought she had shared during one of their conversations, that one night in the forest at least gave him direction. With her gone, Levi was the one who made the final decision to go there himself.

I came here for sanctuary

Away from the winds and the sounds of the city

I came here to get some peace

Way down deep where the shadows are heavy

In the first autumn after Hange’s death, In the forest glade where Hange had nursed him back to health, Levi had a small cabin built. Many could have concluded it as a capricious decision, even Levi himself. As he walked out and lay on the soft grass beneath him, he couldn’t help but think if he just closed his eyes and  focused on the familiar surroundings, he could imagine Hange next to him saying those words once again 

“Maybe we should just live here together.” 

I can't help but think of you

In these four walls my thoughts seem to wander

To some distant century

When everyone we know is six feet under

When Levi entered the newly built cabin and inspected it of any dust, he realized, maybe that was the first thing he had done for himself. He was already a retired soldier with nothing much to think about but himself. Levi was never one to constantly think of himself though, so he thought of everyone else.

When all of our friends are dead and just a memory

And we're side by side it's always been just you and me

For all to see

When our lives are over and all that remains

Are our skulls and bones let's take it to the grave

The cabin was cozy and there had been nothing much to clean. It kept the cool air of early autumn out and if he had been feeling a hint of self preservation, he probably would have stayed inside. His body was not as strong as it was before and even the night air of early autumn had him shivering. 

Self preservation had always been low on Levi’s priority list. Because of the lack of responsibilities that came with being retired, it managed to bump up to at least third. It was still the last thing on Levi’s mind though. 

The cold air and the rustle of the trees brought back countless memories at once. It brought back the faint pounding of the hammer, the swish of the bandages and her hitched breaths as she worked tirelessly as he slept. 

It evoked memories from times before that. 

Every year, when the wind was starting to get a little colder and the leaves a little redder, there was always one special day where Hange would take him out. 

To a place of her choice. It was that one day after all the commander would always spend for herself. The destination was always a different spot outside the walls. Sometimes it was a glade in the middle of the forest, sometimes it was a cave, sometimes it was a swamp. The places varied but the cool winds that came as the sun started to set were constant stimuli. The orange hues that stuck out of the green trees around him were also a constant view.

That night, Levi held his arms close to his chest, conserving warmth as the cool winds of autumn continued to barrel through his already battered body. He looked up at the trees around him, observing closely as some of the leaves started to stand out under the moonlight. The leaves were starting to take on a different shade and others were starting to fall off.

All those signs culminated into a scene and an experience Levi was all too familiar with. They were all heralding the coming of autumn

Hange’s special day always signaled the start of autumn.

Happy Birthday, Hange. That was the first birthday he’d be spending without her.

And his little habit made it so that he would never forget to spend it in the years to come. Even if he was painfully aware, he'd be spending every single one without her.

And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms

I'll be buried here with you

And I'll hold in these hands all that remains

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Seven

@lukadrien-june​

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Seven: Goodbye

“G Flat. Sup?” XY greeted, leaning on the frame of the door to his flat.

“Hey, Xavier-Yves. Sorry for coming over so early,” Adrien apologized guiltily, gaze downcast as he scuffed at the marble tile of the apartment building hallway.

XY shrugged. “It’s whatever. Something wrong? You look all…floppy.”

Adrien winced, meeting Xavier-Yves’s eyes with a grimace. “I’m kind of rough lately, actually…but I came because I need to talk to you about something. May I come in?”

With another carefree shrug, XY straightened up and stepped back out of the way. “Yeah. Sure. Come on in and make yourself at home. You want some soda?”

Adrien shook his head as he made his way straight to the couch. “I’m fine, thank you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Meh. Suit yourself.” XY went to fish a bottle of orange soda out of the fridge as he prompted, “So what did you need to talk about?”

Adrien swallowed, shifting anxiously. “Luka.”

XY paused, looked back over his shoulder at Adrien, and cursed in English. “Is that why you look like they ran out of those nifty little umbrellas they put in your drink?”

Adrien could think of at least a dozen more fitting analogies for his current countenance, but he decided not to squabble over word choice. “Yes.”

He took a slow, measured inhale. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop the other day, but I accidentally overheard that song you wrote for Luka.”

XY quirked an eyebrow, taking a long pull from his bottle of soda as he came over and sat down in the armchair across the coffee table from Adrien.

Adrien dropped his gaze to the ugly chartreuse area rug as he confessed, “I heard you tell him you loved him, and I saw you guys kissing.”

“Did ya see what happened afterward?” Xavier-Yves hummed.

Adrien shook his head and forced himself to look up.

He searched his rival’s eyes. “…Are you and Luka…dating?”

The word was almost physically painful to get out.

A smirk in miniature turned up one corner of XY’s mouth. “No. What gave you that idea?”

Adrien opened his mouth to reply but then shut it again to more carefully consider his response.

“…It just seemed like the obvious outcome,” he finally answered. “He really likes you, you know? I don’t think he knows how much he likes you, but he does.”

Xavier-Yves nodded, sinking back comfortably into his armchair and spreading his knees wide. “Yeah. I know…but he picked you.”

Adrien’s eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. “…Sorry. What?”

XY lifted his right shoulder and then let it fall. “He picked you.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” Adrien replied, heart quickening, chest tightening.

XY rolled his eyes. “Okay. Look. I’m going to do you a favor, G Flat, and tell ya something good. Don’t tell Luka I told you, but he’s in love with you. He’s been crazy about you since you faceplanted on his deck or whatever. Okay? So, he picked you.”

“Luka loves me?” Adrien breathed, gripping the arm of the couch to keep himself upright.

Xavier-Yves let out a loud snort of laughter. “And they say I’m dense. Yes, Adrien. Luka’s over the moon about you.”

Adrien’s jaw nearly skimmed the floor in his astonishment. “Really?”

“Really,” XY sighed, quickly tiring of this little game. “So go out with him already. Make him happy.”

Adrien’s expression suddenly tightened into a tense ball of confusion and suspicion. “Wait. Why in the world would you tell me that? Isn’t it against the bro code or something? Nino would never tell me about Marinette’s crush on me, and he didn’t say anything to his girlfriend about my feelings for Marinette. I don’t think you can just say stuff like that.”

Xavier-Yves looked utterly unimpressed. “Okay, look. If I don’t say anything, you and Luka are never gonna get together because you’re both dumb and like to make yourselves suffer. I don’t really have friends besides Luka, so I’m not so sure about this ‘bro code’ thing, but I think I’m doing you both a favor, telling you Luka’s in love with you.”

“You are,” Adrien agreed, still skeptical. “What I can’t figure out is why you’re doing this.”

With another sigh, XY rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Duh. You’re my friends. I love Luka, and I want him to be happy, and you’re what will make him happy. Plus, the sooner you two start dating, the sooner you can screw everything up and get Luka to break up with you. Then, I can swoop in and sweep Luka off his feet. Super romantic.”

Adrien burst out laughing. “Xavier-Yves…you’re really something.”

XY gave a lopsided, pride-filled grin as he shot finger guns at Adrien. “You bet I am.”

Adrien slowly shook his head from one side to the other, a nascent smile taking form on his lips. “Thank you.”

XY made a shooing gesture. “Don’t thank me. Go ask Luka out or something already. My genius plan only works once you either make Luka happy or screw up and get dumped so I can make Luka happy.”

A grateful grin settled on Adrien’s lips as he stood. “Thank you, Xavier-Yves. Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah.” XY took another swig of his orange soda. “Maybe we can have a threesome sometime or something. You two still have to hang out with me once you’re a couple, you know.”

“We will,” Adrien promised, a spring in his step as he rushed back to Luka.

 Luka looked up from where he was preparing chestnut paste crêpes for brunch as Adrien came around the corner into the main cabin.

The nerves didn’t hit Adrien in full force until he saw Luka; then, it was all fluttery sensations in his chest and butterflies in his stomach.

Their eyes met, and Adrien nearly swooned.

“Hey. Everything okay?” Luka tentatively inquired. “You were gone when I woke up.”

Adrien ran a hand through his hair and swallowed before he managed to compose himself enough to answer. “Yeah, no. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just…I needed to get some fresh air?”

Luka nodded, making a neutral sound of acknowledgement. “Did you eat already?”

Sheepishly, Adrien shook his head. “Food was kind of the last thing on my mind this morning.”

Luka beckoned Adrien over with a tip of his head, indicating the crêpe he had just made. “Go ahead and take this one. It’s still hot.”

“I’m not going to take your food, Orpheus,” Adrien scoffed, coming around into the kitchen.

“I have enough batter to make another one. It’ll only take a minute, but you might as well eat this one because it’s going to be cold by the time I finish this second one,” Luka reasoned.

“Or you could eat that one, and I can make one for myself,” Adrien countered, giving Luka’s hip a little bump with his own, encouraging Luka out of the way of the stovetop.

With a chuckle of amusement, Luka stood down, leaning back against the counter as he ate his crêpe and longingly watched Adrien work.

“I’m really good at making crêpes,” Adrien bragged. “It’s one of the first things Tom showed me.”

“I have no doubt about your abilities,” Luka assured, eyes tracking Adrien’s graceful movements.

Before long, a nearly perfect crêpe took form, and Luka had to applaud his crush. “That looks even better than mine. I should have you make me breakfast next time.”

“I’d be happy to cook for you,” Adrien easily agreed, eager to please. “I like it a lot. Mostly, Tom’s been teaching me down in the bakery, but Sabine’s showed me recipes from time to time too, and I’m finding that I like cooking about as well as baking.”

“Well, if you want to take some of my family meal cooking shifts, I’m not going to stop you,” Luka half-joked.

“Maybe I could join you for some of your shifts and we could cook together,” Adrien suggested. He always had a good time in the kitchen with Luka.

“I mean…if you really don’t mind. I don’t want to put extra work on your plate,” Luka responded tentatively.

“I don’t mind,” Adrien stressed. “I like cooking, and I like spending time with you, so…win-win, you know?”

“So long as you think so,” Luka chuckled, a slight blush building on his cheeks.

“I do,” Adrien replied decidedly.

He then bit his lip, his confidence abandoning him. “…Hey. So…would you want to go on a walk with me after we clean up here? Are you busy?”

Luka shook his head. “I didn’t have anything planned for today. Where did you want to go? Anywhere in particular?”

“The Parc Monceau?” Adrien asked uncertainly. “Sorry. I know it’s kind of out of the way.”

“It’s fine,” Luka assured with a calming smile. “The Parc Monceau sounds nice.”

 While not completely free from tourists, the Parc Monceau was definitely more of a spot for locals than some of the better-known parks of Paris.

Luka and Adrien took the motorcycle up to the eighth arrondissement, parking outside of the gates and beginning their stroll around the grounds.

The scent of damp earth from the previous day’s storm still lingered in the air.

“I’ve always wanted to come here on a date,” Adrien remarked as they walked past the semicircular, eighteenth-century colonnade at the northeast end of the pond that had been made to look like Roman ruins.

“Oh, yeah?” Luka hummed, trying to keep his expression and voice neutral.

Adrien nodded as they made their way onto one of the main avenues that ran through the park where many a Parisian was walking their apartment-sized dog.

“I’ve done a couple photoshoots here, and I always thought the atmosphere was romantic,” Adrien explained. “It’s kind of whimsical with all of the miniatures of exotic architecture and the pond and the trees and flowers and everything…don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Luka agreed. “It’s—”

He abruptly lost his train of thought as Adrien slipped his hand into Luka’s.

Luka stared in bewilderment at Adrien, and Adrien responded with a shy smile.

Still wondering what the hell was going on but not wanting to jinx it, Luka returned the smile and laced his fingers through Adrien’s.

Adrien’s smile grew, gaining confidence as it morphed into an effulgent grin reminiscent of that day in the Jardin du Palais Royal.

It was so good to see Adrien smile like that after two weeks of feigned cheerfulness and cloudy, distant eyes.

“Come on.” Adrien gently tugged Luka over to the footbridge. “I want to show you my favourite spot.”

They ascended the steps and moved over to one side so that others could pass behind them as they gazed out at the man-made pond and the classical columns through the foliage.

“Sorry,” Adrien chuckled, releasing Luka’s hand and placing his own on top of the bridge railing.

“Why ‘sorry’?” Luka wondered, suddenly uneasy.

Adrien turned his head to give an impish grin. “I feel like I tricked you into coming here.”

A small frown creased Luka’s brow. “I seem to remember agreeing to come of my own free will.”

Adrien shook his head. “Under false pretenses. I brought you here because I wanted to talk to you.”

Luka gave a snort. “Because it’s not like I would ever consent to that knowingly.”

Adrien pursed his lips.

Luka’s levity instantly faded. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Adrien shook his head, training his gaze down into the murky water.

“…Is this about what happened yesterday?” Luka hazarded a guess.

“Kind of.”

Luka winced. “Adrien, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“—May I tell you something?” Adrien cut in, needing to get it over with.

“Uh…sure.” Luka couldn’t help but feel off-kilter as he struggled to follow what was happening.

“And could you maybe let me talk without responding until I’m done, please?” Adrien requested through a grimace. “I’m sorry. I just…I need to get this out, and I’m not sure I can do it if you interrupt me, so… Sorry.”

Luka gently rested his hand on Adrien’s shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. “Hey. You can tell me anything, okay? I promise I’ll let you finish.”

Adrien shot Luka a grateful smile before taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He tightened and loosened his grip on the bridge railing, swallowed, and then began.

“You know how I’ve been acting even crazier than usually these past two weeks?”

Luka frowned reprovingly. “Okay, I’m not going to stand here silently and listen to you talk down about yourself, so—”

“—I saw you kissing Xavier-Yves,” Adrien blurted out, needing to continue before he lost the courage to do so. “and it completely crushed me because I’m in love with you.”

Luka stared, blinked, and finally found his tongue. “You…what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Adrien repeated more slowly as the most vulnerable smile spread over his lips in complete surrender. “I’ve had a crush on you pretty much as long as we’ve known one another, but, recently, I’ve realized that, somewhere along the way, I really, truly fell in love with you. I’m not sure when exactly…but…here we are.”

Adrien shrugged and then awaited Luka’s response.

It took a minute, but Luka finally pieced together the words. “You’re sure?”

Adrien’s head cocked slightly to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry.” Luka shook his head, mentally kicking himself. “I just mean… Not that I don’t believe you, but…”

He took a slow inhale and tried again. “Adrien, I don’t need to tell you that you’ve been through a lot this past month, and I know I’ve kind of been there supporting you through this. A lot of times, in that kind of situation, people can start thinking they have feelings for the person taking care of them, and I don’t—”

“—Luka.” Adrien reached out to cup Luka’s cheek. “My feelings for you aren’t new. You triggered my sexuality crisis, after all.”

Heat burned in Luka’s cheeks, and he gulped. “O-Oh?”

Adrien nodded, his smile returning. “Yeah. I’ve always known I had a crush on you. It’s just that I recently realized that my feelings weren’t just a crush. I don’t think they have been for a while, so you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not going to improve mentally or emotionally and suddenly realize my feelings for you were fake or anything like that.”

“Oh,” Luka repeated quietly, gaze getting caught on Adrien’s eyes and the way their glittering green was perfectly set off by the trees and the water and the sky.

“So…I love you…Middle C,” Adrien whispered, angling his body to face Luka.

Instinctively, Luka stepped in, his hands going to Adrien’s hips. “I love you too, Perfect Fifth. From the moment I saw your eyes light up when you spotted that keyboard the day we first met.”

“Luka,” Adrien breathed as their eyes slipped closed and their noses gently bumped.

A shred of his higher brain function remained as he cautioned, “I don’t know if I should be doing this. I still need to talk to you about—”

“—Please,” Luka pleaded. “Adrien, please kiss me.”

He did, and it was sweet and slow and perfect, a gentle nibbling of Adrien’s lips against Luka’s.

Luka kept his eyes closed for a moment after Adrien pulled away, and when he opened them, he found Adrien searching his face apprehensively.

Luka blinked. “Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” Adrien sighed. “Only, now, I’m going to ruin everything.”

“I promise you that there’s nothing you could do to ruin that kiss,” Luka scoffed lightly.

Adrien winced. “What if I tell you we can’t kiss again for a long time?”

“Well, that wouldn’t ruin everything,” Luka assured. “But can I ask why?”

Adrien pulled back, looking out at the pond and the columns again as he explained, “I don’t want to keep you in limbo. I need to be completely honest with you: I can’t date right now.”

Luka stepped in closer so that his shoulder brushed Adrien’s.

Adrien tentatively peeked up at Luka. “I’m sorry. You know about as well as I do that I’m not in good shape at the moment with everything going on. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to try to start anything right now.”

Luka gradually began to nod. “I think that’s a really mature decision. I don’t necessarily like it, but I’m really proud of you for being able to come to that kind of conclusion.”

Adrien sighed, a melancholy smile hovering on his lips. “I’m serious about you, you know. I don’t want to mess this up, so…I think I need to wait until I’m healthier. I don’t want things to always be the way they’ve been the past month.”

He met Luka’s eyes as he elaborated, “I can’t express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but healthy relationships are partnerships. I need to be able to pull my own weight.”

Luka opened his mouth to respond, but Adrien shook his head, insisting, “I can’t always be needing you to help and comfort me. That’s not right, and it’s not fair to you.”

Luka’s eyes widened.

“You deserve a partner who can be there to support you too,” Adrien stressed. “I think I could be that person someday, but right now…”

He shook his head sadly.

“I can wait however long you think is necessary,” Luka assured.

Adrien shook his head again. “I’m not asking you to. If you want…I mean…Xavier-Yves is actually a great guy, and you like him, Luka. You shouldn’t have to wait around while I get my stuff together.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “Okay, yes. I will admit that Xavier-Yves is an attractive prospect, but…Adrien…my heart chose you.”

Adrien’s mouth fell open in surprise.

Luka leaned in and pressed a kiss to Adrien’s temple. “I’ll wait for you.”

Still taken aback, Adrien stammered, “I’ll do my best to be worthy of you.”

Luka pulled Adrien into a side hug. “You already are, P5.”

[jungcity]

𝟓𝟎𝟓.

GENRE: crime, romance, slice of life

PAIRINGS: bandit!hendery, sacristan!female reader

WORD COUNT: 27,632

SONG PROMPTS: Godless - BANKS, 505 - Arctic Monkeys, Some Unholy War - Amy Winehouse, Robbers - The 1975 | [full playlist here.]

WARNINGS: Please observe proper discretion for this story deals with themes of adultery, orphanhood, child abuse, child neglect, deaths, violence, manipulation and suggestive stuff.

NOTE: This is a part of the crime!au collaboration held by @neovisioned. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Please be aware that this story would have references that revolves around Catholicism. I am by no means wish to be exclusive to those who has the same religion as I. Upon pondering the plot of this story, religion would be a mandatory part, hence I chose mine since it is what I know best.

TAGLIST: @legendnct @cloudysuh @eyypeach @mjlkau @cherub-vivi

i. I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth…

Trails of white smoke circled the candle as you snuffed out the fire from the matchsticks. The heavy rain raged on, with the branches slapping the gothic windows of Father Ben’s chamber. The priest sat on a rocking chair near the aperture, watching the thunder and lightning as they continue to battle for dominion over the heavens.

“Father,” you called out softly. He hummed but did not turn to face you. Over the months that you have worked and helped Father Ben tend to the church, you noticed how particularly silent he could be whenever the clouds are pouring. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” you asked.

For the past few days, Father Ben would tell you about shadows prowling around the church. Two boys, he claims. Sometimes they are three. Bandits, no doubt.

“Be careful on your way home, hija. Bring my umbrella so you won’t get soaked.” And that has been the last words he spoke.

You pressed your lips into a thin line. There would be no point forcing the priest. Perhaps he does not want your mother to worry about you.

You closed the door of the priest’s chamber and made your way down the creaky staircase. The church hadn’t been renovated since the middle of the pandemic that had swept across the whole world. This structure hadn’t tasted new paints and new rivets yet for ten years.

Father Ben resides where the choral sings everyday. Since Father lost all his relatives to the pandemic, he made it built for him. Perhaps that was the reason why he was too quiet. You haven’t lost anyone to it, but you knew a lot of people who died because of it and have friends who had lost their fathers and mothers, even siblings, to it.

You fastened the latch of every door inside the church before you walked towards the main door. Laying the lamp on the floor, you unlatched the wooden door. The blustery and frigid wind flows through the opening, misting your feet and right arm as you leaned to grab the lamp and struggle to open the umbrella.

By good fortune, the rain softened as you departed the church. Bougainvilleas wrapping the façade of the structure made eerie shadows as the moon casted down its light to it. You made your way to the small village you live in.

“Hail Holy Queen, Mother of mercy…” echoes the praying mothers and daughters in front of their altars.

You cannot not help but be fascinated by the orange lamp lights in their homesteads, as you saw the women of every family kneel and make their prayers. Ever since the end of the pandemic five years ago, your village has been humming novenas every six p.m. or eight p.m. at night. You heard it was the same for the neighboring village, too.

“Hail our life, our sweetness and our hope…” You heard the little voices of innocent children as they tried to copy the words. It made your heart flutter. “To Thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To Thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.”

Until you reached your street, prayers echoed. Your house loomed as you turn left. Gathering your skirt, you hopped over a puddle of mud and continued walking.

“Mom, I’m home,” you declared upon stepping your feet inside.

Mom was on her usual place near the fireplace, knitting new pillowcases with the dim light from the fire. She turned her head to see you, then pulls down her reading glasses to examine your slightly soaked skirts.

“I thought you’re sleeping in the church?” she asked as she twiddled the needle with her fingers.

“Father Ben won’t allow me,” you simply answered as you trodded towards the kitchenette.

There was only one light inside the house. It was located between the kitchenette and living room. During the pandemic, all energy had been used to fuel hospitals as well as quarantine facilities for the affected citizens. Energy had been lacking ever since.

You went back to the living room with a plate in hand. Food has been scarce in this part of town. But your mother has a little vegetable farm in the backyard. So it’s vegetable salad every night.

“Tomorrow is the first Sunday of the month,” she began, “Did you prepare anything?”

You munched while watching the needle pierce through the fabric. “Mayor Rosales failed to give us sponsorship. But we have gathered some money from the houses nearby the highway.” Those people who live near the highway were what you could call the richer ones. They have convenience stores lining up, and they pretty much sell anything a villager might need. “Father wants to feed the children this time.”

“Would that be enough? The money?”

“We’ll make do,” you sighed.

Mother hummed. “Bring the vegetables tomorrow, then. I’ve harvested enough for ingredients.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Mother.”

ii. And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord…

He came into your life like a fog in the dawn; mysterious, hazy, and cold. The boy with the secret of the universe in his eyes, and danger playing along his boyish smile rang your door in the year 2040. When hope has only started to rebuild itself after the terrors of a sickness nobody had been able to see.

Easy smile, childlike laughters and soft hair— that has been him.

Your first encounter had been outside the church. Where he leaned in a big motorcycle while puffing smokes from his cigarette.

“Kids, please line up according to your height,” you told the children softly. Big innocent eyes stared back at you with excitement.

When suddenly, Lucy, the other sacristan, gestured to you to come over the front line where the food is located. “No pushing,” you warned the kids before leaving them with Rei, another sacristan.

“What is it?” you asked.

Lucy motioned her puckered lips towards the exit. “Could you tell him to smoke somewhere else?”

You followed her gesture. And your gaze landed straight to him as he blew out smoke from his lips. He playfully inhales from the cigarette bud and puffed it carelessly in the air. He was looking straight at the spot where you were currently glued at. Both of you held each other’s eyes, and you felt lost in those mysterious orbs for a good second until Lucy cleared her throat to gather your attention.

Spontaneously, your brows immediately shot up in vexation. It was forbidden to smoke inside and around the church’s vicinity. You gathered your skirts and sauntered up to him. As you near closer to him, you have caught a sight of a black patch plastered on the side of his neck.

The boy cocked a brow as he saw you nearing. You ignored his reaction and cleared your throat. But your breath seemed to be sweeped out of your lungs yet again when you realized that the black patch was a tattoo. It reads the word pervivo. “Mister, it is not allowed to smoke around the church. Could you please take that somewhere else?”

Instead of tossing his cigarette, he took a long sip from the bud and blew the smoke to your face. Shocked and absolutely disgusted, you fanned away the smoke frantically while coughing out the chemical that has succeeded to reach your nostrils and throat.

“What the—”

“Fuck?” he finished. The smoke slowly dissipates, revealing his dead set of eyes staring at you. He, then, threw the bud to the ground before crushing the ashes with the tip of his boot. “Can’t really cuss in here, can you?”

Such audacity! Your nose flared while trying to collect the little patience left in your system. Boys like him never failed to irate you.

Smoothing out your skirt, you straightened your spine with as much dignity as you can muster. “Blowing smoke—”

For the second time, the boy interrupted you by waving his hand high up in the air. “Father!” he shouted. The boy jogged the distance towards the line of children in front of the church to clap Father Ben’s back. Frozen on your feet, you stared at him in horror.

“Do you know him, Father?” you motioned your head to the boy who was casually smiling from ear to ear beside the priest. As if he didn’t deadpan at you earlier.

Father Ben stretched his lips into what you could call a small smile. “Hendery’s from the city. He’s to be our new sacristan.”

There was literal ringing in your ears by what you have heard. Hendery? A new sacristan? “Wait…” You let out an incredulous noise. “What?”

“I’m Hendery Wong. I came here to be the new sacristan.” The boy stretched out his hand to you. You look at it with reluctance evidently etched through your face.

“I don’t understand,” you managed to say while shaking Hendery’s hand. He has been surprisingly calloused, juxtaposing his soft and pretty face.

“I know you will soon, hija,” Father Ben said, “And I trust you to help Hendery adjust to the work here. Can you do that?”

Hendery’s smile never left his face. It was as if he was relishing to the predicament that you were in instead of being friendly. However, you couldn’t really turn down Father Ben. And it was not right to jump on your prejudices. Cigarettes and tattoos doesn’t mirror someone else’s personality. Hendery deserved the benefit of the doubt.

So you sighed. “I can, Father. Rest assured that I’ll show Hendery around.”

Father Ben tapped your shoulder lightly before joining Lucy to prepare the food for the children, leaving you with the new boy.

“So,” he began, garnering your attention. When you turn to look at him, Hendery’s demeanor has already changed. Or perhaps it was only your judgment getting the best of you. But there was a spark of something dangerous in the way that he looked at you. As if his eyes were the tip of the cigarette he inhaled mere minutes ago. Flickering— with a promise of charring if you ever come close. “Shall we begin?”

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, you sighed deeply. “Could you wash and sanitize first? You know, you actually held a cigarette and we don’t wanna contaminate the food, right?”

His smile grew wider, erasing the enigma he exuded seconds ago. “Do you have a mask? You know, I’ve sipped a cigarette and we don’t want my spit to fly towards the food, right?”

You looked at him sharply. “Yes, we do have a mask. It’s become pretty mandatory since twenty years ago.”

Hendery stretcheso out his hand to let you walk first. From the long table on which the food has been placed, you grabbed a surgical mask to give to Hendery. When you turned to face him, he held up his hands suddenly.

“I haven’t yet washed my hands. I’ll appreciate it if you’ll put those here,” he said  while pointing at his ear.

He really was something. And you have found it oddly… endearing. You haven’t known ice and fire could co-exist in a single person. Until you have met him. You gulped— and you have no idea why— as you draped the strings of the mask around his ears. His mouth and nose disappeared, but that failed to decrease his beauty.

What is happening to you? In your whole existence, you have met boys with stars in their eyes but this has been your first time to see the whole universe in someone else’s irises.

You shook your head as Hendery departed in front of you to wash his hands.

Pretty boys are only boys until you try to make a verselet out of them. That was the line you have never wanted to cross.

Hendery would only be a word. Not poetry. Or would he?

iii. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary…

When you were amongst the poor during the pandemic, your survival rate would be extremely challenged. Luckily for you, your father had run a small business that successfully provided for your family during those trying times.

Five years ago, the world made its reset when it came to economy and livelihood. Almost all businesses shut down. The luxuries and opulence of the year 2020 had been vanquished completely.

Billionaires finally witnessed that they weren’t the gods they once thought they were as the claws of the sickness reached their thrones and destroyed their castles.

Regardless of the Internet’s power, trade fell. With it the Internet celebrities in YouTube, Tiktok, Instagram, Twitter— you name it.

Notwithstanding, the 2020’s pandemic hadn’t been the only one to devastate the Earth.

There had been multiple environmental issues, like the raging of wildfires in sundry forests across the globe. World War III also threatened to break out of its cage as countries fought for dominance over lands they clearly had no business to claim.

Police brutality rages on. Their authority had been used for mayhem other than peace. It has breached the lives of people, especially to that of the black community. Everything went clusterfuck because the authorities think some people are inferior to them. They harmed rather than serve.

Chaos. Death. Fear. Those three things have managed to leave a blotch of bleakness that now blanketed the Earth.

The death toll exceeded that of the Black Plague that had swept across Europe hundreds of years ago. Hospitals transformed to that of a colony— the patients as the ants. Total panic enveloped everyone. Especially the poor, whose only shield against it had been a little bottle of alcohol.

Great Depression two-point-o, some would call the economy right now. Minimal jobs were offered, but the salary won’t be enough to feed a family of four.

Poverty’s poison didn’t fail to contaminate the globe. It strengthened its hold to the third world country, and flowed slowly to those in the upper level of society. Despite it all, everyone collapsed on its feet: adults with dreams for the younger generations. Teenager with dreams for the future. And children who were only starting to build their aspirations.

With it, the hopes of the seven-year-old boy who has the constellations in his eyes and a promise of tomorrow in his innocent face. It had all been obliterated because of heartache and neglect.

Hendery witnessed it every night; the shoutings of his mother, and the hopelessness in his father’s face as yet another job had turned him down. His bedroom walls didn’t muffle the sound— the silence only intensified it.

“You are a useless piece of shit!” her mother would scream.

Despite that, Hendery’s father would only cover his face with his hands. He would absorb every nag and every hurtful words his wife would throw at him. Because tomorrow would be another day to fight and he couldn’t afford losing the battle now. At least, that was what Hendery believed.

Never once did he hear his mother ask about his sake. Never once did he hear the words, “What about Hendery? He would starve!”

Starve he did.

A lanky seven-year-old, his neighbors would call him. Salt and rice every night. You only have to close your eyes and eat. Wash down the taste with water and sleep.

The home that was meant to give him comfort had turned his own hell. Its unfavorable walls would suffocate him every day. Its dull and dirty carpet would be his only friend for the days that would come.

And as if the world wasn’t done throwing knives and rocks at his back, Hendery found something that had completely deteriorated the little boy in him.

One day, when he was returning from their neighbor’s house— full and a little bit energetic— he found his mother’s clothes littered over the floor, with it were pants and shirts that didn’t belong to his father.

With his boy heart and still developing mind, Hendery sat in the kitchen. The noise of his mother’s adultery echoed across the whole house. Hendery patiently waited for it to stop, sitting there with his feet dangling from the chair.

Then the door clicked open, revealing his mother and the man he didn’t recognize. From his position to the kitchen, his mother failed to notice him. But Hendery could see everything unfolding before his very eyes. The unknown man picked up his clothes. When he was completely dressed, he fished for his wallet and handed Hendery’s mother money.

That night, there were sausages and eggs in the table. His mother was enthusiastic, but there was a dull spark in her eyes. His father, too, despite the smile on his lips, was a flash of apology in his orbs.

Hendery slept soundly. A tear escaping his eye.

“Why are you crying?” You crouched in front of a boy named Kristan. Snot and tear has already mixed up in his face to create dirty splotches. You held his hands softly to put beside his body.

Kristan sniffed. But did not answer.

“Kristan, tell me what happened,” you gently asked. His head bowed down deeper, as if he was embarrassed and scared to tell you anything. Kristan, he was one of your favorites despite his silent comportment and shy eyes.

Ever since Father Ben decided to teach the children from the village basic education at the church, you have been curious about Kristan. There was something about the boy. Sadness. Melancholy. Loneliness.

“I am here—” You were interrupted by Hendery, who also crouched beside Kristan. “What are you doing?” you deadpan.

Hendery ignored you, as he focused on Kristan. He puts his hand on his shoulder and pulls down his mask. “Tell me who among these kids beat you up,” he whispered, “Was it him?” Then he pointed towards the other boy who was curiously watching the three of you.

The slightest shock adorned Kristan’s face. He looked at you warily, obviously perturbed by Hendery’s presence.

You smiled at him to tell him it’s alright. And that he doesn’t need to be cautious around Hendery. Although you didn’t know about that yourself. Hendery was still a mystery.

“They… didn’t hurt me,” Kristan said through his snuffles. “Thank… you, Miss Y/N,” he added, then he looked at Hendery, “And to you… Mister…?”

“Hendery. Call me Hendery.”

“Mister Hendery,” Kristan said, practicing the new syllables of Hendery’s name. Kristan bowed before walking towards the line of boys again.

Concerned about the well-being of the boy, you sighed. When you turned to go back to packing the foods, Hendery walked up towards Kristan again.

“What is this?” he asked while slightly pulling up the little boy’s sleeves. There was a purple mark right on his arm. Something that definitely resembled a contusion.

When Kristan realized what was happening, he flinched away from Hendery.

You hurried beside him once more, brows furrowed. “Kristan, what is that?”

His eyes were fervent, lips quivering while wriggling free of your hold from his arm. Because of the fear that you might hurt him, you let Kristan go. He ran away.

Father Ben rushed towards you, robes billowing like waves against the pavement. “What is happening?” he asked.

You shared a look with Hendery before answering, “Hendery and I saw something in his arm— something like a bruise,” you explained. “Father, I think there’s something going on with Kristan, and I am deeply concerned about his well-being.”

The priest listened and nodded his head. “Follow me, the both of you,” he commanded before pivoted on his heel.

Without offering Hendery a glance, you followed Father Ben inside the church and to his chamber. When all three of you were secured inside, Father Ben locked the door.

You couldn’t help but observe Hendery as he roamed his eyes around the room. As if he was searching for something. Something valuable. But when he looked at you, he smiled and all your doubts vanished in a blink. How could happiness and sadness co-exist at the same time in someone else’s body?

The sound of papers shuffling woke you from your reverie. Father Ben raised up a paper, and studied it with his reading glasses.

“Here is Kristan’s birth certificate,” he announced. “His mother died giving birth to him. Kristan is being taken care of his father, his alcoholic father, at their house in the southeast part of the village.”

You listened carefully to each word. You already know that Kristan’s only living parent was his father. But never once did Father Ben shared the reality of him being alcoholic. Goosebumps crawled onto your back as realization slowly weaved its way through your mind.

“His father’s hurting him,” Hendery pronounced beside you.

Father Ben hummed. “That, we do not yet know. So it’d be really helpful if the both of you would venture to their house and check for your own eyes. I would’ve gone myself but I won’t be able to fight his father if it ever comes to that,” Father Ben continued, “He’s quite well-known as an aggressive man.”

“And… I suppose Hendery could fight him off?” You raised a brow. Hendery’s built wasn’t like that of a body-builder. He definitely belonged to the species of boys with sad eyes and skinny bodies. Dangerous. Utterly dangerous.

He chuckled— a quite rumbling sound that could stir butterflies inside a woman’s stomach. “I’m quite a fighter, Y/N,” he said.

You sighed. “Let’s just hope that it won’t come to aggression.” Then you focused your attention back to the priest. “What of me? What can I contribute, Father?”

Father Ben placed the paper back to his drawers. “You have your wits in you, hija. Convince his father to give us Kristan for a while until he gets his life on the right path.”

After Father Ben’s instruction, the both of you made your way down the stairs. You still couldn’t understand why Father Ben asked Hendery to come. He was from town after all. Townspeople weren’t so used to life in the countryside. In their towering factories and buildings, they still pretend that they have the glory of the past.

“Are you really from the city?” you asked, turning your body to face him. He descended the last step while you stood on the second.

His steps halted at the question, then he tilted his head quite a bit too see you. “What of it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Having someone journey here from the city’s pretty unusual.” You descended the stairs and walked ahead of him.

“Having villagers in the city’s never been heard before,” he snorted.

Your brows furrowed. Was that an insult? Or was he simply baiting you? Whatever that meant, you halted. “What are you implying? That we don’t have the means to go to the city?” When Hendery shrugged, you puffed out your chest and held your chin up high. “Well, must I say to you that it’s pretty decent living in here than pretend to have riches in the city.”

He only chuckled, driving you irate even more. “We don’t pretend, Y/N.”

You have decided not to answer for your own well-being. He was truly a city boy. Arrogant. Condescending. Too full of himself. And you mustn’t bother yourself with him. Hendery was on the other side of your own spectrum. There was no point understanding a boy you have just met.

“Oh, wait.” You halted when you finally reached the exit door of the church. “I’ll ask Lucy if you could borrow her bicycle.” When you turned to leave, Hendery caught your wrist. Everything about you stopped functioning by the touch. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to boys holding you— but yes, you could say that.

“We can ride my motorbike,” he suggested, “Much more convenient, don’t you think?”

Oh, no. No, no, no. If the year 2020 had learned its way towards openness and liberty, well, 2040 failed to adapt to that. “No,” you simply answered.

“No? What do you mean no? You’ll only ride behind me, then we’ll take off.”

You groaned. “City boys.” If anyone would see you riding a big motorbike, they would curse you as if you were the demon. You despised the notion yourself. And it was really tempting to try new things once in a while. Perhaps you were only being stupid— or naive. There was no harm riding a big black and shiny motorbike, right? You heaved out a deep sigh. “Alright, let’s go.”

Hendery’s confused visage turned to that of a bright one when he, once again, flashed you his pearlescent teeth. He jogged the distance towards his motorbike. Without any word, he hopped and snapped the pedal with his right foot.

“Hop in,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Helmet?”

“Church girls,” he groaned. You opened your mouth to speak, but Hendery once again cut you off, “Where is the fun in riding a motorbike if you’d wear a helmet?”

“Hendery, it’s a safety protocol if you aren’t—”

Once again, he groaned, “Where’s the fun in ‘safe’? Hop in.” He tilted his head to the side, encouraging you to finally hop in his motorbike.

“I think I’m gonna ride—”

“Y/N,” he firmly called, “Sometimes, you also have to taste the danger.” Then he reached for your hand. You would have flinched away, but the warmness of his palm hindered you from doing so. “Don’t you trust me?”

Trust? Mother says don’t talk to strangers. It has been a mantra of every little girl as they grow up. But you aren’t a little girl no more.

Other than his melancholic eyes, his name is all you know about him. And how could you trust the swirl of danger in his irises? However, humans are vexatious. They don’t always follow the rules.

