#so i will wait till tuesday morning and see how it goes

[readingloveswounds]

i have made WORKSHEETS (ugh) in case i don't get my ACCESS TO THE TEXTBOOK WEBSITE in time.

good news for anyone who hasn't got their access code yet because neither fucking have i

[tinyvesselhearts]

Thing Is (Protective Egon x You)

It’s a part of a slightly larger collection of one-shots but I’m pretty proud of this one so here it comes:

Egon x Reader/You No Y/N Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (minor injuries)

Thing is, he’s become too observant.

Egon knows you come to the station around 10 A.M. There’s no jumpsuits, car or equipment to maintain so you start with the kitchen. It’s not exactly a part of your duties: the guys are fully capable of washing their own, especially since they barely eat in. Yes, okay— he’ll agree none of them is a dishwashing phenomenon and they hardly ever manage to finish breakfast before their first call— but you can just leave the plates there and nobody would bat an eye.

You do it though. Without a word.

On Tuesday, while showing you monochromic ectoplasm bonds Type IV (Egon prompts it himself these days, no bribe included), he notices the skin on your hands is chapped. He knows you work with nasty chemicals while taking care of Ecto- 1 but you’ve always worn latex gloves— he’s seen them hanging on the heater, next to whichever colorful apron you chose for the day. The only time you work with your bare hands is while cleaning the kitchen. Wiping the counters. Scrubbing the sink.

You’re busy looking at the molecules of Type IV, while he does some research on what he calls The Collective. The sight of your dry fingers keeps nagging him though— there’s no way a simple detergent affects the cells so much— so after replaying all possible scenarios in his head, he can’t take it anymore. He pauses.

“You don’t have to do the dishes”, he states out of the blue. “You know that, right?”

 “Mhm.”

“Why, then?”

You swivel in your chair and look at him.

“I mean, why not? It’s like 20 minutes, tops. You come back to a tidy home and it costs me nothing.”

But it does cost you your hands, he wants to say. There’s no way it doesn’t sound creepy though, even by his standards, so he just acknowledges that with a hum and a thank you. Arguing is pointless. You’ll do whatever you want anyway. He’s not even here to make sure you take care of yourself while on duty.

What he does, however, is wait till the evening and inspect what that low- budget detergent is made of. He’s quick to spot the culprits. It’s a nasty fragrant and the artificial dye. No wonder your skin is irritated. That thing would be harmless if, instead of using your hands, you scrubbed the plates with a metal rod as a part of your morning routine.

Egon buys a new liquid— top shelf this time— and adds some stuff of his own. Some softeners. A nice scent. He pours it into the old bottle so that you don’t think twice. Just a precaution. In case you realized it wasn’t your soap and look for that terrible, skin- devouring slime. He places it near the tap. Then waits.

Over the following weeks he’ll diligently observe how your skin gets better every time you come down to the lab. He’ll see the rough edges get smooth. Fractured knuckles seal shut. Nails regain their shine.

He’ll notice how gentle your fingers are when you secure his slides under microscopic lens.

👻

On this particular Thursday everything goes wrong.

There’s a Class 2 Free- Floating Vapor who’s wildly attracted to funky shapes and vivid hues. It’s the ethereal kind: one whose molecular structure fluctuates. He pries on wallpapers, bedsheet and clothes, tears them up and snugs like an unhinged puppy. Catching him is comparable to squeezing slippery soap. What complicates things even more is that Peter has a clumsy day so even though they manage to trap the ghost, it slips out at the station because somebody forgot to follow a few basic safety tips. Cool. It’s all cool.

Egon knocks at the laundry room’s door. He enters. You’re inside, hanging freshly washed suits.

“We’ve got a situation”, he informs. “Please, wait in here for a few minutes.”

“Oh? You guys need help?”

“We’ll handle this. Venkman let the vapor out. It’s nothing.”

“Oh. Okay.” You straighten up and smooth your apron (it’s the yellow one, embroidered with bees— you wear it when you feel especially joyful and of course it’s got to be today). “I can help, if—”

“No. It’s all under relative control. Don’t worry about it.”

He waits for you to nod, then steps out and closes the door. Relative. Great phrasing, Doctor Spengler.

He powers up the proton pack. The faster they get rid of the ghost, the better. You won’t have time to get creative.

Peter’s pressing a gauze to his nose. It’s bleeding. Not from within though, looks like a cut and that’s relevant: if the vapor is capable of transferring molecules and strengthen bonds within different body parts at will, it could thicken its limbs enough to cause physical harm to humans. Class 2 are rarely aggressive— annoying, yes, destructive as well— but they aren’t interested in manhunt. Maybe this one’s been triggered enough to choose attack for defense.

“Who’s got the trap?”

“I do!” Winston kicks the pedal. “The stream won’t hold long enough though!”

Ray’s standing at the other side of the room, protecting their dear vehicle.

“We should stream it together from different angles! It won’t be able to wiggle out! Let’s try that and move him towards the trap in sync!”

“Baby, you’re lucky I’m a terrific dancer”, says Peter and aims at the ghost.

Egon assesses the situation. The vapor stays too close to the reception for their benefit— the massive wooden desk is going to be a great shield for the specter if they aren’t precise enough. The deeper they go within the station, the more damage they’ll cause. That’s not worth it. Too much precious stuff to risk.

They could try a bait. They’ll have to find some red herring and place it far away: ideally, further into the garage, near the door. Lots of space, no hiding spots. Relative damage control. Cheap repairs. No casualties, either.

He notices Janine’s scarf hanging over her chair: conspicuous, extravagant and frilled, covered in a cheetah pattern. A perfect lure for the ghost. It’s still Janine’s— and she’s upstairs, taking cover in Tully’s office— and once it’s all over she’ll absolutely hate them for destroying her garment. She’d cut their ears off for it, if she could. Luckily, she’s too small for that. Radical.

“Yo! How can I help you, boys?”

For the Mother of—

Egon turns his head. It’s you— standing right at the door in that silly, yellow apron— because of course you are. Hell, you’re an embodiment of what a perfect live bait looks like in this scenario. However, your position (from the strategic point of view) is the absolute worst. You should either take off that apron immediately or move away— and move fast.

“Gear up!” Winston shouts to you. “He’s actually dangerous! Scratched Peter in the face!”

“Guess I was just too pretty!”

The vapor dashes in your direction. It’s quick. You grunt, try to dodge and fail miserably: its slimy claws reach your neck and graze your shirt in a failed attempt to rip off the perky apron. You growl and crouch before Ray chases the ghost off with a stream.

“Ah. Funk. Shite.”, you grunt. “I’ll get the proton pack!”

Egon can’t fucking believe it.

He eases down the proton rod and appears in front of you in a few long strides. No questions, no warning, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder like a sack— then proceeds to literally carry you away from the scene.

“What the heck?!” You yelp. “Let me go!”

“Over my dead body.”

Ray and Winston struggle to aim, Peter does more talking than shooting— as usual— so the vapor dissipates and the streams slide off of its ethereal body. The moment isn’t ideal for being a knight in the shining armor but it’s as good as any. Your safety is more important than a burned wall or Peter’s personal opinion (he surely has one— he saw you two— he did a double take).

All of that is irrelevant. What matters though, is that Egon is aware.

You’re close. Locks brush against his ear and your breath is hot on the nape of his neck. The air tingles his tiny hairs. It tickles, it’s distracting and he tenses up, fingers finding their way into your hair. Then, the scent of soap he planted for you reaches his nostrils— and it’s good, it means you’re taken care of. Your hands clutch his jumpsuit— on his shoulder blades, on his chest— and pull at his damp undershirt just because it’s there, right underneath, warm and soaked with sweat.

You’re holding on to him for dear life. You’re around him, everywhere, all at once and it takes every ounce of his willpower to stay focused.

He lets you go in the far corner of the garage. You slide off. Your numb hands linger on his patch and under his collar. Eyes lock.

For a split second he fights an urge to lean in— to press his forehead to yours, to feel you’re right there, safe, away from danger. He almost does. Then he sees blood on your collarbone and his face turns stark.

“What’s that?”

“Um”, you look downwards and tap the stain with your finger. “I don’t know.”

“He scratched you.”

“ I mean, it doesn’t hurt now, so—”

“He scratched you.”

Something within him shifts. He’s all fire and smoke, jaw set, breath hot, eyes sharp and unrelenting. His fists clench, knuckles whiten, a wave of heat reaches his ears— and in this moment he barely recognizes himself.

“Egon…?”

“Winston!” He yells. “Set the trap!”

Your hands grab his sleeve but the grasp is weak, unsure— as if you wanted to anchor him before he does something stupid. Egon vaguely registers that. The fabric slips away from your grip and he strides away, gaze fixated on the ghost. He supports the proton gun on his arm and aims.

Ray picks up on this change of demeanor immediately.

“Ho, someone’s pissed!” He chants. “We’re shooting on three!”

Peter seems to come round as well. He tosses the bloody gauze on the floor (the wound he got is a sleek, clean line, it doesn’t seem deep) and clenches his teeth.

“You envied my pretty face, huh?”

What happens next is difficult to put in the correct order. There’s a loud shriek, a flash of streams coming from at least three proton packs, a loud zap and a warm glow. There’s also a burnt smudge on the ceiling, stretching all the way from garage door to the reception desk, an armchair on the first floor that’s set of fire and — for some inexplicable reason— two bulbs have just exploded.

Janine and Louis run out of the office. Everybody’s quiet. Thick smoke comes from the trap and the air is still until the red light on it switches on.

“��It’s inside.” Winston sighs. “Are you guys okay?”

Ray does a one over. The overall damage is considerable but Janine’s already prancing around the armchair with an extinguisher and the ceiling— well, it’s not like any client ever pays attention to the ceiling, right?— so everything’s taken care of. Peter extends a thumb in a weak attempt to show it is, in fact, alright.

“Yeah. I’ll go get changed. More than enough for today.”

Egon turns his head towards you. You’re still standing right where he put you: far away from the scene, unsure and anxious. His head is still burning. How stupid of you, how reckless not to listen to his request— how much unnecessary stress, how much disaster— what an idiotic move to ignore an explicit warning—

Ray is a perceptive guy.

“I’ll handle the trap”, he says and leaves the garage first.

👻

You take off the apron, blood splatter tainting a bee you embroidered yourself.

“…Oh. I doubt it’ll come off.”

Egon lets you into his lab and closes the door.

“It will”, he assures you. “Here, change. I won’t look.”

“Thank you.”

He lets you swap your ripped shirt for one of his sweaters while he skims over the first aid kit. There must be some ectoplasmic residue around the gash. If he gets a good quality sample, he could run a few tests and see how the molecular transfer works in reference to changing the ghost’s state of matter. It’s a first. If they could figure it out, that would be a real breakthrough.

“I’m, uh. I’m decent.”

Egon picks up a petri dish, a bottle of antiseptic spray and some gauze pads. He sits in a chair right in front of you, rolls up his sleeves and leans over to inspect the wound.