When you are fed with deprivation of something extraordinary, you grow hankering after it.

You took Hendery’s hand. With your heart thudding inside your chest, you grasped your skirt and pulled your body upwards to sit on his motorbike. Hendery revved the engine, twisting his hand around the accelator.

“Please, slow down—!” Your chests collided against his back by the impact. Hendery chuckled, but he did not heed your cries. He rode through the road ahead, shoulders still rumbling of his laughters.

Skirt ballooning out, you prayed to God that you won’t meet your doom today. This has been a bad idea. A very bad one at that. What would people say if they witness a sacristan— a sacristan woman— riding this black motorcycle? With her skirts billowing out in the open? Oh, no. Your mother would whip you to shreds.

“Where are we going?” Hendery shouted.

You clutched on his front shirt tightly, afraid that the wind would surely swoosh you away if you do so much as to slacken your hold. “Where are we now?” you shouted back. Because you refused to sit up straight, you shielded yourself with Hendery’s body. And now your position shielded you away from seeing anything other than the road beneath the wheels.

“Y/N, please sit up straight.” He laughed. Oh, this boy relishes to your suffering. He really was. “We are currently entering a village…?”

You willed yourself to sit. Surely, it won’t kill you. You have seen actresses ride behind their own James Deans in big motorcycles such as this one.

“Alright, alright, I’ll slow down.” But Hendery’s words were muffled by the air. However, you felt the wheels roll slowly as it enters your village. Your village. Oh, no.

“No, please don’t! Faster, Hendery!” When he refused to rev the accelerator, you pinched his sides.

“Aw! Alright, alright!” Without another word, Hendery drove through the houses.

You obscured our face as much as you could. You couldn’t afford having someone recognize you. It won’t happen.

“Y/N, where are we going?” he asked for the second time. “We’re away from the houses. No one can see you here but the grasses,” he taunted.

You opened your eyes and saw the ground below, as well as the grasses. It only means you were well away from your village. You exhaled and sat up. “Turn left.”

“Left? Is there life at the end of this road?”

You deadpanned, “City boys.”

“No, seriously?”

“Yes, there is Hendery. It’s the most isolated part of the village— please look at the road,” you reminded him when he attempted to face you sideways.

“Kristan’s from here?”

“Apparently.”

He nodded his head. “He walks this distance every day?”

“Yes.”

It was somehow weird to talk about life in the countryside with a city boy. If Hendery was, indeed, from the city. You have no idea about the city ever since the pandemic. This has always been your home; the trees, the grasses, the kind neighbors, and a pious village. The liveliness of the wen— if claims were to be trusted— has been no more than a thing left in the back of your mind. It was almost a name you have no idea how to pronounce.

“You, too?” Hendery asked. A question you didn’t expect to hear.

“Uh-huh.” Then a chuckled. “We’re left with no choice since we have no resources when it comes to vehicles.”

“How do you go to the city, then?”

“We don’t go to the city. Unless it is needed.”

Hendery hummed. “And how do you go?”

“We ask the chieftain to lend us the ambulance.”

“The ambulance?” he asked.

The road becomes bumpy because of rocks, so you hold on him tightly once again. Hendery chuckled at your action, but did not bait you.

“Yes,” you answered. “Oh, we’re here,” you announced as Kristan’s village looms ahead. It was shielded away from your eyes because of the trees circling the whole vicinity.

“Do they sleep with snakes here?” There wasn’t any jeer to his voice, only curiosity.

You snorted. “Why don’t you stay for the night to try?” You gathered your skirt then planted your heel to the ground. With a swing of your leg, you hopped off his motorbike.

“I’d like to.” Hendery fished out a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. He pressed one between his fingers and lit the tip with a lighter.

“Is that necessary?” you asked.

People in this part of town weren’t welcoming. That was why it didn’t come off as a shock to know that Kristan’s father was alcoholic. It simply was the way of living here: alcohol, cigarettes, cards. That being said, having an outsider such as Hendery venture here could provoke the most hard-headed fathers and boys alike.

Hendery sipped then  blew smoke out in the air. “What are you scared of?”

For a minute, you caught a spark in his irises. It was as if he didn’t ask about your fears— but your insecurities. And of the things you wanted to try but couldn’t. Or perhaps it was only you, digging deeper into the simple question.

“God,” you simply answered.

“There is no god,” he retorted.

That caught you off-balance. An aspiring sacristan wouldn’t say that. “Father says you want to be a sacristan. How could you? When you don’t have any faith?”

Hendery stopped for a second before blinking. “There is no god but God the Father Almighty in heaven.” Then he flashed you a smile. You furrowed your brows. “Shall we?” he asked, throwing out his cigarette to the ground.

You shrugged.

Different sets of eyes pierced your bodies as you and Hendery trodded the dusty road. Mothers with their youngest born straddling their waists peered through wooden gates. Fathers with their cigarettes and beer bottles scrutinized you from head to toe. You were covered from your neck down your heel, but they look at you as if you were naked.

Hendery beside you exudes indifference. Shoulders straight and chin up high, Hendery stared every man down. You didn’t know if that’s a good idea or not. The last thing you need was a brawl between him and the juveniles surrounding you.

Finally, you have reached Kristan’s home. It ws made of cement and sawali, just like most of the houses you have just passed by.

You smoothed out your skirt before knocking. One, two, three knocks before his Father greeted you with a grunt.

“What d’ya want?” he asked  in a rumpled voice.

Hendery stepped beside you. “We’re here to talk.”

Kristan’s father wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t have anytime for you—”

“It’s about Kristan,” Hendery stated, jaw clenching.

To be honest, you didn’t expect him to make the talking. You could do it yourself. But you were still thankful that he was with you right now.

Kristan’s father rests his body against the doorframe. “What about my son?” Yes, he did ask about his son. However, there wasn’t any trace of concern in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Father Ben wants to take care of Kristan for a while, until we’re sure that he’s safe living here.”

You heard the crashing of his beer bottle first, before you felt the tightening of your throat by the way he grabbed your collar.

“No one tells me what to do—”

Your first instinct had been to lash out on him, but your anger got the best of you. Before you could act out on your own, Hendery wrapped his hand around the man’s wrist. With force, he pushes him away and twisted the bone.

You stared in horror as Kristan’s father screamed in pain while holding his broken wrist. “Hendery!” you shouted as he sauntered towards the man. Hendery grabbed his head and slammed his knees against his nose, once again cracking the bones.

Thunderstruck beyond comprehension, you flew towards Hendery. “Hendery! Stop!”

Kristan’s father was on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. Hendery towered over him with clenched fist, ready to pounce at any given time. Before he could swing yet another blow, you already lay hold of his arm.

“What are you doing?!” you asked, out of breath.

“Beating the shit out of him,” he said in nonchalance.

“That— isn’t what Father Ben asked as to do,” you reminded him, despite the fact that Father Ben indeed expected a brawl.

Hendery’s muscles relaxed nonetheless. He pointed a finger towards Kristan’s father who’s still on the ground, glaring at the both of you.

You grapple for words— anything. “Did you hurt your son?” you ask.

“What of it? You don’t have a child so you won’t understand how it is to discipline one,” he answered.

Hendery crouched. You grabbed hold of his back collar. “You fucking hurt your son again,” he spits, “I will kill you.”

“Father, I’m home— Miss Y/N?”

The three of you turned your attention towards the little boy who entered the house. Kristan. He was holding a plastic of what you could tell was a bag of vegetables.

Kristan’s eyes turns to Hendery, and to his bloodied father. “Mister Hendery? What are you doing here?”

“You’ll come with us for a while,” Hendery said.

“What is happening?”

You crouched in front of the boy and lay hold of his shoulders. “Father Ben asked us to take you back to the church. Where you’ll stay for a while until your Father learns how to be a good one.”

“Really?” Kristan asked in relief.

Has this house been his hell that it’s a relief to be away from his father? You frowned at the thought.

“But… Father— he’s going to be alone.”

“Ask your Father. We still need his approval after all,” you explained.

Kristan walked towards his father, who was standing and padding his pants. Hendery crossed his arms over his chest, watching the man warily.

“Father, is it okay if I’ll leave for a while? Will you be fine?” the little boy asked.

“Go! Do what you want! Don’t come back!” he shouted.

However, Kristan didn’t flinch. It was as if he had been to used to this kind of treatment. “Alright, I’ll come back. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” Then he hugged his Father’s hips.

You looked away, unable to watch the scene unfolding before your eyes. It would seem as if Hendery couldn’t take it in himself, for your eyes crossed as he looks away, too.

“Take care and be good. I love you, Father.” Kristan turned his back against his Father. He smileed at you and took your hand. You held his hand tightly and spared his Father one last look.

He turned his back the same time his tear slid down his face. You swallowed the lump in your throat before bowing slightly as a goodbye.

iv. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried…

Pandemic and poverty, it truly was a wonder how Hendery survived such dreadful times. Perhaps there was really a god, lurking somewhere, ready to grant the wishes of the people during those awful times.

Yet as far as Hendery was concerned, nobody prayed for him when the pandemic striked him. Right, this lanky seven-year-old’s suffering didn’t end after he found out about his mother’s adultery.

At first, Hendery brushed off the heaviness of his eyelids together with his parched throat as a common sickness. He never told his mother or father about it, for the fear that it might fruit into something their financial stability won’t be able to answer for.

But then hours had gone by, with Hendery’s air passage slowly closing in on him. As if a boulder was placed right in on his lungs, demanding his life by choking him. Cough dry and head aching, Hendery twisted and turned on his bed, unable to think clearly. He felt as if he was dying— dying in the most horrible way possible.

Thereafter, he believed that he had gone in and out of consciousness, or perhaps it was only his vision going blurry from the ache his body was trying to fight off.

Hendery failed to recognize his father as he leaned to check his son. And he failed to recognize the feeling of being scooped up from the bed, with his father shouting for help as if his life depended on it.

Blotches of darkness swam in his line of sight. The cries of his mother as well as the panicked shouts of his father were muffled by his coughing.

Would this be the end? Was this the life the gods had planned out for him? To die young? To die without a fight? How do you accept this fate?

For once, he wanted to see the end of this pandemic. He wanted to witness the rainbow after this storm. For once, he yearned to see something beautiful. Just once.

Hendery fully succumbed to oblivion.

When he woke up, it was the white light that filled his vision. Was it heaven? Hendery tried to make sense of his surroundings, but no noise could be heard other than the beeping of machines around him.

His eyelids fluttered open completely. The ceiling to where his hospital bed was located flashed above him like a canvas of nothing but white. There was a tightness in his nose, and he realized that he was breathing through an apparatus.

Hendery tried to move his fingers. They were mobile, albeit frail. It’s the same with his feet. Perhaps it was the incessant ravaging of the cough against his lungs that made him sick to the bones. He would’ve thanked whoever there was to be thankful for, if not for the uncertainty that was still stretching out in front of him. The pandemic wasn’t a one-night killer. It would render you infirm for weeks— it’s only up to the doctors and your own antibodies if they won’t collapse and give up on you.

And Hendery’s feeble state, as well as his age, failed to give him much hope.

He would die, right there— alone. God has shunned him away. He refused to cry, since no amount of tears could appease the loneliness inside him.

Hendery closed his eyes again.

The second time he woke, the doctors were smiling in front of him. The nurses guided him out of his bed. They even helped him get dressed in new clothes. Baffled was an understatement for what he felt that day. Was he out of danger? Could he truly live now? With his mother and father once again?

For the first time since his life went downhill, Hendery smiled. There wasn’t a reason not to. If he could, he would jump from happiness. He did it. He survived.

Hendery excitedly roamed his eyes around him from the wheelchair, hoping to finally meet his parents after weeks of being separated from them. Yet no familiar faces greeted him when he reached the exit of the hospital.

A clawing feeling rested in his stomach, but he couldn’t afford to cave in his fear. Hendery remained smiling until a middle-aged woman stood before him.

“Are you Hendery?” she asked.

“Yes. I am,” Hendery answered without looking at the woman. He was busy searching for his parents.

“Thank you so much for taking care of my niece. I’ll  forever be grateful for your service. I’ll take him from here,” the woman announced.

“Wait—” Hendery turned around to see the woman taking the wheelchair from the nurses. “Where’s my Mom? My Dad?”

“Hendery, I’ll explain once we reach the house,” his apparent aunt said.

Hendery pursed his lips together. “Is Mom and Dad—”

“Be quiet,” the woman said softly.

Hendery had been quiet thereafter.

Hendery looked up to see the stars in the skies. How pretty they truly were. He won’t blame those who wishes upon these twinkling white lights. But he would feel utterly stupid himself to whisper his dreams to these scintillating lights that would die later on.

Supernova, scientists call it. It is the dying of a star. It is its return to atoms, particles, or whatever shit there is in the universe even before matter and time took its place.

Hendery let the liquor grate his throat as he took yet another swig from his bottle. Liquor and unwanted memories? Sign him up. Deep conversations with himself? He might be heartless in the eyes of many, but Hendery knew how to contemplate things. Too bad that he didn’t have anyone to share his thoughts with.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Oh, perhaps there was.

Aghast by the fact that there were empty bottles littered all around him, you gazed at Hendery.

It had been a week since he arrived at the church, telling everyone that he wanted to be a sacristan. So far, so good. He was a fast-learner albeit not showing any interests when it came to talking about the Bible. You still had your doubts in the pockets of your skirts. And seeing him drinking himself right behind the structures of the Church only intensified your wariness.

But the boy faced you with a smile. “Drinking,” he answered with a shrug.

“I know you are drinking,” you seethed. “But why are you drinking?”

It was past six p.m. already. You had completed your duties to the Church, and had also tucked in Kristan to the sacristan’s quarters just below Father Ben’s own chamber.

“To let off some steam.”

You stomped towards him with your chest puffing out of irritation. “First, you smoke on your first day. Then you drink on your first week. What on earth is wrong with you, Hendery?”

“Why don’t you sit with me for a while?”

You flew your arms to the air. “You are unbelievable.”

Hendery leaned back. “Aren’t you curious about me?”

“I am—” You closed your mouth. The words slipped out before you knew it.

His smile only widened . “Father Ben’s secured in his chamber. There is no need to fret.” He motioned his head down the space beside him. “Sit.”

They said drunk men speak the most truth. If you could squeeze anything out of him by joining him tonight, you would. With a heavy heart, you sat beside Hendery. The acrid smell of the alcohol whiffed your nose like a whiplash instantly.

“Now,” he began. “Ask me anything you want.”

“Where are y—”

Hendery pressed a finger to your lips. “In one condition: drink.”

You swatted his hand away with a frown. “I’m going.” But before you could stand up, Hendery held your wrist.

“I’m kidding,” the boy said  with a chuckle.

There. That smile. That chuckle.

“Seriously.” You sat comfortably again. “Where are you from?”

“The city,” he answered. “I was born in the city. It’s all I’ve ever known ever since.”

“The pandemic hit the city hardest,” you commented. It was true, though. Because of their lifestyle and opulence, the pandemic moved way faster in the city compared to the villages.

“Yes, it did,” he whispered before downing the last gulp from his bottle. Hendery burped softly before tossing the empty bottle to the grass.

“One, two, three, four—” You scrunched your nose. “Five bottles. Now tell me, where did you get these?” you asked, pertaining to the liquor.

Hendery looked at you as if you beguile him to the fullest. “Convenience store. You have it here.”

You shot up a brow. “And you decided it best to consume them here? In the Church?”

“If it wasn’t obvious, yes.”

“I don’t have anything against you, smoking and drinking, but we shall set a good example to the children.”

Hendery quirked a brow. “Do you think smoking and drinking are bad examples?”

“Personally? No.” It was true. You didn’t think they were bad examples. It was always the person. But the church-goers were mostly children. They still don’t have the capacity to balance the right and the wrong for their age. Eventually, they would know. However, it was your duty to protect their innocent minds as best you could. “But there are children here. We must guide them.”

“They’ll learn to smoke later on.” He shrugged.

You hummed. “That, we aren’t sure of. Until then, let’s guide them first.”

“You’re truly devoted to being a sacristan, aren’t you?” Hendery asked, his head looking up to the skies.

You watched him in silence. His side profile was undeniably beautiful. You have never seen such soft features, to be honest. “Yes, I am.”

“Is that your dream?”

You tilted your head up to see the skies yourself. The stars were sprinkled like white sands against the darkness of the heavens. You smiled. “I have a lot of dreams, though. Like the stars above, they are somewhat implausible.”

It was his turn to look at you. If he was to be honest, Hendery found your face marvelous. He had never seen your likeness in the city. “Why do you say that?”

Perhaps someone would find it funny that you were opening yourself up to this boy. A boy you just met one week ago. However, there was a space in your heart that tells you it’s alright to tell Hendery all your dreams and worries, your aspirations and your doubts. Strangers couldn’t judge you.

You sigh. “I am… stuck here. I’ve never been anywhere else but here.”

“Not even in the city?”

You shake your head.

Hendery hums. “Well, it’s not really different. If not, it’s worse.” He chuckles. “Everyone lives as if it’s the end of the world tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that wonderful?” You hugged your knees closer to your chests. “I’ve always wanted to experience a night like that.”

Hendery snorted. “It gets tiring. And it’s not really convenient when you don’t have the money.”

“For what? Can’t you enjoy without it?”

He strayed his eyes towards you. There was a spark of amusement dancing in his orbs. As if he found your question fascinating. “You can’t. What about drugs? Alcohol? Cigarettes? You can’t buy those without money.”

Oh. Of course. Hendery’s talking about parties. He looked like that kind of boy at first glance. Yet upon hearing his snorts and the dissent on his face, you have realized that perhaps both of you were yearning for something you weren’t been born to reach. You, the city. Him, the peace of the countryside.

“I wasn’t talking about those,” you said. Hendery fixed you with a curious look. “I’m talking about the city lights above the rooftops. The blare of the cars. The life outside this town.”

Hendery threw his head back, contorting the tattoo on the side of his neck, and laughed softly. “Of course.” His laughters ceased, like smoke slowly dissipating into the air. “But there is more to that.”

You stood up and smoothed out your skirt. “Perhaps.”

“Don’t you want more?”

With that, you looked down at him to flash him a small smile. “I’ve always wanted more. Perhaps there is more to the world than this little town. Perhaps I deserve to see it one day.”

Hendery didn’t break eye contact when he said the words, “There are millions of possibilities if you’d only dare.”

In which you didn’t have any answer for.

v. He descended to the dead. On the third day, He rose again…

Hendery waited. For hours, days, months, but he’d never seen his parents again.

The roof above him and the floors underneath his feet were a place he had never seen before. Wherever he looked, the unfamiliarity of everything would hit him like a tidal wave. From the couches to the television, to the doorframe and the windowsills, no one could deny that this house had seen better days.

Hendery sleeps in a cot of hard wood that leaves his back aching every morning. He eats in a kitchen with mice crawling in the corners and cockroaches flying in different directions. Nevertheless, there was food and somehow it was all that matters.

What happened to his Mom and Dad? Hendery was left with puzzles of an answer himself. After he survived the pandemic, he was met with yet another obstacle: orphanhood.

His aunt, Lilia, said that his father died. He died because of the pandemic, too. Hendery wept for days on end, refusing to believe what had befell his loving father. But as Lilia showed him the death certificate, Hendery’s world collapsed to shreds. That had been the time when he felt utterly alone, with no one to guide him and no one to tuck him in his sleep but the coldness of the world and the loneliness of the night.

His mother— no one knows what happened to her. They say she was in an asylum. They say what had betided her husband and son shattered her mind. Hendery tried to gather information. He tried to ask his aunt about his mother’s whereabouts. But whenever he does, he’s met with a slap on the cheek.

Aunt Lilia was a kind woman— she really was. But there had been times when she would talk to no one in the windows, or would cry with unknown reasons on the kitchen floors. Sometimes, she would sing lullabies to help Hendery sleep. Sometimes, she would whip him until he was crying and begging for help.

No one saved him.

One day, when Aunt Lilia was fast asleep and snoring on her couch, Hendery tiptoed to the door. It’s time for him to leave this godforsaken place. It’s time that he finds his mother. He was twelve years old.

According to the doctors themselves, you become immune to the pandemic once it has already hit you. Hendery braved the pandemic with a single mask and a little bottle of alcohol. And for months, he would live in the streets.

You sang your favorite song while walking. It was eight p.m., the road was almost empty, save for a few workers going home to your village. Fortunately, it didn’t rain tonight so there were no need for umbrellas and tiptoeing through the mud.

Hendery remained in the Church, to do what, you hadn’t bothered to ask. He offered to take you home, but you politely declined. After a series of convincing Hendery that you were going to be fine on your own, his shoulders finally slumped in approval. Your mother would collapse on the ground if she ever sees you riding Hendery’s motorbike.

You didn’t take him for a gentleman. However, there were still a lot of things you didn’t know about the boy. After your conversation with him on the grasses, perhaps he’s allowed you to slip through his visions, even just for a little bit.

As you neared towards your house, elders and children alike scattering around your street drew you in a halt. What is happening? A bad feeling rested in your stomach, but you sent a silent prayer that it wasn’t what you were thinking about.

Your mother was also one of the villagers out, so you sauntered straight towards her with your forehead drawn in a crease. “What’s happening, Mom?”

Her lips were pulled in a tight frown. “Bandits!” she seethed, as if the word had been the cruelest of all curses. “They took Loira’s money that she hid under the dresser.”

“How? Are bandits that skilled?”

As far as you could tell, Aunt Loira’s home was barred from ceiling to floor. She doesn’t go out of the house without locking all the possible holes that bandits might slip through.

“Evil knows no bounds,” your mother once again spat. “Yes, they are that skilled and heartless nowadays.”

The village chieftain as well as the other tanods circle Aunt Loira’s home with their lamps and flashlights. But you’d doubted that they would acquire evidence. Bandits had been pillaging your village as well as the neighboring ones for years. No one could ell what they look like. However, some elders think that the men from Kristan’s village were the ones responsible for the robbery.

“But Aunt Loira literally bars her whole house whenever she leaves for the market, right?”

Your mother made a strange noise through her nose. “She forgot to lock her back door when she left earlier.” Then she wrapped a hand around your wrist. “Come, the food’s getting colder.”

With one last look at Aunt Loira’s house, you let your mother lead you away from the mayhem.

You have been a victim of the bandits yourselves. Once, when you were ten years old. And it had been of your own fault. Father and Mother went to the market that day, and being the only daughter that you were, you had no one to play with whenever they were away. So you hopped out of bed, with your morning glory still stuck in your eyes and hair like the nest of birds, you hadn’t bothered to lock your house and flew straight to your childhood friends.

When you came back home, Mother was frowning at you. She would’ve had you whipped if not for your father, who kindly stood between you and your mother’s diabolical punishments. The money from the old refrigerator was stolen. It was the money for the renovation of your own room. Because of its looting, you still stare at the blotches of rainwater on your canopy every night until now, praying that it won’t collapse on you.

As you lay on your bed, silent contemplations ravaged your mind: the conversation with Hendery, the bandits, your unattainable dreams— are they though?

You have always dreamed of traveling the world. See the wonders of it for yourself. But how could you do that if you have been stuck here ever since? You have no idea what the city looks like. Mother said you were born in the city, but before the lockdown had taken place over the whole country, Mother went back to this village. Apparently, the isolated places were safer during the pandemic.

The pandemic has been over for five years now. Surely, there was more to life than this quiet town, right? You love this village with all your heart. However, you feel as if there were a lot more waiting for you out there. As Hendery said, there were millions of possibilities if you’d only dare.

Dare. What an audacious word. It made you feel dauntless just saying it.

You sat up and stared at the view outside your windows. What could truly happen if you dares the world? What could happen if you step your foot out of this town and dare?

vi. He ascended into Heaven, sits at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty…

“He’s not from here,” the other boys whispered.

Hendery continued ransacking the trash cans under the bridge. It had been exactly two weeks since he escaped Aunt Lilia’s hell house. And he wasn’t fairing well. The coins he stole from Aunt Lilia’s dresser were beginning to sound nothing in his pockets despite the fact that water was all his body consumed ever since escaping.

They say you could survive without food, but you wouldn’t survive without water. So he drank and drank until his stomach became bloated. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Hendery would buy at least one bottle of water with the stolen money and would consume it for two days. Sounds impossible for other people, but Hendery made it to two weeks of not fainting on the ground by that.

“He looks like he’s from here, though,” the other boy commented.

Hendery paid them no heed, for he found a bag of chips in the trash. It tasted like ashes in his mouth, but he couldn’t complain. He’d never complain.

Hendery fished for yet another chip when the boys snatched the bag away from him. They sneered. At long last, Hendery looked at them. And they were exactly like a mirror of him. Greasy hair, acrid smell, tattered clothes— and that something in their eyes: despair.

“Where are you from, boy?” One of them asked.

Boy? He didn’t look older than Hendery. However similar their situations might be, he had no time to linger around them. He needed to find his mother. So he turned his back and walked away. Not even a few steps ahead, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. The boy smirked before landing a blow at his nose.

Hendery staggered backwards, aghast and angry at the same time. He touched his nose, and found it bleeding. Fueled by hunger and lost and a shit ton of problems, Hendery let his backpack fall to the ground and charged towards the boy.

They rolled off the ground. Hendery had him by the collar, and all the boy did was to choke. If no one would intrude, Hendery could surely kill him. But when they rolled once more and Hendery got on the boy’s stomach, he raised a fist only for someone to wrap a viselike grip around his wrist.

Hendery shot him a glare, but he answered him with a kind smile. That was when he noticed there were at least five of them there. Six, if Hendery was to count himself.

“There is no need for us to kill each other,” the boy said. “Stand up.”

Hesitant, Hendery wriggled free before standing on his feet. Once again, he turned on his heel to walk away.

“Why are you leaving?” the boy asked. “We have food here. And a shelter for the night.”

That sounded like a dream. Hendery had never heard of that for two weeks. Not even experienced any of that. Still, he didn’t turn.

“I promise we won’t harm you.”

He continued to walk away. If Hendery had come to a realization, it was that he could survive on his own. He’d experienced a lot of shit already being with people.

“We can help you!” the boy shouted.

With that, Hendery gripped the straps of his backpack tightly. He didn’t know if it was out of luck, or the boy really hit something that made his consciousness stir. If Hendery wanted to find his mother, it’d be better to have companions he could rely on.

He turned to face the boys again. “Really?” he shouted back.

They looked at one another before trodding the distance towards Hendery. The taller man stretched out his hand, with a smile he said, “I’m Kun.”

Hendery stared at the hand before taking it. “Hendery.”

“We can help you,” Kun said. “In one condition.”

You stared at your reflection on the mirror. The glass had a lot of brown blotches because of its age. But your reflection could still be seen.

Another day, another walk, another face to greet.

It’s Sunday already. The third Sunday of the month. You once believed that if people would pray day and night in the churches and in their houses, the bad things crawling in the world would somehow lessen. You were mistaken.

Bandits, bandits, bandits. They were everywhere these days. Mother even refused to go to the market in fear of being robbed. That left you with no choice but to go on your own. How? You exactly have no idea.

It was always best to visit the market at dawn, for the vegetables and meats were still fresh. You could still buy something after noon, but it won’t be as worth the money as they were in the gloaming. And the bandits had left yet another fiendish mess at Uncle Gino’s house. Your mother had been a cursing mess for hours since they stole a precious heirloom from Uncle’s treasure chest.

You sighed. Why is your village always prone to bandits? It wasn’t as if your chieftain never does anything for it, if not, he’s hands-on searching for the robbers. With no luck at all. Bandits disappeara like a bubble everytime they come close to capturing them.

At the church, everyone else was busy when you arrived. Save for one person; Hendery. He was leaning on the door frame of the sacristan’s quarter, watching everyone pass by him.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” you asked when you reached him.

“Ah, my dearest Y/N,” he sighed. “How I’ve missed you dearly.”

You deadpanned. “We met yesterday, Hendery.”

“Then? Am I not allowed to miss you?” He raised a brow.

You compressed your lips in a tight line. Three weeks since the boy arrived and in some way you have found a common ground together: talking about your dreams. Well, it’s you who’s always doing the talking. While he listened and snorted whenever he disagrees with you. It had been somewhat challenging, having someone disagree with you.

“Let’s go,” you sighed. “The mass is about to start.”

Thankfully, he was already donned in his white robes. No matter how holy the color might be, it failed to make him one. If not, it had only intensified the danger lurking within him.

Hendery yawned all throughout the mass, resulting in you nudging his ribs with your elbow. You couldn’t still comprehend his goal for joining the church. He seemed disinterested about everything. You have to find out his true intentions or else you will lose your mind thinking.

And it was not right to think about anything but the Lord while the mass is going on.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven…” The churchgoers starts to sing. They clasped their hands as if in prayer while singing. Father Ben already practiced the right way in singing the litany. No one holds hand any longer.

You clasped your own hand. “Holy be Thy Name— what are you doing?” In bafflement and shock, you hissed louder than what you intended to.

Hendery took your right hand to clasped with his left. He didn’t answer you, though. He kept on looking straight at the altar. “Thy Kingdom Come, Thy will be done…” he started to sing along.

Flustered on where you stand, you roamed your eyes around you. Lucy and Rei were busy singing their hymns, oblivious to the way Hendery was breaking Father Ben’s rule.

You tried to wriggle free, but his grip was viselike. It’s disrupting the mass for you. With a heavy intake of breath, you let it go. “On Earth as it is in Heaven…” you sang along.

When he heard you, Hendery slackened his hold. You looked at him the same time he looked at you. And there he was, smiling like an idiot. “Give us this day, our daily bread…” he sang as he focused on the altar again.

You blinked, heart doing somersaults inside your chest. “And forgive us our trespasses…” you sang.

Everything had come at once. The echoes of the singing churchgoers, as well as Hendery’s.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us…”

The beating of your heart was wild. For what reasons? You have no idea. It was just there, beating stubbornly inside your ribcage.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…”

After the mass, and when all the churchgoers finished asking for Father Ben’s blessings and advice, he gathered all the sacristan inside the church.

You sat between Rei and Lucy, while Hendery sat behind you. He still has that infuriating smile on his face. Truth be told, and no matter how hard you tried, you also smiled a little yourself.

“I’ve heard the concerns of the people,” Father Ben announced. “For years, we have faced the bandits.”

You straightened up. In his own ways, Father Ben had been a huge help for the people. You won’t call him rich, but he’s always ready to lend money to those who fell to the bandits’ wrongdoings. You have seen his treasure chest once, and you believe you had been the only one allowed to see it.

“As much as I would like to financially aid everyone, my coffers couldn’t hold everything,” he added.

Lucy intruded, “It is alright Father. You’ve been helping us since you came here in the village. And for that we are thankful. But you need not bother yourself for our problems.”

Father Ben smiled. “I am the priest of this town. I need to preserve peace just like the chieftain. It’s been a pleasure to help with my own ways.”

You cleared your throat. “How can we help, Father?”

“Ah, yes.” Father Ben placed his hands behind him. “I need you to be vigilant. Not only for your own sakes, but for the well-being of others, too. Help in your own little ways. Be it helping the townspeople pick the strongest barriers there is in the market, they’d appreciate that. I trust you all. And don’t forget to pray for your village and the neighboring ones, too.” Father Ben makes a cross in the air. “May God bless us all.”

“Amen,” you said in unison.

Father Ben returned behind the altar to check up on Kristan, more likely. As for the little boy, he was comfortable, he said. His father also tried to visit him, but found it hard to face his son. Kristan said  it’s fine, and that his father deserved time to think.

You stood up together with the other sacristan with a sigh. Bandits are such headaches. It gets tiring having to deal with them. It feels as if dealing with the wind. Invisible. And there was yet another headache you have to face: going to the market.

If you were lucky, you could reach the market at one p.m.. But vehicles during this time of the day were rare. Not to mention the village was isolated.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hendery asked as he stood in front of you.

You sighed a pensive one. He’s your third headache of the day. “Please, Hendery. I’m thinking.” You started to walk away, but he followed beside you.

“Perhaps I can help.”

You drew in a halt. Mayhaps it was a blessing in disguise— him. Hendery has a motorbike. You’d get there and come back on time if you would ride with him. But courage was a luxury you couldn’t afford, so you shun the thoughts.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

Your tongue ached to say the words. And your body yearned to feel the wind on your face, too. It was not everyday that a chance opens up like this in front of you. Dare.

You straightened your shoulders. “Can you take me to the market?” The market isn’t as far as the city. But going in there is a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity you couldn’t afford to miss. It was a step, no matter how small.

Hendery raised a brow. “What business do you have in the market?”

You played with your lower lip with your teeth. A fleet of a moment, and a moment you had surely missed: the way Hendery looked at your lips when you rolled it between your teeth. “Well,” you said, “I need to buy some food. And mother wouldn’t leave the house in fear of bandits robbing us.”

“Understandable,” he said. “But I have a condition to make.”

“Forget it—”

“Kidding.” Then he laughed. “You are one hell of a heartless woman, do you know that?”

A ghost of a smile painted your lips. “It is not right to say ‘hell’ inside the church. And why do you say that?”

“What about my wage?”

You blinked. “Oh, I— I didn’t bring any extra cash—”

Hendery placed his hand on the top of your head. “I’m just kidding.” Then he pivoted on his heel, his keys dangling between his fingers.

You followed.

“I thought you didn’t have a helmet.” You shot up a brow to your forehead upon seeing one helmet resting on his accelerator.

Hendery shrugged. “It’s for you.”

And there it wasagain, the wild beating of your heart. As if it was an animal begging to be unleashed to the world. “That’s… kind of you.” That had been the only thing you were able to say. “But how did you know to bring one?”

He disentangled the helmet from the accelerator. “Because I am always waiting for you.”

“For me? What do you mean?”

“I’m always waiting for you to ask me to take you to the city.”

Without giving you any time to comprehend his words and form coherent answers, Hendery fixed the helmet to your head. But before he could fully lock it under your chin, you stopped his hands.

“I think I’ll prefer to feel the wind.”

Hendery smiled, but continued to lock the helmet nevertheless. “Not today. I drive relatively fast, and the road to the market’s pretty bumpy. You won’t enjoy it.”

“I appreciate you, bringing this, but—”

He tapped the head of the helmet. “No buts.”

Hendery climbed his motorbike, then nudged his head to invite you to hop in. Just like the last time, you pulled up your skits and climb behind him. He revved the engine and you rode together.

The feel of riding behind him had become a reflex inside your body. A peaceful one, despite the blare of his engine and the harsh slap of the wind on your face.

“Hold on,” he reminded you before he accelerated the engine yet again.

You wrapped your arms around his torso. This was the second time you rode a motorbike, but the feeling compared to last time has drastically changed. There was no fear now. Only fascination and curiosity of what lies behind everything you have ever known.

If you’d only dare.

An hour before the clock strikes two, you have finally reached the buzz of the market.

When the pandemic ended, the livelihood didn’t go back automatically to normal. There were millions of protocols and reminders from the government. Because the pandemic didn’t really disappear like a bubble in the air. It was there, still. But after the years of its ravaging, the human body slowly adapted to its hazards.

It became just like the flu. More dangerous, yes. But less hazardous now.

“Wait for me here,” you said to Hendery.

“I’ll come with you.”

You stopped. “Are you sure? It’s quite chaotic inside. And… city boys are city boys.”

A playful laugh resonated from him. “I’ve been here before, sacristan. I’ll be fine.”

When he said that he’d be fine, it was true. Hendery jumped from vendor to vendor to help you buy all your needs. Be it meat, poultry, vegetables, or fruits. Father’s coming home in two days after weeks of being away, so Mother wants to cook something special for him. And you, too.

“Is this all?” he asked when you finished. Hendery insisted on carrying everything, which you politely declined. But he didn’t stop bugging you about it until you gave up and handed him everything.

“I need to buy onions over there, across the street. Could you hold this for me? I’ll be quick.”

Hendery nodded. You fished for your wallet inside your pocket. Halfway across the street, someone bumped into you.

“I… I’m sorry,” you said. But the man ignored you as he continued to walk away.

Five steps ahead, you noticed something. Your wallet was stolen. Before you could shout, Hendery was running for the boy already. Shocked and confused, you did the first thing that occured to your mind; run for them.

The wallet didn’t have much money, but it was given by your mother on your birthday. And you have been utterly sentimental when it comes to gifts. The boy can take the money, but he needs to give back your wallet.

Hendery ran pretty fast that you almost lost him in the maze of people and stalls alike. He turned left. You pulled up your heavy skirts and follow him. When you finally reached the alleyway he’s run off to, you have found out that it was a dead end.

Hendery was sitting on the boy’s stomach, and he had him by the throat. Few steps away from them, your wallet lays on the ground. You gulped and sauntered up to the two boys.

“What the fuck are you doing, Hendery?”

He knew Hendery? How come?

“Dude, you need to let me g—”

Hendery punched him straight. You gasped. The boy’s eyes rolled before his head collapsed to the ground. And he was unconscious.

Hendery stood up and picked your wallet. He didn’t look at you when he handed it back. “Let’s go home,” he says.

You stared at the boy with your brows narrowing. Is he a bandit? How did he know Hendery? Gripping the wallet tightly, you pivoted on your heels and walked away.

Something wasn’t right.

vii. From thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead...

“I say I beat the shit out of him right now,” Xiaojun seethed upon seeing Hendery enter the room.

Kun, while sitting on the table, raised a hand to stop the other boy from attacking Hendery. He had always been like that; the middle man. Yet Hendery could sense the disappointment as well as the inquisition in the air. This is going to be one hell of a night.

“Sit,” Kun announced as he stretched out his hand to the empty chair on his left side.

Xiaojun, Hendery’s comrade, had his fist clenched while sitting on the window sill. The punch he landed on his face has left a contusion to the bone right below his eyes. Hendery didn’t feel sorry. Not even a little bit.

Kun’s ‘office’ had been stripped off any furniture saved for a table and two chairs. There was only one light hanging from the ceiling. It casted off an orange hue to everything it touches.

If Hendery spends so much as an hour here, he would lose his mind. However, Kun has managed to make this empty place his abode whenever he plans out another robbery or crime. It was comparatively fitting, if he was to be honest.

When Hendery had made himself comfortable on his seat, Kun stood up. “I’ve heard entertaining news today.” He smiled. It would come off as a kind one if you were looking in the surface, but Hendery knew the depths of the edges of that smile.

Nevertheless, Hendery hasn’t been the one to be scared of anything. “Is it about me…” Hendery strays his eyes towards Xiaojun. “Punching someone?” The smile he casted after had completely set his comrade’s blood on fire.

Xiaojun jumped, attempting to attack Hendery once more. Kun gripped his arm in a firm hold. Xiaojun slouched back on the other chair, panting heavily.

“You’re fucking dead to me, Wong,” he spat.

Hendery leaned closer. “Bring it on.”

“Shut the fuck up, you both,” Kun sighed while massaging his temples. “Or just go ahead and get your guns, shoot each other in the head and be done with it.”

Tempting was the offer, but Hendery took it as a warning. However, it had been pretty effective. Hendery leaned back to his chair, hands dangling on his sides. “What’s the matter?”

Kun chuckleed. “You.” He licked his lips while pointing his finger at Hendery. “You’re really something else, aren’t you?”

“Well—” Hendery stumbleed and fell from the chair. That, he hadn’t seen coming. Kun had always been strong when it comes to boxing someone’s ears. Before Hendery could stand up, he spat blood on the cold floor.

Hendery wipeed his mouth with the back of his hand. It was his turn to chuckle. “I really am.”

Kun wrapped his hand around Hendery’s collar, then he slammed his back against the wall. Sight obscured because of of the hair falling down his eyelids, Hendery felt the blood flowing from the side of his mouth to his chin.

“Why did you do it?” Kun asked.

“What did I—” Hendery fell to the ground as his face met Kun’s fist. His vision blurs, causing him to blink languidly. Perhaps he heard Xiaojun’s laughters, or his sniggers, he wasn’t sure.

Hendery felt like a sack of cotton as Kun hurled him up with his back collar. His back was against the wall again. Now, he feels two warm liquid flowing from the sides of his mouth.

“Why did you do it?”

His mouth twisted in a leer. “None of your business.”

Hendery’s stomach caved in as Kun landed a punch to his guts. Air left his lungs for a moment, and he found it extremely hard to breathe. Hendery had always hated being punched in the stomach.

As he tried to catch his breath, he watched as Kun’s feet started to pace the space in front of him. Hendery continues to blink. Then Kun crouched.

“Who is she?”

She. Hendery stared at Kun. The years of them together flashed in his eyes like a projector in a wide white screen: the day he met his gang of bandits, his first time holding a gun, robbing a store, and shooting someone plays right in his eyes like a movie on repeat.

“None of you fuckers are going anywhere near her,” he stated in a voice so cold even the demon stared back at him in horror.

Kun was silent for a moment. Eyes hard staring at Hendery. Then he asked, “What the fuck is happening to you?”

Hendery realized that he had no answer to the question. But the thought of you, falling in danger feels like rotten food in his stomach. It made him want to retch.

Nobody had seen it coming, that was for sure. This feeling inside him— this wriggling feeling whenever he was with you. Whenever you smile at him. Whenever you tell him your dreams.

Hendery stood up and looked straight at Kun and then at Xiaojun. “Don’t fucking dare,” he warned before he pivoted on his heel.

Two steps away, Kun stated, “I’ll let you swim in your foolishness but don’t fuck this up, Hen. Remember why I sent you to the church.”

Hendery waved  his hand. “I remember.”

He’d gone straight to his own room and tended for his own wound. Hendery sat on his bed, meditating over his actions earlier.

For years he had been one of Kun’s best bandit. Ever since he met him under the bridge. Xiaojun landed his fist straight to his nose that day, too. And that had been all Hendery had known. To fight, to survive. Even if it means licking the edge of the knife.

The time Kun handed him a gun, Hendery knew his hands trembled. For that he missed his first aim. But as the days went by that all he’d ever held was a bullet, a magazine, and a gun, Hendery became as sharp as a pointed knife when it came to mowing down.

He stared at his calloused hand. The rough palms stares back at him, as if in insult. He’s lost count of the stores he’s robbed. Of the houses he’d stolen from. Of the individuals he pointed the barrel of the gun at. Is this what he has been born to do?

All he ever wanted was to meet his mother again. To hold that hateful woman in his arms. To tell her that her son survived and there has been an aching hole inside him ever since she disappeared without a trace.

Years of searching for nothing, Hendery thought he’s already turned every stone in this country upside down searching for his lost mother. And it all went in vain.

Hendery doesn’t know who to blame: the pandemic, his mother, or his own self?

You chewed on your bottom lip while walking the long road towards your home. The scene from the market, and the robbery that had taken place refused to leave your mind. You sigh, since those weren’t the only things trying to penetrate your brain. Hendery refused to leave, too.

Perhaps you should be thankful that he somewhat saved your money earlier. Bandits are heartless. The boy could’ve been carrying a pocket knife and Hendery would’ve been in grave danger. Yet he braved the possible risks and ran for the boy nonetheless. Worries aside, you cannot help but feel perturbed of the way the bandit called Hendery’s name.

Are they related? If yes, how?

Before entering your house, you straightened your back. Mother senses even a slip of your composure, and she’d never let you go unless you tell her what’s wrong.

You raised your fist to knock, then a familiar face greeted you when the door swung open suddenly. The bags you have been holding fell as you squealed and jumped to hug your father. “Father!” you exclaim.

He laughed as he wraps his arms around you. “My baby girl,” he chuckled.

“Dad!” you retorted, but laughed nonetheless. There is time for that endearment. “When did you arrive?” you asked as both of you pulled away.

“Earlier,” he saied as he muffled your hair. “I didn’t tell your mom, either.” As he said that, Mother occured from the kitchen with a spatula in hand.

“Time for dinner,” she announced with a smile.

Ah, that rare smile from her lips. Father was the only living thing who could pull up the edges of her mouth like that. It was refreshing to behold.

Father picked up the bags from the ground. “You carried all these by yourself?” he asked.

You automatically flustered. The image of Hendery carrying all you have bought earlier flashing back in your head without permission. “Y… yeah.”

It wasn’t as if they are illiberal when it comes to boys. But it was a topic you haven’t discussed with any of them yet.

“Hm, we really ought to buy a motorcycle, don’t you think?”

You turned to face him. “It would be convenie—”

“Who would drive? Me?” Mother interrupted. “Our daughter?”

Father placed the bags onto the kitchen counter. “Yes. Y/N is a fast-learner. She could defini—”

“I’m sorry but it is a no.” Mother smiled again, but there was an edge to it. “It is inappropriate for a lady to drive—”

“Who says?” you groaned. “It’s 2040, Mother.”

Mother crossed her arms over her chests. “And where would you go once you learn how to drive?”

You pursed your lips. Saying the word would only extend the argument. But it needs to be heard. “Perhaps then I could go to the city—”

“What?!” she exclaimed.

“... and study,” you finished.

Father cleared his throat. “That’s a good idea, actually.” He turned his head towards Mother. “Don’t you think?”

Mother made out an incredulous noise from her nose. “No, I don’t think so. The city is still contaminated with the virus and hedonism. There is no way I’m letting you—”

“Develop on my own?” you asked.

It had always been an argument: your dreams. And Mother always says no to every step you’d attempt to achieve them. You loved her dearly. But sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed of her decisions when it comes to your life. You were an adult— a capable adult. And yet you felt as if someone had clipped your wings before you could fly. It hurts to know that that someone was your own mother.

“Y/N!” she hissed, her eyebrows knitted together.

Father held up his hands. “There is no need for us to raise our voices. We can discuss this in peace,” he said.

But Mother wouldn’t back down. “There would be no discussion. I won’t allow it.” Then she turned on her back to finish preparing the food.

You looked down at the floor, eyes suddenly breaming with tears. This conversation had never failed to put you to misery.

“Cheer up,” Father whispered. “We’ll find a way.”

No. You will.

The next day, you couldn’t help but frown upon your reflection in the mirror. Same robes, same skirts, same hairstyle. There was nothing new.

You loved being a sacristan. You have devoted yourself in serving God and His Son, Jesus Christ. You have never missed a mass. It was a part of your life that won’t ever disappear. But duty and dream aren’t the same thing.

You have your duty to God, that you diligently and wholeheartedly accomplished for the last few years. But there was your dream, hanging like a blank canvas on the wall of your bedroom.

The village was your serenity. But the city holds everything that you have ever wanted.

Dare.

You harshly brushed your hair and fix your robe. The bones under your skin are unstoppable. You only have to dare. So with a deep intake of breath, you departed your bedroom, kissed both your parents’ cheek, and ran towards the Church. Where everything was going to happen.

Seeing Hendery casually sipping on his cigarette while leaning on the tree has put your rushing feet in a halt.

This boy. Always so alluring, always so mysterious, always so stubborn.

Hendery remained staring at the ground when you sauntered up to him. It would feel as if you were back on the day you first met him. When he exuded such obscurity that you found him irritatingly blurry yet interesting.

What happened yesterday still lingers in the back of your mind. Perhaps you should talk to him about it to quench  your interest. “Hey,” you greeted.

When he looked up, you covered your mouth with your hands in utter stupefaction. “What happened to you?!” you blurted out.

There were purple patches on the bone underneath his right eye and another on the side of his lips. Did the bandit get back to him yesterday? The thought made your stomach lurched.

“You look devastated,” Hendery commented.

You blinked. It was him who looked like an absolute wreck right now. How could he tell you that? “No. You are.”

“You are.” Hendery toucheed your chin to lift up your face. You let him. “See? It’s missing,” he said while staring at you.

His stare made you nervous. But you couldn’t look away. “What is?”

Hendery let his hand fall before he answers, “The fire in your eyes.”

The fire in your eyes. For the second time, you blink at him. You were a lover of poetry. Hearing this boy talk as if he had the verses of the universe in his tongue perhaps set your heart in a panic.

Sad eyes, bad guys, and a mouthful of verselet. You once thought someone like him won’t sweep you on your feet. Knowing that you were mistaken has left a bittersweet taste in your tongue. It was, indeed, beautiful to feel this way. This feeling you have for Hendery was a flower beginning to turn into a fruit. So fragile, yet so heavenly.

Would it be ready for the plucking?

You gulped. “Did the bandit get back to you yesterday?”

“This is nothing,” he said. “I found myself in a brawl yesternight. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You raised a brow. “I am not worried.”

That was his cue to laugh before puffing his cigarette again. “One hell of a heartless woman.”

“I am not heartless.”

Hendery looked affronted. “Really? Prove it, then.”

“Prove it?” You let out an incredulous sound. Then you crossed your arms over your chests. “How?”

“Admire me back.” He tossed his cigarette bud away. “Simple as that.”

Admire me back. You gaped at him, unable to form lucid words. What was that? Did he really ask you to admire him… back? “Is that…” you paused, “Is that a confession?”

Hendery placed the tip of his pointer finger against your forehead. Then he pushed lightly. However, he didn’t answer, he only walked past you. “You’re pretty unique,” he added. “I like your fire.”

“Wait!”

You ran for him. You have no idea what it was, but talking to Hendery has stirred the emotion you once felt earlier before leaving the house. The extreme drive to do something you haven’t done before and prove your mother that you are worthy of being left alone with your decisions.

Hendery turned to you. “What? Have you reciprocated my feelings alr—”

“Take me to the city,” you panted.

His smile grew wider. And the stars in his eyes shone, rivaling the blare of the sunlight above. “That’s better.”

viii. And His Kingdom would have no end…

A month ago, you would never have imagined yourself going out of the village. But here you wee, riding with a boy you only met four weeks ago, in his black and shiny motorcycle that was like a much safer version of a Harley. However, it didn’t lessen the agitation in your heart.

After years since you were born, this would be your first time to see the world beyond your village. You didn’t expect it to be beautiful. Since a global pandemic has swept through the continents twenty years ago. But you could say it was something you didn’t expect to behold either.

Copse of trees became a blur of brown and green as Hendery picks up the pace. There was nothing to see but the unending stretch of tall grasses and trees and the isolated road ahead. There weren’t even streetlights to guide you back later.

The wind slapped your face, with it the grimy feeling of running at 60 kilometers per/hour, and sniffing Hendery’s virile scent.

Hendery sure drives like the road was his and he’s alone in the world.

For this adventure, you refused to wear any helmet at all. It took minutes of disagreement, but Hendery had come in peace with it. If this was the first time you were riding towards the city— a place as strange to you as anything in the world— you wanted to caress it with your whole body. After all, this was an event more special than your own birthday.

As Hendery revved the engine faster, your grip on his torso tightened. Nonetheless, you bite your tongue to stop the squeal that was threatening to come out of your mouth. You will brave this ride. And there was nothing that would stop you from relishing this feeling.

All your trust and all your hopes of a safe travel were in Hendery’s hands today. And if you were to be honest, a sliver of doubt still flows in your veins. It has to be normal for a village girl to feel this way. Hendery could be infuriating at times, and he sure has this mysterious secret in his eyes, but he’s never done you anything hideous. Or perhaps you were only a naive girl, too blinded by ambitions and the overflowing courage in your heart, that you walked right into the devil’s trap.

You sent a silent prayer to God to guide you safely despite breaking the rules of your parents.

Slowly, the copse of trees became an expanse of water. Then you were traveling on a bridge, with a river below you. Busses, cars, and motorcycles alike run along the bridge, adding much to your adrenaline. You couldn’t remember the last time you have seen a bus. Perhaps it was when the students from the city took a trip to your village.

You turned your head to see the water. Few birds were flying as well as diving into the water to catch some fish. The wind coming from it was briny and sticky. But you loved it nonetheless.

Then the tall buildings loomed ahead, at the edge of the bridge. You cannot help but gape at it. How isolated have you become to marvel at tall buildings? Embarrassed as you were, you didn’t let it douse out your excitement.

Hendery slowed down as you meet the highway. On the pavements there walked the passersby. Some were hurrying, some were jogging with their dogs. Inside the coffee shops were lovers laughing while sipping on their drinks.

Despite the pandemic, the city felt alive. It thrummed with an energy you haven’t experienced before. It made you feel dizzy with excitement.

“It’s two p.m.,” Hendery stated before parking his motorcycle in a dead alley.

You hopped off. “Won’t you get in trouble parking here?” you asked, roaming your eyes around the two buildings covering the alleyway. In the village, there would be no problem parking your car wherever. But as far as you were concerned, city policies were different.

Hendery snickered. “Nobody would dare.”

By that, you raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Nevermind.” Then he faced you with a smile. “Where do you wanna go?”

You deadpanned. “I’m not from here. You’re supposed to show me around.”

He feigned laughters. “Oh yes, I almost forgot. But—” Hendery raised his pointer finger as if in warning. “May I warn you that I’m not a ferris wheel type of guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m adrenaline embodiment.” Then he grabbed your shoulder softly and guided you towards the buzz of people.

As you walked with Hendery on the side streets, you looked up to the sky. It was gray but bright nonetheless. The type of weather wherein you wouldn’t know if it would rain or the clouds were only keeping the sun away.

Different honk of cars resonated everywhere, with the giggles of students as they walk home. There were teenagers sitting on the narrow alleyway, their clothes black and their pants ripped. You regarded them with narrowed brows. Then the two teenagers kissed.

“Oh,” you gasped as you cover your eyes. It felt private, albeit the fact that they were kissing in a public place.

Hendery chuckled. “That’s like, level 0.1 of the things that happens there.”

Before you could ask him what did he mean for the nth time that day, Hendery held your hand and tugged you. “See that sign up there?”

He stood extremely close to yours. Strands of his hair flew towards the sides of your face. You gulped before following his pointer finger with your eyes. He was pointing at the sign across the street. It was surrounded by different types of people, but students dominated the whole entrance. Above their heads was a huge sign board that says ‘Wonderland’.

“Yeah.” You nodded your head. “What is it about?”

“It’s a circus,” Hendery said as he turned to look at your face, “Last to arrive pays for the tickets. Deal?”

“Wha— wait! That’s not fair!” you shouted when he bolts away.

Hendery took a look at you while laughing. His hair obscuring his eyes. “Run!”

You exhaled sharply before gathering your skirts and running towards him. As your shoulders slammed to different bodies, you shout apologies on your wake. If this was a normal day, you would have to stopped and say your apologies with a bow. But this wasn’t a normal day. And Hendery didn’t even bother to stop even if he had to push students out of his way.

However, he drew in a halt as a little girl suddenly appears from a boutique. Hendery was still ahead of you by five steps, but because of the circumstances, you tapped his shoulder and run past him.

At last, it was time for you to cross the streets. The streetlight says red. You muttered, “Green, green, gree—”

“Didn’t take you for a… runner,” Hendery breathed with his hands on the sides of his waists as he stood beside you.

You ignored him. Then the lights went green. You stormed away from him, dodging the elders crossing the street. Hendery laughed behind you. And he was extremely close.

With one last force of a leg, you jumped the one meter distance from the pavement to the entrance line of the circus. “I won!” you shouted in triumph.

Hendery shook his head, disbelief visible in his face. “This is unbelievable,” he muttered.

“A ticket for two,” you taunted, displaying two fingers in front of him. “The deal is the deal.”

Hendery sighed and fished for his pocket. Perspiration trickled down your back as you follow Hendery towards the ticket booth. After he received the tickets, he handed you his kerchief. “For your sweat.”

You immediately raised your hands. “Oh, no! It’s okay!”

Hendery tilted his head to the side. “You are sweltering like a waterfall. Here, let me,” he said before pulling you and patting the kerchief to your forehead.

You looked away blinking, unable to form words as you felt the fabric pressing softly on your skin. As if you were a thin, breakable glass he feared that might break if he wasn’t careful. “Thanks,” you whispered when Hendery finally folded back the kerchief to his back pockets.

Both of you turned and faced the entrance of the circus.

The door opened, revealing two little person wearing brightly colored jumpers. Their faces were made up to copy the image of a clown. Both of their heads look up, then they scrunched their noses, clearly irritated of a customer.

“Come in,” they blabbered in unison.

You looked at Hendery. He had that same smile on his face when he walked through the turnstile.

The hallway that displayed itself in front of you were made of corrugated roof ceiling and walls. You felt as if you were in a box.

Different posters of performers adorned the corrugated roof walls. There is the two little person, on their jumpsuits, balancing themselves on a large ball. At your right side, there is the image of a mermaid. Of course, circus such as this one would have a fake mermaid. Then there is an image of a man playing with fire.

You cannot help but stare in awe. You have a knowledge of circuses since you have read books and watched movies to have a distinct image of it in your mind. However, you haven’t really experienced one.

Hendery walked beside you, not bothering to see the posters plastered on the wall. That gave you a hint that maybe he has been in Wonderland already. He was born here in the city after all.

“How many times have you been here?” you decided to ask, voice echoing through the hallway.

“Too many times to count.”

The two little person opened another door. You gaped in astonishment as you take in the picture of the whole circus. Lambent lights hung in different trees, giving the whole area a soft glow.

There wre families resting under the trees and students hopping to different food carts to another. It was a whole new world in the middle of the city. And it was so lively that you feel the energy thrumming in your veins.

Hendery stared. Not at the circus, but at you. Pure amazement adorned your face. And perhaps your eyes twinkled brighter than the lights, too. Hendery couldn’t help but smile. It was somewhat fulfilling taking in your expression. He took you for a woman difficult to impress. Yet he was mistaken. There was that glow in you that he hasn’t seen before in anyone else’s eyes.

And for the first time in twenty years, Hendery has seen the rainbow he was waiting for. It wasn’t in the end of the pandemic. It’s in you.

When you craned your neck to look at him, Hendery blinked and looked away, his heart thudding madly inside his chest.

He couldn’t believe it. This feeling. For someone as sinful as him, Hendery had never expected to feel this type of… fondness.

“I thought you weren’t a ‘ferris wheel’ guy?” You lifted a brow while quoting the air.

The ferris wheel was located at the very corner of the circus’ vicinity. As if on cue, Hendery’s childhood memories weaved their way back to his mind. The laughters of his father and his own giggles whenever they would ride the said ferris wheel.

After seconds of being taciturn, Hendery answered, “I’m not.”

“Really?” you teased. “You needn’t deny it!”

Hendery placed a hand above your head and ruffled your hair. “Come, I’ll show you around.” Then he stretched his hand to you.

Clearly flustered, you stared at his outstretched hand for a minute. You wrapped your hand with his. Taking his hand felt as if a manifold of experiences in itself, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

Both of you entered the tent where the mermaid perfoms. Of course, she was fake. But the craftmanship of her tail almost made you doubt your own eyes. It was simply marvelous.

Next that you visited was the fire-breathing man. The thing was, he was extremely talented and… cute. However, when you mentioned it to Hendery, his amazement deterred and he pulled you out of the tent.

Now you stood in front of a food cart, trying to pick between corndog or fries. You chose fries with lemon iced-tea. Hendery preferred the former.

“We need to go home,” you said while looking up at the sky. There wasn’t any brightness in the heavens any more, only darkness. The stars were hidden in the clouds, which give an ominous sign that it might rain.

And you couldn’t afford to rain. Your mother would go nuts. But then you thought how you have already defied her. Might as well enjoy the night, right? You heaved a sigh. No. You have to go home.

“Yes,” Hendery sighed. He was looking at the heavens, too.

Contemplative of the adventure you have experienced today, you looked at Hendery. Four weeks ago, you have resented his presence in the church because of your own preconceptions. But if this boy beside you didn’t arrive, you wouldn’t have the courage to defy your mother and finally go to the city.

In spite of everything, the saying proves true— that someone could go rebellious if ensnared for a long time. Yes, it was not pleasant to flout parents, but this freedom… you almost felt like a bird with its wings spread wider.

Hendery shifted, then he turned to face you. “Just one last destination.” He spoke the word with a certain anticipation. How could you deny him the chance?

Then you departed the circus.

“Is this safe?” you asked Hendery while you climbed the stairs of an unknown building near the alleyway where he parked his motorcycle.

“Yeah,” Hendery hummed. “This seems empty but trust me, this could be a party place.”

When he said that, you noticed the littered cigarettes in the corners. There were candy wrappers… and some rubber that you had no name for.

“This place is creepy,” you announce when you reach the last set of stairs.

Hendery’s laugh echoed through the empty place. “It’s not,” he said before pushing open a door that leads somewhere.

“A rooftop,” you stated as a-matter-of-factly. Your boots made a clocking noise against the pavement as you walk towards the railings. You stared in awe as different lights from the stores below twinkled like fireflies.

The darkness intensified the colors of everything. The city wasn’t perfect, but was beautiful at this time of the day. With the wind softly nuzzling your face, you breathed a sigh of relief at everything.

“This is beautiful,” you said in utter adoration.

Hendery leaned and grabbed the railings. His floppy hair dancing with the wind, once again falling down his eyelids. “It is,” he breathed.

At the horizon, some far away land stared at you, probably wondering of your unfamiliar face, too. There were mountains and there were also lights flickering from it. The sky was a darker shade of magenta turning black. It’s a pity that there were no stars to grace the heavens.

“Thank you, Hendery,” you whispered.

Hendery looked at you, a smile adorning his lips. “For you.”

Your shoulders brushed against each other, sending your heart into a marathon again. Then you sighed a heartful one. “I want to live here.”

“Really? This was only a façade, though. Bad things crawls out in this city.”

Bad things. There were bad things all around the world, though. “In the village, too,” you muttered, “Bandits. Everywhere.”

“Yeah. Bandits,” he repeated with the same contemptuous voice.

“What do you like most about this city?” you decided to ask. He’s from here. And he won’t stay if he doesn’t find anything beautiful here, right?

Hendery’s eyes were looking at the horizon while he answered, “My…” Then you notice the curvature of his throat as he gulped. “The memories of my family.”

Something inside you insisted to ask him further. So you opened your mouth to speak. “Where are they?”

Hendery displayed a painful smile before a chuckle resonated through him. “My dad died because of the pandemic, and my mom… she’s missing.”

You tasted something bitter in your mouth by the revelation. You shouldn’t have asked. Then you placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” The boy tried to smile when he looked at you. But an old pain still sparked in his eyes.

People tend to say it’s okay even when it’s not. You supposed it’s one of the ways for them to cope. Instead of forcing Hendery, you tried to smile for him, too.

“And your mother.” You cleared your throat. “Just ask me if you need any help.”

“Thank yo—” Hendery’s words were interrupted by the large pitter patters of the rain.

You gasped and shielded your head. Hendery does the same. Then the both of you run towards the building. The ravaging of the rainfall could be heard against the ceilings. It was the sound that pierces the ears. And you were afraid that it’s not going to stop any sooner.

“We have to go home,” you said while biting your nail.

“We can’t,” Hendery pronounced with a shrug.

You sighed deeply, forcing your knees to stand still. “My mother would kill me.”

Even though there was absolute dread to the words, you couldn’t feel any regret. You would’ve done it all over again if given the chance.

“You can call her,” Hendery suggested. “There’s a payphone down the next block.”

She would go absolutely unhinged once she knew about your whereabouts. But you have to at least tell her. Or lie about it. There was no other choice.

You mentally memorized your mother’s cellphone number. She has one, to contact father whenever he’s away. But she barely uses it.

“Let’s go,” you said.

While descending the stairs of the abandoned building, you thought about ways on how to dodge your mother’s possible questions. Lying has left a burning sensation in your chests. But it was the only way. And if it would somehow save you from the doom of being whip to shreds, you’d gladly do it.

Hendery offers you his leather jacket to use as an umbrella. You would have refused, but the rain was falling heavily. You cover your head before running.

When you reached the payphone, Hendery was drenched from head to toe. Due to some miracle that you couldn’t describe yourself, your corsage remained dry.

You delved for a coin inside your pockets and slid it with shaky fingers. Trying to squeeze himself inside the payphone, Hendery stoof mere inches away from you. Your chests too close to each other. Flustered, you focused on the phone still ringing against your ear instead of your bodies’ proximity.

You heard the click of the phone from the other line then the sound of your mother’s voice. “Hello?” she answered.

Running a damp hand through your hair, you gulped and said, “Mom, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N?” You could see her eyebrow raising in your mind. And that made you even more agitated. Mother wasn’t easily convinced. You would need to slid through a needle’s hole if you ever wish to successfully lie to her.

“Yes, Mom. I’m here— at—” You bit your thumbnail as you realize that you cannot truly deceive her.

“Where are you?” she asked, “Why is it so loud in there?”

Shoot. The harsh sound of the rain was, of course, loud. And it probably wasn’t raining that hard to the village or not at all. You needed to think.

“Mom— I— I have an errand to run for Father Ben,” you lied. “And… well… I am in the market. And—” You take a deep breath. “I don’t think I would be able to come home tonight—”

“What?” she said with a voice louder than the rain. “What errand? And why aren’t you coming home?”

“Mother, it’s strictly confidential!” You added just enough panic to your voice to make your deceit more convincing. “And Father Ben told me not to tell anyone—”

“Well, I am your mother so I deserve—”

“Hello? Mother? Mom? I can’t hear you!”

“Y/N—”

“Alright, Mother. I’ll take care! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You dropped the phone immediately, not letting your mother say a word any more. Drawing ragged breaths, you let your back rest on the cold glass encasing the payphone. Then a laughter seized your attention. It was Hendery.

Baffled, you raised a brow. “What’s funny?” you asked, but you had a feeling that you know the answer to your own question. He found it amusing, your panicked conversation with your mother.

Hendery tried to shrug despite his laughter. “I just find it amusing,” he says as his glee receded. You glared at him, but the boy only pointed his finger right in front of your nose. “Now, quit being so strung up.”

“I am not,” your affronted reply. But he was right, your stomach was still tied in knots after the conversation. It was as if your mother would appear in front of you out of nowhere.

You looked at your surroundings. The buildings still towers over you. The road was drenched with rainwater and it didn’t seem to stop any time soon.

“Where do we sleep?” you asked Hendery, embarassed of the realization that you have no idea about the city and where you were supposed to sleep now that you were stuck in an unfamiliar place.

“‘We’?” he teased, “That sounds nice—”

“Hendery!” You hit his arm lightly, eliciting yet another fits of laughter from him.

“I know some place,” he said, “Don’t worry.”

You shrugged. “Well, aside from the fact that I wasn’t from here... and it’s my first time venturing to the city— yeah,” you sighed, “I really shouldn’t worry.”

He seemed not to sense the sarcasm lying within your words for he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’ve got me. I won’t let anyone harm you, alright?”

Ah, the vulnerability in a rather cold façade. It’s marvelous to behold. You couldn’t help but smile. Romance books were true, after all. Once an aloof boy shows some affection, it really feels like lying in a field of cotton.

“You have to promise,” you said. Hendery opened his mouth to speak his oath, but you offered him your pinky finger instead. “Lock it.”

Hendery stared at your hand for a good minute before exhaling a ruminative sigh. Then he placed his pinky finger against yours. The both of you entwined your finger in a lock.

“Ah,” he sighsd at the sight of your coiled fingers, “You really are something else.”

If he was talking about the pinkies, you weren’t so sure how did he consider it something else. It was probably childish, yes, but on other spectrum of things, children rarely lies. That somehow strengthened his promise; the childishness yet purity of it all.

“Yes,” you said, a bit proud of the compliment, “I really am.”

You were in an unknown place, hugging the torso of a boy as you rode with him on his motorcycle. The lights of the cars the only lambency there is in an isolated road.

It should bother you— this unfamiliarity clinging in your bones. But all you could feel was the burning sensation of thrill as it flows in your veins; this strange freedom.

The night was a cacophony of rainwater splashing to everything it touches. With your body pressed against Hendery’s back, both of you braved the unforgiving rain. It was surely the night that would go down to your own history.

“Where are we going?” you asked, giving way too little acknowledgement to your soaked clothes and clattering teeth.

A new empty alleyway greeted you as Hendery turned left with his engine the only noise in the dead of the night. White street lights flicker as he slows down, then you come to a halt in front of an empty gasoline station.

Irradiant glow of pink and orange LED lights adorned the signage plastered above the store. At the sides of the vicinity, rows of motel rooms could be seen. Hendery killed the engine, then both of you hop off his motorcycle.

“Wait! I... I don’t have the money—” you tried to argue, but the boy only flashes you his most beautiful smile.

Still smiling, Hendery held your hand and you both ran to the columns of motel rooms. He roamed his eyes everywhere. When he saw no one, Hendery tugged you softly towards the stairs up to the second floor.

Now, there was no light adorning the second floor of the motel. But the glow of the moonlight casted its illumination towards the place, making a slanted shadow on the walls.

“How do we—”

Hendery turned to you and quickly placed a finger to your lips. “Shh,” he shushed.

There was something about the glint in his eyes that made you agitated and even excited. If both were possible to feel at the same time. Mischief oozes its way out of his body as Hendery pulls a piece of a metallic wire from his pockets. He, then, curled the wire with his fingers. Once done, Hendery inserted the wire to the doorknob.

“Hend—”

For the third time, he cut you off. “Trust me.”

In his eyes, something stirred. You caught a glint of it because of the moon. Hendery knows what he was doing, and it looks as if he’s done this a million times already.

You pressed your mouth in a thin line. Rubbing your hands against the skin of your arms, you look around while Hendery works his wonders to the door.

505, that was the number plastered above the doorframe. The room number.

Within a few minutes, there was a click. Then the door opened in front of you to reveal a typical motel room.

There was a bed near the blinds, then a bedside table. A 1960’s model of RCA television sat at the edge of the mattress, with a single ottoman beside it. The room had also been illuminated by a single deep yellow bulb.

It was 2040. Whatever remnants of 2020 remains, it doesn’t look like this. Motel rooms were a thing eighty years ago. However, you couldn’t complain. You have been wanting to sleep in a room such as this one. People can call you hopeless romantic, but that was the truth. There was a certain vintage love surrounding motel rooms which you yearned to experience yourself.

You looked at Hendery, who was currently standing beside you with a rascal grin on his lips. He was definitely proud of what he did. Notwithstanding of the circumstances, and of the fact that you have just sneaked into a private property, you couldn’t help but grin yourself.

This was way out of the rules of being a sacristan. And you would get a whole mass worth of scolding if Father Ben knew about your adventures today. Despite all of that, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of happiness and pride in doing what you did today.

“I assume this isn’t paid?” You raised a brow.

Hendery shook his head with a small chuckle. “Obviously.”

“Aren’t we gonna get in trouble doing all... this?” you asked him, voice laced with skepticism. Bold as you were, the thought of going behind bars in an unknown place still gives your heart a little bit of a jolt.

“We’re already in trouble,” Hendery said  nonchalantly, “Might as well enjoy it.” He placed his hand on your shoulders as he searched for your eyes. “Besides, this doesn’t happen all the time.”

You stared at the depths of his orbs. There seemed to be a permanent mark of roguishness dancing in his eyes that you only notice now.

What devilment in an angelic face. Bemusing as it was, you loved it. This Hendery.

“To me,” you said, “But you’re from here. And from

the looks of it, you’ve done this a million times before.”

Hendery’s shoulder shook from his laughter. He laughed so much for someone with sad eyes. “Yes. I won’t deny it. But this isn’t for me, though. This adventure is for you.”

It’s funny how a stranger could give you all you have ever wanted in a single day. By that alone, you knew that you would forever be grateful of this boy in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “So much, Hendery.”

You didn’t know what it was, but Hendery lost his composure as his mouth gaped open a little bit. The sincerity of your voice moved him and made his knees weak.

This has been the first time he heard the words from someone. All he had known were the frightened prayers every time he would point a gun to someone, the muffled cries, the tear stained cheeks. It’s his first time to see sincerity to someone else’s eyes that was meant for him.

Perhaps you have seen it, too— the perplexity in his expression, the slight glitch of his demeanor. And it made your heart happy to see that you have affected him as much as he has affected you.

Hendery leaned closer, his face utterly close that you could make up your reflection in his eyes by the dim light of the light bulb.

He gulped, you did too.

It would deem as if no one amongst you had the experience of this... intimacy. No one had come close to your defenses but him. It rattled your bones underneath. And perhaps the world stilled when your lips met his.

It’s exactly like those in a romantic movie. It wasn’f rash, it wasn’t blistery. It’s soft... it’s heavenly. The kiss would compare to cotton touching another cotton. Both of your eyes were still open as you tried to savor the kiss. You were still thunderstruck beyond comprehension, but your lips were glued to his and there seemed no turning back. Not that you’d like too, anyways.

Hendery cupped your cheeks with his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You closed your eyes. In the blink of a moment, the kiss went wild. Now you would compare it to a sea under a storm. Raging and unforgivable.

You hadn’t noticed how your back had come into contact with the bed. But the surprisingly soft mattress hugged your back as Hendery lays you down slowly.

Your heart had its own business thudding harmoniously wild inside your chest with the kiss.

Hendery pulled away. You felt your plump lips and his had been red, too. With a second of eye contact, Hendery leaned and kissed you again. With the same fervor, with the same hunger.

Your hand shot up to his hair. The sound of someone kissing and your attempts to catch your breaths against the kiss, the only thing that could be heard inside 505.

His hands started to roam your body. His touches were like that of devotees; careful, with little prayers in every friction.

Lips a mere inch from each other, Hendery whispered with a raspy tone. “May I?”

You were here, and you were ready to do whatever this kissing ends up to. So you nodded.

He smiled while the moonlight caressed half of his face.

Then he brought his fingers to the laces of your corsages. With deft motion of a hand, Hendery pulled, the laces had come free, opening your collar bones and upper chests for him to see. The reveal of the skin made your breath hitch.

Hendery brought his fingers to the open skin, then he trailed— slowly, oh so slowly— downwards. As if your skin was Braille.

He kissed you. He whispered his confession in your ears. He touched you like he longed for you. He cried your name in a euphoric bliss.

That night, you weren’t a sacristan. You were a saint. Worshipped by a boy with the devil in his eyes.

But nobody— not even the moonlight slipping through the windows — told you about the doom that awaits your blooming love.

It was past four in the morning when you wake up. The room was dark, with the heavy light from the skies illuminating the floors through the blinds.

Hendery lied on the bed beside you. The light casted parallel lines on his bare chests and stomach. While you laid on your side, your hands between your thighs and a smile on your lips.

Hendery leaned to trace your shoulder up to your cheek, sending goosebumps down your back. Then he whispered the words, “You’re so beautiful.”

You would’ve hit him with a jest, but your breath seems to clogged in your throat. Pure words for someone with jagged edges. Then you suddenly noticed his tattoo. You still didn’t know what that meant. So you reached out your hand and traced his skin.

“What does your tattoo means?” You asked him.

Hendery held your hand that was tracing his tattoo when he answered. “Survive. To live.”

ix. I believe in the Holy Spirit...

“You really don’t have to, Hendery,” you timidly stated.

Hendery sighed, but his smile never disappeared. “You know I won’t let you go, right?”

It’s six a.m., the both of you have already finished donning your clothes. Some parts of the fabrics were still sodden, but nevertheless wearable. You picked up a lone thread from your skirt before standing up and facing the window. The dream was finished, and you needed to wake up now.

A sigh went past your lips as you stared at the horizon displayed before your eyes. You weren’t sure when you would experience this kind of freedom again, so it was better to seize the remaining moments of not being trapped into a cage that was your own house by taking in the view of a small part of the city.

Hendery stood beside you, his eyes far away. “How do you feel?” he asked.

A sudden heat crept up in your cheeks by the question. The unbidden imagery of last night threaded its way back in your mind. Did you regret doing it with Hendery? Not one bit. Some might call you stupid for falling in a love supported by unspoken promises and confessions, but the union with Hendery have made you feel whole somehow. Like you were in the skies, and the stars were about your reach.

He made you feel powerful. He made you feel worthy of devotion. He made you feel utterly you. No inhibitions, no pretense.

The honesty slid smoothly from your lips. “I feel incredible,” you answered. You turned sideways to face him. Hendery’s face was ethereal in the night, especially when his lips were parted, sweats trickling down his face. But as the early light of the morning hit his features, you couldn’t believe that he could even be this more beautiful.

“How about you?” you managed to ask.

A chuckle. Your heart made the familiar jump at the sound. “I’ve never felt this happy for years.” And it was the truth. Hendery thought that the money and power a banditry offers would give completion in his life somehow, that it would serve as stitches for his tattered life. But as he recalled everything that has happened since he met you, he might be stupid, but he knew real happiness when it’s staring back at him in the wee hours of the morning.

He would’ve bottled the sound of your pleas and your cries if he would, he would’ve kept your laughters in a treasure chest buried someplace else he only knew, he would’ve given you everything and anything— and perhaps he did— if he could. As he stared at your face, so goddamned innocent and peaceful, Hendery knew one thing: you would break him into pieces, and he would let you.

A smile painted your lips, erasing the agitation of what this new day would bring. “I wouldn’t have experienced all of this if not for you,” you told him.

Hendery laughed. “You wouldn’t have experienced all of this if you didn’t dare.”

That was him: the beam that was supporting your life. He’s never failed to make you feel as if you could do everything despite the odds.

Your smile widened. “But now we have to go back.”

“Yeah, unfortunately—” Hendery’s words were cut off by the sound of the bedroom door clicking.

Your eyes widened, but he kept a cool façade. Then it swung open, revealing a middle-aged man carrying a broomstick and a dustpan. His forehead creased as he saw you standing near the window, then realization hit him. “Who are you?!” he shouted.