A long red line runs over your collarbone, up to your neck. It’s fresh, red splatters specked across your throat and chest but despite the impact, it doesn’t seem dangerous. He’s relieved to see the other end of the scratch— it’s right above your chest. The hem of his sweater hangs a little loose on you, allowing easy access. Thank God for small mercies.

The light is dim. It’s the blue glow he uses when he needs to focus. Crisp air wraps around him like a blanket. Drawers and tools are outlined by its faint radiance, particles of dust only fleeting in proximity— the specks move slowly, lazily, as if they had the whole time in the world.

Egon takes his time as well. He disinfects his hands, picks up a cotton stick and leans into your personal space.  Your body radiates with heat. He chooses not to think about it: instead, he works around the wound and collect samples. The tip gathers some of the ectoplasm left by the attack. He’s careful to avoid pressing against the slit— only prods at its edges, makes sure none of the cotton fibers get into your wound. Fingers brush against your neck. Your skin is warm.

You look up.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I don’t know what I am at you”, he exhales, then puts away the sample. He takes a scrap of gauze and soaks it with spirits. “It may sting.”

The cloth touches your skin. It’s cold and it burns.

“Eesh. Oof.” You nod. “Yeah, that’s the feeling.”

“Familiar?”

“Ah. Scout camps. We’d get a lot of these. Scraping your way through the woods and all that.”

Egon frowns, meeting your gaze.

“Weren’t your uniforms designed to protect you from those?”

“A cotton button- down skirt? Knee- length? Seriously.”

“…Okay, I can see your point”, he snorts— and you chuckle too, glint in your eyes — and it’s warm in his chest.

He cleans the gash way longer than necessary. Your skin seems so fragile up close. Drops of liquid sanitizer glide against it, guiding him through the task. He runs over them with gentle pads again and again, smearing the antiseptic into an even coat. Delicate swipes leave smudges, which’s irregular lines shapes gleam on your skin. The wound looks a little better. It’s a cue. He doesn’t stop.

“Egon, I’d like to thank you for all of this”, you almost whisper. “I know I screwed up. I’m terribly sorry. I should have been wiser and stay where I was told.”

He frowns. He was mad at you before you came down to the lab. He should still be mad at you but hormones are like tides— they rise and retract, they take over, then dissipate— and he’s just not feeling it anymore.

“We’re good”, he murmurs. “I’ve neglected the issue myself. I should teach you how to use our equipment. Accidents will happen. It’s imperative you’re capable of defending yourself.”

“You’re the experts though. I keep forgetting my place.”

“You’re not bound to a place. You’re a person, not a pet.”

There’s a slight swift in your expression. He doesn’t look— doesn’t dare, really, his demeanor is all too bothering— but your whole body relaxes, as if dead weight just fell off your chest.

“It’s been a long day but at least you got the sample, right? A silver lining?”

Egon looks at you. He’s met with a smirk but— heck, it must be the adrenaline residue or some unusual distress (he’s gotten considerably better at reading your emotions as of late)— he can’t interpret whether you’re being honest or sarcastic. Thin ice. Better make sure.

“Um. Was it wrong of me?”

“Silly”, you let out a laugh. “Not at all. I’m glad, as stupid as it sounds.”

He shivers but manages a smile. It’s chemistry or biology, one of the two. Ridiculous.

Both of you fall into comfortable silence. He finishes patching you up, while you’re just sitting there, looking over the lab. Your neck is close. Breaths mingle. It’s soft and warm. He could stay like that for the rest of the evening but there’s only so much proximity he can go away with (or handle) at once so he leans back.

“That’s all. Keep it dry. Clean in again before you go to bed.”

“Thanks. I’ll go put your jumpsuits in the laundry.”

“Yes.”

He raises from the chair but feels a grasp on his hand. He looks at you and freezes. You seem to purposefully avoid his gaze but dare to lift his fingers to your lips in a gentle motion. He’s not prepared for this. His mind is blank. He—

“No. I mean it”, you press your cheek into his knuckles, eyes squeezed shut. “Thank you for taking care of me, Egon. I owe you again. At this rate, I’d better start paying it off or I’m going to be in debt for a long time, huh?”

No, he wants to say. You owe me nothing, but he can’t utter a word so he watches you stand up, offer a smile and leave, snugly wrapped in his sweater.

There are some noises upstairs. They’re foggy. Later, he’ll be pretty sure Ray called his name at some point but the only thing he registers tonight is loud white noise, an ache in his ribs and warmth in his temple. He carries it to the kitchen, where he eats eggs for supper— then bathroom, where he takes a long shower— then his bed when he goes to sleep. He leaves his flip- flops on the floor but the feeling slides with him under the covers.

It’s late. It should go away, dissipate, but it doesn’t. He counts sheep, tries meditating and stretches every breath to ridiculous extends. It doesn’t help though: it’s still there, strong, unrelenting, it keeps him awake for at least two more hours.

He’s not stupid. He recognizes the symptoms.

He just doesn’t recall struggling with them so damn much.

_____

For those who have already read it: SORRY for posting it again, I just wanted to make it easier for people who exclusively use Tumblr to get to know this piece of fanfiction ;__; Have a great day, thanks for putting up with my antics, I LOVE YOU ALL

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Baking/Cooking Fics Masterlist

a change of heart and a silver lining (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 18k

Summary: Calum’s not obsessed with routine or anything, but he does become accustomed to certain constants in life. Michael is always about eight minutes late. Ashton always records vocals barefoot. Calum always knows the person behind the register at Bake Station.

Except today. Today it’s a stranger, though admittedly a stranger who looks enough like Jack that Calum can easily connect the dots.

“Hi there,” says the bloke in Jack’s place, giving Calum a bright smile. “What can I get for you today?”

If this is Luke Hemmings, Calum’s fucked.

(OR: wrong number AU and strangers to lovers bakery AU battled and this was the outcome.)

And Action - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/calum, michael/ashton, past michael/luke E, 24k

Summary: Calum won’t lie about it. His Best Friend’s Boyfriend’s Ex-Boyfriend is super cute.

and what if you'd never smiled at me (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds luke/calum T, 14k

Summary: Calum's really not happy about the new bakery that's just opened up down the road from his own bakery; it's gaudy and pastel and covered in flowers and is an offence to the name of baking. At least he's got a new regular to make him feel better about it all. One with a smile that can turn a day around just like that, even on a Tuesday.

cake topics (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/cake E, 39k

Summary: Every morning that week, Calum goes back to the bakery, collects his lemon bar, and sets up on the terrace with his laptop.

And every morning that week, he sees the tall guy with off duty model vibes, right around the same time, always carrying his iced coffee, always wearing a leather jacket. Since he’s all the way across the street, Calum doesn’t really get a good look at him beyond basic shapes, so the off duty model thing is based entirely on his build and the fact that he looks sort of effortlessly put together with his leather jacket and casual sneakers.

That’s probably why Calum waves like a maniac and blurts, “Hey buddy!” when he comes face to face with the guy when he’s in line for his lemon bar the following Monday morning.

carrot correspondence (ao3) - galacticsugar, kaleidoscopeminds luke/calum T, 15k

Summary: His eyes. Calum is losing seconds if not weeks looking at them. They’re a little heavy and a lot hazy, framed with such ridiculously long lashes, and they glitter and shine at Calum as he pauses, with his lips already half turned up like he’s prepared to be delighted at any of Calum’s answers.

Calum entertains an errant passing thought about whether the bride would be willing to go for a gold glitter dusting on top of the piped flower design for the godforsaken carrot cake and—

The fucking carrot cake. Fuck.

i didn’t know that i was starving till i tasted you (ao3) - irwah E, 3k

Summary: ‘we just had sex and it’s the morning after and i woke up to an empty bed and how could i be so stupid of course you left me alone but wait you’re in my kitchen cooking me breakfast and i’m so relieved’ au

i love the taste (ao3) - bellawritess michael/calum T, 1k

Summary: Michael shouldn’t have volunteered to make a full course dinner for his first cooking venture ever, Calum thinks.

it can wait until tomorrow (ao3) - babushcat (MerrytheCookie) michael/ashton T, 1k

Summary: Michael has been baking a lot, lately.

Ashton commends the effort, and he’s glad for Michael’s newfound interests, determined to support him in whatever project he dives into—he’s had to be the taste-tester for many a failure, but he thinks he makes for a fair judge.

The thing is, Michael is not a good baker.

it's so simple (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 5k

Summary: Morning sunlight filters through the windows. In the air, the citrusy scent of lavender and lemon cleaner mingles with dust particles caught in the rays. It’ll be a mess by the end of the day; the kitchen is, after all, the epicentre of activity in the Hood-Hemmings household. Fluorescent lights illuminate stacks of used dishes and dirt-stained skirting boards indiscriminately, but they can never quite capture the versatility of the room. At any moment, the wood countertops and checkerboard tiles might transform into a lively dance floor, a charming cafe, a paper-strewn study.

This is more than just a kitchen. It’s a storybook with walls.

Loaf Love (ao3) - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) calum/ashton T, 4k

Summary: Ashton and Calum cat-sit for a weekend.

this is why we don't cook (ao3) - cyberpunknct luke/ashton T, 1k

Summary: ashton decides he wants to make some spaghetti and luke volunteers to help.

Walk-In Trade (ao3) - cxmp luke/calum T, 1k

Summary: The perfectly-sculpted man is giggling at him, and that's not fair. Calum is only so strong, and at some point he will melt into a puddle and that's a threat.

An eccentric bakery AU.

wanna have a little taste (so let me lay you down) (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum E, 8k

Summary: “I told you I need to get these in the oven,” Luke says warningly. Calum tries to reach for the button on Luke’s jeans, but Luke uses his other hand to capture Calum’s wrists and bind them together. “After?” he offers, looking at Calum longingly. He’s trying not to let it show, but his eyes are just too expressive. Calum can see everything in those eyes, bright sky blue eclipsed by expanding pupils.

“Fine.” He doesn’t mean it. It’s not fine at all. He wants Luke and he wants him now. But he also wants brownies.

where we've been a thousand times (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/calum T, 3k

Summary: “Luke?” Calum calls gently, worried that he’s going to scare Luke shitless.

Which of course is exactly what happens. Luke startles so greatly by the sudden presence that he drops the bowl to the ground, spilling whatever batter he had been working on all over the floor. “Fuck!” he yells, hopping back a foot or so to avoid the metal bowl landing on his toes.

Or, Calum wakes up and Luke isn't there.

[jodilin65]

FRIDAY, APRIL 29, 1988 I’ve been up since 2:00 this morning and fell asleep around 7:30. Sasha, the stray cat I took in, woke me up. I was just falling asleep again at 3:00 when Andy M called. Our parents were friends for 30 years, but that ended in the 70s and I haven’t seen him since.

We talked about music and he played his keyboard for me. He’s quite good. I played a little guitar for him. He said he likes my style and was looking for a guitarist to play some songs he’d written. He also told me he was gay, too.

Tomorrow I see Nissan! I can’t wait. I really hope all goes well. She doesn’t come on till 1:30 and at 10:00 I have to see my doctor.