Hendery gripped your hand, then he dashed for the door, pulling you behind him. The helper was too dumbstruck to even say a thing again, let alone stop you from sprinting away. Hendery was laughing all the way down the stairs, while your forehead was coated with little beads of sweat.

When you reached his motorcycle, Hendery let go of your clammy hand. “That was... incredible!” he gleefully stated.

You tried to catch your breath by gulping large bouts of air. “That was scary!” you told him after steadying your breath.

Hendery fished for his keys from the back pocket of his jeans while still laughing. “Sacristan girls,”

he muttered teasingly.

Rolling your eyes heavenwards, you crossed your arms over your chests. “You don’t have to be a sacristan to know what’s scary or not.”

Once again, the roar of the innkeeper echoed across the gasoline station, bringing you on a hurry to climb Hendery’s motorcycle. With a chuckle, he ignited the engine and revved through the day.

The city was deserted early in the morning. And it was undeniably dull. The paint from different buildings were chipped, and they could really use a renovation. You were baffled at how you didn’t notice the dullness yesterday. Perhaps it was your excitement getting the best of you. Humdrum as it was, this city would forever hold a special place in your heart, along with the man you have traveled here with.

The ride back home was enveloped in utter silence, not that you could hear each other over the loud blare of the motorcycle’s engine. And as you neared to the village, your heart couldn’t help but thud abnormally inside your chests. You felt as if your throat was constricting, air passage clogging. It would deem as if there was an apocalypse waiting for you back home.

No. You have to trust your intuitions, no matter how indistinguishable it was. Your mother knew you were safe, there wasn’t anything to fret about.

But you knew better than to calm down. Your father was a lot easier to convince than your mother, you let your heart loosen up by that fact, even just a little bit.

With the empty and bumpy road ahead of you, the familiar stillness of the village welcomed you back home. A sense of familiarity splashed on you at the sight of tall trees and green meadows. This has been what you have known all your life, you were coming back to it after a night of pretermitting.

“Stop right there,” you said in a voice so low even you had a hard time hearing the words.

Hendery knew that you would never allow him to be seen in the village, much worse with you. But after last night, a slight stab in his heart bloomed at the thought of you, not being able to introduce him to your parents just because he rides a shiny-black motorcycle.

And as if you heard his thoughts, you cleared your throat before Hendery could kill the engine on the side road. “Or... you could take me home.”

It was stupid. Imbecilic. A voice inside your head whispered that it was a bad idea, but upon seeing how Hendery’s lips turned to a smile by looking at the side mirror, all your fear had been vanquished. Suddenly, you were ready to face the world again.

Your grip on his shirt tightened as you entered the village. It was mid-morning. There were a few elders fanning themselves in their verandas under the blistering weather. They squinted at the sight of you, a sudden contempt in their lips which they conveyed as a frown.

“Turn left,” you mumbled, praying that he heard you just right.

By the silence that was unusual of Hendery to exude, you have contemplated that maybe he was nervous, too. The thought made you slightly giddy and anxious at the same time. You have never brought a man home. Not even introduce a boy friend to your parents. Just when you thought that last night would be a history of your own, this morning has proved you wrong.

Your stomach was empty, but you felt like retching in the bushes as Hendery stopped the engine in front of your house. Mother was tending to her flowers when you hopped off the motorcycle. Father was nowhere to be found.

You looked at Hendery before sauntering towards your mother. The rustle of your feet against the grasses garnered her attention. She looked up to see you, then to the boy beside you.

You walked up towards her to kiss her cheek. Mother stood still as your lips made a friction against her skin. She was looking straight at Hendery, who had a polite smile on his face.

You cleared your throat. “Mother, this is Hendery.”

Hendery stretched out his hand to your mother. “Hendery Wong, pleased to meet you.”

Mother stared at his outstretched hand for seconds. Your knees started to wobble. Then Mother took Hendery’s hand. “I’ll prepare the food,” she said, the tone unfathomable.

When she attempted to leave, Hendery quickly raised his arms as if to stop your mother. “It’s fine, Mrs. I just dropped Y/N off.” He looked at you and nodded his head. “See you at the Church, Y/N,” he said.

Your lips coiled in a frown. The atmosphere was thick, and there was no doubt Hendery felt it. Your mother could’ve been warmer in greeting him, but you knew better than anyone else than to force the time when it obviously wasn’t ready.

With a tone of both reluctance and slight disappointment, you mumbled, “See you.”

He nodded one last time before turning his back and getting on his motorcycle.

The same time Hendery revved the engine once more, your father went out of the house with a glass of cold water in hand. “What’s that about?” he asked.

The garden shovel your mother was holding was dropped as she focused her attention towards you. You braced yourself for the imminent storm that was coming. And there it was, in a voice so loud even the houses nearby grew hairs and got goosebumps, your mother cried out, “What on earth are you thinking?!”

Father sipped on his water, his brows arching above the rim. There was no accusation in his eyes, only interest and confusion.

“What do you mean, Mother?” You tried to make your voice sound strong, but it came out as a breathy question.

“What do I mean?!” she roared. “Where were you last night? Tell me the truth.”

Truth be spoken, you were utterly rebellious to neglect your mother last night. But the wanting to experience something greater for once has overcome all your senses. Was it really abhorrent to experience such freedom?

You could feel your veins popping up your temple. Your breath was becoming ragged. And the stubbornness that was trying to envelope you didn’t help. It felt like a bomb ready to explode at any given moment.

“Where have you been—”

“The city!” you screamed back. “I went to the city with Hendery!”

Mother looked at you with a tormented face. From the way her mouth hung open with her eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, you could tell that she’s beyond horrified by the revelation.

“How dare you?” she whispered, “How dare you lie to me?”

Father was on her side instantly, laying a gentle hand on her back. “We all need to calm down—”

“Calm down?!” Mother turned to face him. “You’d expect me to calm down when my own daughter defied me?”

You bit your lower lip. What was the big deal? What the fuss was all about? It wasn’t as if you didn’t come home. Here you were, safe and sound.

“I’m sure Y/N could explain herself, right?” Father raised an encouraging brow at you. His lack of judgement pierced your heart with a throb.

“Yeah,” Mother said with enough scorn to make you recoil. “Let her narrate everything!”

You tried to catch your breath before forcing your face to look up to your parents. “What’s so wrong about going to the city?”

“Oh, you are one naive girl,” Mother stated as she made noises in her nose. “You could’ve been infected! You could’ve  brought danger into this home!”

“Mother!” you hissed. “The pandemic has already disappeared! I want to live a normal life now!”

Mother looked at you as if you weren’t her daughter but a mere stranger she’s picked a fight with. “Why are you so foolish and stubborn?”

“Why can’t you let me live my life?” you retorted.

“That’s enough,” Father warned with a commanding tone. His jaw was pulled taut. One more push and the three of you would burn right where you stood because of vexation.

Mother heed no warning for she continued to look at you as if she was contemplating to push you back to her womb. “I’m keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” You could almost laugh. “I don’t want safe.” I want freedom. I want danger. I want the sin. I want the rush.

“That’s enough talking back, Y/N. Return to your room and change,” Father commanded.

Mother’s lips were compressed in a tight line. You’ve expected her to say something, but no words were heard from her as Father guided her back to the house.

You were left alone in the garden, with your neighbors peeking at their fences to catch gossips.

You wish this world had been a little bit forgiving, a little bit welcoming for boys like him. He wasn’t cruel. He was kind... he was protective. And he was a tether to the dreams that you tried so hard to achieve. Without Hendery— the only person who believed that you were meant for greater things— you wouldn’t know what to make of your life anymore. Sure, you would get back on your feet. But you would never want to feel alone in the battle again. You didn’t want to start empty again. And you would never wish to be parted from Hendery. Ever.

x. The Holy Catholic Church…

“Oh, look who’s finally arrived,” Kun uttered with a shit-eating grin as Hendery appeared in the abandoned building Kun made a rendezvous in the outskirts of the town.

For weeks, they stayed and made their camp here. With Kun occupying the last and only good-conditioned room in the building. There, he’s beaten by Hendery for apparently mowing down Xiaojun’s jaw.

The grin Kun had on his face intrigued Hendery, but he wouldn’t let it show on his face. With inquisition was an annoyance Hendery didn’t know where he came from. It was just there, crawling on his skin. Perhaps it was his encounter with your mother, and the lack of warmth in her welcome.

But could he blame her? Not one bit. Hendery didn’t even think of meeting someone else’s parents and being introduced as a lover, but after getting chummy with you, his aspirations in life went a little higher than what he deserved. Hendery knew that it was a bad thing to be zealous, but that was what he had known after joining Kun’s banditry.

“What’s going on?” he asked, albeit not having the heart to inquire in the first place.

After a day and night with you, Hendery yearned for one thing: sleep. He just couldn’t close his eyes when you were lying on his side, with your peaceful face and soft snores. Hendery wanted to capture every moment, to memorize each line of your face, to be drowned in the serenity of the night.

His other comrades were nowhere to be found which was new. At this time of the day, all of them needed to report their sleuthing of a certain area assigned to them. Kun wanted to know everything.

Kun’s grin only widened. “How’s your job, Hen?”

Hendery ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still trying to make my way onto the priest’s chamber.”

Kun sat up on the swivel chair and placed his feet on the table laid before him. “If I’m not mistaken,” he started, “It’s been months since I sent you to the Church. And until now, you still don’t have anything useful to tell me.”

Hendery’s jaw twitched. He hated how he’s inclined to answer every Kun’s calls. And he had never felt this way before towards his work, that was if you could call banditry a job. He was always the best. That made him Kun’s favorite. But that was before he met you.

Meeting you really had changed most of his beliefs about life. He’s almost convinced to let go of his wretched ways and have a normal way of living— a life he could be proud of. And a life with you.

“Father Ben’s strict,” Hendery lied. The priest was as kind as a deer. If Hendery wished to enter his chamber, he’d gladly let him out of his trusting nature. And that would be the end as well as the start of everything. Hendery still wasn’t prepared to drop the new life he has, because that would mean he has to let you go, too. The mere thought made his stomach recoil.

“Strict?” Kun asked as he raised a playful brow. “But you’re my best asset, Hen. There is no ‘strict’ when it comes to you.”

If these were normal times, Hendery would’ve smirked by the compliment. But he knew what Kun meant. And he’s heard the warning even if it was unspoken.

Months ago, Hendery and Sicheng started searching for places to rob in the isolated villages near the local market. Until they had come across the Church. Upon their nightly visit and hawkshawing, Hendery found out that Father Ben has a golden necklace. The thing has become their target ever since. However, you wouldn’t see Father Ben taking the necklace off. Hendery won’t be able to steal it without violence.

He would’ve finished the work sooner than intended. Besides, he knew brutality like the back of his hand. It had become his armor through the years. And Father Ben didn’t hold a special place in his life, no matter how nonjudgmental the priest was. He could easily wrench the necklace away from his neck without any remorse. But he feared you.

The thought of failing you, of disappointing you, and of showing Hendery’s true colors to you has left his courage dwindling.

What cowardice. He would’ve punched himself unconscious if he could. Hendery wasn’t familiar to this kind of weakness, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

Hendery shifted on his seat, shaking off the tension from his body. “The priest was surprisingly guarded,” he lied once more. Father Ben was as permeable as the Church itself. It was Hendery’s own choices that the work has slowed down.

Kun hummed. He withdrew something from his drawers. Picture, Hendery noticed, but he was too tired to even think about its connection to the current discussion. “Perhaps you need some boosters to help you do the work.” Then Kun slowly placed the picture flat on his table. Hendery couldn’t see the image well for he was leaning back on his seat. Kun waved his hand. “Look.”

He knitted his brows together. Whatever it was, Hendery had a bad feeling that once he leaned, there would be no turning back. Nevertheless, he didn’t have much choice, did he? So he leaned, like a good boy that he was, and stared at the image.

Hendery bit back the sound which tried to echo from him at what the image displayed. It was his mother. On a hospital bed, looking withered and close to death. She was too frail. Too weak.

Hendery swallowed a sob. “How...” He gulped a few times before willing himself to continue. “How did you find her?”

Should he be rejoicing? He should be happy, right? But why did he feel miserable now more than ever?

“I told you. I’ll help you find her,” Kun said.

Hendery kept looking at the picture, afraid that it might disappear if he blinked. “Where is she?”

Kun chuckled then stood up. Hendery fought the urge to grab him and punch his face. “You act as if you don’t know how to play this game, Wong.” Kun’s fingers grabbed the edge of the picture. He tucked it inside his pocket, his grin never leaving his face.

Hendery bit the insides of his cheeks. Of course, he knew how this game works. “I’ll bring you the necklace tomorrow.”

That night, Hendery washed away the sleep by downing cups of coffee. The liquid takes its root inside his system, pumping blood in a pace that would keep him awake.

He sat on his made-up bed, with a lamplight beside him, providing little to no warmth against the cold. With a white silky towel in hand, Hendery wiped his handgun. It had been a while since he last pulled the trigger. And the weight was dead in his hand.

Perhaps there was no more redemption left for his torn soul. Perhaps he was only fooling himself in believing that his life could be better. Perhaps he was glued to violence and not even you could save him from it. No matter how hard he tries to believe that you could.

xi. The communion of Saints. The forgiveness of sins…

A knock on your door woke you from your trance. You realized you were looking at your reflection on the mirror mindlessly.

“Come in,” you said, clearly indifferent to the possibility that it might be your mother standing and knocking on the other side of the door. But you knew better. She would never raise the white flag for her daughter.

With one last sweep of your hands along your robes, you waited for your father to finally enter. When he did, he went straight to the bed and sat. He’s cornered you, there was no escaping from it now.

“Spill it, Father,” you mumbled, trying to sound as friendly as possible. It was enough that you have stretched your mother’s irascibility. You didn’t need another enemy in this house.

“You do know why mother’s angry with you, right?” he asked. Before you could answer, he continued, “It’s not just about the fact that you went home with a boy. And that you went to the city without telling us.”

A sighed. Then you whirled to face him. “I don’t understand her need to be angry. I am safe. And if she’s talking about the pandemic... I am alright, Father.”

It was Father’s turn to sigh. “I don’t have anything against you going to the city. I know your dreams, your aspirations. But you must understand that your mother’s protective of you because she loves you. And the pandemic isn’t gone. It’s there, we just don’t see it now since its effects have died down.”

You looked out the window, feeling as if your tears might betray you anytime. “I just want to experience life.”

Father walked up to you and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I know. Hell, I want you to live life to the fullest, too. Have fun, have mistakes. Kiss boys. Be crazy. But it isn’t the time. Your mother’s still not ready.”

With tears brimming, you looked up to your father. “And when would she be?”

Father smiled his kindest one. “Soon, darling.”

—

Your walking towards the church was occupied with birds chirping in the branches, and flowers blossoming in the meadows. Perhaps it will be a bright day despite the darkness of yesterday.

Hendery never left your mind, even though you have a lot to think about. He was etched in your brain, like some sort of a tattoo you wouldn’t be able to erase. That made you think whether he was thinking about you, too.

You shrugged the thoughts away as you arrived at the Church. It was unusually silent when you arrived. At this time of day, the other sacristan should be running around and helping clean the surroundings. It didn’t settle well with you.

“Kristan!” you called out when you saw him running towards Father Ben’s chamber. Is the priest sick?

Kristan halted to wait for you. You huffed a breath as you laid your hand on his shoulder. “Where is everyone?”

The little boy bit the insides of his cheek. He didn’t meet your eyes when he said, “At Father Ben’s chamber.”

“What are they doing there? And what’s that for?” you asked, regarding the white and clean towel he was holding. Instead of answering, Kristan held your hand and pulled you towards the priest’s chamber.

The little bedroom was jam packed with the sacristans occupying most of the spaces. Father Ben was sitting on his rocking chair, with what you could tell was an ice-cube inside a clean towel being pressed on his left cheek by Lucy.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “What happened here?” you asked particularly no one.

Father Ben winced. “I am alright, hija,” he said. But he looked nothing like that.

Lucy glared your way. Her eyes were full of accusations. “Hendery did this to him,” she practically spat out the words with venom.

Now you couldn’t even feel your heart anymore. Hendery did this? How? Why? Despite feeling numb, you stepped closer to Father Ben. “Hendery... did this?”

How... Why... Gods, why? Father Ben looked at Lucy’s way, then the latter pursed her lips. She washed the cloth into the nearest basin, therefore allowing you to see the cut in Father’s cheekbone.

“He... punched me earlier,” Father Ben said in a low voice. He was undeniably pained by what happened. You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, let alone react to something other than a thunderstruck expression. “And he stole my necklace.”

By that, you grabbed the nearest chair and sat. You placed your hand between your chest. This is all too much. Your bones felt like collapsing. “The... the necklace your mother gave you?” you asked this without looking at him. It was hard to do that when you feel responsible for everything that has happened.

No, it isn’t right to hurt yourself like this. But Hendery has been with you since day one. If he planned something as horrible as this, you would’ve known. You should’ve known. How could you be so stupid?

“Yes,” Father Ben breathed as he absentmindedly reached for his necklace. As far as you could tell, the necklace was given to him by his mother when he was little. It was an heirloom of sorts. A treasured legacy.

“How could he do this?” Lucy interrupted. “We welcomed him here. Believing that he was good.”

“It was another thing to steal. And another to hurt someone to rob them,” Rei added.

You really couldn’t blame them. You were in absolute shock to even argue and pretend that Hendery was better than this. They wouldn’t tell you he was the culprit if he wasn’t, right? God, you couldn’t breathe.

“I think he’s a bandit,” Lucy stated once more.

With that, you looked up at her. “That is a grave accusation to make, Lucy.” Now, you are even making excuses for Hendery. You could laugh from your own imbecility.

“Yes. I know,” she said. Then she stood tall. “But what would you have me call him? A grave man deserves a grave name.”

“Perhaps he has his reasons.” Your voice sounded uncertain. For you have no idea what could be the reason behind all this..

Lucy sniggered. “I used to think you were reasonable, Y/N. Don’t stoop so low. He’s hit Father Ben. He’s robbed him. Whatever reason he might have, it was wrong.”

You fell silent. Lucy speaks the truth. Hendery has done something hideous. He could be a bandit all along. He could be the one who’s been robbing the villagers off their small riches all this time. And yet… how? How could he smile at you like he could replace an angel in heaven? How could you be so naive and stupid?

Without your own realization, you have run away from the Church already. To where? You have no idea. But you needed to free the tightening rope inside your chest— you need to salvage your heart off a heartache. Seeing Father Ben dispirited, as well as your co-sacristans, have shot a bullet to your heart.

You felt ashamed and wounded. But before mending your own wounds, you have to search for Hendery first.

xii. The resurrection of the body...

Million thoughts ran in Hendery’s mind as he looked at the emaciated body of his mother lying in a hospital bed. A glass separates them both, but he felt far away to her now than before. She was looking so frail— as if her bones would snap if you did so much as to hold her hand in a featherweight touch.

Her situation pierced Hendery’s heart with a sword. It didn’t matter that he’d found her now. He doesn’t feel happiness for this accomplishment. Misery. Hate. And that hole of missing his mother for years were the only things he could coax himself to feel.

Perhaps he was too far gone because of his loathsome heart. Or perhaps it was because of the teenager standing beside his mother’s bed, sobbing his heart out, while a middle-aged man pats his back to soothe him. As much as Hendery didn’t want to admit it, he could see the same nose and lips that he’s got from his mother in the boy to even deny the truth. He’s his brother. Half-brother.

He balled his hand into fist. Sudden heat coated Hendery’s tear ducts. He swept the lone tear away with his jacket-sleeve. He’s accepted the truth before— he’s made peace of the fact that his mother abandoned him. But why does it hurt to look the truth in the face? She’s cared and loved another son while Hendery longed for her embrace. She’s fed another mouth while Hendery starved in the streets.

Why must the world be cruel?

Hendery stepped back and sat on the chair beside the glass window. He made himself as unimposing as possible until the father and son departed the room. Hendery gathered himself and walked towards the door, towards his mother.  

“A... Alec, is that—” Her mouth abruptly clamped shut as she realized who was standing before her. Without another word, her shoulder shook and there were tears in her eyes.

Hendery looked up, biting his lip. He won’t cry. He won’t cry. He won’t cry. “Come on, mom,” he stammered. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me for a long time, right?” Then he looked at her. She was coughing and sobbing now. Hendery had to help her sit up to give her some water.

“Is that really you?” she asked, thin fingers crawling at Hendery’s cheek. Her hand was cold. But it gave Hendery the warmth he was searching for. “Son,” she choked, “I’m sorry.”

Her voice was too weak. Hendery felt like he shouldn’t let her talk. So he shushed her instead. “I...” he stuttered, “I hate you, mom.” That’s it. He won’t hold back. He needs to say it. “I hate you so much. You left me. You left me to die.”

If her mother looked thunderstruck, her sunken eyes didn’t show it. “Hendery, son, I didn’t—”

“I became a bandit to survive. I kill now, mom. I kill so I can live. I kill so I can find you. I’ve asked myself a million times whether it was your fault I became like this.” Hendery snorted at the end. “But it was of my own choice so I couldn’t really blame you, could I? I chose this path to survive.

“I learned how to hold a gun because I need it. I’ve robbed people for money. For my own glory. For you. You left me in the dust. And all my life I’ve wondered why. Why did she leave me? Didn’t she love me? But I’ve thought about it and realized that I don’t need answers. I just need to see you.”

Her mother sobbed again. “I’m sorry, son, I’m sorry— I was scared.”

“Scared,” Hendery repeated. “We would’ve been fine together, mom. You and I.”

“I know,” she choked. “But when your father died— I was scared of the reality that we were alone. During a pandemic. The both of you were hanging on for your lives inside the ICU. And I’d nearly lost my mind.

“When he died, I didn’t have the chance to say good bye. They took him and burned his body. I was alone. Alone, thinking that you could be the next one they’d burn and I won’t have the chance to see your beautiful face for the last time. Instead of facing it all, I called your Aunt. When she came, I left.”

Hendery wanted to tell every abuse he’s gone through with his Aunt. But he didn’t want to remember those times, and he didn’t want to add into his mother’s guilt.

“I’m dying, son,” she whispered.

That, Hendery could tell. There’s a pang in his heart, yes, but he knew that there won’t be happy endings for bad people like him. All of us die in the end, however.

“I’m happy to see you,” she said, “It’s all I’ve ever wished to God every night.”

God. Is this what it feels like to know that someone has been praying for you? He felt... empty. Like everything is too late. The wound has been crawling with worms and there’s no more gauges to stop the pus.  

“Do they... know me?” Hendery asked, voice low.

Her mother pursed her lips together. “No. I haven’t told them about you.”

Of course, Hendery muttered in his mind. He stood up, smoothed his shirt with a forced smile and looked down at his mother. “I’ll better be going, then.”

“Where are you going? Hendery, son...”

Hendery placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I am fine.” Far from it, but you didn’t need to know that, he thought.

His mother’s eyes were red-rimmed, thus accentuating how sunken they’ve become. “Can you... give me a hug?”

Hendery blinked as he did not expect such favor. But he leaned forwards absentmindedly, and hug his mother tightly. He first heard his own sob before realizing that he was crying like a little boy in his mother’s arms. This wasn’t the reunion he had in mind. He thought they could still reunite and make a life together. Be away from people. Hendery thought he would take care of his mother until she’s grey and old.

But life has other cruel plans. The path has been twisted years ago. And whatever he could get from this hug, it is enough.

It would be enough.

With an empty mind, Hendery drove through the night. He didn’t know where to go. His mind has been blank since his visit to the hospital.

What does he feel? Fuck, what does he feel? He felt ashamed. For everything that’s happened today. From the way he cornered and punched Father Ben just to get his necklace. He wanted to blur and erase the shame. He wanted to disappear.

Hendery revved the engine. Faster and faster, he drove without destination. The wind got harsher, the night still dangerous. He couldn’t take his mind off Kun’s smile when he finally handed him the golden necklace. Kun tapped his back and congratulated him, his eyes twinkling like stars. Hendery never wanted to see the same sparkle in the man’s eyes anymore.

Then his mind drifted to you. Knuckle white around the accelator, Hendery bottled up the scream that has threatened to explode from him. You. With your kind smile and angelic face. You’re so good. And Hendery let you down. For once, he met someone who was willing to accept his flaws and every bad thing about him. But he answered you with claws.

So after all the disgrace, why did he stop in front of your house?

The village was quiet. No more lights could be seen inside the house. A further indication that you are already asleep. Despite that, Hendery found himself walking towards the small alleyway leading to your room. There’s a tree, beside your window. Hendery hesitated for a moment whether he would knock on your window to wake you up. Besides, he has been reckless with his decisions and he didn’t need you to think of him as a creep.

However, he stood a few meters away from the window. And there, all his muscles strained. He was locked up in his place as his eyes met yours. Donned in your nightgown, you stood there looking outside. Your own eyes turned wide as you realized that Hendery was standing if not in front of you.

He gulped, then quickly pivoted on his heels to walk away. No. He isn’t ready to talk to you tonight. The shame was too overwhelming for him to ignore.

“Hendery!” you screamed, and that would’ve been enough to wake the whole house.

Hendery’s steps faltered.

“Wait for me,” you uttered just enough for him to hear.

He sucked in a breath. No. He couldn’t do this. But before he could decide to run away, a hand tugged him. Hendery faced you. You had your hand in your chest as you tried to calm your breath.

“Y/N,” he whispered. Here you were, standing in front of him under the pale moonlight. Everything would’ve been romantic if not for the circumstances.

“Hendery.” You say his name like he’s good. Like he deserves forgiveness. Why?

“I…” he stammered, “I did something hideous.”

He expected you to accuse him. To shout at him. But all you did was to hold his hand. “Why?”

Hendery’s hand abruptly trembled. He bit his lower lip so hard, it bled. “My mother,” he choked. “Y/N… I saw her. Everything is for her.” He couldn’t stop his sniveling no matter how he try to stop it. In between sobs, Hendery told you what happened, his hand never letting go of yours. The shame that he’s felt has been obliterated clean. He didn’t even care about the tears rolling down his cheeks.

After he opened himself up to you, you reached for him and hugged his body tightly. Hendery fought the urge to cry again. So he hugged you back instead, drowning in your scent.

When you pulled back, there’s a lone tear sliding down your cheek. Hendery wiped it away with his thumb, cupping your cheek with his cold hand.

“Now. This is what we’ll do,” you began.

xiii. And life everlasting…

You paced in front of the altar, trying your hardest to contain your heart inside your chest. It’s been at least twenty-four hours since you last saw Hendery. Your mind would explode thinking of what could’ve happened to him now. He’s supposed to come back an hour later.

You started to think that maybe it was a stupid plan all along. But you couldn’t blame him. He wanted to redeem himself to Father Ben, albeit it’s hard doing so. And he really didn’t plan to do exactly that. Hendery only wanted to return the necklace.

After his visit last night, where in he told you all that has transpired between him and his mother, you told him how important the necklace was for Father Ben. It is an heirloom, given by his mother.

You tried to coax Hendery that he should go to church and ask for Father Ben’s forgiveness. And yet he insisted that he would return the necklace. No matter what happens.

No matter what happens. That didn’t sit well with you.

In the end, you couldn’t argue with him anymore. He was determined to prove himself: that he’s worthy of good things and of forgiveness. Such raw emotions. It made you cry.

You agreed to meet here in the Church. Hendery says it’s safer this way. It is still the house of God, according to him. No one would attempt to harm you here.

You faced the altar and knelt, but before you could chant the first prayer, the latch of the door sounded. Hurriedly, you stood up on your feet.

In the dark, the silhouette of Hendery was drawn. He limped towards you while clutching something in his hand. You ran towards him, relief flooding your system. Tears pricked your eyes by how at ease you’ve felt by seeing him.

“Hendery!” you squealed and hugged him tightly.

He chuckled weakly before pulling away. “Here,” he says. “For Father…” Then he coughed. He coughed. With blood spurting out of his mouth. Your heart dropped on your feet. No.

Before you could think, Hendery fell to the floor, kneeling. Bouts of cough attacked his throat.

“Hendery,” you sobbed, “What happened?” You knelt in front of him, holding his shoulders to support his frail body.

“This is nothing,” he tried to say, but the world were muffled.

Panicking won’t help. So you strived to remain calm although your heart was beating jarringly inside your ribcage. And in the end, you sobbed and cried. “Help!” you cried out with all your might. “Help us! Hendery!”

You locked Hendery’s arm around your shoulder and hurled yourself up. But his weight was dead and he doesn’t seem to be doing well. “Hendery, please!” You were a crying mess. Vision blurry, throat wrapped up in pins and thorns and needles. You placed your arm around his waist and tried to hurl him up for the second time, but Hendery screamed in pain as you made contact with his side.

He fell to the ground.

And there was too much blood.

Blood. You stared at your trembling hands.

“No!” you screamed. “Hendery!” You sat and scooped him up in your arms, tears streaming down your face to his. “Stay with me! God!”

Hendery’s eyes were drooping now. They look like crystals, frantic and wild. “I…” He coughed. Blood came out of his mouth again.

You shushed him, brushing away his hair sticking to his forehead. His skin was feverish. You choked again and again, trying to gulp down your cries. “Stay. With. Me.” You give emphasis to each word. “Hendery! No! No! Stay awake! Please!” You even started to slap his cheeks just to keep his eyes open.

Then his bloodied hand found your cheek. You sobbed as it made contact with your skin. “You…” he uttered under his breath, “you’re... so beautiful.” Hendery flashed you a smile. His teeth coated with blood.

“Please.” You bit your lower lip. “Stay with me.”

Hendery stared at your face, tears streaming down from his eyes. “So…” he whispered again, drawing circles on your cheek, “... beautiful.”

Then his hand fell.

Hendery spent his last breath with you. In front of the altar. With God your only witness that night.

Amen.

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m, @ccboomer, @aubsenroute, @somebodyswatson

Chapter Six The Ghoul in Pyjamas

When Harry woke, it was still dark. His head throbbed, as it had almost constantly for the past month, but he did not, in this particular moment, feel the terror and dread that normally wrapped around his gut like a vice. Instead, he felt safe as a gentle evening breeze drifted in through the open balcony door, and he breathed in the scent of grass, damp earth, and jasmine.

He turned and, in the dim light from the moon, saw Ginny curled up in the blankets next to him.

Last night, Ginny and Hermione had appeared at Ron’s door and thrown down armfuls of blankets and pillows. When Ron had told Ginny that no, she was under no circumstances allowed to sleep in his room, Ginny had told him to complain about it to Bill.

Apparently, Ginny and Bill had an arrangement. Ginny would sleep on the sofa and let Bill stay in her room with Fleur. Bill would wake her early in the morning and get her back in her room with Mrs Weasley none the wiser. In exchange, Bill had been teaching Ginny a new repertoire of curses and jinxes.

“I’m getting rather good at silent casting,” she had said with a grin as she plopped down next to Ron’s bookshelf.

With George on the sofa, and of course Fred, Sirius, and Regulus staying downstairs as well, Ginny had decided that the best place for her and Hermione to disappear to was Ron’s room.

Ron hadn’t been initially pleased about it, but he had stopped complaining when Harry had gallantly offered Hermione the camp bed next to Ron. He would be happy to take the floor next to Ginny.

As the four of them had gotten settled in for bed, Hermione had pulled the diadem out from a bundle of linens. They had all stared at it for a moment, until Ron had broken the silence.

“What are we supposed to do with it?”

Harry had shrugged, and told them about his duel with Voldemort, how the diadem had nearly killed him, and might have, if Cedric had not saved him. Hermione had dropped it to the floor as if it had suddenly turned hot in her hands. No one had moved to pick it up.

Finally, Harry had said, “You know you don’t have to come with —”

But Hermione and Ron had fiercely restated their plans to join him on the quest. Ginny had put her hand over his and said, “Ron, you should show him what you did.”

Ron had made a face and said, “In the morning. I think we’ve all got enough nightmare oil to burn for one night.”

Now, the darkness was receding slowly, giving way to a grey dawn. Harry closed his eyes, but there seemed to be a stone wall erected between him and sleep. He was comfortable, he was tired, and yet…

Harry did not think he would be able to sleep well again until this was done, Voldemort in his head or no.

Something chirped beside him and he opened his eyes to see Ginny stirring. She rubbed her eyes and he found the source of the strange noise. Her bracelet was blinking with an orange glow and twittered like a bird song. Ginny didn’t normally wear jewelry, let alone sleep in it.

She pulled it off and sat up with a groan.

“What is it?” Harry whispered.

“Sorry — didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.��

Ginny rummaged in the blankets for her wand and, once she had found it, pointed it at the bracelet. “Finite.” The chirping and blinking stopped. Ginny yawned. “Bill and I had a close call last week. He overslept, and Mum was in the kitchen when I woke up. She didn’t see me — or maybe just assumed I was Bill under the blankets. I had to sneak back to my room while she was cooking. Gave him and Fleur an earful. Anyway, he made this, one for each of us. It’s charmed to light up when Mum opens up her wardrobe. It’s not perfect, but it helps.”

“So you have to go?”

Ginny glanced at Hermione, still sound asleep, then out at the greying light. “Mum probably won’t check on us for a while. She knows we all had a long night. Surprised she’s up this early herself.”

Harry wondered if he and Mrs Weasley were having similar trouble sleeping. He had seen Mrs Weasley’s boggart two summers ago, and his own parents’ as well: their children, dead. There was nothing that had happened in the past two years to have mitigated that fear.

Ginny squeezed his hand and nodded towards Ron’s balcony. They moved to where they could talk more freely, without worry of waking their friends.

The Burrow was quiet this early in the morning. There were not even birds calling to each other just yet. The air was heavy and damp, but not yet hot. He and Ginny leaned against the railing and each other. Had there not been a war and a prophecy hanging over them, this morning would be perfect.

“I know you have to go,” Ginny said softly, “but will you stay until my birthday at least?”

Harry, who had already told Cedric and Sirius that he might stay until the first of September, thought this a perfectly reasonable request.

“Since I don’t exactly have an idea where I’m going, I don’t think staying a couple more weeks would hurt,” Harry said.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Not much of a plan, then?”

“Cedric said he’s going back through some books. I’m sure Hermione would love to get her hands on what he’s reading.”

“She did some of her own research. I’m sure she’ll tell you about it — that is, if Mum gives you three a moment alone.”

“Is she going to keep us from getting moments alone, too?”

“Until Bill and Fleur’s wedding, I expect we’ll have plenty of mornings like this.”

“And after?”

“What’s to stop you from slipping down to my room?”

“Hermione and Ron, probably.”

She laughed, and they kissed.

There were lots of things Harry loved about Ginny — her confidence, her indignation, her bravery, her eyes, her smile — but above all, he loved making her laugh. He had grown up in a house full of pranks and witty comments, a house full of laughter. Making Ginny laugh felt like coming home. He didn’t know if that was how to define love, but he knew that he quite liked the feeling, and he wanted to stay with it as long as possible.

Staying until the first of September sounded better and better by the hour.

But the sight of four owls on the horizon reminded Harry that he couldn’t extend his stay at the Burrow any longer than necessary.

Three were simply their owls returning from their nightly hunt. Pigwidgeon and Errol swooped upward toward the roof of the house, and Hedwig came to rest on Ron’s balcony. She hooted a greeting at Harry and Ginny. The fourth owl soared down towards the kitchen, a rolled up newspaper tied to its talons.

Whatever terrible news was enclosed in that paper could only be stopped by Harry defeating Voldemort.

Harry stroked Hedwig and she stretched her neck up into his hand.

“When I do go,” Harry said, “could you take Hedwig? I don’t think it’ll be safe to travel with her.”

Ginny did not answer right away, even though Harry had not thought the request especially taxing. He had thought Ginny might even like having a reminder of him around while she was away at Hogwarts.

“I guess writing to you is out of the question,” she finally said.

“Maybe I could take the second half of the mirror off of my parents before I go. We could talk without anyone knowing.”

“I would sleep a lot better knowing you’re safe.”

Harry thought that he would, too.

They allowed themselves a few more quiet minutes together, even as the smell of breakfast cooking drifted up from the kitchen, before waking Hermione. It was decided that the walk down the creaky stairs was too risky, so Ginny borrowed Ron’s broom to carry her and Hermione around the outside of the house, avoiding windows, until she reached the window of her own bedroom.

Once they had gone, Ron crawled back into bed and fell asleep without much thought. Harry lied down on the camp bed. It smelled like Hermione still, which Harry found neither comforting nor disconcerting, just unusual. He felt a lump under the pillow and when he dug his hand underneath, he retrieved the diadem. At least it had not tried to kill Hermione in her sleep.

Harry set it aside and wondered if Cedric would be able to help him destroy it without the use of the sword, or if perhaps Hermione had found something in her research. Together, they could all go through Grimmauld Place’s library. Harry hoped that Cedric’s theory was right, that Snape had not shared the location with Voldemort after all.

Though Harry did not remember falling asleep, the sun was streaming brightly through Ron’s window when Mrs Weasley’s knock at the door called them downstairs for breakfast.

The breakfast table was nearly full when they arrived. Fred and Tonks sat next to Lily and James, and Fleur, Ginny, and Hermione were already seated as well. Picksie, Molly, and Remus set out the food.

“If your bedhead is any indication,” James said as Ron and Harry took their seats, “then I’d say you both slept rather well.”

“My hair always looks like this,” Harry said, and made a show of trying to flatten it out. “Just like yours.” But he supposed there was some truth to James’ statement. Sleeping on the floor beside Ginny had been some of the best sleep he had gotten all summer.

“George alright?” Ron asked, glancing between his mother and Fred.

“He’s resting today,” Molly said. “I wish we could all take the day off, but there’s a good deal of work to be done.”

“Where’s Sirius and Regulus?” Harry asked. “And Hagrid and Bill?”

“Sirius ‘as gone weeth Bill to check ze barriers around ze Burrow, since Hagreed left early for Hogsmeade,” Fleur said. “I ‘ave not seen Regulus zis morning.”

“I’m sure he heard Mum say there was work to be done and decided to nap under the sofa,” Fred laughed.

“He certainly disappeared a good deal while we were at Grimmauld Place,” Remus said as he took his seat beside Tonks.

Ginny yawned and filled her plate. “I think I’ll take a nap under the sofa, too.”

“Not when there’s cutlery to be polished and favours to put together and a garden to get in perfect order you won’t,” Mrs Weasley said.

“Picksie will help,” Picksie squeaked, and climbed into a chair that someone had resized so she could sit at the table. “Picksie loves gardening.”

“We’ll all help, Molly,” Lily said as she adjusted the bandages on her arm. “It’s the least we could do.”

The back door opened, and Bill and Sirius were thoroughly scolded for dragging in mud before Molly pulled up chairs for them.

“Morning everyone,” Bill said cheerily, and kissed Fleur before taking his seat. “Any news about our grand duel last night in the papers?”

Hermione folded up the Daily Prophet she had been reading half-heartedly and handed it to Bill. “It seems,” she sighed, “that they don’t want people knowing just how powerful Voldemort’s gotten.”

Sirius snorted. “You’d think they might want to let the world know Harry Potter dueled and won against Voldemort once again. Might bolster morale — Tonks, aren’t you eating?”

Harry frowned and looked at Tonks, realising suddenly that it wasn’t like her to be so quiet, even early in the morning, and her plate was strangely empty. She even looked pale.

“I’m not very hungry,” she said, but she reached for a piece of toast and nibbled on it without buttering it.

Remus frowned worriedly and Sirius drummed his fingers on the table.

“Too much whiskey last night?” Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, must be,” she said, but that only confused Harry because he didn’t remember Tonks drinking at all.

“Perhaps we should head home,” Remus said.

With a pang, Harry realised that “home” was no longer Styncon Gardens for Remus. It wasn’t going to be home for any of them for a while.

As Remus stood, he pulled the ring off his finger and handed it to James.

“This is yours, isn’t it?”

“Er — yeah.” James took it. “Last minute stand in. We’ll get you a proper one soon.”

“There’s no need,” Remus said.

Sirius was about to argue, but Tonks cut him off as she also got to her feet. “Sorry to leave so abruptly, Molly. Maybe I’ll have a better appetite next time.”

“You may want to hold off your next time,” Bill said. “If you do come around again, we’ll probably put you to work getting ready for the wedding.”

Tonks’ smile was thin but earnest. “That actually sounds nice.”

Bill and Molly were not exaggerating about putting people to work. There were linens to change, rooms to clean, gnomes to de-gnome, ribbons to match, flowers to plant, chickens to muck — the list never ended. And Harry noticed how Molly never gave him tasks with Ron, Hermione, or Ginny, just as Ginny had predicted.

On Monday, Harry worked with Lily to change all the linens for the Delacours’ arrival. She didn’t comment when Harry and Ron brought down an enormous bundle of linens from upstairs, far more than was necessary for two beds, but she did raise her eyebrows.

They took a short break after hanging the wash for Sirius to take a look at Lily’s arm. Sirius taught and made Harry re-explain the theory behind Burn Healing, but he did not let Harry attempt the spell on Lily’s arm. He did, though, take the time to teach Harry the Hydration Web that Tonks had used the night before. Sirius explained that it was essential to proper Healing, as burns depleted the body’s store of water.

“When did you learn all of this?” Harry asked. He understood how Sirius had learned the Healing necessary to repair breaks and bites, but these sorts of spells and Anti-Hexes were not the types of wounds one usually got from a werewolf.

“It isn’t our first war, Harry,” Lily said softly.

“I know you’ve said that Dumbledore didn’t want you to share his plan,” there was a dark edge in Sirius’ voice as he wrapped Lily’s arm in fresh gauze, “but we’re here to help you, Harry. Prophecy be damned, we’re going to help.”

Both gratitude and protest lodged themselves in Harry’s throat. He said nothing, however, and only muttered the incantation to clean the used bandages.

On Tuesday, Harry polished silver with Fleur and listened politely while she chatted about how excited she was for the wedding and how she and Bill would be traveling in France for the honeymoon. It was not exactly more preferable than Sirius’ pressing, but at least Fleur was content with vague grunts of approval.

On Wednesday, James, Harry, and Picksie put the final touches on the garden. They added Flitterby bushes to the porch, de-gnomed the garden, and spruced up the chicken coop. With James’ excellent Transfiguration techniques, it looked as good as new by the time they were done.

James did not bring up Harry’s impending departure throughout the day’s work. The closest he came was mentioning that Molly wanted to put together a small dinner for Harry’s birthday tomorrow evening.

“She said she’d invite Remus and Tonks, of course, and the Longbottoms. Did you want anyone else? Cedric, maybe?”

Harry shook his head. “She doesn’t have to — I mean, it’s okay if we don’t do anything.” He had not had high hopes for his seventeenth birthday, not since lifting the Trace meant the beginning of bearing the full weight of the prophecy.

“Your mum and I said the same. She insisted.” James paused and eyed the chicken coop. He used his wand to add a detail of posies in the paint around the door. “We are going to talk tomorrow,” he finally said, “about all of this.”

Harry appreciated the warning. He did not want to lie, but having the time to figure out exactly what to tell them and how to tell it would help. Maybe he should just tell them everything. Maybe they could help him destroy the diadem, or maybe they would have ideas about where the other Horcruxes were hidden. Like Sirius had said — it wasn’t their first war.

“James,” someone called from the porch. They turned to see Regulus calling to them, hands shading his eyes. “Lily and Molly want your help colour-matching some ribbons. Lily says you have the best eye for it.”

James grinned, all tension from his conversation with Harry invisible at a moment’s notice. “She’s right.”

He disappeared into the house, leaving Harry and Picksie to finish up weeding the flowerbeds, but Picksie insisted that she could perform the work fastest with her own magic, and Harry should go inside to find something else to help with.

Harry slipped past his parents and Mrs Weasley working in the living room, and went upstairs, thinking he would prefer helping Ron clean his room to matching colours on ribbons.

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it!” Ron said suddenly, as Harry pushed the door open.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ron, standing in the center of the room with a sock in each hand. He realised it was Harry who had walked in and sighed in relief.

“Oh,” and Ron fell back into his bed.

The bedroom was not any cleaner that it had been that morning. Harry and Ron’s trunks were both open, clothes draped on the edges and in piles on the floor. The bedding that Harry and Ginny had been sleeping on was thrown onto the camp bed in a lump, and Hermione was seated there, a book in her lap.

“Weren’t you supposed to be doing something?” Harry asked.

“Linens,” she said, “but you already did that. Ginny and I didn’t think it worth mentioning.” She closed the book in her lap and tossed it into a pile of more books on the floor.

“We were just talking about Yaxley,” Ron said. “D’you reckon he survived?”

Harry shrugged. “Mum and the Diggorys and George all got out, so I don’t see why he couldn’t.”

Ron frowned. “Yeah, Hermione said the same. Still, it’d be nice to think he didn’t.”

Hermione turned over Spellman’s Syllabary in her hands and eyed the spine.

“I’m more surprised he was able to get close to Mr Diggory,” she said distractedly. “The Ministry doesn’t seem to care much at all that he was there when… when Dumbledore was killed.”

Ron sat up and scrounged through his bedside table for a handkerchief, as if he could sense the oncoming tears.

“What do you think, Harry?” she said suddenly.

“What? About the Ministry once again failing to listen to me about any —”

“I meant about runes. Do you think we’ll need to translate any runes in our hunt for Horcruxes? I suppose it’s possible. Perhaps we should take it anyway.” And she tossed her book into a new pile, then reached for Hogwarts, A History.

Harry watched her run her finger through the table of contents before sighing and adding it to her pile of books to carry with them.

Ron stood uncomfortably with a handkerchief in his hand, and his eyes darted furtively between Harry and Hermione. Harry did not think he needed a handkerchief, even as he swallowed down a swell of emotion.

“Are you sure you’ve really thought this through —”

Hermione slammed one of the books on top of the discard pile. Harry didn’t see the title, but he did see Gilderoy Lockhart’s flowing blonde hair on the cover.

“Of course we have, Harry,” she said, rather sharply. “I’ve spent all week packing — if you’re missing some of your wash, it’s probably in my bag. Ron told you what he did, didn’t he?”

“Er —” Ron frowned. “We haven’t talked about it in detail or anything —”

“Show him.”

Ron sighed and got out of bed. He motioned for Harry to follow him onto the landing, where he pointed his wand at the ceiling and brought down a set of stairs. The stairs were not the only thing that came down from the attic.

Harry buried his nose in the crook of his elbow as a terrible smell, much like a sewer drain, wafted down, along with strange, low moans that reminded Harry of the Bloody Baron haunting the Astronomy Tower.

“Is that your ghoul?” Harry asked. “The one who usually rattles the pipes?”

Ron nodded and motioned for Harry to follow him up. Harry’s stomach protested, but he followed Ron just the same.

In the small attic crawlspace, Harry saw the ghoul, moaning, with bright red hair and dressed in pajamas — two features Harry did not think were very common in ghouls and poltergeists. It was as slimy as he expected a ghoul to be, though he did not think the oozing green pustules were a traditional feature of ghouls, at least not to that extreme.

“Are those… your pajamas?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said, then made a face. “I’ll explain — but not here. The smell is getting to me.”

He and Harry went back downstairs, and Ron firmly closed the attic door behind them. The smell lingered, but it was more bearable once they were back in Ron’s room with the open balcony.

“The ghoul will be me while I’m gone,” Ron explained. “He’ll get to live in my room, which I think he’s excited about — at least, he nods a lot between his moans and drools when you mention it. Pretty good, isn’t it?”

Harry blinked at Ron as he took a seat on the floor. “I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione said sharply. “When the three of us don’t return to Hogwarts, you know the Death Eaters — and the Ministry — will come looking for us, and our families.”

“We can’t have all of our families in hiding like yours,” Ron said, a bit more patiently than Hermione, “especially with how big mine is. And they all have jobs and things. So instead, we’re going to put out the story that I’ve got spattergroit, so I can’t go back to school. If anyone investigates, Mum and Dad can show them the ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit’s really contagious, so they’re not going to want to go near him. It won’t matter that he can’t say anything either, because apparently you can’t once the fungus spreads to your uvula.”

“So your parents are in on the plan?” Harry asked.

Ron made a face. “You know my Mum. But Dad’s in on it. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum probably won’t accept that we’ve really gone until we actually Apparate away.”

Harry thought about what he would have to tell his parents tomorrow. Maybe Ron’s approach was right. They could help him, even if they couldn’t know all the details.

“What about you, Hermione?” Harry asked. “What did your parents say when you told them?”

Hermione froze, Numerology and Grammatica about to be tossed aside, but suddenly clutched tightly in her hands. She finally discarded it and said, “I didn’t tell them. They’re Muggles, so they wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh… You don’t think the Death Eaters will leave them alone, do you?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “That’s why I modified their memories. They think they’re called Monica and Wendell Wilkins, and their life’s ambition is to move to Australia. I expect they’re already there by now, and perfectly happy, and perfectly out of Voldemort’s reach, were he to try to track them down.”

“And they don’t know about you leaving school?”

Hermione hesitated again. “They don’t even know they have a daughter, just a very big cat called Crookshanks.” A tear fell down her cheek as she said this, and Ron hastily searched his bed for the handkerchief to hand to her. She thanked him and blew her nose. “Assuming we survive,” she sniffed, “I’ll find them when this is all over,” she said, “and undo the Charm. But, until then…”

Harry sat down on the floor and considered just how much Ron and Hermione were giving up for him. Hermione had a point, that it was very likely their families would be tracked down for information on him. Remus, Tonks, and Sirius were in as much danger as James and Lily. If Harry involved them in this quest, then Voldemort had more opportunities to learn what Harry was doing and stop him.

Harry wondered what would happen to Cedric’s parents if Cedric suddenly stopped showing up at the Ministry. Had Cedric also made preparations for his family? For his boyfriend? Harry didn’t know much about Christian, but he knew that he worked for the Ministry. It would not be hard for the Death Eaters to get to him and the Diggorys, too.

“What we really need to decide,” Hermione said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts, “is where we’re going to go after we leave here. Do we track down the sword? Or another Horcrux?”

Harry had been turning this question over in his mind all summer, and he had not found any answers. “I suppose you haven’t found another way to destroy the diadem,” he said.

“I have been researching that,” Hermione said. She dug through her pile of books that were approved for the journey and fished out a black book with gold binding.

“I thought you said that you couldn’t find any books on Horcruxes in the Hogwarts library,” Harry frowned. “I know Cedric said he found some in Grimmauld Place, but —”

“There weren’t any in the library,” Hermione said, “but… well, when we were packing to leave Hogwarts, I just… I cast Accio and they came zooming out of Dumbledore’s office. He had removed them from the library, but he didn’t destroy them.”

Ron gaped at her.

“It’s not as if we’re going to use them to make a Horcrux,” Hermione said defensively. “And anyway, I would have thought Dumbledore would make the much harder to get to — and they were library books, after all, so it isn’t stealing —”

“Do you hear us complaining?” Ron said. “I think it’s brilliant. Tell us what you found.”

Hermione sighed and touched the cover of the black tome in her hands gingerly. “This is the one with all the instructions for creating a Horcrux — Secrets of the Darkest Art. It’s a horrible book, full of awful, evil magic. If Dumbledore didn’t have it removed until he became Headmaster, Tom Riddle must have got all the instruction he needed from here.”

“Then why’d he ask Slughorn about it?” Ron asked.

“He only approached Slughorn to ask about the danger of making multiple Horcruxes,” Harry said. “I think he’d already killed his dad by then, and turned that ring into a Horcrux, and probably killed Moaning Myrtle to make his diary a Horcrux, too. But he would have needed to know if it was safe to make more.”

“Wouldn’t it have been nice if it wasn’t?” Ron asked. “If he’d just evaporated after making a third or fourth?”

“I’m surprised he’s made it as far as he did,” Hermione said, “especially if Harry’s dream is right, and Voldemort made a new one. This book even warns how dangerous tearing your soul once is. Voldemort’s done it six times now — seven, if Harry’s dream is accurate.”

“Is there any way to put yourself back together?” Ron asked.

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said, “but it’s supposedly more painful than tearing it in the first place.”

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Remorse. There’s a footnote saying you’ve got to really feel sorry for what you’ve done, for the people you’ve killed. Apparently the pain of that alone can kill you. I don’t see Voldemort doing that somehow, do you?”

Ron grunted in annoyance. “Alright, so undoing it’s out. How do we find and destroy them?”

“I don’t know about finding,” Hermione said, “but destroying them isn’t easy. The book warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From what I’ve read, what Harry did to Riddle’s diary was one of the really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux.”

“Stabbing it with a basilisk fang?” Harry said with raised eyebrows.

“Good thing we have such a large supply of basilisk fangs,” Ron snorted. “I was wondering what we would do with them.”

“It doesn’t have to be a basilisk fang, exactly. Just something as dangerous. Something that prevents the Horcrux from repairing itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote — phoenix tears. So a Horcrux can’t fix itself. Gryffindor’s sword would work, because it has those same properties now, but we couldn’t just find any goblin-made sword. A cut can be Healed. There are very few substances as deadly as basilisk venom, and they’re all dangerous to travel with. Perhaps if we take the diadem to one of them…”

“Sure, let’s march into Hogwarts and pick up some basilisk fangs,” Ron said. “It’s only more protected than the Ministry.”

“What if we do that?” Harry asked. “I know we’ve said we aren’t going back to school, but what if we just went back?”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione scoffed, “do you think you’d be able to carry the diadem back into Hogwarts? And traveling on the Hogwarts Express would be foolish. Put yourself in one place that you can’t get away from, at a time and location the Death Eaters can easily predict?”

“Okay,” Harry said, “new plan — we get Ginny to get us basilisk fangs.”

“And how are we supposed to get them from her?”

“The tunnel under the Shrieking Shack. Only Dumbledore and my family know about it —”

“And Snape,” Ron said. “If You-Know-Who thinks we’d go back to Hogwarts for anything — if he knows we’ve got a Horcrux —”

Harry grimaced. “Alright, Hogwarts is out. I’m still going to get Ginny the mirror, though, just in case. If we don’t have any other options, it might be worth the risk.”

“Speaking of Ginny…” Ron frowned.

Harry braced himself for another warning about hurting Ginny, or even a request that he break up with her before the quest, but it didn’t come.

“I was thinking about how the diadem tried to kill Harry,” Ron said. “Isn’t it like when the diary tried to kill Ginny? How safe is it to travel with this thing?”

Hermione’s hand rested on the pillow on the camp bed, where they had been hiding the diadem. “As long as the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside of it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don’t mean holding it for too long; it’s nothing to do with touching it. I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You’re in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t think I’m very dependent on the diadem.”

“I should think,” Hermione said, “that dueling Voldemort directly had an impact. It must have sensed danger.”

“So we destroy all the Horcruxes before we face Voldemort,” Ron said, “not just to make him easier to kill, but so that we don’t accidentally kill ourselves in the process.”

“Which leaves us with perhaps a more pressing question,” Hermione said, “which is where do we look?”

Ron and Hermione both looked to Harry for an answer, but he didn’t have one. He certainly wished that he did, but he couldn’t think of anything from his lessons with Dumbledore that gave him a clue where the other Horcruxes might be.

“Cedric said he would look for more information in the Black family library. He thinks Grimmauld Place might still be safe. We could start there. I know Regulus Black thought that there might be a Horcrux there.”

“But he didn’t find one,” Hermione pointed out. “We ought to look at places that were important to Voldemort. Places important to his childhood, to his rise to power. The orphanage, maybe?” she suggested, but Harry considered the objects Voldemort had chosen — symbols of Hogwarts and of his wizarding legacy.

“He’ll want something that symbolises his power,” Harry said. “Something like Hogwarts, or his family home. I’ve no idea where Regulus found the locket. Perhaps we should —”

There was a loud bang as Ron’s bedroom door flew open. Harry dove for his wand and Hermione, in an attempt to stand quickly, got tangled in the linens and fell off the camp bed. Ron leapt to his feet, scrambling for a jumper draped over his trunk.

Mrs Weasley stood in the doorway, her brown eyes flashing furiously as she looked over the three of them. “I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering, but the Delacours will be here shortly, and there are still presents that need sorting out, and Ronald Weasley, I thought that thisroomwouldbecleanbynow.” She said all of this without taking a breath.

Mrs Weasley took Hermione to sort out the presents alongside a very irritated Ginny, and Harry was escorted to the kitchen where Sirius was washing dishes by hand.

“Ah, Molly,” Sirius said with a tired smile. “Can you ask Lily and James to end their competition for most detailed ribbon decoration? I’d like my wand back to finish up these dishes.”

Mrs Weasley frowned. “I thought I had Regulus helping you.”

Sirius shrugged. “He disappeared as soon as I got the water running.”

Mrs Weasley huffed and left to find Regulus. Putting Regulus Black to work, however, was much like trying to squeeze pus from a Bubotuber Pod, and Harry thought that perhaps Mrs Weasley ought to have learned that by now. He set to work helping Sirius finish off the dishes without complaint. Even though he would not be seventeen until tomorrow, Sirius did not scold him for using his wand to finish up the cleaning. It was much more efficient, and they were able to not only have the dishes washed but the table set with plenty of time for them to clean themselves up before the Delacours arrived.

Arthur Weasley went to meet the Delacours at the point their Portkey would arrive, and the Weasleys and Potters gathered on the porch to greet the Delacours as they arrived. Lily attempted to flatten Harry’s hair, and Harry asked why she never bothered trying to flatten James’.

“He’s taller than I am,” she said.

“So am I.”

“Yes, but you weren’t always.”

“In Harry’s defense,” James said, “you were taller than me when we were twelve, but I don’t think you had much interest in my hair then.”

“And yet,” Sirius interrupted, “you still somehow managed to spend an hour in front of the mirror every morning trying to style it in a way to get her attention.”

Mr and Mrs Delacour arrived with their youngest daughter, Gabrielle, who Harry had met briefly at the Triwizard Tournament. Gabrielle, two years grown since then, looked even more like Fleur and her mother. They all had the same silvery hair, sharp cheeks, and graceful walk. Mr Delacour, however, walked beside his wife less like a leaping gazelle and more like a trundling hippopotamus. He was shorter and rounder than his wife and daughters, with a dark and pointy beard and a candid smile. He greeted Molly first with a kiss on each cheek, then did the same to Lily, catching her off guard. He stopped and looked at Ginny.

“Fleur told us that Bill ‘ad only one seester and here I see two!”

“Non, Papa,” Fleur laughed. “Voici Lily Potter et voici James et Harry. Oh! Et Sirius Black.”

“Enchanté!” Mr Delacour heartily shook each of their hands. “Ve have hear’ much of your duels against Celui-Dont-On-Ne-Doit-Pas-Prononcer-Le-Nom, and Fleur has spoken very vell of you all.”

Sirius grinned and said something in rapid fire French that Harry thought must be nonsense, but Mr Delacour threw his head back and laughed.

“C’est vrai!” he said, and wiped a tear from his eye. “C’est vrai.”

Harry could not keep up with them, and simply stared as Sirius and Delacour conversed animatedly.

James groaned. “We’ll never get Sirius back.”

“You would think he’d be out of practise,” Lily said.

“He’s only doing it to show off because Regulus can’t show him up —”

Lily elbowed him as Mrs Delacour approached and gave them each a kiss on the cheek.

The black cat watched from a window inside, and Harry hoped that Regulus was not too uncomfortable. The Delacours were not in the Order, and though they were certainly trustworthy, Regulus Black was still a wanted criminal. He would need to remain a cat in the Weasley’s household until the last of the wedding guests had gone, including the Delacours.

Mrs Delacour praised the house and all the hard work Fleur said they had gone to. Mrs Weasley insisted that it was nothing at all, and Ron and Ginny exchanged glances that bordered on murderous.

The Delacours were pleasant guests, and added more laughter to an already lively household. The only real downside, Harry and Ron discovered that first night, was that since Gabrielle was staying with Fleur in Ginny and Hermione’s room, Ginny and Hermione could no longer sneak upstairs. Somehow, Harry found the camp bed far less comfortable than the floor had been.

And, for some reason, he began dreaming of a small town somewhere in the German countryside.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

On the morning of the thirty-first of July, Harry woke with the dawn, as he had each morning before, only this time, he had no desire to fall back asleep. He excitedly rummaged for his wand and whispered, “

Accio Glasses

.”

His glasses slammed into his face, poking him in the eye, but he grinned regardless. He could do magic, and there was no Trace to tell the Ministry what he was up to.

Harry spent his morning quietly practicing sets of mundane Charms while Ron slept. He removed books from Ron’s shelves and put them away. He changed the colour of his pyjamas. He unpacked his trunk and re-folded all of his clothes. This particular spell was rather time consuming, but he hoped with practice he would become as efficient at it as his parents were.

When Ron did finally wake up properly, he rummaged under his bed for a moment before retrieving a small box wrapped in red paper and gold ribbon.

“Happy seventeenth birthday,” Ron said.

There were two smaller packages inside the one box, and Harry, who had expected something Quidditch-related and was prepared for the sting of his lost Firebolt, was instead surprised to unwrap two Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products.

The first was a round tin labeled “Bruise-Removal” and the other a small satchel labeled “Sugar Hexes.”

“Wow, thanks, Ron.”

“I know it’s not much — but I figured you might want stuff you can carry when we go wherever it is we end up. And I remembered how helpful having those trick sweets was when we were stuck in Umbridge’s office, but if —”

“I think it’s brilliant, Ron. Thanks.”

There were gifts throughout the day. Hermione met him on the stairs and gave him a pocket Sneakoscope. At breakfast, the Weasley twins had a set of prank merchandise for him, Bill and Fleur gifted him a razor that they claimed did most of the work on its own, and Mr and Mrs Weasley gave him a jumper with a Snitch knit into the front that he put on immediately, despite the warm summer day.

Picksie’s gift was the breakfast itself, particularly the eggs that burst into feathers when Harry’s fork touched them. Sirius fell out of his chair from laughing so hard, and Harry thought that the laughter at breakfast was actually the best gift he could have gotten that day.

The small dinner that Mrs Weasley had promised turned out much larger than Harry would have liked. Dinner was moved into the garden to accommodate all the guests in the house, in addition to Charlie who had just arrived that afternoon from Romania, and Mr and Mrs Longbottom who came with Neville.

Mrs Weasley set the cake down in the center of the table in the garden. It was a Snitch about as big as Harry’s head, decorated in gold frosting that glittered in the twinkling fairy lights and lanterns that illuminated their outdoor dinner. He thanked her profusely, not entirely sure how else to express his gratitude, not just for the birthday but for everything the Weasleys had done for him and his family this week.

She smiled and promised him it was no trouble at all, but her worried eyes flicked to the gate. Mr Weasley was not yet home from the Ministry, despite the late hour. Though the evening carried on without him, the weight of his absence was felt in the lulls in conversation and gazes that drifted towards the edge of the garden.

“Forgive us if we’re a bit partied-out,” Mrs Longbottom said, and handed Harry a box about the size of his History of Magic textbook and about as heavy.

“We just had the whole family over last night for Neville’s seventeenth,” Mr Longbottom explained. “But we didn’t want to miss your seventeenth.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything —”

“Nonsense,” Mrs Longbottom interrupted. “You’re practically family, Harry. I remember when your parents stayed with us for a few months just before you were born, around the time the Ministry sent me home on leave for my own pregnancy. Your mother and I gave James quite the run around with our fickle appetites and several false labor alarms.”

“Neville tells us you’re interested in being an Auror after you finish at Hogwarts,” Mr Longbottom said. “We thought you might like something to help with that.”

Harry pulled back the wrapping to reveal a book bound in purple leather and gold leaf. The lettering on the spine read, “A Compendium of Codes of Conduct for the Career Auror.”

“When it comes time to start your Auror training,” said Mrs Longbottom, “let us know. I’m sure one of us will be happy to take on mentoring for you.”

“And the other will take Neville,” Mr Longbottom said with a smile.

Neville choked on the sip of water he had been in the middle of swallowing. “Dad — I’m not going to be an Auror. I only got four O.W.L.s.”

Mrs Longbottom kissed his cheek. “If you want to be an Auror, we can teach you anything you need to know, no matter what your exams say. But you know we’ll be proud of you no matter what you decide on. You can be anything you’d like, anything at all.”

Neville’s face turned bright red.

Harry thanked them for the gift, but he wondered if it would be as useful as they had hoped. He would not be finishing his education at Hogwarts, and he had not considered what that would mean for his future, nor Ron and Hermione’s. Were they also giving up dreams by abandoning their education?

It was tempting to simply disappear, to leave his friends and set out on this quest alone. Ron and Hermione could return to Hogwarts, could pursue the futures they wanted without interruption. But when he thought of all that they had already done for him, he knew it would be wrong to ignore their sacrifice. For better or worse, his friends were committed to seeing this through to the end.

The gate creaked as it opened, and Mrs Weasley turned towards it immediately, but it was not Mr Weasley who had arrived. Instead, Remus and Tonks came up the path and waved to the party.

Though Harry already thought that there were too many people here, he felt a warmth in his chest at the sight of them. He had not realised just how much of his mind had been devoted to worrying about them until that strain lifted. His entire family was present, and a part of him could relax.

Even as relief filled him, guilt twisted in his gut as he thought of the two-way mirror.

Just yesterday, while everyone had been preparing for the wedding, he had snuck into his parents room and stolen his parents’ half out of James’ trunk. He’d given it to Ginny, and made sure to give his half to Hermione, so she could pack it with everything else she had been preparing for their trip. Once he was gone, his parents would discover the mirror’s absence, and there would be nothing they could do about it. They would have no way to know that Harry was safe.

And Harry would have no way to know that they were safe.

Tonks gave Harry a tight hug when she saw him. “Wotcher, Harry! Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Are you feeling better?”

“What? Oh — yes, mostly. It comes and goes.”

“You put away nearly five helpings of potatoes and gravy at dinner last night,” Remus said, “but this morning you could hardly finish your toast. It comes and goes in some strange extremes.”

Tonks’ cheeks flushed. “Yes, well, I feel just fine tonight. Let’s say hello to everyone, shall we?”

Tonks hurried to greet the Longbottoms, but Remus stopped and hugged Harry. “Happy birthday, Harry.” He pulled a slender box from the pocket of his robe. “Have your parents given you their gift yet?”

“Er — no. I think they want to talk about… you know. Everything.”

Remus tucked the box back into his cloak. “Then ours will wait, too. They go better together.”

“You shouldn’t have —”

“It isn’t much,” Remus promised, “but it’s from Sirius and the cat, too. We wanted to do something for you. Seventeen’s an important year, after all.”

Harry didn’t care for the way “Seventeen’s an important year” settled into his gut. This year was important, for a lot of reasons, and Harry found himself wishing that it wasn’t.

“I suppose we should start without Arthur,” Mrs Weasley said as she pulled up seats for Remus and Tonks. “I’m sure he was only held up — oh!”

A silver spark crossed the gate and darted toward the table until it took the shape of a scampering weasel. It sat up on its hind legs and announced, “All is well. Minister for Magic coming with me.”

James and Lily looked at each other.

“Should we go?” Harry asked.

“He did say all was well,” Sirius murmured. “Maybe he thinks this is worth Scrimgeour knowing where we are.”

Remus swallowed hard. “Tonks and I should probably —”

“No,” Lily snapped. “If we’re staying, you’re staying.”

“It’s not like Scrimgeour doesn’t know about us,” Tonks said, and twisted the wedding band on her finger.

In the end, the only person who left the table was the black cat who wove between feet and chairs and scampered into the house just as Mr Weasley and Rufus Scrimgeour appeared at the gate.

Scrimgeour leaned heavily on his cane as he and Arthur approached. His hair still stuck out from his head, giving him the appearance of a lion, but it seemed thinner and greyer. His limp, too, seemed more pronounced. But his cold, critical gaze was unchanged as it passed over the gathering, until it slowly widened in surprise as he took in the Longbottoms and the Potters.

Frank and Alice stood, but James and Lily remained firmly in their seats as Scrimgeour reached the table.

“Sorry to intrude,” Scrimgeour said, “especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party.” His eyes flickered between Harry and Neville, as if he was unsure which of them the party was in honour of. He settled on, “Many happy returns to the two of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Neville said politely, as Harry offered a stiff, “Thanks.”

“I came to speak with Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger,” Scrimgeour said, “but as coincidence would have it, I also have business with Mr Neville Longbottom and Mr Harry Potter. Quite convenient to find you all together.”

“What sort of business?” James asked, voice as cold and stiff as Harry’s had been.

“I’m here to read the will of Albus Dumbledore.”

[sunflower-swan]

Wolfstar Chapter 14

A/N: Here’s what you need to know: I created this story for Writer’s Month 2020. Every day is a new prompt, and therefore a new chapter. This is an AU Wolfstar where Remus is a tattoo artist next door to Sirius who manages a flower shop. James and Lily are alive in this universe and own a coffee shop across the street. And to make parts of the story work with the prompts, Remus is about 10 years older than Sirius. It also takes place more or less in present time, minus Covid-19.

This is chapter 14 of a multi-chapter work. If you’d like to start from the beginning, here is chapter 1.

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I just like to play with them.

Day 14 Prompt: Metamorphosis

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 1240

Tags: angst, confessions, language

Chapter 14

Sirius

Warren Zevon, “Werewolves of London”

Well, I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen

Doing the Werewolves of London

I saw Lon Chaney, Jr. walking with the Queen

Doing the Werewolves of London

Remus and Sirius thanked James and Lily for a wonderful evening, and stepped out of the Cafe into the warm, late spring night. They wandered down the sidewalk, heading in the general direction of the alley apparition point.

Sirius stuffed the hand not carrying his guitar into his jeans pocket. “So…” He looked up at the inky sky to avoid looking at Remus.

“So…” Remus replied.

He had basically just poured his heart out through song, and ‘so’ was all either of them could say. Either Remus feels as uncertain as I do, or he doesn’t feel anything at all. It’s time to find out.

“What did you think of my song?” Sirius asked.

Remus breath hitched, and the sudden anxious tension was palpable in the air around them. “It was more pleasant on the ears than the last time I heard you play.”

Sirius stopped walking. Remus walked a couple strides before he noticed Sirius was no longer next to him, and turned.

“Seriously? That’s all? It was better listening than when I was circling the pit of Hell?” He quivered with indignation.

Remus looked down. He placed one hand on his hip, and the other rubbed his forehead. When he finally looked at Sirius, his eyes had a haunted look. He lowered his arm to his side and said, “What do you want me to say, Sirius?”

“I don’t know, Remus. But I poured my feelings out to you through a song about thirty minutes ago. I thought you might have some thoughts on the subject.” Embarrassment stirred within him. Guess it was just me then… 

Before the tears that were threatening could come to the surface, he tore across the street. Sirius was a few paces from the apparition point when Remus caught up to him.

He placed a gentle hand on Sirius's upper arm. “Sirius.” His voice was gravely. “Please, wait.”

Sirius' skin sizzled in the most delightful way under Remus’ palm. He took a deep breath before turning and Remus' scent washed over him. Old books and chocolate. A streetlight backlit Remus, so all Sirius could see was his dark outline.

“You’re right,” Remus said. “I do have thoughts on the subject of...you.” He moved his hand down Sirius’ arm, ending with brushing his fingertips along the backside of Sirius’ hand, before pulling it back to himself.

Long after Remus’ hand was gone, Sirius’ entire arm tingled from the gentle touch. Breathless, he said, “Ok…”

“There’s...something you need to know first.” His tone had taken on a slight bitter lilt.

“What’s that?”

“Come over to my flat tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. I’ll tell you then,” Remus said. “Good night, Sirius.”