Later…

It’s now lunchtime and I’m at the Chinese place right next to La Baron.

I can’t wait to see Nissan. I just hope all goes well and I get some answers to some of my questions, like does she want me? I doubt it. I’m probably not good enough for her. It seems all I get is druggies or weak-minded losers. And why can’t I have anyone I’m attracted to???

Tonight I’ve got to finish recording those tapes. Also, I want to write her a copy of my songs such as My Time Has Come and Carry Me Away. I hope she likes them and doesn’t think they’re stupid.

It’s pouring out now just as they predicted it would on the news this morning. With my luck, it’ll pour when I get out of school.

I have to go back now and finish winding my perm rods.

Ok, I am back in the classroom. Miss Loretta and Diane are in here now talking so I guess I’ll write more.

Mom and Dad are visiting Goldie and Al, long-time family friends. She called me yesterday which was when she had said she was leaving but didn’t because of the rain.

I can’t wait till that house sells so I can hopefully move. When I do, they’re giving me the stuff in the house, then I’ll sell mine. Their washer and dryer will surely come in handy. I’m sick of lugging my laundry down the street.

I hope she doesn’t tell me to finish my perm rods yet because I want to write those notes of what to say to Nissan on the bus for Kevin if he ever tags along with me.

TUESDAY, APRIL 26, 1988 I finally met somebody and she’s gorgeous! She’s a PVTA bus driver. Her name is Nissan as in Nissan cars and trucks. I’ve had Nissan on my mind quite a bit.

Two Saturdays ago I took the Belmont bus up to see Dr. Donoghue, my new therapist/shrink, and the driver was this guy I’d seen quite often. He wanted to get together with me and I told him I’d prefer a woman. Then he kept questioning me about why I’m gay. You know how males are. So, near the end of the line, we passed this woman bus driver who he said was gay.

After seeing the doctor, I got the bus she drove, and oh my God! She was beautiful! I thought to myself, could she really be gay? Sure enough, she is, but she’s taken, but I think, or I should say I hope, I still stand a chance, as she says she’s having problems with her girlfriend. She’s had mostly boyfriends, though.

I rode with her last Saturday from 1:30 to 7:30 on the bus. At first, she seemed distant but then we were laughing and joking and she sang for me. She has a great voice. I sang for her, too.

She says my haircut makes me look younger and she’s gonna help me style it. She said with my hair done up nice and a little makeup and nice clothes, I’d be beautiful.

She gave me a tuna sandwich for lunch and also bought me some coffee.

This Saturday I’m going on the bus with her again. I asked her if she’d mind because if she did, I wouldn’t come back. She said I could, though.

I’m gonna bring her some of those Jerky treats she likes and make a tape of Gloria Estefan for her.

In the midst of our discussions, she told me that I have to get rid of my mean streak, and I really respect her, so I’ll try. Never would I ride a bus that long unless I’m in love. And I am, as you can see, but I wonder if she’d ever want someone like me. Maybe I’m not good enough for her.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 20, 1988 I’ve decided to cut my hair off. It’s dead, uneven, unmanageable, and I can’t keep the ends from splitting. Also, it’s getting to be a pain in the ass and I’m sick of it. I’ve had it basically all my life. This way it’ll be easier to brush and it’ll only take two seconds to blow it dry.

MONDAY, APRIL 18, 1988 I’m now in McDonald’s taking a late lunch break as I was tied up giving this Puerto Rican a manicure. Dolores was supposed to do it but she left school early. I’m the only one in class today. Lecenia and Sonya are absent. Well, I guess for my remaining two hours I’ll study my textbook and work on the mannequins.

FRIDAY, APRIL 15, 1988 Today sure is a sucky day. It’s raining out and I didn’t go to school. I had set my alarm for 7:15 and didn’t realize it was going off for an hour and a half later. Can you believe that?! It seems so weird that I can sleep so soundly with that thing blaring for so long. What is wrong with me? How can anyone sleep so deeply?

Later…

I just had a hell of a time trying to track down Mary C’s number, which was changed. First I called all the P's in the book but no one was related to John. Then I called Shell Mini Mart looking for Doug or the number. Doug’s been gone 3 months and this guy tried to find the number in a file. No suerte. Called Dunkin Donuts and got nowhere. Called where John works. He wasn’t there and no one knew his number and the guy was gonna go to the office to get it but it was locked up and he had no key. So finally I called McDonald’s where Crystal used to work to speak to Larry. He wasn’t there but the manager said he was in the book and gave me the name of the street. He’s listed under Arthur G. He’s not home but I’ll probably have luck there.

THURSDAY, APRIL 14, 1988 I’m now on my lunch break at McDonald’s, sitting by the window on the lookout for Nervous. So far there’s no sign of him, but I really doubt he has the guts to come spying on me.

Late last night I pulled a prank on him by calling him to tell him that I needed him to take me to the emergency room because my ankle was killing me.

He asks, “Are you serious or are you just playing a joke on me?”

I tell him I’m serious and then I lay in bed with all the lights off till he came and knocked on the back door a few times. I then jumped up to peek out the bedroom window, and man was he flying to that front door, desperate for it not to be a joke. He was a complete bundle of nerves, being teased with seeing me and all that.

I dialed his number and let it ring until he got home. When he picked up and didn’t say anything, I asked if he was going to talk or not, then asked him why he was running so quickly as if his life depended on it. All he said was, “Oh, just making a move.”

Well, that sure was quite a move for the little desperate boy!

I told him it was his April Fools I owed him and that I wanted to do it before I ended our friendship which was right now. He says, as I knew he would, “I’ll be seeing you. I’ll be around.”

I couldn't care less if the bastard spies on me, and I’m sure he will cuz he has no guts to come face me personally. Hey, the guy’s desperate. After all, he hasn’t made it with anyone in 5 years because he could never get anyone but a hooker. He has no friends. His phone will never ring anymore except for his mother. If he wanted company or to go do something, he has no friends to call. He deserves what he has and that’s nothing.

All I know is I had a hell of a grand time using him and he’s a sucker for it, too. I asked him if he realized I was using him, and he said yes. As hooked on me as he is, he couldn't care less, though. If anyone else asked him to take them to the store he’d say he was too tired or that he didn’t feel like it.

In 20 minutes, I have to return to school and take a test over that I failed because of long hard words I can’t even pronounce, then I’ll bust my ass working on the mannequins. School can get boring!

Later…

When I went back to school, I learned how to give a manicure and worked on my pin curls. I took two tests and got a 92% on both of them. Not bad.

You won’t believe what a hell of a night I had ranking on Nervioso. I sent him 3 pizzas and chicken from Quickies. The delivery guy was pissed.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13, 1988 I found out some baffling information about why I was put on disability. Mom says it’s cuz I could never hold a job, but social security says it’s cuz of my ear. Somebody’s lying somewhere.

Another thing is that when Ron and I went over to my parent’s house and told them we wanted to get married (God only knows why I ever considered marrying an ugly loser like he was!) they tried to convince me that if I got pregnant, I’d probably have a miscarriage or the baby would be deformed or have other problems cuz of the DES (a drug my mother took to keep from miscarrying me).

Dad was saying, “Would you want your kids to have the same problems you do?”

I just called a GYN that said that that’s pure bullshit. He said that if I really did have a chemical imbalance, it wouldn’t be because of the DES. Nor would my ear be. My parents just want me to believe I’d be an unfit mother. As if they were the greatest parents themselves!

Whether or not I really was DES-exposed, I believe I was an accident. Even Philip agrees. Larry’s 12 years older and Tammy’s 8½. People don’t normally space their kids out like that.

I’d love to view her medical records, but I’d need her permission and she’d never go for it. It seems my life has been based on too many lies. It’s not comforting to catch your own parents in lies. How can I trust them?

When Kevin’s sister Judy called the folks to bitch about my prank phone calls to her, after Kevin stupidly gave her their number, Dad told her that they were trying to get me into an institution down there and that they were paying my roommate to watch me.

I confronted Dad with this bullshit. He said nothing and ma denied it, but their silence spoke a thousand words. I believe his motivation behind that was to try to make Judy feel sorry for me so she wouldn’t prosecute, but she couldn’t have if she wanted to.

Tammy says that Ma was abused as a kid, but I don’t know too much about it. Ma does all her talking to Tammy. I’m too “mental and immature” for either of them to speak to. Whether or not she was abused herself is no excuse to be abusive.

Tammy lies just as much as Mom and Dad do. She says Mom never told her about my dispute with Jenny, which has ended our friendship, but I say that’s bullshit. There’s no other way she could find out. Whatever I tell Mom, she tells Tammy, and vice versa. In fact, I’m sure Tammy will run and call Mom to tell her what I discussed with her on the phone tonight. Only Tammy’s allowed to call. Not me. I’m too annoying.

As for the Jenny dispute, there’s not much to say there. I just got sick of her selfishness. I feel we’ve become too different over the years, too.

FRIDAY, APRIL 8, 1988 I started hairdressing school at La Baron over on State St. I have never felt better! There’s nothing like having something to get up for in the morning and believe it or not I’m having no problem getting up. Sometimes I wake up before the alarm goes off! I think I should’ve done this two years ago. I need structure and routine. It takes my mind off of other bullshit.

[crescendeyes]

its ok not to be ok sometimes.

I came back from what seemed to be the craziest Sunday I've ever been to. I literally opened for Joji - let that sink in a little. IDK I felt a little overstretched and sad because I couldn't meet Joji and didn't actually even got paid for the gig and I felt fat the whole time.

So what did I do the second I came back? I sulk and ate junk the whole day - this is why I can't have junk food at home cause I really would drown myself in it (something I realise).

I literally did fuck all on a Monday - I came back to work exhausted and extremely brutal to myself. I tried to unpack the bulk load of stuff I brought back from home but by the time I got home I was too tired.

I took 2 meetings and headed home exhausted and hangry. Only to also realise I didn't do my groceries so it was really sad to come home to a home that I left in perfect condition - my rack in the toilet actually fell and in the 3 attempts to put it back up, failed.

I gave myself the chance to just sulk and eat out instead of cooking. I gave myself the rest of the Monday to feel sorry for myself but this morning I told myself, no, I have to be better. Eventhough I didn't actually showered till 730pm only but I did so much today.

I spent the Tuesday basically talking to Aaron, doing my work, sneaking in a nap, having my favourite cereal and doing the rest of the unpacking I was holding off since the weekend and Monday. I loved it. It was definitely an upgrade from what I put myself through yesterday.

So, I'm waiting for Johannan to come over and we can try the different indomee together. He should be here any moment. I also hope after tonight I'll take a more conscious effort to stay healthy and check out the gym. Can't believe it's only my second week here.

3 more weekends till I see Aaron - idk how things are gonna pan out before he arrives but I'm excited to see him tbh. It's gonna be great :) I love him.