Sirius watched the retreating figure of Remus until it turned the corner in the direction of their shops, and Remus’ flat. He wondered what it was that Remus couldn’t tell him right now. Why did it have to wait until tomorrow night? With those thoughts floating around in his brain, he turned and apparated back to his flat.

~~~~~

The following night, at ten minutes till nine, Sirius apparated to the alley behind the shops. He’d spent most of the day wondering what in the world Remus needed to tell him tonight. Why couldn’t he just say last night?

Sirius walked through the sun’s last rays of the day. The refracted light cast the world in a hazy red-orange color that reflected in the shop windows he passed. It was rather beautiful in a surreal and eerie way.

He came to the side door of the Lounge that led to Remus flat and rang the buzzer. Remus appeared at the door and opened it, then stepped aside to allow Sirius to enter.

Sirius looked Remus over. He looked...a bit of a mess actually. Instead of his usual trim and well-fitted clothes, he was wearing baggy sweatpants, and a threadbare shirt. It appeared he hadn’t bothered to shave today, and under the scruff his mouth formed a ridged line.

“Erm...Remus? Are you ok?”

Remus offered him a blank, expressionless stare. “Mostly,” he said. Then he turned and started walking down to the basement.

Sirius had never been to the basement of the building before. The door was always shut with a padlock. He assumed Remus meant for him to follow, so he did.

Apart from the musty mildew smell that haunted most old basements, there was also a distinct trace of iron...blood? What the fuck?

At the bottom of the stairs was a small concrete room with one small window on the west wall in front of him. An iron cage, similar to an old-fashioned jail cell, stood on the north wall to his right. A small spindly table sat under the window. What...the fuck?

Remus had one hand wrapped around a bar of the cage. His other hand rested on his hip, and his head was hung so that his chin was on his chest. The color had drained from his face.

Sirius had not moved from the foot of the stairs. “Remus. What is going on?” he asked nervously.

“The, um…” Remus squinted his eyes shut. “The Wolfsbane potion helps me keep my mind. And,” he took a deep breath, “the Calming Draught makes me sleepy. You won’t be in any danger.”

“Wolf...Wolfsbane?” His voice came out as a squeak. What. The. Fuck?

He watched his friend fling his wand on the table, and step into the cage. Remus swung the door closed with a loud CLANG, and then latched a heavy lock across it. With a heavy sigh, he grasped a bar in each hand, and settled his forehead in between the bars. His eyes were closed.

Unable to control his movements, Sirius stepped forward until he was in front of Remus. He lifted his hands until they wrapped around Remus’ hands.

Slowly Remus lifted his face. It was still pale. The corners of his mouth and eyes were downturned in the most somber expression Sirius had ever seen.

“You’ve always wanted to know the reason I don’t date. This...is part of the reason.” Remus lifted his head and looked out the small window.

Following his gaze, Sirius noticed the sun had fully set, and the moon was out. The full moon. He looked back at Remus and gasped at the golden glow in his normally soft amber eyes. Sirius took a step back. No!

“I’m sorry,” Remus said. Then a tortured cry rent the air as his body contorted and transformed.

Where a moment before Remus had stood, now a werewolf sat. It tilted it’s head to the side, and looked at Sirius and whined.

Sirius sank to his knees and peered through the bars. “Remus?”

The wolf sniffed and pawed the bars. A sad whimper left it’s throat.

“Remus? Can you hear me?”

It tilted it’s head back and let out a long sad cry. Then it circled a couple times and lay down next to the bars as near to Sirius as it could get.

Sirius edged closer to the cage. The wolf picked up it’s head and gave another whimper and pawed toward Sirius.

“I don’t care that you’re a werewolf, Remus. No one is perfect,” Sirius told him. He conjured a pillow and blanket for himself, and lay down outside the cage where Remus was laying on the inside. “I love you, you furry idiot,” Sirius muttered as he fell asleep.

Next Chapter: Chapter 15

[h-styles-babes]

TWELVE

The next day was a long recording day. No one seemed to be able to agree on anything, and it wasn’t because everyone had opposing views; it was because nothing sounded right, and only three weeks in, it seemed like everyone was experiencing some sort of creative fatigue. Everyone seemed to be dragging their feet, and Harry complained once or twice about not being able to write songs. They were pretty much stumped on the songs they were already mid-production on, so they’d suggested Harry take some time to try to complete some songs he had in the works. That wasn’t working out so well either, evidently.

Everyone straggled around the studio until nearly ten that night, everyone finally just giving up and calling it a night, citing that a good night’s rest would help them replenish their creative flow. While everyone that was set up in nearby hotels got cabs to take them back into the city, Sia wandered to the kitchen, hoping to find a snack that would help her settle down for the night. But after a few minutes of searching and pondering, Sia realised that she was too frustrated with how the session had gone to let her mind settle. She shut the refrigerator door once more with a heavy sigh and glanced over her shoulder.

The moon was full that night, shining in all its splendour on the rippling waves of the water and sparkled on the fine sands of the beach. It looked so inviting that Sia was already opening the back sliding door before she had even made the conscious decision to go outside and down to the beach.

All the doors and windows in the house were set with security sensors, and it beeped when any of them were opened. When the three little chirps sounded out, Harry looked over the back of the couch from where he’d been playing a game on his phone. He saw Sia standing in the open doorway, moonlight washing over her face, illuminating her profile. It’d been a long time since he’d taken just a few moments to really admire how beautiful she was. Sure, he knew she was beautiful. They’d been in a relationship for years and friends for even longer, so he was always aware of her good looks. However, in that moment with the natural lighting grazing the high points of her face, she looked like a goddess. It felt like a punch in the chest when he felt those familiar butterflies take flight in his stomach.

“Goin’ for a walk?” Harry asked her, making her quickly turn to look at him. She hadn’t realised he was sitting there.

“Yeah. Need to let myself calm down from all this stress today. Beach looked good.”

“Mind if I join yeh? Need a few minutes myself, I reckon,” Harry told her, already standing. He’d changed since they’d been in the studio. He’d been wearing loose-fit jeans and an Eagles t-shirt, but now he was in a very old, very hole-y, Rolling Stones tee that Sia was pretty sure he’d owned since he was seventeen, and a pair of athletic shorts that were a bit too short by American standards, but no one looked twice at in the UK. He looked comfortable and snuggly, and Sia had a sudden urge to plop herself on the couch and pull him beside her and just cuddle. While the thoughts were no longer unpleasant, they were still a bit jarring, and she blinked a few times to dispel the feeling.

“Sure. Could use the company, I guess. Plus Mitch would probably pitch a fit if he knew I went out alone this late,” Sia said with an affectionate roll of her eyes.

Harry motioned for Sia to exit the house before him, closing the slider behind himself once he stepped out.

“You and Mitch have gotten close, I take it,” Harry commented as they made their way across the bridge that connected the property to the beach. Sia kicked off her sandals as soon as her feet touched the sand.

“Yeah. He’s like my American Ellen,” Sia joked. “Let’s me vent to him and just offers advice. No judgement, no harsh words. I mean, Ellen can be a bitch, but it’s out of love. Mitch is like Ellen, but without the harsh reality side. Give him a few months, though. He might start puttin’ me in my place.” Sia chuckled, just imagining Mitch actually saying something unkind. It wasn’t easy to picture. “Is always lookin’ after me, checkin’ in whenever I’ve wandered off. He’s been a good friend.”

Harry cleared his throat. They had taken up a slow but steady place along the shore, right at the edge of where the water washed up, letting the waves wash over their toes. There were a couple of bonfires off in the distance, creating dots of bright orange along the coast. The sound of the lapping water was loud in the quietness of the night. The surf was calm, the waves no bigger than half a meter. Everything was just as Sia had imagined it would be. It made her wonder why she didn’t take advantage of the beautiful beaches back in LA more often. Maybe now she wouldn’t take them for granted.

“I uh…I was the one that sent him out lookin’ for you that first time,” Harry admitted, sounding a little bashful in his delivery.

Sia looked over at him, having to tilt her head up slightly to accommodate for their height difference. The moonlight was so bright that she could see the slight pink tinge of his cheeks and the high points of his ears.

She waited a beat before responding, “I know. Mitch told me.”

Harry hummed, dipping his chin to his chest. “Wanted to go myself, but thought better of it. Mitch said he’d go for me. Just didn’t want yeh gettin’ lost out here by yourself in the dark.”

Sia bit at the inside of her cheeks, contemplating how exactly she was going to respond. Her and Harry were still in this delicate place between tipping to hating each other again or tipping to becoming friends like they once were. She didn’t want to go back to yelling at each other and avoiding each other at all costs. Everything she’d conditioned in herself over the last year told her to tell him he needed to mind his own business, because she was none of his concern anymore, but she kept reminding herself that they were working toward being friends again.

“I know I’ve bit your head off about it a couple times before,” Sia began hesitantly, dipping her head down to look at her feet as they shuffled through the packed sand, “but I do actually appreciate your concern. Kinda miss havin’ someone look after me. Not that I’m not capable of lookin’ after myself. But…” Sia shrugged, “yeh know.”

Harry stopped walking, and Sia only walked past him for a pace or two before realising he was behind her. She turned on her heel and looked at him. He had his head tilted down to his feet, both hands shoved in his pockets. His toes were wiggling in the damp sand.

“What?” Sia asked, very aware that he was toying with something he wanted to tell her in his mind.

Harry sighed before looking back up at her, giving her the courtesy of looking her in the eyes. “I know we agreed to not dive into all our shit, but, I feel like it’s doing ourselves a disservice if we don’t at least talk about something. It just eats at me sometimes.”

Sia felt her jaw clenching in an automatic reaction to Harry’s confrontation. And it wasn’t even really a confrontation, it was more of a pleading suggestion, and it was one that was a long time coming. She had really got to get over her split-second reactions to all the things that Harry did, otherwise she’d be sprouting grey hairs before the end of this all.

“Can we…” Sia began, trying to unclench her teeth. She looked around and spotted a fairly big boulder that looked like it would do for a bit of seating while they were hashing things out. “Can we at least go sit for this?” she asked, gesturing to where she’d seen the rock, just a little ways down the shore.

Harry nodded and silently followed her, helping her take a seat before he arranged a comfortable position for himself. For thinking he was ready to have this conversation with her, he was feeling a lot of nerves about opening up the communication about what it was that had went wrong between them. He didn’t want it to be the beginning of the end yet again.

When Harry had been silent for longer than Sia was comfortable with, she sighed and looked over at him. He had a nearly violent grip on his lower lip with his index finger and thumb, turning the skin a pale colour.

“Know I’ve said it before, but it really wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Harry started before Sia could say anything to prompt him. She started ringing her hands together in anticipation and nervousness.

She wasn’t sure she was ready for this, but everyone in her life had assured her that she was more than ready, and she was more than strong enough to deal with it. She just had to stop convincing herself that it would push her over the edge and past her limits. She had made it through the trauma itself and was functioning as a normal, productive, sound person. She had to believe that dealing with it alongside the other person that was involved would only help her heal. It was the only way she was going to stop herself from freaking out further.

“What was it supposed to be like, then?” Sia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t look Harry in the eye, or even in the general direction of his face. She kept her eyes trained towards the ocean, watching the waves swell and crash against the sand. That was sort of how her life felt over the last year. A big swell of goodness and happiness and progress right before it all came crashing down, breaking against the shore and scattering in different directions. It kept happening to her over and over again, and she so badly wanted off the ride.

“I just…needed time,” Harry stumbled out. He ran his hand through his hair, lightly tugging at the strands. “Everythin’ was changing. Zayn left. The band was endin’. No one really knew what the fuck we were doing past early December. August was kinda the beginnin’ of the end.”

Sia clenched her jaw against his reasoning. Was he serious?

“So that meant the end of us, too? I was just another thing who’s ties needed to be cut? That’s fuckin’ fantastic, Harry. Really glad the three years in a relationship and over a decade of friendship meant so much to you.”

She moved to press herself up and off the rock, already regretting allowing herself to even begin this conversation. All this time she had spent convincing herself that speaking with Harry and forming some sort of new relationship with him was the best for her mental health and her own piece of mind had all been a waste. Her therapist would be getting a phone call in the morning.

“Wait!” Harry shouted, his voice sounding much too loud in the quietness of the evening. His hand darted out and grabbed ahold of her wrist gently, urging her to stay put and not walk away from him like she’d done countless times before. Doubtlessly, she’d been entitled to the storm-off before, but he thought they were past that now. They needed to talk, and he wasn’t going to just let her walk away this time.

“That’s not…” Harry rushed to get out, making sure she was still sitting on the rock beside him. “That’s not what I meant, love. I didn’t wanna drag you into all that shit with me. You were on the verge of startin’ your dream career. What woman wants to have a boyfriend that wanders aimlessly because he has no idea where his life is going? I just needed time to get my shit together after the end of the band, and I didn’t wanna pull you down in my slump.”

“So you broke up with me ‘for my own good’?” Sia asked, genuinely confounded. She didn’t think she’d ever furrowed her brow so hard before. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“It wasn’t just about you!” Harry insisted, trailing his hand from where it had still had a grip on her wrist to hold hers. He didn’t dare intertwine their fingers, so he kept them palm to palm, his fingers curled around the back of her hand. Just as a way to keep her anchored to him, at least for the duration of their conversation. “I didn’t want it fucking us up. Our friendship didn’t deserve a disastrous falling out because I was lazing around, unable to pull my life together. I swore I’d never be able to forgive myself if that happened.”

Harry swallowed harshly as he watched Sia watch him. Her eyes flitted around his face, most likely searching for any signs of insincerity, but he knew she wasn’t going to find any.

“I know that was selfish and stupid of me, but it was comin’ from a good place. I was tryin’ to preserve our friendship. Then, maybe if I got my shit together, we could go back to how we were.”

“That obviously didn’t happen,” Sia reminded him, not so kindly. “And somehow, finding you on a yacht with a model you’d claimed over and over again was just a friend just weeks after your last appearance with the boys doesn’t scream ‘man trying to get his shit together to get back with his ex-girlfriend.’”

Harry flinched at the venom in her voice, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. He deserved the ridicule and the harsh words. Nothing about his behaviour in those months after One Direction broke up spoke to the words he was trying to convince her of now. What man is spotted and photographed with his hands on the ass of another woman and then claims he’d broken up with his ex in order to try to preserve their relationship? Sia was calling absolute bullshit on that one.

“We were on holiday and drunk most of the time.”

“With your mum in tow? I’m sure Anne loved that.”

“She was just a…”

“Rebound? Booty call? Easy fuck? Pick one, Harry.”

“We’d been separated for months. Like you haven’t been with others since then.”

Sia was clenching her jaw so hard that it was beginning to hurt. She’d be paying for it the following day.

“No, actually, I haven’t. Unlike the other half of this relationship, I went into mourning after the end of my three year partnership that I’d thought was the be all end all for me.”

Harry would never realise the double meaning of her statement.

Sia couldn’t handle this conversation anymore. So much for taking a calming walk to shake off all the stress from the day. Now she was just more stressed, her shoulders up by her ears and her teeth audibly grinding against each other. And she was angry. She needed to go.

She pushed herself up from the rock they were sat on, and this time she didn’t let Harry’s protest stop her. She was already five meters away before Harry caught up to her, gently grabbing at her wrist once again. She shook him off and he let her, making sure she knew that his contact was only to get her to slow down and recognise his presence.

For all her initial anger at his comment and the reaction it had drawn out of her, the brisk walk she’d taken away from him and his appearance made her come to her senses.

She really had no right to be holding this grudge nearly a year on, and he was right, even if his argument sounded a little childish. They hadn’t been together anymore, so he really had no obligation to stay away from any women or abstain from sex. Sure she was hurt that he’d moved on so quickly after he’d broken up with her and had claimed that it was for the best for the both of them, but that didn’t justify her continued anger over the matter. She had bigger emotional things to worry about, and her fictionalised version of Harry that had been unfaithful was unfair to both him and herself. She needed to move past it.

Sia stopped suddenly, causing Harry to nearly trip over his own feet as he hurried to meet her movements. She stared down at her feet, and Harry watched as she chewed at her bottom lip. He wasn’t sure what it was that had her thinking so hard, but he hoped this wasn’t her shutting down even more.

After what seemed like hours, but was really only a few moments, Sia finally looked up at him, looking much less tense than she had just a few minutes before. Harry didn’t want to get his hopes up, though.

“I’m sorry,” Sia said, shaking her head, though she looked more exasperated with herself than anything else. “I overreacted. I’ve been overreacting for months now. It wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harry asked, genuinely confused by her apology. He had never questioned her anger at him over the breakup and the subsequent events that led to their falling out. It had hurt him to see her so angry and knowing it was his fault, but he’d never been upset with her over it. So her apology was out of left field for him.

“For holding this grudge against you for no reason. I don’t apologise for my initial anger over the breakup, but I do apologies for all these months of animosity. Cutting you out of my life completely and making our families our go-betweens was childish. I don’t wanna do all this anymore, Harry.”

“So…?”

“So I’m calling a cease-fire,” she stated succinctly. “No more harsh words, no more heightened guards, no more tension. I want my childhood friend back.”

Harry was sure he had never smiled harder in his life.

[gremlinkween]

Bad Moon Rising

Part 2: Mermen, Vampires, and Werewovles, Oh My! 

Summary: The reader finds and rescues a hurt merman who tells her that his name is Jim. She helps him without a second thought, but his presence might attract the attention of other supernatural creatures she never knew existed. This will eventually be a foursome (Jim Mason x Michael Langdon x Duncan Shepard x Reader) mythology/supernatural au.

A/N: I'm not dead! Instead of just saying that I was gonna do something, I figured my welcome back post would be the next revised chapter of BMR as an apology. I had some repressed memories come up and they were repressed for a reason so that rocked my boat real hard, but hi everyone! I'll get to the asks sitting in the inbox hopefully tonight, but it might have to be tomorrow. So for the new readers, the last one of the foursome is introduced, but we’ll get to actually see more of Michael and Duncan in the next part. There is an oc in here, Rory, that we’ll see more later. I’ve had him for awhile and he’s actually one of my fave characters ever. You can totally imagine Cillian Murphy for him. Again, if you want to be on the tag list, just hit me up and let me know what you think!

Warnings: No smut yet, sorry. There is blood, injury, mentions of mental illness, depression, crying, concern about having a total break from reality.

Word Count: 2.3k

Tagging List: @langdonsinferno, and @moonagecordelia and remember, my tag list is all sorts of messed up so please lmk if you want to be on it! either for this story or all my work! 

Previous Parts: Part 1

“I thought that vampires fed off of humans? Why did he go for you instead of me?”

“Well, yeah, vampires feed off of humans, but that’s not their only food source. Faerie blood is actually more nutritious and flavorful for vampires, just humans are more readily available and easier to hunt. He probably smelt my blood and sought me out.”

“… Wow, I mean makes sense, I guess?” It really didn’t, nothing made sense to her, but also Jim could tell her that the sky was actually purple and the ocean was orange, and she’d believe him at this point.

“You should probably take care of him.”

“Yeah, probably. Do I need something stronger than rope.”

He scoffed, “Yes, probably something more like a stake through the heart.”

She looked to the darkly angelic figure passed out on the floor. He looked helpless now, and she could see that the wounds that were on the cat adorned and tarnished his skin. He was hurt, and probably just looking for a way to heal himself. She felt bad, but on the other hand, Jim was in danger. So was she. This was fucked up. “No.”

Jim gave her a look like she might be insane.

“I said no. He’s just trying to survive like you. I’ll get like, chains or something. That should hold him?”

Jim looked at her with such bewilderment, she felt like she was the weird one in the room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s probably going to end badly.”

She was still looking at the vampire. Probably, she was thinking, but that’s not what she said. “I think it’s going to be fine.”

“…. Okay, if you say so.” Jim was still so unsure of this. “Just move him please.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

—————————

Moving the vampire that was nearly double her size wasn’t an easy feat, but she did it. Thank god for the hauls of fish she’s been lugging around her whole life or this might actually be impossible. She had him propped up against the support beam in the living room. That was the sturdiest place in her house she could think of, but you knew you needed to move fast. There was no telling how much time you had before he woke up, and she couldn’t imagine he’d be happy when he did. Now, the next problem was finding chains and a lock that was probably heavy duty enough. She figured the boatyard, but she’d really have to move her ass.

She grabbed the keys to her dad’s old beat up pick up truck and a jacket and hurried out the door. She was humming to herself in a tense song, a habit she did out of nervousness, and fumbled with the keys.

“Hi there, Y/N, a little la-” a familiar voice called, but with the night’s events, she was already under so much pressure, and she yelped and nearly threw the keys. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Hi, Rory. Sorry, it’s been a night.” Oh Rory, the older Irish gentleman that ran the dock’s favorite bar to go to in the evening, and her next door neighbor. She had known him her whole life, a steady constant in this crazy shit show her life had been these past couple of months. She really wasn't alarmed with him being out so late. With his business, he always had been a night owl.

“I can see that,” his thick accent rang out with a chuckle, and she blanched for a second. “Dragging in buckets of sea water?”

“It’s an art project,” She answered maybe a little too fast and he cocked an eyebrow. “You know, for processing trauma. I read about it.”

“Okay then, Y/N,” he was unsure, but he was going to drop it. He knew grief made people do some strange things sometimes. 

“I’m going out for more things.” She didn’t know when to stop talking apparently.

“Well, good luck with that at 3 am. Just be careful,” he wished her well, “It’s a full moon, all the crazies are out tonight.”

She just chuckled uneasily, if she could only tell him. “Will do, you get some rest.”

“You too, dear.”

She was finally able to get the truck open and started, and she sped off to the boatyard.

————————————

The yard was desolate and particularly eerily this night. Mist from the water was creeping over the place and gave it an all too fitting gothic appearance. She really wished that the world would stop being so poetic for a change. She found herself pulling her jacket tighter as she walked in between the older and busted up boats, something making the hair on the back of her neck stand up on end. A presence was following her, but she was all too tired of the night's weirdness to give into the thought. Surely, tonight couldn't get weirder. 

She had to kick the door down to the supply shed, but she doubted anyone would really care. This was the forgotten side of town anyway. She found heavy duty chains and a padlock fairly quickly, a feeling of satisfaction filled her that was quickly overshadowed by something else. Her head whipped up to the door and then to the window. She saw nothing, but she swore she felt eyes on her. Very intent eyes. God damn it. At this point, she was just hoping for another human.

The best thing to do was just get the hell out of there regardless, she decided, and without actually breaking into a run, she moved as fast as she could.

Outside, she swore she hear footsteps of something. It was much too big to be a person, but she didn’t know what it could be. Could be anything. She didn't know, and she was getting tired of this one night getting so fucking weird. There was an idea trying to creep into her mind, one that she was trying to violently shut out. She actually might just give up if she was right.

There was a movement and then a soft growl. She blanched again, but sighed. Of course. No, of course this would be the night that even more insane shit has to happen. She turned to the boat she saw the movement coming from and her eyes widened, yet she was somehow not surprised. A giant wolf monster sat perched up on the cabin and she nodded. “Sure. Yep. This might as well happen. Let’s just get this over with.”

It glowered at her as it crept down and off the boat, but in the bright moonlight, she saw the deep wounds ruining the lay of the coat. It growled again and began to stand on this back legs, standing at it’s full eight foot height, but she held dropped the chains and held up her hands. “Don’t even think about it, buddy,” she said firmly and the wolf’s ears pitched forward, clearly curious about the lack of fear.

“I’ve got a hurt merman and a vampire I need to restrain soon or he’s going to try to eat the merman at home. I see that you’re hurt. I can take care of you, but I need you to stop being a dick.”

It looked like it was debating something it’s head before settling down on all fours and cautiously moved towards her before gently nuzzling into her neck, smelling and licking her, she figured that this was some kind of greeting that werewolves had, but he was being friendly, but she just rolled with it. It was that kind of night that was already weird enough. She scratched behind it’s ears and it practically mewled and she had to smile, that was pretty cute.

“Come on, let’s go. I have to get back before the vampire wakes up.”

He limped along with her, and she had to help the poor thing up into the bed of the truck, but he was behaving quite well. She covered him up, with one of the tarps she used for the fish, and hopped in. Hopefully, she wasn’t too late, and she felt worry pit itself in her stomach.

———————————————–

She had to make sure the lights on in Rory’s house were off before she uncovered the newest friend and boy from her truck and hurried him into the house.

The first thing she did was check to make sure that the vampire was still out and passed out where she left him. Thankfully, he was, and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. She went back to the kitchen as the werewolf began sniffing around. “Go upstairs, it’s the room with the lights on.”

The wolf looked at her uneasily, but he relented and sulked up the stairs on all fours, looking over its’ shoulders at her.

She grabbed the chains and quickly secured the vampire to the post. There was a moment that nearly had her passing out, his nose flared a couple of times when she got closer, but luckily that was his only response to her.

She didn’t waste anymore time though, grabbed the medical box for the third time tonight, and she was running up the stairs. Once she reached the top of the stairs, she saw the large furry head pop out of the doorway. It was odd to have such a large creature in her house, but she didn’t think about that just yet. She sat the box down on the desk and she heard it growl softly.

“Come on, I know this is going to hurt a little bit, but,” the wolf cut her off with another, more aggressive growl.

“Uhhh, Y/N,” Jim called from the bathroom. “What was that?”

She turned around and went to the door. “I might have made another new friend tonight.” The wolf’s head popped into sight from the door to look at where the other voice came from out of curiosity, and Jim went white.

“That’s an alpha werewolf.”

She grunted as he pushed his way into the bathroom and began smelling and licking at Jim’s neck like he had done with her, and Jim couldn’t help the giggles that escaped his mouth and it only encouraged the wolf to tickle him more, but he eventually pushed him off gently.

Jim smiled shyly at the wolf before looking to her again. “Why was he growling at you?”

“I was just getting ready to stitch up his wounds.”

The monstrous animal’s ears pinned back at the word and Jim swatted his muzzle, startling the wolf.

“Be nice. She doesn’t know anything and you can’t talk in that form,” Jim chided with a small smile.

“You don’t need to rub it in!” She was almost defensive, but Jim was laughing.

“Werewolves don’t need stitches, particularly alphas. He’ll be fine by tomorrow night, you won’t even know that he was hurt.”

She nodded, but then stopped. “Why did he come with me then? If he didn’t need help.”

Jim’s eyes were practically shining with mischief. “He probably thinks you’re cute.”

She was bright red now and she looked at the clear amusement both of them had.

“Or he had other reasons, I’m just,” He had to think about it. He wasn’t sure about the human word for this. “Having my fun?” He had a little shy smile, and while she was scowling, her heart melted a bit at the expression.

“I didn’t realize I was opening my door to such jokesters,” but even she had to laugh.

She let out a yawn, and she realized how tired she was out. It hit like a freight train now that she didn't have a murderous vampire on the loose and she no longer had to play doctor. “Well, I think I’m going to be retiring for the night. Jim would you like a pillow or something?”

He cocked he eyebrow. Right, that makes sense that they wouldn’t have them in the ocean.

“I’ll go get one for you away.”

The wolf followed her out of the bathroom and crawled up on the bed for no regard to his weight as he circled like any dog would before settling down on the bed. She grabbed one of the extra pillows and returned to stuff it in the corner between the wall and the bathtub and Jim hesitantly rested his head against it before his eyes lit up.

“This is very comfortable. What did you call this?”

She chuckled, “A pillow. Goodnight, Jim.”

He smiled, “Goodnight, Y/N. Thank you. again.”

“It’s no problem.” With that, she left again for the bedroom.

She looked at the wolf, seemingly asleep, and she decided what the hell. She took her bra off and her pants, leaving herself in just a shirt and underwear. She crawled into bed under the blankets and tried to get comfortable, but sleep wasn’t coming to her at all. She was just replaying the events of the night.

So, at the beginning of the night, it was crippling loneliness and a solid crying session, then late night sailing on the boat …. Then she saved a merman …. Then they got attacked by a vampire ….. and then she picked up a werewolf ….. and now there’s a merman in  her bathtub, a vampire chained up in the living room, and a werewolf in bed with her. She sighed. This was…. weird. This was a weird night. This couldn’t have happened, could it? This stuff was made up. Oh god, she was having a mental breakdown. She was breaking and this wasn’t real. None of this was real.

She was starting to hyperventilate, panic gripping her, but then she felt a warm head, a very warm, very large, and very fluffy head nuzzle into her chest. A strong, furry arm ending in a hand with extremely long and sturdy claws wrapped around her abdomen and pulled her tight. An animal’s tongue licked her cheek and she had to laugh at how much it tickled. She heard the wolf make a noise deep within its throat in approval and she relaxed. This was real. It was very very real and she had the feeling that this wolf wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Sleep soon took over, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was a smile on her face.

[lou-bonfightme]

Catnapped 2: This Time It’s Purrsonal || Part Four: You Know Nothing, Jon Snow || Merlou

In which Toulouse and Merida begin their journey...[February 2, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw: talk of violence, brief thoughts of suicide/self-harm]

TOULOUSE: They had been running all day. The way to London was to be done by wolf. This was decided in lengthy conversation with Belle and Hades, as they had stayed up late into the night, strategizing. Wolves could not be tracked by train tickets or calls to taxis. Wolves would not be expected. That didn’t mean Lou liked it.

When Toulouse had turned back from wolf to man, he ached in places he hadn’t even known existed. He walked back to the little clearing Merida had chosen rubbing his lower back with one hand and fixing his hair with the other, put off that Belle had tsked at his for trying to take along his hair gel in the small pack. It was enough just to take clothes for the three days they’d be gone. And perhaps a toothbrush. Otherwise, they had to travel light and quick. So, Lou was left disheveled and uncomfortable not just with aches but his appearance as well. He made a face as he sat down on the damp ground, his back pack that Belle had tied to his wolf’s shoulders, now in his lap. He took out his phone to check his messages, but there was no signal. It was freezing and even with having run all day and the wolf’s blood warm in his veins, he shivered miserably. 

The wolf was unhappy with the stop too, though not for the same reasons. It wanted to run through the night. Claude had been gone a little over twenty-four hours at this point and to the wolf, that was far too long. To Toulouse it was far too long as well, but he was better at rationalizing the time. Telling himself that this stop was needed, for they had to maintain their strength and also work on building a proper strategy for infiltrating somewhere that had never been infiltrated before. 

The wolf did not understand this. It saw only the moon rising once more in the sky and knew that it had been too long. That a pup left alone this long would begin to starve, if it had not frozen already in the winter chill. 

It was futile to think as the wolf in the moment, because to give in to instinct was to give in to brashness and brashness would not get Claude back to him sooner. 

Though, as much as Lou liked thinking this thought, over and over like a mantra, he did not know where to go from there. He refused to allow himself to be grateful to Merida’s knowledge, but even still, he was eager to hear her plan. Belle had told him to listen to her and he would heed her words; she’d never steered him wrong before. 

The bushes rustled, drawing Lou out of his thoughts. He looked up from his phone and turned his head toward the sound so that when Merida appeared, their eyes connected. 

"So," he started without preamble, "what is your plan?"

MERIDA: Merida could also run forever. 

This was where she belonged. She had always felt that way-- wolf or no wolf. When she’d gone out campin’ with the DunBrochs, when she raced Angus through the hills, the world grew bigger to her, the colours rich and new, the wind like a song and the sky callin’ her name. There was nothing like the fresh air in her lungs. Nothing like the soil underfoot. It didn’t matter if it was the wolf’s skin she lived in or her own. As long as she was on the move, there was a seamless transition between the two. It was easier than ever to remain herself. And the journey ahead did not scare her. It raced toward her as she raced towards it, ready to snap it in between her jaws and make it her own.

When it was time to stop, the race was still alive in her veins. But she used it for kindling. She wasted no time to unhook her own bag and leave it on the ground for the Bonfamille lad to sit near. She grunted that she would gather the firewood and that’s what she did: clomping out into the dark wood and finding the best pieces. She returned with her arms full and the wind tugging at her tangled curls and the tips of her ears. It wasn’t that cold, but it would be soon. 

She went to work on the fire, building it in seconds. It felt good. It felt like herself, like she was a child, and this was the job set to her by Fergus long ago while he went fishing with her uncles and Elinor set up the tent with her aunts. 

A bit mad to leave a child with a flint and some matches, eh-- but that was the DunBroch way. Even the women were strong, calluses on their fingers and palms, a strong jaw set to the task. 

The fire caught and licked the air. Its smoke climbed idly and the glow hit Merida, her rich red hair now orange, even with the dirt and the leaves and the oil from running all day. She sat back and was content to rest for at least this moment. 

But the Bonfamille lad wanted a chat.

Well. Not a chat. He’d never voluntarily talk to the likes of her. He wanted details. 

She tossed some nettle into the fire. “The best time to attack will be right before the baptism ritual. We’ll have to time it right, but most everyone will be preparin’ for the ceremony. The babe will also be with a few of the Order women. I doubt they’ll have a Knight or Prince with them. They won’t be expectin’ any trouble. So we’ll have to take out the guards in the front, then hopefully I’ll go through the women’s quarters and we shouldn’t have much trouble. Well.” She snorted. “Till they spot the guards at the front. Then all hell will break loose. So. Quiet, fast. No room for error. Gettin’ out with a babe will be ten times as hard as gettin’ in.” 

TOULOUSE: Everything about this venture was foreign to Toulouse. When he traveled, he did so in luxury. His family taking business class on trains and planes to Paris. Only taking cars with tinted, dark windows to travel through Paris. He had never gone anywhere on foot for such a long distance and he’d certainly never camped before. Perhaps, if Hector was the kind of man who liked those kinds of things, he would’ve taken his sons out into the woods and taught them how to build fires. That was not the kind of man Hector Bonfamille was. Lou had learned other useful skills from him: how to make a cocktail, how to argue without seeming like you were arguing, how to tie a tie. In their world, these things were as powerful as striking flint and coaxing a fire to life.

While he had not hesitated to ask his question, he was wary of the answer—and rightfully so. Merida’s words had his brow furrowing, for this was foreign too. Lou did not like things he did not understand, and he did not understand battle strategy. He felt useless, a feeling that made him automatically restless. As he sat and listened, his fingers tapped out a quick melody on his knee, a subtle but anxious tic.

He mulled the information over quietly and thoroughly. It was silent except the crackling of the fire. The sun had not yet set, so the forest was lit with twilight—purple settling over the brown forest like a blanket. He wished it felt as peaceful as it looked, the whole forest still and centile. But with Merida and her wolf so close, he felt on edge. With their mission laid out in front of them, looming daunting on that purple-blue horizon, he felt almost hopeless. He wished for Hades, who had experience in these things, who would know if Merida’s plan was good or bad.

As it stood, Lou could do nothing but trust Merida. Something that would not sit well with him, if Merida was anyone else outside his circle, but was made all the more difficult due to her actions—both towards Belle and himself. All he could see when he looked at her was the person who had put him in this position in the first place. When he looked at her, he felt the sudden urge to push her down, like he used to do to Berlioz when his little brother would take his toys. Only now, the action would be with the intention to harm. Still, he had no other choice. If he pissed her off, she’d leave him alone in this forest, without a way to get home and, more importantly, without a way to get to little Claude.

Taking a breath, Lou let it out from his nose and stilled his tapping fingers, curling his hand into a fist. In lieu of his understanding, he did the only thing that he could think to do:

Ask questions.

“How do we know that the baptism is happening in three days? How do we know what time it is happening? How many guards are there?” How can I help? “If there is no room for error, it seems as if you are leaving an awful lot to chance,” he criticized, almost as an afterthought. 

MERIDA: Merida’s eyebrow quirked. 

She wasn’t doing nearly as much deep-thinkin’ as the Bonfamille lad (which she had a feeling about; just a glance at him and he was all furrowed brow and pursed lip, deep inside himself.) Merida was deep inside herself as well, but her brain was blissfully silent. In the wilderness, Merida was filled with forest-sound instead. That crackling fire, the cricket-song, the wind. She just focused on these things and let them think for her. Her wolf had no complaint otherwise. What was there to worry about at this stage? Just the absolute essentials: stay warm. Stay hydrated. Stay well-fed. Merida could focus on these things and answer these needs more than she could ever answer the yearning of her human-heart, or fill the well of her loneliness. Or silence her darkest thoughts. The ones that came in the shape of a gun and a silver bullet. 

She thought such things late at night. She thought such things when the moon waxed and her wolf got louder and louder. Keeping herself alive was much easier when it was broken into the most mundane of tasks. Feed yourself, drink water, keep yourself warm. Do this, make it through the night.

She looked back up at Lou when he began to ask his questions. Merida nearly snorted at him. She swallowed this noise, her eyebrow drawn up instead. 

“Tis a reason they came now,” said Merida simply. “It’s close to the end of the month. The baptisms happen every month, for the eligible Order babes born. He would be given a fairy gift if it wasn’t too late. Still an educated guess, but he needs the baptism to be part of the Order properly. They’ll do it sooner than later.” She sighed and leaned away from tending the fire, flicking hair from her eyes. 

“There will be least two guards at each entrance. As for leavin’ it to chance-- there’s a difference between room for error and room for improvisation.” 

Fergus had said that to her once. 

“So we got to keep our advantages in mind, aye? They won’t expect us, that’s one. They won’t expect me, that’s two. And-- they underestimate me. They always have.” Merida couldn’t help but smirk, just a little. Everyone always does. “So we stay hidden as long as we can. Take out the guards quietly, use the ladies’ corridors against them, use their arrogance against them.” 

TOULOUSE: Merida’s words were hardly comforting. She spoke with the cocky kind of air that reminded Lou of his more manic moments (not that he’d ever admit to that), moments where he was delusional in his own grandeur and briliance. He didn’t like how it still sounded like Merida was mostly just making assumptions. That much of this strategy wasn’t strategy at all, but flying by the seat of their pants. Lou hated that. He was not a boy to make rash decisions--well, he was, but not by choice. It was his mania that grabbed him in fits of lightning quick choices, ones that inevitably always complicated his life. When he was himself, he was not rash, he was careful and calculated, as was the Bonfamille way. They were snakes, laying in wait. They examined every angle, found the weaknesses, then chose exactly when to strike. That was how Lou dealt with his enemies, and it was always effective. Whereas his manic, split-second decisions always led to a bigger mess--things that haunted him.

The last thing Lou needed was for this mission to haunt him, he had enough ghosts. Not to mention, it was not Lou that was at stake here, it was his little cousin, whose care he was in charge of (self-appointed, of course.) This meant that they needed to be perfect. Every step of this plan had to go exactly as Merida said. 

Lou was not confident that it would. However, there also wasn’t time. They would be in London the night after next and they would be running as wolves, unable to communicate for half of that time. Which meant little time to plot, to examine every angle, to strike only when completely and utterly sure that their enemies would be obliterated.

It would be messy. 

Not to mention, part of this lack of confidence stemmed from Lou’s own inability to imagine himself doing the things that Merida was discussing. Taking out guards. Infiltrating the Order’s dungeon-like headquarters. These were things that Lou had never considered doing in his life. 

“And what happens when they inevitably sound the alarm?” Lou asked, an anxious edge to his voice that he couldn’t hide. “The place will be crawling with trained monsters--against just the two of us.” Really, he thought, they should’ve brought others with them. Hades, for one. Even Peri’s frost magic would be more helpful than not. Not that he would put his friend or girlfriend in the line of fire if avoidable but he couldn’t deny the fact it would be strategically sound.

MERIDA: Merida raised her eyebrows. The answer was obvious. We fight them. 

She kept these words inside her, though her other instinct, honestly, was to laugh. Perhaps it was just the glow of the fire, but the Bonfamille lad was looking a little sick. And for good reason. Merida wasn’t under any delusion that this was easy. She knew that Toulouse had little skill; what power he brought wasn’t even his own. It was his wolf’s, and she wasn’t sure what that meant in the end. If she thought too much about it, her stomach curled in discomfort at the thought of bringing a werewolf into an entire fortress full of men, women, and children. She might have renounced the Order but that didn’t mean she didn’t still love its people, at least a little. That didn’t meant that she wanted this curse for anyone else. She’d rather Lou slaughter the Princes than turn them, the way that Merida had been turned, out of revenge. (How else was she ever to love the wolf, knowing as she did, that it was given as punishment?) 