On another note, I also took the time to arrange a flower gift for Nuuna's grand opening - I really hope this Saturday goes well :)

[damiano-mylove]

How you met them and what dating the members of Måneskin would be like

GN!reader, slight NSFW for Damiano *Masterlist*

Vic

You'd definitely meet Vic at the grocery store

She goes grocery shopping every Saturday at 10 am, and you don't know that because you're creepy, you know that because you do as well (being an adult and such)

Over time, you'd both start to notice seeing each other at the same times and places

Vic would eventually come over, after having traded more than a dozen looks with you

At first, she would give you a random complement (that made your heart soar for reasons unbeknownst to you at the time), and you would immediately compliment her back because there are so many things to complement about the unknown girl at the shops

Those random complements would soon turn into full blown conversations that you both looked forward to, every Saturday at 10 am

Conversations turned into doing your grocery shopping together

Vic would ask you to lunch after one of your grocery shopping adventures, which you gladly accepted given the beautiful woman had stolen your heart at first glance

Lunch would go absolutely swimmingly, and it became the new thing

Your relationship with Vic would evolve from doing your grocery shopping together, then having lunch, to basically spending every Saturday together, then seeing each other other days of the week

One night, having drinks at Vic's place, just the two of you, Vic would join your lips together in a sweet harmony that felt all too right

You brushed off the night as drunken kissing

But she held you hand at lunch that following Saturday, and asked to kiss you before you parted ways

The conversation was bound to happen, and it did. After that, you and Vic were officially an item

She introduced you to her friends, and you did the same - your group loving Vic, and her's loving you

Dating Vic would be full of gentle love bites on your tender neck, fruity red wine, painting your nails matching colours, and late nights

On those late nights, Vic would hold you close, a film playing softly in the back, while her attention laid on you

You, her person, her rock. You made Vic's heart go ablaze and she wouldn't trade you for the world

Nor would you for her

Thomas

Thomas gives off strong Boy-Next-Door vibes

One day, your interest was sparked by moving vans outside your window - someone was moving into the flat above you

It was a very loud day (furniture scraping the floors, heavy boxes being dropped, many feet with much too heavy footsteps) but you were baking

You had a function to attend to the following day, so your day was already planned as a day for baking your famous biscuits that literally everyone loved

Ingredients may have a price tag, but kindness does not. Once all the noise subsided, you brought a plate of cookies up to your new neighbour (hoping to at least buy their friendship so they wouldn't annoy you constantly)

When Thomas opened the door, your stomach immediately turned to static

He looked a little tired, no doubt from freshly moving in, but his beauty was still breathtaking

Thomas smiled at you sweetly and thanked you profusely for the biscuits - he told you about how his grandmother made the same type and he loved them

The next day, right after you'd come back from your function, Thomas brought you back the plate with a bashful smile - 'The biscuits were divine, better than grandmama's'

You giggled at his statement, then invited him in for tea and to finish off the biscuits that were "left over" (you'd actually saved them for yourself, but there was no one else you'd rather share them with)

Happily for the both of you, Thomas accepted the invitation, and he stayed in your flat, drinking tea with you and eating biscuits, till the wee hours of the next day

You and Thomas shared smiles from your balconies and the street below, but when you'd be walking the stairs together, it always turned into an invitation for a drink, or to watch a game, or just a chat

About a month and a half of friendship, Thomas asked you to the cinema

You gladly went with him

In the middle of the film, your hands bumped together, both reaching for the popcorn on your lap - resulting in heated faces and looking away

Thomas walked you back to your flat that night, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and legs made of jelly

That next day, Thomas asked you to dinner

'Is this a date or just a hang out?'

'It can be whatever you'd like.'

To no one's surprise, you chose the former option

You never officially confirmed your dating status, but you'd figure Thomas introducing you to his family as his partner was confirmation enough

Dating Thomas would include him singing you mellow songs in the evenings, longing glances shared across rooms, lots of tea at all hours of the day, and extremely stupid jokes that turned sickeningly sweet

Those jokes would occupy your mind for days on end, cherishing every single joke shared

Ethan

As cliche as it sounds, you'd meet in a bar

There was a game on between Lazio and Milan - and you both were dragged there by your friends

People clamored around the bar and television screens, screaming and yelling, and everyone decked out in jerseys (the Lazio jerseys outnumbered the Milan jerseys 3:1)

Funnily enough, you met Ethan in the corridor for the toilets

'With a line this long, I might as well piss outside'

For a first impression, Ethan really did make an impression. One that made you laugh and his cheeks tint red at the knowledge that someone heard him say that

It sparked a conversation while you both waited in the long lines

You discovered that neither of you held too much of a love of football, which absolutely tickled you that someone was in the same boat as you

Ethan waited outside the washroom for you, then suggested you both go outside for a smoke

With a drunken smile (the only way to get through a football match is to drink, lets be real), you agreed and told the friends you came with where you'd be disappearing to

Outside, you and Ethan shared three fags each and lots of laughter and conversation

Surprisingly to Ethan's friends, when everyone came pouring out of the bar after the game finished, Ethan had you pressed against the wall in a heated kiss

While being the most shy member of the band, Ethan reacted the most prominently to liquid courage, which you were more than okay with

You traded information, and the next day, you woke up to a sweet text from Ethan, asking you to a cafe to get to know each other in a sober environment

No complaints, you went

Ethan was just as funny as he was last night, and neither of you stopped smiling the entire time you were together

You saw each other quite often after that; sharing the occasional kiss, but full of laughter and stupid faces in silent moments

Eventually, you got brave and asked for Ethan to be your boyfriend

His face and ears went bright red, and he immediately looked to his slender fingers, chuckling nervously - but he happily agreed

Dating Ethan would include a hell of a lot of cuddles, lots of reassurance, few kisses but very meaningful kisses, and more laughter than you've ever shared with anyone else

Ethan will make you one of the happiest people on Earth, and in exchange, he is the happiest, just to have you in his arms in the mornings (even if you drool on him in your sleep)

Damiano

Without a doubt, you'd meet Damiano at a bar

There wouldn't be a game one, it was just a Friday night, and you felt like cutting loose with your idiot friends, whom you very much loved

Damiano would spot you immediately

You, of course, had already spotted him, but your friends were drooling over him, and every single person in the bar was as well, so you just put him out of your mind

That is, until he swaggered right up to you while you were grabbing drinks for your friends who were all on the dance floor

His expensive scent intoxicated you better than any booze behind the bar, making your skin tingle immediately. Damiano radiated heat, but that could've just been how warm it was in the bar from all the people

As the bartender was mixing your drinks, Damiano asked you your name

'A beautiful name for a beautiful person'

You thought he was just looking for a one-night stand, which you were actually quite down for

However, the night was still young, and you still had drinks to deliver to your friends, so you thanked him for the compliment and sauntered off to your friends with the drinks in hand

They called you a myriad of names for you basically turning Damiano down to do what? To dance with people you'd known for years?

Fortunately, walking off hadn't deterred Damiano

His eyes were on you for the entire night, until you built enough nerve to approach him

It didn't take too long for him to offer to bring you back to his place - you didn't need more than a second to accept

That night didn't lead to sex, however. Damiano thought you to be drunk to give him any meaningful consent, so he just left you to sleep in his bed, while he took the couch

When you woke up, you wrote your number with the lipstick in your purse on his bathroom mirror, and you left without a sound to wake him up

He called you that same day and invited you to the bar again

The entire weekend was spent going to the bar, sleeping either with or at Damiano's, which suited you just fine

Unfortunately, you had an actual job that required you to go to work, so when he invited you out on Sunday, you had to decline, then again on Monday

Tuesday, however, you invited him to your place for a couple drinks and you ended up falling asleep on his shoulder on the couch

Damiano woke up with you for your job and stayed with you as you got ready that morning, smiling at you through the mirror of your bathroom

Soon enough, your nightly encounters turned into real dates that changed location and theme constantly

Damiano was spontaneous and you loved it

He'd call you the cutest pet names under the sun, and bring you everywhere you were willing to go with him

Damiano never called you his partner; you were his lover

When you'd be alone, he always referred to you as 'Y/n, the light of my life, the only flower in my field, the cream in my jeans'

Made you blush like mad, but that was Damiano's favourite part

Dating Damiano would include doing each other's eyeliner, lots of PDA, reading side by side on the couch with a record playing softly, never falling asleep alone

Sleeping beside Damiano was like sleeping next to a furnace, so blankets were never needed, but cuddling was required

if it sucks, y’all gotta tell me😩🙏

for @fairyth0rns , i hope you like it

[parkers-gal]

Reader meet Tom during a Meet and greet for the first time. She’s European (like Belgian perhaps. You can choose that) and she catches his attention. They start as close friends and whenever she gets to London, they meet up. After a while they start a relationship (can be long distance) and they just adore eachother a lot.

a good story

wc | 3k (SORRY i rly went off)

i chose france because i heard they have a bit more diversity...? i hope that makes it a bit more universal :) plsss i didn't proofread — hope u like it ! <3

—

You try to wipe the sweat off your hand for the fifth time in the last two minutes. Your pulse picks up while the line moves up again. You’ve been waiting for about an hour and a half, but you really don’t mind. Not when that mop of curls and pile of muscles is so close. Besides, you get to fangirl with the rest of the fans in line around you.

You’d been in deep conversation with a girl and her girlfriend for a good while until one of them went off to get coffee and the other asked to use the bathroom. The security guard assured them that they’d return to their exact position in line, ensuring they wouldn’t have to wait all over again. You missed them, though, because they weren’t back within seven minutes so you preoccupied yourself with the lanyard around your neck with your VIP Access pass attached to the end.

You play with the strings of the Spider-man hoodie; it’s the midtown hoodie that Peter Parker wears in the first movie. You wore it to be cute — and it is, especially with these jeans — but now you’re afraid you might die of heat exhaustion. As the security guards usher yet another fan through the curtains, your feet move forward a couple of feet until the movement stops and you’re stuck waiting again.

The girl and her girlfriend return not a minute later, one of them offering you a bite of their croissants from Starbucks. You ponder the offer before politely declining; you don’t want your breath to smell, or something to get stuck in your teeth. You know you’re overthinking this entire situation, but you can’t help but be nervous when you’re about to meet the one person you’ve spent so much of your time gawking over — and through a screen, at that. It’s pathetic, you admit, but you can’t help it. There’s just something about him.

Another fan goes through the curtains and suddenly you’re less than five turns away from meeting the beloved Brit. You can’t help but feel a little more connected to him, knowing that you’d flown all the way from Paris, France for this London Meet-and-Greet. It’s a wonder how you got your schedule to work so well.

You move forward another spot, tapping your index and middle fingers on your hip while tracing the lines of the tiled floor. You try to distract yourself — counting every prime number you can think of, naming all the superheroes in the Marvel Franchise — until you’re one spot away from going through the black curtains.

“You’ll be in in less than three minutes,” the girl smiles while informing you of the estimated time frame. You thank her, taking note of the tag attached to her uniform.

You take a deep breath, shaking away all nerves and last jitters before wiping your hands one last fateful time. And then all at once, the curtain opens and allows you to step through and into the room where a young actor awaits your arrival. It’s so surreal that you have to watch your feet to ensure they don’t trip and cause you to stumble.

“Hello, love. How’re you?”

Your breath hitches and when he finally takes a good look at you, his breath does too. Your eyes lock for a beat, the two of you lost in a trance before you finally spit out a response.

“I’m… really good. How’re you?”

He smiles, eyes crinkling and face lifting up. “I’m great, thank you.”

You nod, the tip of your tongue playing with your front tooth. You shake out of it, though, setting your bag and your lanyard down on the provided table before stepping a little closer to him.

“Ah, the Midtown hoodie,” He points out, holding your wrists out so he can examine the sweatshirt himself.

“Yeah,” you smile bashfully. “It’s… stylish.”

He laughs wholeheartedly, something that eats away at your shell and causes you to join his chuckling.

“What’s your name, darling?”

You bite your lip, inhaling sharply at the term of endearment. “Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tom,” he offers a hand, something that makes your face scrunch up with a laugh.

“Can we hug instead?”

“Please?” He insists, realizing how embarrassing his last move was. The two of you embrace strongly, and you inhale the scent of Tom Holland while you can.

When you separate, you grow a little more courage, and pick up the conversation. “I loved you in The Impossibly. Obviously in the Spider-man movies, too, but your other movies are really good, too.”

“Thank you, love. That means a lot,” he scratches his neck with a sheepish smile, a blush rising from his neck and onto his cheeks. He smiles, an action you mirror. “Is this your first Meet-and-Greet?”

You nod, “Yeah, I’m a bit nervous.”

He nods in understanding. “Are you from England?”

You shake your head, “I’m currently living in Paris.”

“Ah, the country of romance,” He looks as if he’s thinking of what to say next — as if he shouldn’t say it. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” You smile again, and the glint in Tom’s eye changes just a shade, as if he’s just unlocked a new level. He looks excited for a different reason now.

“How long are you staying in England?”

“Till the end of the week,” You can’t help but feel giddy because it’s only Monday, which means you have until Saturday night to explore the great country of Britain, home to Tom Holland and Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch and basically every celebrity you’ve ever been a fan of. You can’t anticipate what Tom’s to say next, because you don’t want to turn your experience into a Wattpad story, but you hope he’s about to offer something in relation to sightseeing.

“Would you want to… could I show you around? Show you all the best places?” He looks shyer than you, almost, and you swallow your heart so you can answer calmly.

“You’d do that?’

“Of course,” He smiles softly. “You look like a lot of fun.”

You’re taken aback at the compliment, and you stumble out a reply as best you can. The two of you are reminded to take the picture so the line can move forward again, and you will yourself not to frown at the coming end of your encounter with the famous Brit.

“Could we do this?” You show him a picture from your phone and he nods excitedly.

The two of you link hands, standing close together while you smile into the camera. Your encounter comes to an end, and though you’re disappointed, Tom asks for your number, giving you his phone for the occasion. You’re giddy as you wave goodbye, leaving the tent with your picture and his lingering energy.

A day passes, giving you time to recover from your celebrity-interaction and time to get settled into your comforting hotel room on the seventh floor. You’re a bit wary that Tom won’t ever text you, and seeing as you don’t have his number, you realize you have to wait it out. You don’t want to risk waiting for the entirety of your stay here, though, so you grow worried. But alas, Tom texts late on Tuesday night, apologizing for the radio silence that came when he had to finish up the Meet-and-Greet event. You’re relieved, to say the least.

He exchanges details, telling you to meet him at a corner cafe at ten in the morning tomorrow. You comply, promising to get a good night’s rest before saying your goodnights and sleeping the hours away. You’re promptly awoke but your eight-thirty alarm. With a groan, you get up to shower, and the cold water wakes you right up.

An hour later and you’re ready for some quality, top-notch sightseeing. You grab what you need, locking your hotel room door before going down the elevator with a sweet elderly couple. You follow the map on your phone until you arrive at a small shop on the corner, just as Tom had said. You pull the door open, the smell of coffee beans entering your airways. You exhale the familiarity of it all, smiling to yourself before searching the shop. You spot Tom in a corner booth, and as you make your way over, he sets his phone face-down on the table with a smile, waving at you. You take a seat across from him.

“This place is cute.”

“Right? Best tea in London.”

Your stomach grumbles, loud enough for the both of you to hear and then share a laugh about. “I suppose I should eat breakfast.”

“I suppose I should join you,” he replies in the same tone, the two of you sharing tender smiles before someone comes over to take your order.

The conversation picks up and all tension and awkwardness wafts away in the air, leaving you in Tom’s comfortable aura. You talk until the check is paid, and as you step out on the crisp air of the city’s streets, you turn to Tom for the agenda.

The day goes on like that. The two of you go all around the city, visiting The British Museum, the Tower Bridge, Big Ben the clock tower, the Buckingham Palace, the Portobello Road Market, the National Gallery, and even the London eye. Tom knows everything like the back of his hand, and the ancient city makes you feel so significant. Your last stop is Cambridge University, something you’ve always wanted to see in person.

Tom’s been taking your picture all day. On polaroids, your iPhones, and even some of the tourist-profiting workers who beg for sales. He claims it’s so you can start scrapbooking, a conversation the two of you had covered during your many word exchanges.

The two of you have been all over the city since the end of breakfast at almost eleven o’clock. Now, it’s almost eight o’clock and you’re hungry as fuck. After some debate, the two of you decide to take a big red bus back to your hotel for some room service or hotel-restaurant food.

Tom sits in the seat beside you on the bus, the two of you up top and enjoying the city. You get lost in conversation again, the two of you going through today’s latest pictures and video-memories. You end up goofing off, so much so that you almost miss your stop.

The two of you stumble to the entrance of your hotel. Tom smiles, grabbing the door for you. You reply with a sheepish “thank you,” before waving hello to the front desk women.

“Do you want room service or do you want to dine in the restaurant?”

“Would you mind if I joined you for room service?”

You shake your head with a gentle smile, the two of you racing to the elevators. After hitting your floor number, the elevator goes up and the two of you talk again and again. Tom excuses himself to the bathroom when you get into your room; it gives you the opportunity to change out of your clothes and into a pair of sweats and a loose tank. Tom comes out ready for room service but is grown flustered at the sight of a different outfit on you.

“Getting comfortable?”

“Duh,” you lean back on the queen sized bed, back hitting the headboard. “Stay for a movie?”

He smiles, “Hand me the menu.”

He ends up staying until ten o’clock. You promise to go clubbing with him, for a full London experience, and the two of you schedule to do just that on Friday night. You book the entirety of Thursday to finish your sightseeing with him, and before you know it, you’re spending every day in London with Tom.

On your last day, Saturday, you eat breakfast with him at that first fateful cafe. He tells you he can’t take you to the airport — he’d probably get mobbed by fans — and you understand, promising to call him once you land. He promises to come with you to France one day, so the roles can reverse.

You finish your final cup of coffee just as Tom finishes his tea. He smiles sadly, one you mirror.

“I’ll see you soon, you know. And you can still drop me off at the airport.”

“I know,” he smiles sheepishly, hand reaching across the table for yours. “But I’ll miss sightseeing with you. I forget how amazing my own country is, sometimes.”

“Well,” you smile, “I’ll be back, so don’t worry too much, Tom. It’s not like I’m going across the world.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles, “And besides, I can come see you sometime.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s just so weird to have friends in France and shit,” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Like you live there and I can just go and visit you whenever.”

“I’m still a call away.”

“And thank god for that.”

You exhale after a beat of silence. “This is so fucking crazy.”

“What?”

“This. You, us hanging out. Just four days ago I was paying to see you, and now I’m having breakfast with you for the third time?”

“I promise, I’ll refund that Meet-and-Greet money.”

“Why?” You look at him quizzically and he bites his bottom lip.

“Well we’re friends, so you don’t really need to waste that money and I can get it back so-”

“Don’t,” you look up at him. “It makes for a good story.”

He nods, and after the two of you pay the check, you’re standing from the booth of the quaint little shop one final time, making your way to your door and settling in the passenger seat of Tom’s car. With your luggage in the backseat, he drives all the way to the airport, the loud sound of plane engines filling your ears. He drops you off at the terminal with a hug and a watery smile.

“See you soon!” He waves until you’re out of sight and the security guard is threatening to give him a ticket.

Half a year goes by, with quick three-day weekend trips back and forth, to London and to France even. You’ve seen Tom a total of seven times in the past six months, and you’ve grown closer than ever.

About a month goes by after your last trip, until your boss is telling you that you’re getting a week off for the upcoming paid break. You’ve already confirmed your flight and hotel plans to London, wanting to surprise Tom.

You decide to do it the night before you’re due on the airplane to the country of Brits.

You can’t help but grin at your phone, eventually laying down to sleep while you can before your early morning flight. Tom’s on your mind, in your future, and in your dreams. The last month of FaceTimes and text messages have been amazing, but unbearable because you miss his presence. The extreme amounts of flirting, however, have definitely picked up over text. Your week long trip to London marks the eighth time you’ve seen Tom since that first fateful Meet-and-Greet. You can’t help but feel like the dynamic is changing a bit, though. The two of you have upped the levels a bit, and now you’re more cuddly, more flirty, and definitely more interested.

When you land, you text Tom but frown when the usual immediate response doesn’t come. Moving past a crowd of waiting people, you head to baggage claim to get your luggage. After excruciatingly lifting it off of the conveyor belt, it lands with a thud on the ground and you start wheeling it towards the exit.

The building is extremely less crowded thanks to your early flight booking. When you look up, you see that familiar head of precious brown locks, and you squeal. Tom never leaves the car when picking you up or dropping you off at the airport, for fear of paparazzi and fans catching him. But this time, he’s out and in the building to come get you.

Abandoning your luggage, you drop your carry-on on the floor as you run over to him as fast as you can. He can sense you’re about to jump into his embrace, so he prepares for the bone-crushing hug.

Your arms go around his neck while his hands settle on your waist. He smiles, chin settled in the crook of your neck while he inhales the scent of you.

“Tommy, oh my god. I missed you so much.”

When you pull apart, you’re each a jumbled mess of excitement and tears, so much so that when Tom’s hands grip your face to pull you in to a passionate kiss, you’re immediately calmed. Though you’ve never kissed before, it feels so right.

Your lips chase after his, deepening it as your hands go to his hair and his to the small of your back. When you separate, your foreheads lean against each other while you pant.

“That’s new.”

“Sorry, I should’ve asked.”

You chuckle, “I would’ve said yes.”

He interlocks your fingers, smiling. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

Suddenly, he’s reminded of the fact that the two of you are in public, and when he looks up, he sees a group of girls holding their phones up and capturing the moment he’s just shared with you. Quickly, he pulls you into his chest protectively, hiding your face in your neck.

“We need to hide or else they’re gonna know it’s m-”

“Don’t,” you settle him. “It makes for a good story.”