This was why she should do it alone. There was a greater chance for her to get in and out undetected. If there were complications, she could handle them quietly. If they got too loud…

Then she failed. She failed, she was slaughtered, it was over. She’d die a Knight though, no matter what the Order thought of her. She’d not turn into the wolf. She’d not let the wolf save her. 

But Toulouse? What else did he have? 

It was grim. And Merida was scared, but it was a fear she knew how to live with, a fear that had always driven her forward, never backward. 

“You’re not expectin’ this to be easy, are you?” Merida finally said, eyebrow still raised. “I dunno wut ye want to hear, min. There’s no gettin’ in and out without fighting anyone, and we can be as careful as we want, but yeah--we’ll be outnumbered and at a disadvantage. All we can do is anticipate it.” 

Well, there was one thing.

“But we can take a hostage. Been thinkin’ about that. Adds its own complications, but...we need someone to carry the babe anyway, if not you. I’d strap the lad to me back but somethin’ tells me you won’t like that idea.” Merida tilted her head. “So. Grab a lady of the order. It will distract whoever we fight. They’ll hesitate and I won’t.” 

This wasn’t an idea that Merida liked. It wasn’t honorable. It was against the Prince’s Code. And it was also Merida’s last mistake, wasn’t it? Taking Belle? 

But it’d give them more leverage and, perhaps, just enough to get out safe. 

TOULOUSE: “Yes, because that’s your first instinct, isn’t it?” Lou sneered without thought, his wolf rumbling in his chest. 

He hadn’t meant to say it, not really. The agitation had snatched his tongue in its currents. He didn’t like how plainly Merida had laid out the predicament, it made the knot in his stomach tighten, like he was being drawn and quartered, slowly and painfully. It had felt like that since Claude had first been taken. Or it felt like he was a fish caught on a hook, being reeled in, without any ability to fight the pull. Even though they had stopped running for the day, Lou felt like part of him was still running, leaving him out of breath. 

As much as the wolf liked the idea of sinking its teeth into all those Order people, Lou was nervous. He was not built for fighting, not the way the wolf was, not the way--he could admit--Merida was. 

And, despite his snide comment--he was not particularly against a hostage. Whilst he bulked, generally, at the idea of physically hurting anyone who didn’t outright deserve it (he’d rather see the Order disbanded and behind bars, much more satisfying that way), he also would do whatever despicable action was necessary to rescue his baby cousin. He had already been branded a monster, even before the wolf had taken up residence inside his veins by those who thought him callous and cruel. Besides, taking a hostage may alleviate some of the violence, a concept he was a fan of.

It would work. Lou knew this because only the most vile of people would put violence over saving someone they loved. Even this Order was not full of mindless zombies, as Phoebus’ love for his own aunt proved. A hostage Would work against Lou--if his family was taken, a knife to their throat, he’d be paralyzed and helpless. If it had worked against someone such as Hades…

Lou had thought, only once or twice before of what would have happened if Merida hadn’t had a change of heart, the truth of the alternative to that night so disturbed him--

“It will work,” Lou admitted after a moment of stony silence. The words were weighted heavily on his tongue and he wondered, for perhaps the first time: were despicable things really justifiable by the honor of the reason they were committed? Would this decision haunt him? Would he not be absolved by the steely resolve that he had only done what was necessary to protect his family? 

“Especially if we threaten with a wolf bite.” Lou was loathe to turn another, not because he was worried about transferring the curse to someone else--no, that would not be his problem. He was reluctant because he was rather proud of the lack of violence and grief his wolf had so far caused. After a year of living with it, he recognized it for what it was: a defensive mechanism; brutal and instinctual, but deeply loyal and easily controlled if allowed to protect those it cared for. 

MERIDA: Lou sneered at her like she was the monster, but he was the one who talked about the bite like it was a weapon. 

She wanted to sneer back. And that’s your first instinct, huh? 

Merida didn’t. 

But she would not do that. She would never. If he wanted to threaten, then let him, but she’d always remember Akela’s teeth and she’d always remember the fear darting through her in those last moments of her humanity. And how she curled up, quivering after, her entire arm throbbing as she thought about sawing it off, knowing it was too late anyway. So much was taken from her in those minutes. Not just her humanity, which she knew, objectively, she still had parts of. The divide in Merida between wolf and human was so strong sometimes she could not think she was all beast. She fought against what the wolf wanted-- she won, these days, more than she didn’t. (The wolf hated it. The wolf made her dream with the wolf’s eyes as revenge. She’d not had a human dream since that day).

And so it wasn’t about her humanity as much as it was about her body. She’d loved her body before, it had been her favourite thing about herself. It was strong and tall, she trained it well. After--

Her body didn’t belong to her anymore. Akela ruined her. 

She fought for control every day, every minute, every second, every breath, every heartbeat. Right now, she was fighting. 

To do that to another woman? To frighten her so? No. Merida would take a bullet between the eyes first and she’d die with that honor, knowing that she’d at least never be that. 

“A knife will do it,” she said. Her eyes remained on the fire, those flames reflected in the blue of her irises. “Order women are soft. And if she has the babe, she’ll want to protect him too, so she shouldn’t fight back.” 

Who would it be, Merida wondered. Which one of her sisters would she take and terrify, whose life would she risk for the life of a strange child? Guilt crept along the edges of her consciousness, even though she knew that it was the right thing to do and the Order had sinned first, ripping the babe from what family it had left. 

She flicked her eyes up to Lou again. “Though in case she does-- tell me you at least know how to throw a punch without breakin’ ye thumb.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse stared at the fire too as he listened to Merida and contemplated jumping into the flames. Not, necessarily, to die--but because he wanted to burn this conversation from his skin. He didn’t like the way it settled on his shoulders, or more accurately: like a collar around his neck; one of those medieval torture devices that slowly suffocated you with inward facing spikes.

He didn’t know why this was. Perhaps it was the physicality of it. Psychological warfare you could distance yourself from. He never saw the aftermath of what had happened to Sykes. It had been pushed from his mind. And when he’d helped defeat Bradley, he had watched it unfold from a distance, knowing Bradley was shackled and could not harm anyone ever again. He had never committed an act of violence, not against anyone. He considered himself a gentleman who did not engage in such dastardly affairs, with such dastardly criminals as Merida.

Perhaps she was the problem. He thought this idly, flicking his eyes towards the girl, whose hair was the colour of autumn leaves, who wore it in a tangle about her face. Her nose was sharp and her brow was high, the angles of her face all hard lines ill-befitting a feminine beauty. She looked, to him, the part of the ruffian criminal. 

If, perhaps, he was with Hades, and it was his companion that voiced these things, he would not find them so ill-fitting. They would be easier to swallow, because Hades would speak with the gravity of the situation in his voice, but with a steely, passionate resolve that would bolster Lou’s own. With Merida, Lou couldn’t help but sense a reluctance and felt it seep into himself.

Or, perhaps, he simply was not built for battles the likes of which Merida was talking about.

At the mention of a punch, Lou visibly balked slightly. He still remembered the feel of Roscoe’s fist hitting his lip, crunching against his cheek. The bastard’s knee in his stomach. Just the thought filled him with a controlled kind of fury.

“I don’t see why I shall need it,” he spoke plainly, doing his best to keep the distaste for such acts out of his voice. “I will have my wolf.”

The wolf would protect him. It had not failed him so far and Lou found as they set out on this journey, that he trusted it, almost implicitly. If he was not so entangled in worry for his cousin and doing his best to keep the idea of the actual fight far, far away; he would perhaps grow concerned with how fondly he was beginning to think of the wolf. For without it, how would he ever rescue Claude from the clutches of the Order? 

MERIDA: I will have my wolf. 

How easily he said that.

She wrinkled her nose, not bothering this time to hide the expression. She only turned her face after Lou saw-- and then, it wasn’t to hide, but just because she didn’t want to look at him, this boy who thought of the wolf as an easy solution, when it simply wasn’t. How was she the monster here? It was not Merida who wanted to rely on the brute force, the paranormal strength, of a creature that should not be. Merida was trying to figure out the way to do this as quietly as possible… It was something she’d learned, she realized, from Phoebus. As shit as he was, he’d known something about strategy. And he gave that to her now. Despite the sour taste in her mouth, she was grateful. It was another skillset, just another weapon, like her bow and the sword and her passion and yes-- the wolf.

But the wolf was never first. The wolf…

If the wolf could give Merida anything, the wolf gave Merida a reason to sharpen the rest of her weapons and become deadly as Merida, not as the monster. 

“The wolf is the back-up plan, you dolt,” she couldn’t help but say-- whoops. She snorted. “Think it through. If you’re the wolf, you can’t carry your cuz, nor can you hold a prisoner captive, can ye? You expect me to do that-- to carry your cuz, to secure a hostage, and to take out trained Princes? I’m a good fighter, but even I can’t do three things at once. If all hell breaks loose, fine, let the wolf out, hopefully most of the Princes will run screamin’. But you’ll want to be able to defend yeself without it. So. You ever throw a punch?” She cocked a brow as she repeated herself. 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse, honestly, wasn’t sure what that expression was for. He just blinked once at her, his brow lowering down over his eyes—feeling slightly abashed and annoyed by this fact. Not that he put much stock in what Merida thought of him, but it was still jarring for him to be on such intimate terms with someone and not know and trust them explicitly. They were embarking on a quest so far out of his depth, they might as well be walking across a thin sheet of ice, and Merida’s presence was no wooden plank laid out across the path to stabilize him.

That look was illustrative of the chasm between them, almost as pronounced as the marked differences in their accents. 

He was only further rankled by the patronizing tone of Merida’s voice.

“I do not expect you to do all the heavy lifting,” he told her, his voice cool though his emotions were stirred by the accusation. “You said yourself the hostage is partially in order to carry Claude, leaving me unencumbered. My point was that the wolf is obviously for defense. Why would I need to throw a punch if the wolf will protect me instead? And, for the record, if it was not obvious, I’ve never thrown a punch. I’ve never had the need. I’m not some vagabond,” he scoffed at her, all his bluster insincere, except for the question of his gentlemanly nature. “The first and last person who ever punched me ended up in prison.” 

MERIDA: She laughed at him.

She had to. What a pure dolten, sayin’ things like ‘I’m not some vagabond!’ and with such a straight face, too. Think about that! He thought throwin’ a punch was prison-worthy. The look on his face at the suggestion, too, like she’d insulted his mam. This was a bloke who had never so much as been in a bar fight, let alone infiltrate a thousand year old secret society. Bloody hell. Wut sorta poof reports a min to the police after a punch? And he was so proud of himself too, so bloody proud, look at his face--!

She laughed harder, tossing her head back and letting this temporary joy fill her. When she looked back down, her eyes twinkled at him. She didn’t care if she set off his temper or annoyed him. This was easily the best part of her night. 

Though really, it basically meant they were doomed. This jessie was going to die. She’d do her best to keep him alive but if he didn’t want to be a vagabond, well! 

“Sorry! Sorry, whew, y’just made me whole night.” She snickered, wiping at her eyes. “First and last, he says! Ah,” she sighed out another breathy chuckle. “Well. That won’t do, Mister Bonfamille. Y’can’t go turnin’ into a pony-sized wolf every time someone insults yer ascot. Should at least know how to disarm an opponent. I’ll teach ye tomorrow.”

She flopped back then, putting his hands under her head and looking up at the stars. “I’ll wake ye up an’ we’ll practice before we head out.”

TOULOUSE: Merida started laughing and Toulouse just stared at her. 

He wasn’t offended, because why would he care what Merida was laughing about? She was as inconsequential to him as a flea. Actually, less than a flea, because a flea you had to pay attention to, lest you wind up with an infestation. 

If anything, it just gave him more of a reason to detest the Scot for being loud and uncouth. It was horribly rude. He would not concern himself with a bruised ego, if she was laughing at the fact someone had punched him, she was no better than a common bully and if she was laughing at the fact he’d never thrown a punch, then let her laugh. If she thought that was funny, she was nothing more than a brute, which didn’t surprise him.

So, he just stared quietly at her, finding her, if anything, annoying the way flies were annoying. Necessary for the environment (in this case, necessary for him) but horrible nuisances.

In that vein, he knew that she had a point and that learning tacticle defenses would be useful, even if he didn’t like the idea of it. His practical side easily outweighed any residual embarrassment he might feel at his lack of knowledge of combat techniques. 

“Why not now?” he said, his voice impatient, as he watched her stretch out. “We have to leave early tomorrow if we want to make good enough time to be in London the evening after.” Not to mention, the whole idea put a pit in his stomach that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep with anyway. 

MERIDA: Merida had closed her eyes, letting the travel from today sweep over and remind her of her body. She felt all those kilometers traveled in the stretch of her muscles. It was always a little bizarre to Merida, how exercising the wolf exercised her too, as ridiculous as that probably sounded to just about anyone. But for Merida there was still such a gap between wolf and girl. When she lived in the wolf’s skin, it felt like piloting a narrow aircraft, with controls that moved a second before she got to press them. In other words-- like she wasn’t piloting anything at all. Like she was cramped, uncomfortable the whole time. If anything, the soreness that came from sitting in the wolf all day should be similar to takin’ long road trips in a car or somethin’. 

But the wolf’s body was her body. The muscles were the same. The heartbeat, the same. The exhaustion belonged to both of them and so did their different urges-- the wolf’s hunger, Merida’s hunger, the wolf’s desire… Merida’s desire. 

It was just a mental thing that made it feel strange. But accepting this close connection would be the dirt thrown over the coffin of her old life. She clung, stupidly-- knowing it was stupid. But Merida still couldn’t uncurl her claws. 

At Lou’s irritated question, her eyes sprang open again, and her chest rumbled with an annoyed growl, both Merida’s and Lou’s. But she sat up again and looked him square in the face.

“Well, thought you’d appreciate a little laydown, princess,” she mocked him. “But if ye want--”

She pushed up onto her feet and then dragged her dagger out of her pocket. She threw it and it pierced the ground right next to Lou’s boot, sticking straight up.

“Pick it up.” 

TOULOUSE: Thing was: Lou wasn’t that tired; which was, frankly, bizarre. To all logic, he should be more exhausted than he’d been since, perhaps, he had been in the hospital that first night. Lou was not unfamiliar with flurries of activity that kept him up for days on end, in a hazy fog of concentration that meant the passing of the sun and moon was all but lost on him. However, those days were usually spent shut up in a room, not running through forests.

Lou was not someone prone to long or strenuous bouts of physical activity, but his body did not know this, apparently. The only indication of today’s trek, all the miles of uneven ground covered at a dead run, was a soreness in his muscles that was unfamiliar but not debilitating. 

Rest was the furthest thing from his mind. It was Claude on his mind. It was rescuing him and getting back to their family in one piece. Nothing else mattered. If Lou got any sleep tonight, it would be a surprise. Instead, he felt this a much better use of his time. Those nonstop nights and days of frenzied activity made it natural now for him to push those muscles of his, to try and stop the whirring of his brain. He had no thought for his own wellbeing, nor Merida’s, nor for the fact that perhaps they should rest. His only thought was: I am awake, therefore, there are things that I can be doing to prepare.

So, he ignored her comment and readied himself to argue if she attempted to sleep.

Thankfully, an argument was unneeded and she stood up the next moment.

His eyebrows furrowed as she reached for something in her pocket. He only had a moment to register the glint of light on metal before the knife landed next to him. Instinct had him flinching away, but the wolf steadied him more than he would have been otherwise—the surprise of it might’ve had him lose his balance on the log he’d managed to perch on. As it stood, he only shifted slightly to the side and in the next moment, it was the wolf who had jumped into the forefront, eyes flashing and a snarl ripping from his lips before he could stop it.

He planted his feet on the ground again, steadying himself, his shaking fingers digging into the rough bark of the rotting tree. The wolf settled after a moment, but now Lou was concerned: how was he supposed to spar without the wolf bursting forth from his skin?

Reaching over, he yanked the dagger easily from the ground and stood. He adjusted the unfamiliar, heavy weight in his hand. Lou was used to the light cedarwood and horsehair of his paintbrushes. The blade glinted again in the firelight as Lou turned it over in his grip, eyeing the handle—it was beautifully carved. And he wondered briefly with a kind of morbid fascination, that deadly beauty.

When he looked up at Merida again, he sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Lou was nothing if not a dutiful student. His mother, he suspected, had not imagined him applying such a doctrine to something like combat, but still, it would serve him well.

“How do I hold it?” he asked, his fingers flexing around the handle once. His cheeks pinked slightly, but otherwise his features were set with determination.

MERIDA: Holding it was not the point.

She wasn’t planning on teaching the Bonfamille lad how to use the dagger. When you put weapons in the hands of those who had no idea how to use them, those weapons became more dangerous than useful, and one night of lessons would not change that. Give Lou a gun, he’d get it taken from him and then a bullet through the skull. Give him Merida’s arrows-- well, that idea was so hilarious she wouldn’t even finish it. A dagger was perhaps the most innocent thing if only because its reach was not great and if Lou could get close enough, perhaps through his werewolf’s strength, he could disarm, grab-- stab. Anyone could stab. 

But it was the disarming that was the focus, the most important skill. Disarming an opponent might not stop them, but it did stop you from being dead. Merida’s most important job, besides retrieving the wee lamb, was to make sure Lou was not dead. 

“An opponent will come toward you holdin’ it like a hammer. Most likely. You’ve held a hammer, aye?” One eyebrow twitching up again-- if his answer was no, she’d not be surprised, though that was an additional point in the This poofter is going to die column. 

“So, like this--” she mimicked the fist and stretched out her hand so he could see her thumb wrapped around her other fingers. “Lock the wrist, hold it out-- come toward me and thrust it forward-- I’ll show you how to stop it.” 

TOULOUSE: To the hammer comment, Lou just gave Merida a look. One which, he assumed, would become typical of their partnership. It was all raised eyebrows and pursing of the lips. A subtle blend of offense at the jibe to his intellect and the answer “of course” clearly marked. Therefore, a response was not deigned with a response outside of the look described.

He had handled hammers before. It was not his main medium, but Lou enjoyed a bit of woodworking. Whittling was something he actually did in his spare time quite frequently, when his fingers needed to move. It was more physical and satisfying than doodling. He had also completed larger projects that, yes, involved using a hammer. He was, after all, the defacto stage manager for Swynlake Community Theatre Summer Productions.

Anyway. Suffice to say he had sufficient experience wielding a hammer.

Just not as a weapon. Something that still settled uncomfortably in his stomach and was the reason his hold was so hesitant as he flipped the blade around and held it gingerly for a moment before his grip tightened with determination.

His wolf watched warily but did not feel as if it was considering interfering. The wolf knew the value of play-fighting the same way the man knew the value of learning what Merida would teach. It did not mean either of them liked it, though.

Lou moved forwards at a walk—his steps were confident, but slow, not at all the way an enemy would approach. He did as Merida instructed though, even baring down on her when she reached up to grab him. Lou felt the wolf in his moments but he didn’t try to push it down, if anything, he felt its instincts would only be an asset in keeping him alive. 

MERIDA: Merida had never taught anyone but herself. 

She only knew, then, how she had learned. She had learned by throwing herself at things. She watched, she absorbed, and then she charged, doing her best to play-act her father and her uncles and all her cousins. She thought be big! and be loud! and she was those things-- fast, strong, furious all at once. She got knocked down more than not, at least at first. But soon she learned how to fall down. That was always the first step.

She could only hope that Lou was smarter than he looked--smart in this specific way, that is. She had no doubt the lad could quote Shakespeare to her, point at paintings and talk about light or pastel or whatever bollocks his kind got their pants twisted around. 

But could he pay attention when it mattered? And could he take a punch? 

It took brains as well as guts. 

And so when he swung, she caught his his wrist-- “Pay attention,” she instructed. 

The rest happened fast.

She yanked him toward her, directing his arm down so the knife tip was pointed away. Her other hand smacked into his inner wrist and forced his grip to loose. The knife dropped-- Merida caught it, and in the next second, she’d pulled him close, the tip pressed to the boy’s neck. 

“See what I did there?” She said, cocking an eyebrow. “Ye want to control the arm-- and target the wrist.” 

She let go, still holding the knife. “I can come at you now, nice and slow if you’d like.” 

TOULOUSE: Pay attention. 

Two words all the Bonfamille children knew and knew well, though they were more accustomed to the short, quick "Regarde!" It was, perhaps, one of the first things they learned how to do. Pay attention to these names, these faces, how to use silverware, minding manners, singing scales, holding paintbrushes and dutifully learning the colours and strokes and techniques. Pay attention to the way your father sets down his bag when he comes home or the way your mother’s voice raises. Lou had been waiting and watching his whole life. 

He was a quick study—and in this it was no different. 

It was almost amusing, actually. Lou realised, as Merida grabbed his wrist and shoved the butt of her hand into it, that she was going for a pressure point. And Lou knew this because he knew all the muscles in the body—he could recite all three hundred and so by name and show you where they were. He had been able to do this since he was young: first for art, then for his brief foray into medicine, and now, he recognized how helpful it would be in a fight. 

He was so focused on the learning that even the wolf was quiet as Merida manhandled him, pulling and then pushing and pulling again—bringing the knife to his chin. 

Lou thought again of his father—and when he had first taught him how to shave; a proper shave, with razors thin and sharp. 

"Regarde, Toulouse," he had said, "or you will hurt yourself."

When Merida and Lou parted, he blinked and rolled his shoulders. The wolf inside him shook out its fur. 

He nodded once, expression drawn and concentrated. 

One of his feet slid back slightly as Merida moved towards him, shifting his weight. She moved slow enough that Lou could easily gauge when she was within reach. He grabbed her wrist, just like she had done to him. As soon as their skin connected, Lou felt a jolt inside of him, as if his muscles had just spasmed uncomfortably. Almost instinctively in that same moment, he recognized the wolf’s power behind his own grasp. He yanked Merida forward, smacking the knife out of her hand with a quick jab to her wrist. 

He fumbled the knife as she dropped it. Even with the speed of the wolf, the movement was awkward if unpracticed. 

Lou scrambled for it anyway, blood pumping as if in an actual fight. Half kneeling, still holding onto Merida’s wrist with one hand, he managed to catch it just before it hit the ground. The tip pressed into the soft earth right by the toe of Merida’s boot. With a tilt of his head, Lou shifted the knife just slightly so it rested at the top of Merida’s shoe, pressing against her Achilles’ tendon. 

"It’s not the neck," he commented with a shrug as he squinted up at her. A little smirk crept into the corner of his mouth. "But it’d do in a pinch, no?"

MERIDA: He could be worse. 

In a real fight, she’d be much faster and stronger. In a real fight-- a Knight, a Prince, they’d know different techniques to stop this simple disarm, or to block the other attack. It begged the question what the point would be then, teachin’ Lou even the barest of basics when the enemies he’d come up against had years and years of trainin’. But something was better than nothing. Maybe they’d get a bunch of jessies who slept on their hand-to-hand (many of the Order boys did, whereas Merida had loved every second of her stolen lessons) and Lou would be able to stick the knife in a couple of tendons. 

Or maybe he’d get stabbed or slashed. That was much more likely, and unfortunately, Merida knew that a stabbing or a slashing would waken the wolf. If Lou didn’t die, he’d kill others. It’d be a blood bath in those tight, dark corridors. Merida did not want a blood bath. For multiple reasons.

“In a pinch, aye. Though, you got to be faster,” she said. “If I were a real enemy, I’d smash yer nose into yer brain with my knee and you’d be a goner. Don’t make ye self vulnerable like that. Y’want to be facin’ yer foe, guard your body, aye?”

She grabbed his arm and hoisted him up, snatching the knife from him too. 

“Now, I came at ye straight on the last time, but this time, ‘m gonna aim lower and slash ‘cross--”

She demonstrated the movement, a slash that would travel diagonal, from Lou’s hip upwards.

“When ye stop me this time, grab my wrist and bend the arm backwards, instead of dragging me forwards.” 

She reached forward, grabbing Lou’s wrist and forcing it back, twisting it painfully so it was hooked behind Lou’s back. “From here yer gonna want to get your opponent to the ground as quickly as possible. How do you think I should go about that, eh, Bonfamille?” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse wrinkled his nose as Merida pulled him to his feet. He yanked his arm out of her grasp, the touch of her fingers sending sparks down his spine that he didn’t like, not at all. Those hands of hers had held a knife to Belle’s throat before. Who knew what else they had done. 

Not to mention she was criticizing him, which Lou did not take kindly to at all. He could argue with her—even thought about it, that argument of his half-formed. Of course he’d gone slow, because they were practicing. She’d been slow too. Of course in a real fight he’d have to think much faster than he had, he knew that, obviously. (Of course, in a real fight, Lou had no idea how fast he would think or if he would be able to come up with something like slashing an achilles’ tendon—or if it would be random, flailing slashes, with the desperate hope something would land. Or, even worse: his wolf’s tooth, his wolf’s claw bursting forth to protect its very human, very weak other half.) 

Merida didn’t give him time to form his argument. The moment he was on his feet, she’d swiped the knife from him and was slashing it through the air. She grabbed his arm, a shot of pain bursting in his shoulder as it twisted unnaturally. Despite himself, the wolf woke up at that and the power—and speed of what happened next was out of his control. He wretched his wrist from her grip with a snarl and elbowed her hard in the stomach. 

“Don’t,” he growled at her, “do that again.”

What he meant was take him by surprise like that. He was perfectly aware that what she was teaching him was valuable but the wolf would not tolerate any actual harm. And Lou felt the manhandling unnecessary. He lifted his trembling hands, rubbing one over the other to stop the tremors, breathing in once, deeply. When he let it out it was a puff of white in the cold, dark air. 

He eyed her warily again—the momentary ease of something akin to camaraderie once again lost as the man and the wolf remembered: enemy. 

“By kicking in the back of their knee,” he answered her question after a moment, still rubbing little circles into the palms of his hands; massages he had been taught to relax the muscles after long hours of painting. “That’s how I’d get them to the ground. Or by continuing to wrench their arm out of the socket." This was said dryly, the distaste for such an action clear in his voice. However, he knew either method would be effective. One could not fight with a torn ligament or dislocated shoulder, thought the torque to accomplish either would need to be considerable.  

MERIDA: Guess who wasn’t a good student? 

Merida grunted at the smack to her stomach and her own eyes flashed-- her wolf awake too. 

It thought about grabbing Lou, kneeing him hard in the groin to reduce him into mewls of desperate fetal pain, writhing on the ground. Where she’d kick him again, smash her fist into his face, keep him pinned until he held up his trembling hands and showed his belly in complete submission. 

She would remind him. Who she was. The strength of her wolf, her determination, her ferocity, much greater than his. She could smell that on him and had from the first moment she had met the wolf in person. His beast was placid and defensive. It only ever showed its teeth when danger had already invaded its territory. 

Unlike Merida’s wolf, so restless, always dreaming of running and running-- craving new land for its kingdom. 

Merida ignored all of this. She blinked once and her jaw clenched, then ticked, and she swept her messy locks back from her face, a movement that was human and so it reminded her of her human parts...this hand, that hair, her naked skin. She would not be like Lou, growling like an animal. She would be in control.

You hear me? She thought to that wolf of hers. You show me your belly. I’m the alpha, not you.

(We’ll see about that, whispered the wolf, though it sounded like a growl.)

“You realize I’m tryin’ to help you, aye? I can’t help you without showin’ you. And you can’t learn without doin’. But you’re also not going to save yer nephew if yer wolf tries to bite my face off,” she mouthed off to Lou. “Now do you want to keep goin’ or do you want to sleep? We’ve got a long run tomorrow.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse scoffed. It was an ungentlemanly sound, but well suited to present company. 

“Right, like you have such impeccable control.”

He knew as well as she did how false that was and how hypocritical it was for her to say it. She had been the one to turn him into a monster such as he was now. Not to mention, he could feel her wolf the same way she could feel his. And hers was a proper beast, volatile and wild. It was one of the reasons he didn’t trust her, more than a simple grudge for past actions. 

Honestly, the comparison made him feel better about his own wolf. His wolf had never damned anyone to this life. He had only ever chased people way, had only ever involuntarily turned in order to protect the ones he loved. (Okay, so, maybe the Bradley thing had been a touch overreactive, but that had been before his first full moon; he could be forgiven a minor hiccup.) The wolf’s docile nature was not something to be ashamed of, but proud of. Lou’s body may be home to a beast, but how often had Belle and Hades told him: you’re still you. 

Toulouse felt like himself as he stared haughtily at Merida. He felt superior to her, he felt justified. His footing was so rarely sure, especially these days, but he knew his cause was noble, even if the means were unsavory at best. And, above all, he felt his determination like a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards his goal. It was good to have a goal, Toulouse had always been better with one. lt was how he was raised. 

“You can show me without actually hurting me,” he snipped back. “I can’t blame my wolf for wanting to protect me from you. Now, was I correct in my hypothesis on how to take the enemy down from the position you showed me?” he asked, impatient with this interruption and cutting off further argument. They did not have time to argue, as Merida said: they had to save Claude, above all else. Nothing else was important. Lou committed this mantra to memory afresh.

MERIDA: Another scoff.

You can show me without actually hurting me-- she almost pitched her voice to be nasally and uppity, to mock him like they were kids playing at a game, instead of adult monsters training for their hunt. Thankfully, Merida knew better. Lou wasn’t her cousin and would probably throw an even bigger fit. He was incapable of having fun, of that she was sure. He was incapable of fun just as he was incapable of taking even a little bit of pain-- of having his fur literally ruffled-- his clothes wrinkled, a speck of dirt on that pressed collar. 

It’d be a shame when he inevitably perished, if only because it was a shame when pretty things died. 

“Anyone ever told you pain was good for ye?” she said in response, tossing her hair. She was getting sick of it now, and she dragged it all the way up, twisting it into a messy, tangled knot on top of her head, securing it with a few ties. “I barely touched ye, Princess. But alright-- you ready for me to go again? I’ll come at you, you twist my arm. Let’s see if ye can make me whine. I’ll do it without the knife. That oughta comfort ye.” 

And then Merida launched herself at him, mimicking the slash much faster than she had the first. 

TOULOUSE: Contraire to what Merida might think, Lou was not the type of man to be bothered by being called Princess. (Well, if only in the very French aversion to Royalty kind of way.) He thought there was nothing wrong with not liking pain. And it wasn’t even him who had protested, really, but the wolf and he was not about to chide it for protecting him. 

Besides, Lou had dealt with plenty of pain in his life—and the pain of his loved ones—and he didn’t know if he agreed with her assessment that “pain was good for you.”

Of course, he wasn’t going to rise to her feeble bait, but he still pursed his lips slightly. All he did was nod at her instruction and brace himself for impact.

She came towards him quick, her arm slicing through the air. Lou blinked and stumbled back a step on instinct, even though he knew he was supposed to be reaching forward and grabbing her. It was the wolf that again jumped to the forefront. Its quick eyes followed the path of Merida’s upswing and Lou managed to reach out and grab her arm. It was not as close to the wrist as he would’ve liked in order to get a proper angle, but it would get the job done. However, he had knocked himself off balance stepping back and Merida put up a bit of a fight, which he hadn’t expected.

It made it harder for him to wretch her arm around and by the time he managed, he was proper annoyed. She had never answered him about how to get an opponent to the ground—but he decided to take a stab (not literally) at it anyway. Pushing his knee into the back of hers, he made her stumble. What he did not account for was the fact he still had a hold of her arm and stumbled too, knocking into Merida and throwing her off balance until they were a pile of limbs on the ground.

MERIDA: His instincts weren’t good. 

You couldn’t teach instinct. This was the most worrying thing of the whole lesson thus far. If Merida was more wolf than girl, fine-- but Lou was more man than beast and the man wasn’t made for this sort of thing. He’d told her upfront as much and she had no reason to doubt him. But he showed it over and over. He showed it in split-second hesitations, which was all it took to snatch the advantage back. Being a good warrior was half skill and half all guts. When you missed the guts, it didn’t matter how well you could swing a sword, if you thought about swinging it too much. 

Instinct. It was something Merida had. It was why she’d argued again and again for her place in knighthood. It didn’t matter the sex, but the guts, and Merida. Had. Guts. 

This time, when Lou hesitated, she showed him just a taste of that hesitation. She did fight back. Her eyes flashed and she wrenched her wrist. Lou looked panicked and angry and annoyed and just about every other shade of emotion besides the one he needed to win. 

They toppled alright, but by that point, Merida knew the fight would be hers. She wrenched her wrist again, kicked her legs up from under him and pinned Lou, straddling on either side. 

“Not bad,” she said with a shrug of the shoulders. “I mean. You would’ve died, but at least you made it annoyin’ for ‘em. You got to be more confident, Princess. Here I thought that’s what yer Bonfamilles were known for.” 

She pushed off of him and spread her legs wide. “Shall we try that one again?” 

TOULOUSE: Lou had no idea how he’d somehow wound up underneath Merida, considering the fact he’d fallen onto her back. The world turned, something in his back pulled, and suddenly he was staring up at the smoke of their fire wafting towards the trees.

The wolf growled, but it was more a grunt of indignant displeasure than anything particularly threatening. Perhaps the wolf had realized it wasn’t going to best Merida and didn’t feel particularly enthused to try. If she was a real threat, it’d be different, but the boy and the wolf had decided that—perhaps, that was not the case. Their guard was not down completely, of course, it would much more than one day of amiable silence for trust to be built, if there was even a possibility for a foundation. However, ever practical, Lou knew that what Merida was teaching him was valuable—and whatever her motives for accompanying him on this trip, she was useful and would not be useful if he snarled and snapped and ran her off. 

While he might not have the urge to rip her face off in a beastly show of dominance—he wasn’t happy about being pinned to the ground. He’d not wrestled like this since he was young and even then, Ber had never been much of a playmate in that regard. Sometimes, his father, in his most fatherly moments, used to get down on the rug and wrestle with him or throw him squealing with laughter into the waves at their beach house. But Lou had quickly had to outgrow such instincts. They didn’t befit a Bonfamille.

The Bonfamille qualities involved being poised and collected and, yes, confident. 

That comment did make him narrow his eyes slightly. Annoyed both at the insinuation that he was a coward (even if he was, no one wanted to be called one) and not upholding his family name.

Lou got to his feet as graceful as he was able to manage and brushed off the front of his sweater pointedly. His jeans were hopelessly dirty and he thought with secret despair about how there was no way Belle would’ve ever have thought to pack him a stain remover pen or lint roller.

No matter. Lou nodded his head once more at Merida’s offer to go again. This time, knowing what to expect, he planted his feet firmly. If asked, he would never admit to Merida’s irksome words winding like a vine down his spine and strengthening his resolve, but there was a determined draw to his brow as Merida moved towards him this time. 

The wolf drew forth into Lou’s fingers as Merida lunged. His eyes flicked to where her hand would end up, not where it started. This time, he managed to grab her by the wrist, though as he twisted, he lost a bit of his grip trying to adjust. It was sloppily done, but he managed to yank Merida around, bending her forwards slightly as her arm bent at an awkward angle. 

Perhaps, if he was Hades (or even Belle (the woman had a vicious streak he knew)), he’d take some pleasure in even the slight discomfort he caused Merida. Instead, he found the feeling of her tendons stretched beneath his grasp unsettling. He tried to ignore it, even if he hesitated again for a split second before wrenching her wrist further up her back so she’d twist and stumble. With her own forward momentum, he forced her to her knees. 

Lou stumbled just slightly, having overextended himself. He let Merida go, lest they repeat the same mistake from before. 

“Better?” he asked, his voice in a soft pant, irritated at once at the tone. It was conditioned in him to look for approval from teachers. Apparently, that included criminals teaching him how to hurt people.

Merida did not give him time to think on it much. She nodded, quick and sharp then came at him again, arm raised, knife glinting…

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 21: On The Edge Of The Spotlight

Becoming The Mask

Bold and italicized text indicates trollish.

"Behold." Toby opened up a tied grocery bag. An absolutely awful smell wafted out. A nearby troll leaned in for a better sniff. "Month-old sweat socks. Shopping spree tonight, on me." To the relief of the humans, and disappointment of the curious troll, he tied the bag back up.

"Speaking of buying things, I got my tickets for the play," said Darci. "My parents said they'd come, too." Assuming her dad didn't get called in to work.

"Nice," said Mary. Claire groaned.

"I'm not ready. We're not ready. Opening night's practically here and Steve still can't really get into character. I mean, he knows his lines, finally, but his delivery could still do with a lot of work."

"I thought he was doing fine," said Mary. "Everyone but you and he and Eli keeps stumbling. I feel like I'm doing tongue twisters. At least when Steve messes up, he acts like he meant to say it that way, so most of the audience probably won't notice."

"Sure, it's 'good enough', but it feels like he's using that as an excuse not to try and get better. Iambic pentameter is supposed to flow, and he just … blasts it out."

"Toby, do you or Jim have tickets yet?" asked Darci.

She knew he had. As the Mole, she'd been helping sell tickets at a table outside the auditorium that afternoon. But none of her friends knew she was the school mascot yet, so she asked.

"I bought two, for Nana and me. Jimbo said he's worried some emergency might come up in Trollmarket or at the clinic so he's not sure he or his mom can make it, but I'm working on him to buy tickets in advance just in case, so he doesn't get to the door and find out they're sold out."

"How many emergencies does he get called in for?" Mary gestured at the bustling underground marketplace as the four humans stood aside for a few carts to pass by. "It's busy down here but it all seems pretty peaceful. And when stuff does happen, most trolls seem like they'd rather fight out their own problems."

They all jumped when a gnome popped out of the wall beside them and chittered angrily. They reminded Darci of squirrels that way.

"Have you noticed the hat colours?" Claire wondered out loud. "Red and blue, like in Gnomeo and Juliet. Except these little guys don't seem to be fighting each other."

"Have you noticed," said Toby, "how there's now at least two movies that take a Shakespeare tragedy, rework it for a happy ending, give it a surprise cast, and set it to Elton John music?"

"What's the other?"

"Lion King is supposed to be based on Hamlet."

"… Yeah, I guess I can see that," said Claire. "The sequel to that one was Romeo and Juliet, too, and the, what's it called, interquel, was like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead."

"I think it's a sidequel?" Toby looked it up on his phone. There could, amazingly, be a better signal in some parts of Trollmarket than in some areas of the town above. "An interquel happens in the time between other stories. A sidequel basically overlaps another story in time, but with different perspective or locations."

"Elton John also did the Road To El Dorado soundtrack," said Darci. "I've heard the first song was supposed to have another verse, where it talks about a prophecy of the gods coming to live in the city of gold and that's why everyone was expecting them when Miguel and Tulio showed up, but it got cut for some reason."

"We should do a slumber party this weekend," said Mary. "We could marathon a bunch of 'contemporary takes' on Romeo and Juliet and tell our parents it's for school."

"I really need this to go well," said Claire, going to fidget with her hair. Her hand brushed one of her clips and she stopped herself. "My parents have been on me practically since I auditioned. The one time I got a B, what was their advice? Drop the play. If this doesn't go great, they're going to be all, 'we told you so'."

"Hey, no matter how bad the rest of us stink, you'll do great," Mary insisted.

"You both will – AAAHH!" The gnome hopped onto Darci's shoulder, and from there onto a green troll with an orange – pelt? A beard and a fringe of fur across his shoulders – who was walking the other way. The troll either didn't notice or didn't care about the sudden passenger.

"You okay, Darce?"

"Yeah, just startled me."

"It's wild watching them jump," said Toby. "I wonder if anybody's recorded, like, a record, for how high and how far they can go. We should ask Blinky. Or Chompsky; he'll do anything for a Nougat Nummy."

"Who's Chompsky?" Darci brushed off her shoulder. She was pretty good with names, and that one sounded familiar, but she couldn't put a face to it.

"Kind of my roommate? He's a gnome who lives in my dollhouse. I don't speak gnome so I don't know his real name, so I named him after that linguist guy Noam Chomsky; Nana's got some of his books; and Chompsky rolled with it."

Pedestrian traffic had eased up, so they were able to wander onward without fear of being stepped on.

"You have a dollhouse?" Of course that was the part that would draw Mary's attention.

"It's technically Nana's but it's in my room. It's the perfect size for Sally-Go-Back and digging it out of the basement was easier than saving up for the Moon Base."

"How'd you end up with a gnome in your room?" Mary asked next. "Did it follow you back from Trollmarket or something?"

"Stow away in your backpack?" Darci could see that. They seemed to like small places, being so small themselves. An open bag would look like an invitation.

"I think he followed Jim, actually. It was before I found out about, you know," Toby spread his hands in an expansive 'ta-dah' gesture, "this. Chompsky showed up one night, and then Jim came in and saw him and was all, 'oh no, we need to catch him, this is unsafe, what if he bites?', but then Chompsky found the dollhouse and kinda settled in, and I thought he was cool, and … I guess Jim decided he had to keep his cover, so he dropped it."