[roniscloud]

jsb - 302

jung subin [f. 1577 words] 302 

from the day you moved into your new apartment, you couldn’t help but notice the cute tenant across the hall from you. you first saw him when you were bringing in the last round of boxes. you left a box in the frame of the door so you wouldn’t get locked out. with the final one, you joyfully kicked open the entry and practically dropped the items from your arms, ready to be done with unloading from your cramped car. standing in the doorway, looking into the quaint one-bedroom loft, you realize you now need to unpack and organize everything. you thought about a game plan, opting to get some food before starting. you turn your head to look to the hall outside, catching a glimpse of someone entering the apartment on the other side. 

you’ve never properly met him. hell, you don’t even know his name, only referring to him as 302—the brass number adorning his wooden door. yet, you know he always gets subway for lunch every tuesday, take-out from the ramen bistro down the street every friday, and goes to dinner with his friends every other saturday night. you know he has two pets, a cat and a dog. you know that he likes to go on early morning walks on sundays if the weather is nice and that he usually leaves, for what you assume would be work, at 7:30 am sharp. even with all of the trivial things you know about him, you somehow still had no idea what his name was. funny how that works.

little to your knowledge, subin—the nameless next-door neighbor—thought the same thing. he thought it was hysterical that he didn’t know his new neighbor’s identity—opting for the nickname, 303—but somehow knew that they were a night-owl who loved ordering a large pizza every thursday and strictly bought groceries on the second sunday of each month.

it wasn’t until about almost 4 months of you living in that loft till you crossed paths. it was bound to happen, right? you found yourself entering the building after a long day, on the phone with a close friend. you aimlessly press the button for the elevator, not looking up and waiting for the doors to open. a presence is made on your right, but you pay no attention, too caught up in your conversation, too busy to notice that it’s subin. your friend is rambling on and on about your favorite k-drama, “one spring night”.

“i get that, but hear me out. jeongin’s sister should just leave him already. she deserves better and there is no way that deadbeat jackass would be a good father, not like jiho is for his son.” your quarrel catching the attention of subin. “what do you mean by that? jiho sacrificed everything because eunwoo’s mom is no longer in the picture. even if he can’t be there 24/7, he still gives his all for his son.”

your argument continues till you reach your door. you nestle your phone onto your shoulder, sandwiching it there with the side of your head. you reach into your bag to pull out your keys. “yeah, whatever. i’m home anyways. i’ll talk to you later. i need to order some food, i’m starving.” a light chuckle comes from you with the last words. you exchange goodbyes, hanging up the call. you turn the key and open the door. you’re interrupted with a small voice behind you.

“excuse me… were you possibly talking about ‘one spring night’? i didn’t mean to eavesdrop, i just really love that show.” bright eyes and an even brighter smile are what your eyes see as you turn to answer. 

you blink a few times and swallow. this is it. this is him. you stumble to find the words, “oh… uh… yeah. my friend and i are both watching it and i guess… we’re just really passionate about it.”

“i mean it is really good, hard to stop watching.” this time he’s the one laughing. his voice resonating in your ears like honey, his giggle being oh so sweet. “now that i think about it, i’m pretty sure we’ve never actually met. i’m subin.”

you introduce yourself. not knowing what else to say other than your name and that it was nice to finally meet him. he shyly apologizes for never approaching you and not giving you a proper welcome to the complex. you tell him that it’s fine and that there’s no reason to worry. 

after that night, you seem to always see each other, always flashing a polite grin to one another. sometimes, you’ll stop in the hallway to dish about the newest show you both are hooked on. until one day, he notices you go to work like every morning, but you’re not back by your typical time. you haven’t formally addressed each other as friends yet, but it comes like second-nature to him to feel anxious. he paces back and forth in his kitchen, checking the peephole everytime he hears the faintest of noises in the hall. you usually get home at 5:37, pushing 6:21 if you decide to get dinner on the way. it’s almost quarter to ten when he hears keys jangling. his neck whips around immediately, not even checking if it’s you, just rushing to open the door. “where have you been?” the worry way too evident in his tone.

“oh… were you waiting for me? i’m sorry if i worried you. i had a dinner with someone, you know how that goes. blind date.” you roll your eyes at the mention of your coworker’s doing.

he sighs loudly. “how’d it go?”

“he was… nice, not sure i see myself dating him, but hey… it’s only the first date.”

“so, there’s going to be a second?”

“maybe, still not sure. we don’t really click.”

“well, you never know. people can surprise you. i should probably head back inside. have a goodnight.”

“you too…”

from then, your coworker keeps setting you up with other people. unfortunately, no one ever being a good match. by the fifth? sixth one? who knows at this point? you’re pretty much done with these stupid outings, but you’re not one to say no to a friend who’s trying to do a favor. you grab the last of your things as you make your way out. not even stepping all the way into the hallway are you met with subin’s voice.

“again, seriously?”

“you know me… how am i supposed to turn it down?”

“by saying that you’d rather not go on a date, by saying you’re not looking for a relationship right now, by telling your friend that maybe you’d rather find someone on your own…” he states in a teasing tone. “why go on another shitty date when you can spend the night with me, binge-watching our favorite tv shows and drinking cheap beer?”

“at this point, i’d consider that the best idea anyone has ever had. i’ll text them saying an emergency came up and that i can’t make it.” he opens his door wider to let you in.

an hour and a half later, you find yourself slightly buzzed and on the fourth episode of a new drama. “boo, can they stop pining over each other and kiss already?”

“subin, calm down. they literally just started getting close.”

“but- but they-”

“i know, i know. i want them to get together already too, but we have to wait.” you turn your attention back to the screen situated higher up on the wall. “look, they’re at least sitting closer now. before they couldn’t even hold eye contact for two seconds.” he’s quiet, not trying to refute your observation. “subin? are you even watching?” your gaze meets his. “hello? earth to jung subin. i asked if you were watching…”

“you remember the night we met? what you were talking about? how you said the sister deserved better than the jackass? well, you do too. you deserve better than those guys.”

“how much did you drink? i think you might want to slow down on those beers.” you laugh at his expression, the smile not leaving your lips.

 “please, stop smiling at me like that. i’m not sure what will happen if you keep doing that.”

“alright, now i’m sure you drank too much.” you’re flustered at how straightforward he is. “i think it’s time i go.”

“wait, no. look, i’m sorry. i wasn’t thinking. i just- i really do think you deserve better.”

“and who and where is exactly is better?”

“me. right now, whenever.”

your jaw drops. did subin just confess? did your heart just skip a beat? is he telling the truth or is it just the alcohol and mood talking? “tell me that again when you’re sober. for now, i’m leaving. i’ll see you in the morning.” 

you’re woken up with your phone ringing. you see the contact, 302, appear. your groggy morning voice answers. you hear subin ask you to come out. you reach your entryway, opening it to see a wide-awake neighbor. “you deserve better.”

“huh… so you weren’t kidding?”

“nope.” he nods his head firmly, pouting his lips. 

“well… if you really think that, let me go back to sleep. you can come in, maybe cuddle, who knows? i just need sleep.” he follows you in, reaching his hand down to hold yours and bring it up to kiss the back of it.

originally written: 26 november 2020

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Five

ao3 - masterpost

hello, my dears. here's chapter five, without too much fanfare. enjoy<3

---

The morning of her first self-defense lesson with Cassian, Nesta awakes to a cool breeze blowing in the scent of roses from her open window.

"Good morning," Nesta says, smiling slightly. "I guess you liked my gift."

She had finished it yesterday, in the jewelry-making session. It had taken her the better part of the day. A sort of cover for the cracked, broken part of the walls the Illyrians had destroyed. Golden and gleaming and prettier than the beige paint around it, but complementing all the same.

And now the House, apparently, is showing her affection for it: a new rose bush outside of her room, fat flowers dangling down over the top of her window. A very pretty frame for her already spectacular view of the city.

The House gives her different clothes today, too. A fitted shirt, and a knee-length loose skirt, with leggings underneath. As close to pants as she'll wear. By Cassian's slight approving nod when she meets him after breakfast, he approves.

"We'll be starting on the roof," he says, in lieu of a greeting.

She nods once. She remembers hearing him, back in that awful first week here-goodness, but it's not yet been a full month since then, and it feels so long ago-hearing him up there, throwing knives around or whatever it was he did. She guesses she'll soon find out.

The crispness of the morning mountain air hits her in full force, but Cassian doesn't act like it fazes him at all. In fact, judging by the way his wings spread slightly wider, he likes it.

"All right," he says. "Let's begin."

The hour ticks by, slowing and speeding up depending on moments when Cassian touches her. There's none of his usual chatter or teasing; he's serious and unsmiling. The training ring is probably sacred to him.

Serious and unsmiling, but not discouraging. He's generous with his praise when she achieves his simple tasks-too generous, she thinks, but perhaps he has some ulterior motive.

Or perhaps, a small voice inside her head says, he's relieved you'll finally know how to defend yourself, and he means it.

It's not as daunting as it had seemed at first, this self defense. He's good for their agreement; this isn't training. He takes all her weaknesses and her proposed attacker's strengths into consideration and shows her how to maneuver past it all. How to cause an assailant-even one as big and strong as he is-to let her go when they grab her arms tightly in front, how to move her legs when she's caught in a chokehold, and how to break free when someone grabs her from behind.

"I guess no one will be able to pull onto your hair, though," he muses, more to himself than to her. "Keep your arms at your sides; you don't want them to get in the way of this one," he adds, mercifully changing the subject too quickly before he can notice her expression.

No one can pull on her hair now, that's the whole point. But they had, they had, rough enough that strands came out and she had no way to escape. What if she had known these tricks then? Would she have had a prayer? Would she still be human? Elain? And what of Father, would he still be alive? Or would it not have mattered; only delayed her certain torture and death, because she had been human, and they had been Fae, and in the end, that was all-

"Arms like this, Nesta," Cassian says, switching from mock-assailant to instructor as he gently tucks her arms against her sides, and drawing her out of her head to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands on hers, his body behind her. His wings block out the wind, and she can feel the warmth radiating from him to her core. "Because you don't want them to get in the way of when you break out...and why else?"

"So I don't use them to hurt myself," she says, repeating his words from earlier.

"Right...good. Let's do this one again. One last time."

She takes a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't need to. He doesn't let her feel trapped.

"All right, I'm grabbing you now-good!"

For she is ready for him, this time. He wraps his arms around her from behind, his arms trapping hers at her elbows, and she instantly draws them in like he instructed. Without waiting for his prompting, she gathers her strength and throws her head upwards and backwards, like he had shown her, and then leaps away as his arms fly open.

"Good, Nesta!" he says, eyes shining as she turns around. He isn't hurt; he keeps moving away for this one so she doesn't do any real damage. "You would've hit his neck there...normally, I'd say go for the chin, but neck's really good...at that speed, with that force, really good..." He grins broadly at her, his first smile of the morning, and after an hour of being in instructor-Cassian's presence, she blinks at the easy switch.

"You did really well," he says, after handing her a glass of water. "Did you...how was it for you?"

She shrugs slightly. "All right." It wasn't fun. But it was hardly suffering. And the movements, following Cassian's instructions...a good way to keep herself focused.

"Would you...do you want to continue?" His voice is casual, but from the careful way he does not meet her eyes, she can tell he is tense.

"Yes," she says, trying to keep her voice casual too.

He brightens, and something inside her dims automatically. His...elation, relief, whatever this spark is, at seeing her agree to do this...it feels, somehow, as though she is doing something wrong. She is cheating or lying. She does not deserve this, is not worthy of his joy. Of him.

"It's not healthy to do workouts every day," he says, "especially...when you're in recovery."

When you're weak, he means. When one is ill and emaciated-even if she is getting better, and trying, it's not going to be enough-never enough-

"So I think...Mondays and Tuesdays...and Thursdays and Fridays? If you'd like to do this long term, I mean."

Nesta blinks. "How long-term?"

He shrugs. "Till you want to stop, I guess."

She purses her lips slightly. "Don't you have...I mean, will you be able to do this four times a week, indefinitely? Don't you have..." An occupation, she wants to say. Running the strongest military on their island, maybe one of the strongest in the world. "You don't have the time," she decides on instead.

He does it again. His deep hazel eyes latch onto hers and don't let her go. She doesn't have a prayer of looking away until he lets her. There's not enough self-defense lessons in the world for her to be strong enough to fight this off.

"I always have time for you, Nesta."

She shivers, and it doesn't have anything to do with the crisp wind under the weak October sun.

He moves his head, and lets her go.

"So tomorrow, then," he says.

"Tomorrow," she echoes. She doesn't stay to watch him fly off.

---

Nesta had done incredibly well. Spectacularly. And she had looked even better.

He had stayed up half the night before, wondering if she was going to show up in pants. She hadn't, but the skirt she had worn had gone only to her knees. The shortest he'd seen her in by far. And her black top...like a second skin. A healthier skin, almost normal. Not translucent any longer. Covering a softer body. More curves, like she used to have. Bones not protruding so much. Golden hair shining in the dim light, coiled and braided like a princess', like a queen's. She even has it up when she goes to sleep, he'd learned during her first week here. Does she ever wear it down? Only to bathe, probably. And what does she look like then, with this slight new weight, this perfect skin, this beautiful hair reaching he doesn't even know how far down...He'd only allowed himself a few moments of ogling her before violently shoving out all thoughts anywhere near the realm of lust from his mind. The training ring was not for this.

Feyre and Elain are beside themselves with happiness, as he knew they would be, when he tells them how it went.

"She agreed to more lessons," Feyre says in wonderment.

"It can only be a good thing," Elain says, tugging on a stray lock of hair.

"Yes," Feyre agrees. "But...maybe, considering...you know. Your history." She shoots him an apologetic look. "Maybe it'd be best if..."

Cassian's heart rate picks up. "You think someone else should teach her?" No, his instincts tell him. She had asked him. She wants him to do it.

But he knows he'll give in. If her sisters think it would be better...because it's her that matters. Not what he wants. What matters is her getting better.

Oh, but he knows he can be the person to help her. Or one of the people, at least. If she just lets him.

Mercifully, Feyre says, "No, no, not that. Just...maybe you could do with a chaperone? Azriel or-well, no, not Rhys. But maybe it would be good for Az to drop by occasionally...what do you think?"

"That's not a bad idea," he admits. A buffer. He could do with one.

"So, what are you teaching her, exactly?" Elain asks.

"Just some self defense. Breaking away from an assailant, today." But maybe, in time, he can convince her to do more. More general exercise, maybe even some offensive techniques. "There was something at the House," he adds. "On the wall where the Illyrians attacked."

"What?"

"This gold...thing. Covering the damage the Illyrians did to it." He clenches his jaw at the memory.

"I thought the House was magic now," Elain says. "Couldn't it have fixed itself up."

"Nesta made it," he says. "She told it she was going to fix it, so..."

The wall had been as fine as any other in the House, in any one of Rhys' homes, before the attack. Painted well, a warm beige, and decorated with any number of ornate pictures and mirrors and shelves for vases and whatnot. But now, the wall was white and bare but for the swirling metal covering the cracks and craters.

Cassian understands. If Nesta had made something for him, he'd want it to be the only thing people saw when they looked at him.

"She made something?" Feyre asks, eyes widening slightly.

"She did say she had that jewelery thing...she said she liked it."

"I never thought of Nesta as an artist before," Feyre says, quieter. "She never had any patience for painting when I showed her."

"Well, I'm sure she doesn't think of herself as an artist...I got the impression she liked it as a way to calm herself down."

"Do you think? What does she need calming down from? Is she-is she angry, do you think?"

Feyre and Elain continue to discuss Nesta and guess at her thoughts and motives while Cassian sits and desperately wishes he could only ask her.

---

Thalia asks to see her as soon as she's available, so Nesta tells Gwyn she'll see her after lunch and heads down to her office.

"Good morning," Thalia says, smiling up at her from her couch.

Nesta sits opposite her. "Hello."

"You're looking refreshed."

"I started...some self-defense. Just a little. With, um, Cassian." Does she know Cassian, Nesta wonders. Probably. He's the kind of person everyone knows.

"Really?" Thalia says, sounding impressed. "How wonderful!"

Nesta shrugs a little.

"Well, I think that comes at a perfect time, actually."

Nesta's eyes shoot up. "Why?" she asks, wary.

"I think I've settled on an idea to help you tackle your goals. I wanted to know what you think."

"All right," Nesta says, after a beat. "What is it?"

Thalia tilts her head back slightly, chin set. Oh, this should be good. "What do you think about keeping a log and schedule of trying new things?"

She sucks in her bottom lip before saying, "Trying new things? How does that help me with my goals?" It seems like Thalia is trying to push her own agenda over actually helping Nesta achieve hers.

"It'll get you in the habit of doing things you aren't used to," Thalia says, patient. "It'll keep you focused on something. It might bring new joys or interests into your life, perhaps personally, or perhaps by bonding with others. And it'll greatly increase your confidence and self-esteem."

Nesta blinks. "That's not one of my goals."

"I know, dear. It's one of mine."

Nesta looks down. "It's..." She forces herself to say the words she would normally just drown in inside her own mind. "Just hard to remember sometimes."

"What's hard to remember?" Gentle, not prodding.

She swallows hard. It sounds so stupid inside her head. How will it sound out loud? "That I'm actually supposed to...get better. Sometimes it feels like that's the wrong thing to do." She bites her tongue-she hadn't meant for that part to come out.

But Thalia never acts like what she's saying is pathetic, even if it is.

"How does it feel wrong?"

Nesta sighs. Not out of irritation over the question, just because she isn't quite sure how to answer. "It's...I don't know. Sometimes one just knows a thing is wrong."

"Hm," Thalia says. Considering, thoughtful. "Well, at any rate, your self-defense lesson today can count as your new thing for the day."

"Well-wait, for the day? You want me to do one new thing per day?"

Thalia's lip quirk. "How often did you think I was asking you?"

"I don't know. A week, maybe."

"I don't think so. Once a day, please. Don't forget to track them all. Write them down. Run along, now, Nesta, and if you could take these books with you? Thank you."

Gwyn finds her putting Thalia's books back on the fifth level. "So, how did it go with Thalia? And with your training session with Lord Cassian?"

Lord Cassian. She'll never get used to that. "News travels fast, I see," she says primly.

"You know it does. How did it go?"

"It went...all right."

"Which one?" Gwyn takes a book from Nesta's hands and puts it on a shelf over her head.

"Both of them. Actually, I think the lesson with Cassian went better," she says in surprise, after reflecting. "And it wasn't training. It was just some self-defense."

"Same difference. What happened with Thalia?"

"She's making me try one new thing a day."

"One per day? Every day?" Gwyn shudders. "I can't believe you go along with everything she says. All her meetings and exercises and now this self-defense...You must be four times as brave as I am, at least."

Nesta winces.

"What are you going to do?" Gwyn continues, either not noticing Nesta's discomfort or respectfully ignoring it. "For your new things, I mean."

"I don't know," Nesta says, weighing two books, as if debating between her options for tomorrow and all the tomorrows after. "I guess...try every fruit I haven't?" Gwyn laughs. "I don't know what she expects me to do."

"I'm sure you'll think of things. You're...you'll do better than the rest of us. You do better than the rest of us. It's so obvious, how much you want to live." She says it confidently, assuredly, her teal eyes set.

Nesta bites her lip. "I did really want to live," she says quietly. That night in Hybern. She had fought with everything she had. The whole way to the Cauldron, and even after, inside it. She hadn't stopped. "I...can't..."

"I know," Gwyn says, voice soft as Nesta's. "You can't remember why. It's all right. You will. I can tell."

Nesta blinks rapidly. She's not about to cry. She's not. She just...she doesn't know what she is.

"I can't believe it's not even noon," she mumbles.

Gwyn chuckles. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your day's hardly going to be a quiet one. Calliope wants you all afternoon."

She likes Calliope, generally, so that's not so awful. "For what?"

Gwyn shrugs. "Sorting through her papers, probably. Maybe she wants you as an assistant."

If Nesta gets assigned to a High Priestess, than she doesn't have to do these menial tasks anymore. Of course, there's no promise that the priestess she'll be assisting won't have her own miserable things for her to do...Merrill, Gwyn's priestess, is a royal pain, Nesta knows...

"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," Gwyn says. "Wearing your dress backwards or eating starfruit."

"Ha," Nesta says flatly.

Gwyn laughs once more before going, unbound copper hair flowing behind her.

She's wrong, Nesta knows, about her being braver than anyone else. About her being brave at all. All she's doing now is what other people are telling her. Go see Calliope in her office, Nesta. Come sit with Thalia on the third level, Nesta. Tell Clotho if you liked Daphne's lecture, Nesta. Simple motions, simple movements. Nothing brave about it.

"Now again on the left, Nesta. Good. Good."

It's Thursday morning, and Cassian is the one ordering her about. Sometimes she thinks he sounds like any one of the priestess, with how he talks to her in these lessons, which makes her feel...she isn't sure. It's odd, certainly. Considering all the ways they used to talk to each other. Barbed insults, right in the House, to the other end of the spectrum. The words that cycle in her head some nights, the newest among them being I always have time for you, Nesta...and, of course, intermittent praises from when she does well.

"Excellent. Keep your torso just like that...now with your arms just as I-yes!"

There's really not any bravery required, Nesta decides. Not when the priestesses are all eager to do anything that encourages the girls to, well, do anything, and not when Cassian is...himself. Even now that Azriel, the member of her sister's circle Nesta is wont to consider her favorite if only because he never talks to her, has started showing up for a few minutes every session. Even he, with his face more closed off than Amren's (back when they were on speaking terms), and those dark shadows of his...even he does not discourage her.

Their hour ends, and he watches her drink two glasses of water-discreetly, drinking some himself, too-before turning to leave.

"Um," she says, voice slightly louder than it needs to be.

He pauses. Turns. Waits.