Toby's face fell a little. It had to hurt, knowing his best friend had been keeping something this big from him for so long. Darci felt bad sometimes about keeping her mascot job secret from her friends, and that wasn't nearly on this scale.

Jim was in the Hero's Forge. Usually he spent some of the night with the four of them, but apparently he'd lost a sparring match a couple of nights ago, and things were tense between him and Draal and Blinky now. As Darci understood the explanation, Draal had accused Jim of slacking off and Blinky took that as an insult to his capacities as a trainer when he found out.

So Jim was ramping up his training.

AAARRRGGHH, at least, was acting as calm as ever. Darci wasn't sure the placid troll could get mad for real.

"Hi, Bagdwella," Mary greeted when they reached her shop. It looked like a junkshop to human eyes but Bagdwella advertised it as 'fine gifts'. "How's business?"

"A little slow this week," she answered. The humans liked to stop by her place because she'd let them practise speaking trollish with her. "Not unusual for the season. It should pick up in three or four days. Rumour has it" – Darci and Claire exchanged amused looks at one of the first phrases they all learned, since it was one of Bagdwella's and Mary's favourites – "some of Glug's relatives are planning to visit from Floor-ee-dah. They always forget to pack a few essentials and they like to bring home souvenirs."

"What's this?" asked Claire, suddenly, sharply. She held up a stuffed rabbit and switched languages. "Where did you get this?"

"My suppliers brought it in a while ago, I don't recall exactly."

"This is my brother's bunny! He's been acting weird ever since he lost it. Suzy Snooze was here the whole time?"

"Uh, Claire?" Toby waved at her. "First rule of bargaining, don't let them know just how bad you want the thing." He turned to Bagdwella. "I'll trade you three socks for the … toy. I don't know the words for 'stuffed rabbit'."

"It's a stuffed rabbit if it's cooked and a cloth rabbit if it's a toy. Twelve socks and a bedspring."

"Four socks and a candy wrapper."

"Ten socks, all argyle."

Toby checked his pockets. "Six socks, a candy wrapper, AND a pen full of delicious dried ink."

"Deal."

"You didn't have to do that," Claire said to Toby when they left.

"I kinda did. She runs a store, not a Lost & Found. Even if she believed you about it being your brother's, she wasn't gonna just give it back."

Claire cuddled the plush rabbit. Darci's skin crawled a bit, watching her. Who knew what the toy had gotten into while it was missing? Trolls were amazing but not very clean.

"You'd better run that through the laundry a few times before you give it back to Enrique," she said.

"It'll be good for his immune system," Claire joked. "But seriously, yeah, I will."

Previous Chapter (Barbara has dramatically ironic concerns about Jim)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Back to the main plot!)

What Toby refers to as 'Shakespeare tragedies' are more accurately called 'Shakespearean tragedies', but he either doesn't know that or doesn't care.

In S1E4, Gnome Your Enemy, Toby refers to the dollhouse in his room as "Nana's dollhouse" at least once, so he presumably got it from her.

Bagdwella has a sister, Sagdwella, who "lives under a trailer park in Oo-tah". The Quagawumps live in Florida except for one, Glug, who spends her time in Trollmarket and makes a presumably-alcohol-equivalent drink that she seems to have named after herself.

Jim and Toby didn't see Enrique being carried by a goblin or chase after them, so Suzy Snooze was left in the alley until a troll on a scavenge run happened upon the abandoned plush bunny.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday katnissmellark44!

We send many birthday (slightly belated) wishes to @katnissmellark44! To help celebrate your special day, the lovely @historywriter2007 has written a Everlark story just for you! Enjoy!

Happy Birthday Katnissmellark44, here is your friends to lovers story.  Rated T- some cussing and mentions of a guy being a complete jerk. Enjoy!

Keep Your Eyes On Me

Peeta crossed the pool deck to sit in the lounge chair next to Katniss, she seemed overly absorbed with something on her phone and didn’t even notice he was there. Not that he minded, it gave him a moment to take in the sight of her. She was in a green bikini, her dark brown hair in her signature braid and although it had only been a week since school let out her skin was already darkened by the sun and the sight made his heart skip a beat.

They’d met in their grad school program, he was taken by her immediately, but she was dating someone at the time so he allowed himself to be friend zoned which is where he’d sat for the past 2 years. At least they became best friends quickly. They both took jobs at the local school district, although they were at different high schools and in different subjects, he taught English, she taught Science. Even though they didn’t see each other through the day they were able to spend all the breaks and after school together since they were on the same schedule. When he decided it was time to buy a condo Katniss was there every step of the way and he would be lying if he didn’t want her opinion out of the hopes she’d be there with him one day, but he always wrestled those thoughts back down. He did give her a set of keys, so she could come and go as she pleased, especially at the pool.

Katniss huffed and put her phone back down, then seemed to realize he was there, “Good morning.”

“Morning, everything alright?” Peeta questioned.

“Not really, you remember Cato?” Peeta nodded as Katniss continued. “Well he just messaged me on Instagram, apparently he’s back in town and wanted to know if he’ll see me tonight at the performance.”

Peeta’s stomach dropped, Cato was a complete ass and treated Katniss like shit. Fortunately, she didn’t hang around him for long but that didn’t mean Peeta liked the idea of him coming near her. He tried to gather himself before answering. “Why is he going to see Finnick, they couldn’t stand each other.” They had been looking forward to finally being able to see Finnick and his band, The Tridents, for months. His band always played on weekdays, and it was hard for them to go considering they needed to be at school by 6:30 am.

“Cato was friends with Brutus I guess that’s why.” Katniss rolled her eyes,”I don’t want to see him, but we’ve been planning to go and I don’t want that asshole to keep us from seeing Finnick perform. So I guess I don’t have much of a choice.”

Peeta sat up on the side of his chair so he was able to reach across to take Katniss by the hand. “I’ll be there to be your wingman and I promise to keep him away from you, just ignore him and if he comes around just keep your eyes on me.”

Katniss smiled, God he loved her smile, “Okay, I’ll stick with you all night, but promise me that if you find someone you want to be with you’ll let me know and I’ll  go home. I don’t want to ruin your game.”

Peeta tried to smile and nodded at her before leaning back in his chair again. Katniss was the only person he wanted to be with tonight, but he was too much of a coward to tell her so. She kept pushing him to other women, maybe he should just move on, but how could he?

Katniss jumped in Peeta’s car before he could put it in park, she smiled at him as she threw her purse on the ground and fastened her seatbelt. If only she knew how that smile affected him, not to mention her skinny jeans, flowing tank top, in his favorite shade of orange, and her hair falling in waves down her back. He had to focus on driving before he did something stupid, like tell her how beautiful she was and that he loved her.

She changed the radio station at least ten times on the short drive to The Arena, a local bar where Finnick’s band The Tributes would be playing, finally Peeta had to place his hand on hers to calm her down. He knew she was nervous to see Cato again, things didn’t exactly end well considering the blow up he saw the night they broke up. Peeta never did get the full story from her, but that was her last actual boyfriend, no one else made it past the first date.

The bar was crowded and the band was running some last minute sound checks when Katniss and Peeta arrived. Peeta went to the bar to get them drinks while Katniss made her way to the table Annie and Johanna had commandeered near the stage. As she neared the table she looked around the bar and released a sigh of relief when she didn’t see Cato lurking anywhere nearby, maybe she would be able to enjoy her night in piece.

As the band was finishing the last song Katniss felt a tap on her shoulder, she turned to see Cato with his stupid grin on his face. “Long time no see.”

Katniss’ signature scowl came over her face before she answered. “There’s a reason for that.”

Cato didn’t reply to Katniss, instead he directed his next comment to Peeta. “So are you having any more luck with her in the sack than I did?”

Katniss had never seen Peeta react to anything so quickly, he was out of his seat and in Cato’s face before Cato’s words could even register in her brain. Cato was taller than Peeta, but Peeta was strong and Katniss knew it. “What did you say?” Peeta’s voice was filled with venom, Katniss always knew he would do anything for her, but she’d never seen this side.  Normally Peeta was the calm one, where she often would blow up at a moment's notice.

Cato never knew when to stop and he was not one to step down in a fight. “She never wanted to do anything, no matter how much I tried. I just hope she’s giving you a little something in the bedroom. It’s a shame for such a hot girl to be so prude.”

Katniss jumped between them and faced Peeta, she didn’t want him to get into trouble at her expense. God knows what would happen to his teaching career if he was arrested for fighting.  “Hey, keep your eyes on me. He’s just an asshole and not worth it. Let’s go outside.” Katniss wrapped her small hand around his arm, she could feel how tense his muscles were but he didn’t put up a fight. Even as they walked away with Cato yelling how “whipped” he was and that they were meant for each other just before a loud crack sounded. Katniss and Peeta spun around to see Cato holding his nose on the floor and Johanna standing over him calling him every name in the book. They didn’t walk back instead Peeta allowed Katniss to continue leading him out the back doors of the bar.  

Once they were outside Peeta leaned against the brick building; Katniss stood directly in front of him for forcing him to look at her. His normally bright blue eyes seemed black and he breathing was still harsh as he tried to calm down. She held his hands but didn’t say a word until he seemed to calm down.

Finally she spoke, “I’m sorry that happened. I never told you why we broke up because I was too embarrassed by it.” Peeta stared at her, but she continued before he could say anything. “Cato kept pressuring me to do more with him, in the, ah, you know. But I’d never, so I didn’t want to, well you know.”

Peeta’s fury returned, now he wished he had punched the guy even more. “Katniss, it’s not your fault this guy is a jerk. He never did anything to you, did he?”

Katniss took a deep breath, “the last night he was a little more forceful, I kicked him in the nuts and left. You saw the next time we were face to face and know how that went.”

Peeta felt relief rush over him, then a feeling of pride at the thought of Katniss giving Cato exactly what he deserved. He pulled Katniss into a hug where they both finally felt calm.

After a while Katniss pulled back and looked Peeta in the eyes again, this time he looked more like her Peeta. “I have something else to confess. The reason I’ve not really dated actually has nothing to do with Cato, it has more to do with you.”

Peeta furrowed his brows, “Me, why?”

“I really like you, but not like what you think. I want to be with you, not any of those other guys. That’s why nothing ever worked out, I compared everyone to you, but you don’t have any competition anywhere.” Katniss bit her bottom lip waiting for his response, but for once he was speechless. He’s loved her for years but he never thought she shared the same feelings, now he had his answer. She must have taken his silence as a rejection, her face fell and she turned to walk away. He couldn’t let that happen, he grabbed her arm, spun her around and pulled her into a passionate kissed her which she returned.

Finally, they broke apart gasping for air but not letting each other go. Peeta found the words he had been wanting to say. “Katniss, I really like you too. I have for a while now.”

Katniss smiled at him, the kind of smile that makes Peeta want to give her the moon, stars, and sun. “Let’s go home Peeta. We have a lot of time to make up for.” Once again she took his hand and led him away, but this time it was toward their future.

[backseat-negan]

“Be Careful What You Wish For” - Boner’s 1k Writing Challenge

Here is my submission for @grab-my-boner‘s writing challenge!! Congrats on 1k followers, chica - you deserve it and are royally fucking awesome. It’s an honor to be a part of the celebration.

Song Slot: “Oh No” by Bring Me the Horizon

Characters: Negan x reader

Heads up: none - just fluff :)

Words in italics are song lyrics.

Pulling your lips away from Simon’s was proving to be even more difficult than expected, and it wasn’t getting any easier with each passing minute. You stood, hand on the doorknob, intending to leave – and yet unable to turn and make your exit despite being fully aware that you shouldn’t be there and didn’t entirely want to be there.

 Your back was pressed against the wall as Simon’s hands were planted just above your shoulders, the rippling muscles in his arms and torso profoundly defined in the low light. His recently donned boxers hung low on his hips, almost begging you to remove them again. You pried yourself away from him and whispered roughly against his lips.

 “Simon, you know… fuck, you know I can’t stay.”

 He smiled with an air of frustration, roughly slamming his lips against yours one more time before gruffly murmuring, “I know, baby… I know. Get back safe. Same time tomorrow?”

 You forced a smile and whispered, “Of course.”

 Who you trying to fool, you know you’re in over your head.

The trek across the compound back to your bunk room was quiet, with the midnight moon illuminating your path. You took the long way around, hoping to avoid running into any guards and having to deal with their questions – or worse, their late-night flirtations. You knew the west fence was rarely watched at this time of night, so you stayed close to it, moving swiftly but quietly.

 “I’ll pretend you’re just having trouble sleeping and not sneaking back from getting into trouble.”

 Your heart nearly slammed out of your chest as you spun around to see Negan leaning casually against a nearby building, barely visible in the shadows save for the orange glow of the cigarette hanging from his mouth.

 “Goddamn, Negan… I told you last time, you’ll give me a fucking heart attack if you keep doing that,” you hissed, trying to calm your quickened breathing. As you made your way over to him, you shrugged nonchalantly, biting your lip as you murmured, “I needed some fresh air, it gets stuffy as hell in that bunk room. I think we’re up to… dammit, what did Joey say… I think we’re up to forty-two people in there now? It’s like a fucking teenage summer camp all over again. Well, but with an apocalypse theme. I was actually thinking, maybe we could take-“

 “Sweetheart, you can cut the shit. I don’t need your excuses,” Negan sighed.

 You don’t have to lie, I know exactly where you’ve been.

‘Cause you’re chewing off my ear while you’re chewing on your chin.

 You swallowed hard and your stomach jumped to your throat as your chest became tight. You stuffed your hands in your pockets and kicked nervously at the dirt as you joined Negan against the wall. He offered the still-burning cigarette to you, and you gratefully took it, pulling a deep drag before returning it to him. He smirked as you slowly exhaled, the smoke swirling and fading into the cool night air.

 “If you’re happy with him, then I won’t say another damn word about it.”

 His words caught you off guard and your mind scrambled to find a defensive response, but came up empty. There had to be a good reason you kept returning to Simon… it was no secret that there had always been something between you and Negan. Though it mostly remained unspoken, there was no denying the way he looked at you, the way you looked at him. He had always been viciously protective of you, and since the first day you met him, you had shared a friendship that felt years old instead of days old. Though you never sought him out over personal matters, you knew you could share absolutely anything with him, and it was times like this – leaning against a building in the early morning hours, cigarette smoke permeating the air – that you truly appreciated his friendship.

 But now here you were, finally being called on your bullshit, and you had nothing to say. You enjoyed your time with Simon – the sex was mind-blowing – and being with the most powerful and trusted Savior made you feel like a giddy schoolgirl getting attention from the star football player. Yet every time you left, you felt more and more empty.

 ‘Cause you’re holding onto heaven, but you’re hanging by a thread.

 “He’s… I mean, it’s not that… I…” you sighed as you fixed your eyes on the ground. “I don’t know. Is it wrong that I just don’t have the words for it?”

 Negan took a puff of the cigarette as he casually shook his head, exhaling as he questioned you boldly.

 “Do you love him?”

 His words seemed to stop your heart, and you immediately knew the answer. You didn’t love Simon, you had never loved Simon… you had enjoyed his companionship, the physical intimacy, the exclusive parties he took you to, the copious amounts of alcohol he provided…

 Don’t call it a party, ‘cause it never stops.

 Yet that was the extent of it. You had felt enjoyment, you had felt lust, passion, excitement, maybe even happiness...

 Don’t tell me you’re happy, ‘cause this isn’t love.

 “No,” you whispered in defeat, barely audible even in the still night air. Negan flicked the expired cigarette butt against the fence and turned to you, reaching out and gently tucking your hair behind your ear. Even after an evening of rough and raunchy sex with Simon when you thought you had felt everything there was to feel, this simple gesture and the slight touch of Negan’s skin against yours sent electricity throughout your body. Your breath caught in your chest, and you finally looked up and made eye contact with him. Even in the darkness, you could see that his tawny eyes were full of both warmth and sadness.

 “You didn’t have to say it for me to know it, doll,” he murmured softly.

 I may be on the outside, but you’re empty within.

 He again brought his hand up to you, this time cupping your face with it as he tenderly stroked your cheek with his thumb. His eyes danced around your face, coming to rest on your lips. You unconsciously licked them, suddenly aware of how dry they felt. A hint of a smirk brought out the deep dimples in his cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile in return. Time seemed to slow to a halt in that moment as he brought his eyes back up and you locked your gaze with his. His low voice rumbled quietly as you relaxed into his touch.

 “Let’s quit the fucking charade, darling… what do you really want?”

 It’s getting kind of old now, I think it’s time to pack it in.

 You felt your heart begin to pick up speed as he bit down on his bottom lip ever so slightly, his eyes still burning into yours. His other hand settled on your waist and you instinctively reached up to rest one hand on his chest while the other gripped his bicep. You saw a flash of passion in his eyes just before he dipped his head, allowing his lips to barely graze yours, hovering and waiting for you to make the final move. The moment barely lasted a second before you pressed your lips against his, feeling the anxiety gnawing at your heart reach its peak before crashing down into complete abandon.

 A warmth began in your chest and quickly spread to the rest of your body. You remained there in a somehow familiar embrace, unmoving, until Negan pulled away from you gently, continuing to stroke your cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. You knew this was crossing a line, you knew it shouldn’t be happening… and yet you found yourself immediately craving more, desperately wanting to taste his lips again.

 Now one is too many, but it’s never enough.

 He pressed his forehead to yours, the sound of your breathing seemingly deafening. You hesitated, unsure of what you were about to say, but you finally inhaled deeply before whispering into his ear.

 “It should’ve been you… it always should’ve been you… I wish it was you.”

 You felt his smile against your cheek as pulled you against his body and rumbled quietly.

 “Be careful what you wish for.”

 Be careful what you wish for.

Hope you all enjoyed this!! Even though it’s a one-shot for a challenge, I still love and treasure all feedback, both positive and negative. I’ll tag a few who may want to read it even though it’s not part of my multi-chapter :D

@isayweallgetdrunk @my-achilles--heel @negan--is--god @genevievedarcygranger @i-am-negan-trash 

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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1.1

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1.2

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2.1

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2.2

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3.1

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3.2

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4.1

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4.2

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5.1

mark wealthy row feeling across attention ran map students inside design art mouth ring skill hot during shelter full till log (book) blossom discard bring quickly scientists party town covered wise early cram grain harm goal pause inform heal clue fame freeze badge pimple dim missionary diet dumb rod march agree stick government bulb mall ban greed skiing poison stove image grew fact material dangerous flow gap ago stack explain didn’t strong voice true drawing surface gift corner cloud since king dawn pulled dozen friends greedy burning upon knew insect decimal nervous pay foot weak smooth aware steady serve lost nonetheless beach front atlas questions less cost slight motor banner wire area carefully separate equation local minutes fast table plan fine waves fair sing dive suppose boat thousands shape among toward gas factory birds wait understand sure ship report captain human game history reflect special brave bounce though else can’t matter square syllables perhaps bill felt suddenly test direction center farmers ready anything divided general energy subject Europe moon region return believe dance members picked simple cells paint mind love cause rain exercise eggs train blue wish drop developed window difference distance heart site sum summer wall forest probably

5.2

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6.1

afraid absorb british seat fear stretched furniture sight oxygen coward rope clever yellow albeit confess passage france fan cattle spot explore rather active death effect mine create wash printed process origin rose swift woe planets doze gasp chief perform triumph value substances tone score predict property movement harsh tube settled defend reverse ancient blood sharp border fierce plunge consider terms vision intend total schedule attract average intelligent corn dead southern glide supply convince send continent brief mural symbol crew chance suffix habit insects entered nursery especially spread drift major fig diagram guess wit sugar predator science necessary moisture park ordeal nectar fortunate flutter gun forward globe misery molecules arctic won’t actually addition washington cling rare lie steel pastime soldiers chill accordingly capital prevent solution greek sensitive electric agreed thin provide indicate northern volunteer sell tied triangle action opposite shoulder imitate steer wander except match cross speak solve appear metal son either ice sleep village factors result jumped snow ride care floor hill pushed baby buy century outside everything tall already instead phrase soil bed copy free hope spring case laughed nation quite type themselves temperature bright lead everyone method section lake iron within dictionary bargain loyal resource struggle vary capture exclaim gloomy insist restless shallow shatter talent atmosphere brilliant endure glance precious unite certain clasp depart journey observe superb treasure wisdom

6.2

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7.1

capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

7.2

evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

8.1

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8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

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K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[devourer--of--books]

blinking in the starlight

I am so excited to tell you that I actually did it. You may ask yourself, what is this crazy bitch up to now?

So, as some of you might know, during Tagatha Ship Week 2016 I originaly had planned to do a Tangled AU one shot. It turned out messy because I had to rush the whole thing to be able to write it in one day, so that draft was deleted. However, I decided to go down this road and write an actual multichapter story. I think it will be about 12 chapters long? Maybe a few bonus chapters along the way? Not sure yet. What I do know is that updates will be slow, perhaps once a month? I keep all information on progress and updating on my profile at FF.net (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4592257/), so if you wanna know what I’m up to or when the next chapter will be posted, check it out.

Disclaimer: I do not own The School For Good And Evil series and all characters belong to Soman.

Warning: As always, language, because I have a sailor’s mouth. Not half as many as in “if you’re not the bride”, but stil.

- Cece

Caged Birds Don’t Sing

Happy ever after is a little more boring than Sophie thought it would be.

As she finished another book, the blonde young beauty couldn’t help but frown. Yet again, the princess rode off into the sunshine, with a dashing prince, to a ginormous diamond castle, and guess what, “they lived happily ever after, the end”.

How… unoriginal.

Sitting at the big chair placed at the center of the library, Sophie let mind wander around a bit. How about a plot twist? “Princess decides to travel the world”? Or maybe “princess makes new friends and throws the sickest party ever after”?

Not that she was ungrateful.

Sophie had everything one could wish for. She lived in a magnificent luxurious tower, with maids that attended to her every will, all kinds of beauty cosmetics to make sure her wellbeing was a hundred per cent perfect, and she had the most handsome prince in the world.

She had fancy groom-rooms, tons of jewels and dresses, all the shoes a woman could ever hope to own. She was beautiful, rich, charming and she lived the dream. She was a real life princess.

It’s just… When she read about in her fairytale books it always seemed a little bit… greater? After all, she couldn’t even remember most of her own story. She was just a child when it happened.

“Lady Sophie?” her personal maid, Kiko, called by the door. “It’s time for your bath”.

Kiko had been assigned to her a few years ago. She was a little darling thing and definitely an upgrade from that annoying Beatrix girl that used to occupy that position. Beatrix always had that small smirk on her face and the only thing worse than her attitude was that look she sometimes sent Sophie. It made the princess’ blood boil.

Blue eyes filled with pity. Ugh.

Yes, Kiko, the sickly sweet maid that could never look her in the eye was definitely an upgrade.

“Oh” Sophie raised her eyebrow, slowly looking away from her book while lazily uncrossing her long legs “Is it lavender or enchanted bubbles?”

“W-which one would your highness prefer?” Kiko asked quietly, eyes looking downwards to Sophie’s velvet pink heels.

“Both” She answered uninterested, dismissing the shy maid.

The same thing, every day.

Wake up, morning routine, breakfast, free time, lunch, free time, lessons, free time, afternoon routine, free time, guard switch, dinner, free time, night routine, sleep. Wake up, morning routine, breakfast …

Ugh.

You would think that for someone with so much free time, Sophie would have found something to do with it. The thing was, it was called free time, but there was a surprisingly lack of freedom involved.

No matter how many times Rafal explained it was for her own safety, Sophie couldn’t help but wonder what could lie beyond the enormous walls of her tower.

It was a dangerous world, all kinds of sorcerers and black-magic-users could attack her, bandits could get her, she could even end up as a meal to some savage beast, bla bla bla. She got it, really.

But she had already read and re-read every book on the library, no matter how many books her prince would bring her. Her maids took care of the tower, no need to cook, or clean or anything. The gallery could only fit so many portraits and Sophie knew every single detail by heart.

She would ask him when he got home. After dinner, tomorrow.

But tomorrow seemed so far away…

“Sophie?!” The rude exclamation echoes from the main room, and Sophie’s mood turns south very fast.

Aric, the main general of her guard.

Also known as the bane of her existence.

How many times she complained to Rafal about him? Her prince would always dismiss her frustration, presenting her a new jewel as a peace offering, and while Sophie appreciated the gifts, she would trade them all for a chance to kick Aric’s sorry behind all the way down from her tower.

Aric was rude, bad mannered, scary as hell and his only joy came from working the other guards to death and annoying the daylights out of her.

“Lady Sophie, Aric” she gritted her teeth, forcing a polite smile, as she entered the room. “Know your place, will you?”

“My apologies” he smirked, mock bowing, violet eyes never leaving hers.

As always, Aric was dressed in his sweaty black and green uniform, wolfy smile in place and looking at her with that superior attitude that pushed her buttons in all the wrong ways.

Sophie suppressed the instinct of backing away from him, knowing that acknowledging his attempt to intimidate her would only serve to amuse him.

“Apology accepted,” She granted eyeing the general cautiously. “What are you doing here?”

“Master Rafal sent a falcon today. He’s coming for lunch tomorrow, so the guard switch will be done earlier” Aric explains, toying with the small dagger he carried in his sleeve. “Didn’t he tell you, lady?

"No.” Sophie answers, crossing her arms while transferring her weight to one leg “Why would he do that?”

“Does it matter? Ask him yourself.”

“You should stop this attitude, Aric. A little bird by the window told me you were late to work yesterday. Careful, or…”

Aric tensed up, his right hand gripping the silver dagger.

“Or what? I’m pretty sure where I go is my business. You, however, should watch your step…”

“Is this a threat?” Sophie asks, her voice low and incredulous.

A shiver goes down her spine as in a swift movement Aric throws the dagger.

The sharp blade shatters the window, the shards barely missing the blonde waves of her hair and the general smirks while admiring his work.

“I thought I saw a bird. They’re common at this time of the year. Interesting, I keep seeing them near the windows, don’t you agree that they should know their place and mind their business? Accidents do happen, could be dangerous.”

Sophie doesn’t say a thing, green eyes glaring at him.

“Don’t forget to close the curtains; It will take a while to get that window repaired and Master hates birds inside the tower” Aric taunts her in his way out.

Kiko and some other maid appear to clean up the shattered glass, but Sophie doesn’t stay to see the damage. It’s everywhere, and the curtain is probably ripped. Great.

She’s partly furious and partly terrified, her hands shaking like a leaf.

That tended to be the effect Aric caused every single time he went within a ten-meter radius from her.

Not that Rafal would ever let anything happen to her. He promised.

And soon enough Rafal would be back home. Then she could ask him.

Ask him to take her with him the next time he left.

.

.

Sophie is hopeful.

She always is this time of the year. Is near her birthday (tomorrow) and Rafal always visits on her birthday. Ever since he rescued her he visits every two months or so (running kingdoms must keep him busy), but he always stays an extra day or two for her birthday.

Usually she goes straight to bed after her night routine, but today, Sophie sits by her bedroom’s window.

It’s a beautiful view. The forest that surrounds the tower looks emerald green during the day, but Sophie liked it better during the night, when the moon and the stars color the trees in shades of grey and silver. Beyond the trees Rafal told her there are kingdoms, full of evil kings and witches.

Sophie doesn’t doubt him, of course not, but she can’t help but think that it was quite a waste for such beautiful woods to be infested with beasts and bandits and for such evil kingdoms to produce such an alluring light.

Oh yes, the lights.

The beautiful lights that came into view a few days after her birthday, at the beginning of spring. At night, one by one, the lights colored the sky, orange, yellow and gold lit up the sky, irradiating warm and comfort.

Rafal told her it was a festival. The witches set fire to the sky so all the birds would be burnt and fall to the ground.

And that’s why she should stay in her tower, where she was safe. So no harm would ever come to her.

My little bird, Rafal called her.

Because Sophie was a princess for a reason, you see.

She could sing.

But unlike any other singer, she did not sing songs. Oh no. Sophie sang people.

Rafal, mostly.

Everyone had a special tune, an essence. Her prince asked her to sing his at least once every time he visited. He told her that his tune reminded him of the birds that sang every day outside his window when he was a child.

That it made him feel young.

Sophie did not understand what kind of bird could sing such a melancholic melody. Rafal would laugh and then whisper in her ear:

“Blue falcons, Sophie. They are native from my kingdom.”

She wanted to ask more.

But she didn’t, and the information wasn’t offered either.

Tonight, sitting by the window, bathing in moonlight, Sophie tried to remember.

Rafal’s song was slow and husky, in a dark and dangerous pace.

Her mother’s song used to be soft and sophisticated, like an expensive velvet dress.

But Sophie couldn’t remember her own song.

She sang it every day as a child. But, like magic, she forgot.

Rafal told her it might have been a scar from pos-trauma. From her fairytale.

Sophie doesn’t remember when it was exactly, but she might have been around ten.

She lived in a luxurious house in a big estate. Her mother had inherited from a wealthy uncle or something. She loved Sophie’s voice, told her to sing every day. Her father wasn’t much of a fan.

One day, a dark old wizard attempted to kidnap her, so he could sell her voice for money to buy more ingredients for his potions. Rafal was passing nearby and heard the fighting between her father and the wizard.

Her mother hid her in a closet. Told Sophie she should stay there.

Sophie remember screwing her eyes shut and singing her song quietly.

After what felt like hours, someone came to her rescue.

A dashing young man, with shiny white hair and intense eyes greeted her. Told her that her parents were dead, but he was a prince and could keep her safe.

Even back then, Rafal was gorgeous.

And she lived happily ever after ever since.

Tired, Sophie decided that maybe she should have gone to bed: Now, she was tired and Rafal liked her better when she looked her best.

.

.

Stupid Aric.

Sophie’s high heels clicked against the expensive dark marble floor as she paced back and forth, her hand gripping the hairbrush hard enough that her knuckles were turning white.

He should already be here.

The guard switch was done earlier. Aric was supposed be here already. If Rafal arrived and he wasn’t here, his mood would be ruined.

Then, there was no way for Sophie to ask him her birthday gift.

To leave with him.

Oh, she was going to kick Aric out of this tower.

As soon as he got here.

Distracted by her angry-pacing Sophie did not hear the sound of the door opening.

A cold hand gripped her shoulder and she screamed on the top of her lungs, tripping on her heels. Instinctively, Sophie pointed her hairbrush to the stranger, wielding it like one would a sword.

“Woah.” Rafal exclaimed, backing away, hands up in mock surrender. His serious composure was intact as always, but his eyes looked amused. He offered her a hand.

“Hello.” Sophie answered, taking up on his offer “What do you find so funny?”

“Your brush” He told her, brow raised “What would you have done if I was actually an intruder? Get back or I’ll brush your hair?”

“Well, if the intruder was you, it would have worked. Your hair looks like it hasn’t seen one in weeks.” She noticed, taking up on his appearance.

As always, Rafal was dressed in a black outfit, detailed in gold and red, the huge cape trailing behind him, made out of grey-ish feathers. However, his hair was a mess, differing from the usual soft spikes it was usually sported in.

Rafal lifted a brow.

“Really?”

He walked in the direction of the giant mirror in Sophie’s room. His hands fondled with the white locks, sealing them in place.

“Aric usually remembers me to do this before I come inside.” He tells her, frowning “Where’s Aric?”

Sophie can feel the dread of telling him the general is not there and she decides that no, Aric isn’t going to ruin this.

“He must be checking on something since guard switch was done earlier. You can look for him later.”

“Sophie” Rafal narrows his eyes “Where’s Aric?”

Plan B it is then.

“You haven’t even wished me happy birthday yet.”

Her prince seems to calm down a bit.

“I’m sorry, my little bird.” He approaches “Happy birthday.”

“It’s quite alright” She answers, the fake tears drowning her green eyes.

“Please, don’t cry, Sophie.” He hugs her close and whispers compliments on her ear. “I have a gift for you”

“Do you? I was thinking about asking you…”

“Later, my little bird. For now, I’m hungry.” Rafal says, backing away, and Sophie follows him on his heels.

“It’s kind of important, Rafal, and…”

Her prince does not hear and she stops trying to catch up with him.

.

.

“So, you said you had a gift for me?”

The two of them are sitting in the library; Rafal is sipping his coffee (as he always did after lunch), seated at the big chair in the center of the room while Sophie nervously plays with a book, not quite looking him in the eyes, but standing directly in front of him.

“I do” He answers.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small box. A ring box.

Sophie eyes go wide.

“Yes”

“I’m afraid, my little bird, this is not that kind of ring”

Sophie’s excitement dies when she notices her prince’s serious demeanor. He puts the mug down, leaning forward, not once breaking eye contact.

“This is a safety ring, Sophie. It’s not a toy. You’ll wear it every day, 24/7. You won’t be taking it off for showers, for beauty treatments or for sleep. If you take it off, I’ll know you’re in danger and I’ll show up immediately. You’ll most likely never have to, but just in case, so we won’t have a repeat of today’s hairbrush incident”

He pulls Sophie’s hand away from the book, and slowly, slides the ring up her finger.

The piece itself was probably one of the most beautiful pieces she ever got from him, and that’s saying a lot. The ring shines in pale gold, dark reflexes running along the metal. Underneath, the words “True Love” could be read in silver. It was very light and delicate, but, somehow, Sophie felt like it yet another thing weighting her down.

“Happy birthday, my little bird. Now, how about you sing me my song again?”

“Thank you, Rafal”

Sophie finds herself singing his song four times in a roll. She quite enjoys the pleased look on his face, as he closes his eyes and lies back on the chair, expression twisted in the rare form of joy.

“Now, my little bird, I need to talk to Aric.” He excuses himself, heading to the door.

Sophie gets up from her chair so fast Rafal actually stops walking. She throws herself in front of him, blocking his way, sheepish smile and hopeful eyes.

“Remember that thing I wanted to talk to you about?” She batted her eyelashes at him, pouting.

“Oh, right”

“Well, since it is my birthday, and I now have a way to stay safe 24/7” She told him carefully “I was thing that maybe you could take me with you when you leave this time? To see our kingdom. I thought it might be a good experience for me, since one day I’m going to be a queen and…”

Rafal’s stoic expression and unreadable eyes were killing her.

“No.”

“But I…”

“No, Sophie.” He said firmly, trying to walk around her.

“Why not?” She asked, grabbing his arm, pulling at his sleeve.

“Are you not happy here, Sophie?”

“Of course I am…”

“Because if you’re not, I can arrange for you to live in a half-assed cottage in the middle of the woods, living out of nothing but berries and water, vulnerable to every single wizard and beast on the forest!” Rafal snapped.

Sophie suddenly lets go of his sleeve, her face losing color as real tears threaten to roll down her face.

“You wouldn’t”

“You’re right; I wouldn’t, because you can’t handle yourself out there. You’re weak, Sophie! Weak like a freaking chicken waiting to be somebody’s next meal! Don’t you understand, no one will ever care for your safety the way I do!”

She lets him walk around her, and as he finally reaches the door, Rafal signs, not once looking back:

“I won’t be home for dinner. Tell Aric I’ll be back in two weeks.”

She’s quiet.

“And Sophie” He adds, “I don’t wanna hear another word about you thinking about leaving this tower ever again”.

The door closes with a soft noise. Almost as soft as the quiet sobs she lets out as soon as he leaves.

.

.

Sophie spends another night sitting by her window.

She warns Kiko to let Aric know Rafal’s message, but after dinner, her maid tells her Aric never showed up to work. She also asks if Sophie need anything but the blonde doesn’t feel like dealing with Kiko’s over sweetness at the moment.

As she stares at the forest, Sophie wonders if it would be best if she left.

Not forever, of course. Just for some time. Away from Aric, from Kiko, from her maids, from the guards…

From Rafal.

Her ring shines in the moonlight.

“Happy fucking birthday.”

Language, Sophie. She can hear Beatrix’s voice taunting her in an old memory of her etiquette lessons.

This is her mouth. Her window. Her bedroom.

Her cage.

She’ll curse as much as she wants.

…Besides is not like anyone can hear her. The walls are thick and it’s late. The only ones awake are the guards posted on the staff levels and in the forest.

A quiet song is audible, and Sophie turns her head down to look at the small bird that sat by her window. She opens it with extra care not to scare the bird away. Upon closer inspection, she can tell it is tired. It’s night after all. Birds are usually day-time creatures.

The song is sad and Sophie can feel it tugging in her heartstrings.

She tries to touch the little animal, but as soon as she reaches for him, it flies away.

Sophie tries not to feel jealous.

It’s a bird. They’re supposed to be free creatures. That’s why Rafal won’t let her built a cage for them to keep her company.

Then why don’t you ever let me go…?

Sophie shakes her head. Nonsense. Rafal is just protecting her. He loves her.

She retracts from the window, deciding that yes, just for today she’ll leave it open. Rafal wouldn’t approve, but if Rafal wanted the window closed then he could come home and close it himself.

Looking back, if Sophie had indeed closed the window, our history might have gone in a completely different direction. Fate has a funny way of intervening in our lives.

.

.

It’s four AM when Sophie hears it.

It’s not very loud, but the soft sounds reach her ears and wake her up. She looks around for the source of the noise, when her eyes lie in her open window.

There’s hook on her window sill. Probably linked to a rope. With an evil bandit coming up to her bedroom, where no one could hear her.

And if he climbed up the tower and got through the guards, what could she do…

Her eyes darted to the ring.

She could call Rafal, he would protect her!

… but then he would be completely right, wouldn’t he? She was just some damsel in distress, like a princess in her fairytale books.

She moved her hand away from the ring.

“You’re weak, Sophie!”

No, this is something she could do by herself.

She walked slowly, making no sound, to the other side of the room, crouching near beauty supplies where the shadows were darker to help blend her blonde hair in the moonlit place.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the intruder sneaked into the bedroom.

Covered in a dark cape, hood covering most of their features the intruder drew a bow, arrow in position, while scanning the room. Sophie held her breath, not daring to move a single muscle.

The bow was put down a few seconds later, returned to their back, as was the arrow. She noticed the intruder carried a big satchel and walked around in heavy hunting boots.

Then, they signed.

“Finaly”

To Sophie’s surprise, the intruder was apparently a woman. At least, they sounded like one.

With all her attention on the so-called woman, who was now walking around the bedroom, Sophie nearly missed a new character’s arrival.

“I don’t think so” the new voice said.

It belonged to a man, about as tall as Rafal. But there’s where all similarities ended.

This man wore a military based uniform, much like her guards’, but instead of black and green, his was light blue and gold, a glowing sword attached to his belt, his feet covered by hunting boots. His features, while still immensely handsome, were rounder than Rafal’s and the strangers hair was several tones darker than her prince’s was, more like her golden sun-kissed tresses.

“You simply don’t know when to let it go, do you?” The first intruder questions the man, arrow ready.

“I told you I would hunt you down. I’ve been told quite a few times that I am a great hunter.” He answers, wielding his sword.

“By whom? Your fangils?” The caped woman mocked.

Despite drawing out weapons, they didn’t show signs of attacking any time soon, the banter between the two getting to a level Sophie would almost label flirty.

This was going too far. If these intruders decided to go at each other’s throats, then Sophie would be doomed. Again, she felt tempted to take off the ring…

No, she just had to do some quick thinking.

The first stranger was a priority, she had a long range weapon and was closer to her, so Sophie had to take her down first. But how…

Her eyes laid on her beauty supplies. Of course!

As quietly as she could, Sophie sneaked her hand to grab a small jar.

Imported from Maidenville, sleeping-rose’s petals.

Great to get rid of under eye bags and it’s tea had anti-insomnia properties.

Also, good for knocking people out in a few seconds or so through inhalation.

Please work.

The jar collided with the front of the hood, knocking the woman to her knees, shards of glass everywhere.

“What the actu…alll…?”

She tried to get up but the petals did their magic. Limp on the floor.

On the other side of the room, the man lowered his sword.

“If this is a trick, it won’t work, witch.” He threatened, but worry was clear in his voice. “Witch?”

He was coming near and Sophie started to panic. He would see the petals and it wouldn’t work unless he got really close to the woman’s face.

Okay, now what to do, what to do, what to…

Is that a brush?

“What would you have done if I was actually an intruder? Get back or I’ll brush your hair?”

Sophie would show him.

With all her might, she threw the hairbrush at the stranger. It hit the center of his forehead and Sophie swore she could see his blue eyes roll back as he too fell down, face first on the floor.

So. That happened.

She did it. Holy… she actually did it.

Who’s week now, Rafal? I’ve got two intruders in my bedroom, and you know who neutralized them? Yours truly!

Oh, god, she couldn’t wait to take off the ring and summon Rafal! He would be so…

…Angry that she didn’t take it off when he expressly ordered her to do so.

And if Rafal got angry with her again then he would not even notice her skills. He would probably double the security and then her tower wouldn’t even have windows!

What to do then?