She can't look away again-his eyes-but she has to say something, doesn't she? What was it she was going to say?

"I seem to be doing well," she blurts out. Then flushes crimson.

He grins. "You're doing very well, Nesta."

She smooths her skirt, as if that'll somehow help her regain composure. "What I mean is," she says, voice hopefully not wobbly, "these...lessons...seem to be doing me good."

His grin gets smaller, but his eyes grow soft. "I...am very glad to hear that."

"I mean they help me feel...better. I feel better. Stronger. And I don't get so distracted all the time. And I...don't think about drinking so much." That's true, she realizes. In fact, she hasn't wanted a drink since...Monday? Sunday? She can't even be sure.

Cassian inhales sharply. "Good," he says, rather faint. "That's...that's so good, Nesta."

"So I was wondering if maybe you thought that...because I thought...well, I-I don't know, but maybe..." Stammering, tripping over her own words, it's just-

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

She nearly gasps, the words playing in her mind so clear in his eyes it's almost as though she can hear him saying them aloud.

"I thought maybe some other girls would like to join. If you don't mind. Having some more of us."

Cassian blinks. "I...I don't. I don't mind at all. I think that's a great idea, actually."

"Well, I also thought," Nesta starts, encouraged, "that since, you know, you've wanted that female Illyrian legion for so long-" he blinks again, evidently unaware that she knows that-"maybe you could also see if some Illyrian girls wanted to join. Just to see if they have a taste for...any of this."

Cassian's mouth falls open slightly and his hand goes to his forehead. "I...can't believe I never thought of this myself, actually," he admits. "Self-defense as a sort of gateway...that's actually really fucking brilliant, Nesta."

She huffs a sound of amusement at his swearing; it's been so long since she's heard any curse, as the priestesses are all so pious and proper. He starts at the sound.

"Well," she says, ducking her head to busy herself with her skirt so he doesn't see her color again. "I have to go bathe and..."

"Oh, yeah. All right. Well...so Monday? With some other girls?"

"If they want," Nesta says. "I don't know if anyone will want..."

"Well, you just let them know. Maybe ask Clotho..."

"I will. And...will you go to that camp? Windhaven?"

"Windhaven?" he asks.

"I met a shopkeeper..."

"Emerie?"

"Oh," she says. "You know her."

"She's the only female shopkeeper," he says. "We've met."

"I talked to her a little. I think she might be interested. I think she has some friends who might like it, too."

"Oh," he says, surprised. "I didn't know...I assumed-well, never mind. All right, Nesta. Goodbye, then. And great idea, really. And..." he trails off. She looks up to see him smiling. "You did really well. I mean it."

She nods, just once. But then she says, "Thank you."

She can't quite believe she said that. But judging by the way his grin widens enough to show all his teeth, it's something he's been waiting a while to hear.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian fic “Always and Forever” Chapter 3

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3.

Chapter 3 (4753 words)

Kurt stares out his studio window at the neighborhood below. It’s 10:15 a.m. and a Tuesday, so it isn’t as if the place is teeming with activity. Everyone living on Colony Lane seems content to stick to their own spaces, abide by their own schedules, and go about their lives without much interference from the world outside.

Kurt hates to hand it to Sebastian, but that’s what he wants as well. Isolation in a quaint fixer-upper is precisely what he needs.

Another point for Sebastian. 

Damn. 

He seems to be racking them up lately, while Kurt…

Kurt can admit that he’s not trying as hard as he should be, but he’s giving himself permission to be selfish. There shouldn’t be a timetable for bouncing back from loss, and Kurt got the double-whammy. 

Sebastian gave him betrayal to get over, too. 

Kurt knows that he should deem repairing his marriage a priority, but he also needs to do what’s right for him. 

He hasn’t figured out what that is yet, but it'll come to him.

Underlying childhood guilt has him believing that he should introduce himself to the neighbors. Etiquette and all that. It’s what his mother would do. Every time his family moved, and there had been a handful of times, Kurt’s mother would bake a batch of cookies for the neighbors. She'd put a baker's dozen into colorful cellophane bags, tie the tops with curled ribbon, and take them door to door to say hello. She wouldn’t wait for people to show up on their doorstep with a casserole and a smile. She believed in being proactive. She would tell him, “New neighborhood, new life. Go out and be a part of it.”

But Kurt doesn’t want to, and the neighbors seem fine with that. 

It’s been three days, and Kurt and Sebastian have only gotten one visitor – the technician who came to fix the heating. Of course, the neighbors could be waiting for them to get settled. Then they’ll pounce over with perfectly iced Gingerbread Bundt cakes and Chicken Kievs, church invites, and Girl Scout cookie order forms, like a swarm of Stepford Wives. 

Kurt doesn’t care about being proactive, and his mother isn’t around to scold him for behaving like a hermit. 

That may sound harsh, but it's true. 

The clouds pulling together in the sky overhead, threatening rain, give Kurt an excuse to shut himself away and work on the house - an excuse he can ply without the assistance of a tragic backstory. With his laptop open on the floor in front of him, he browses those websites that feed his design fetishes: Ethan Allen, Neiman Marcus, Anthropologie. 

But he's not the least bit inspired. 

He’d decided to start small, take things room by room instead of attacking everything at once. But he gets stumped, staring at the screen in front of him, unsure whether the chair he’s been mulling over for the past half hour is gorgeous or gaudy. 

He should focus on bringing the living room together since it’s where they do the bulk of their entertaining, provided they ever start entertaining again. And he should do something about the master bedroom, which, for the moment, houses a bed, a TV, and a dresser within the confines of four ashy walls. 

Opinions on the topic vary, but Kurt has always felt that the bedrooms are the heart of the home. They’re sanctuaries where dreaming, planning, and affirmation happen. He only has the one to worry about, so he should put extra effort into making it comforting, relaxing, sensual on the off chance he ever plans on touching his husband again.

The jury is still out on that one, unfortunately. 

The kitchen, he’s not looking forward to decorating. Aside from his studio, he and Grace spent much of their time together in the kitchen. They baked daily: cakes, cookies, bread, and anything else they could slop onto a baking sheet and shove into the oven. They also made jam, pickled fruit, and taught themselves (using YouTube videos mainly) to prepare various types of cuisine. Some were a hit, others a miss, but it was always an adventure. 

Kurt had done something similar with his mother and her collection of vintage cookbooks, congregating around the kitchen island in the afternoons to shed the angst of public school, and spread the wings of his stifled creativity. He and his mother discussed everything in the kitchen while sifting flour and creaming butter. It was a tradition he had so looked forward to continuing. 

Now, he’d rather not be bothered going into the kitchen again.

He could pick a page out of the IKEA catalog and recreate it. That should offend him. It did when Sebastian suggested it the first time Kurt redecorated their penthouse. But Kurt hardly cares. It doesn’t matter as much as it did. He can’t remember the last time he stepped into the kitchen and prepared anything more elaborate than toast and coffee, maybe dry scrambled eggs. Sebastian took over cooking duties after Grace died, which, nine times out of ten, means ordering out, if for no other reason than he gets to leave the house to pick up the food.

He knows Kurt appreciates the time alone more than he does a home-cooked meal.

Then there’s Sebastian’s office, which Kurt is decorating for the first time. He has tried to start a shopping cart for it numerous times, but, unlike the windfall of ideas he had for his studio, he can’t get into a groove. He remembers a time when thinking about decorating Sebastian’s office put a hundred ideas into his head. 

Currently, he has only one.

The cheap, vomit-worthy, knock-off furnishings of the no-tell hotel room he pictures whenever he thinks of Sebastian sleeping with another man. 

Kurt shivers in disgust. He wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. 

The room or the infidelity.

But how would Sebastian react if Kurt decorated his office to look like the business suite at the Marriott?

Kurt snickers, envisioning the sitcom-worthy shock that would erupt on Sebastian's face if he presented that to him.

"As you can see," Kurt would say, strolling through the room with his head held high atop the straightest spine pettiness can deliver, "I have chosen the most flame-retardant carpet available in subtle hues of tan and beige, a color combination well suited for concealing cum stains. This ergonomic, curved leather loveseat, for when you want to get adventurous with your afternoon romps, which, at your age, requires plenty of lumbar support. Plus, it cleans up in a snap with just a Clorox wipe, so that's a useful feature. Faux fireplace, faux aquarium, faux chandelier... are we sensing a theme? And in the corner, I've provided you a foldout of your own, for when you bring... ahem... work home."

The grin on Kurt's lips slides when Sebastian, wearing a gutted expression, pops to mind. It's an expression that Kurt didn't believe possible for Sebastian till their daughter died. He's only seen it once. He doesn't want to bring it back.

He sighs. 

Revenge-dreaming isn't helping. 

It isn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

He’s not breaking through his creative block anytime soon. He puts his plans for the other rooms on the back burner and decides to spend time picking out furniture for his studio. With the exception of his sewing machines, he didn’t bring anything from his penthouse studio here, so he’s starting over fresh. He switches tabs and starts filling his online shopping cart with the basics: a new drafting table, a cabinet, a chair he’ll have to custom-upholster, a bolt of drapery fabric he can repurpose to make a bedspread (if he goes through with his plans for a foldout), and a few other miscellaneous odds and ends, nothing worth wasting too much brain-power over.

The clunk-clunk of Sebastian stacking cans in the kitchen cabinets reaches Kurt upstairs, as does the water running in the sink while he washes dishes and the squeak of the sticky pantry door when he fixes it. Kurt plans on redoing the kitchen and giving the entire room a facelift. Sebastian knows that. But repairing the door gives Sebastian something to do.

Sebastian has been considerate enough to let Kurt do his thing undisturbed for the morning. Kurt’s reluctance to talk to anyone extends to Sebastian, which Sebastian understands. He’s keeping his distance. But it’s nice to hear him puttering around the house. It gives Kurt comfort, the same way listening to his father snore in the middle of the night helped Kurt feel less alone after his mother died.

He may want to be left alone, but it’s nice to know that he’s not alone.

Especially not today.

Today did not start out good for Kurt.

Kurt woke up later than he’d intended, and when he did, he couldn’t remember where he was. Sebastian had woken up and gotten out of bed hours earlier, leaving Kurt alone to sleep in. Kurt climbed out of bed and wandered around frightened, hands crawling along the walls, searching for something familiar. Footsteps passed somewhere underneath him, and he froze. He didn’t want to venture downstairs because he didn’t know who could be there. Maybe someone had broken in, or worse - this was somebody else’s house, and Kurt was the intruder. 

His heart raced. He started hyperventilating. He went from room to room, trying to figure out where he was and why he was there. It wasn’t until the second time he went into his studio that he began to remember. He saw his bag on the floor and, beside it, his sketchbook. He remembered sitting in there the day before, making plans. He remembered the wood grain of the floor, the dusty glass, the tree outside, the wallpaper, and that ripped corner by the window, which Kurt refuses to acknowledge any more than he has to.

He feels it behind him, like the sun on his back, trying to get him to turn his face to it, but he refuses. Of all the things he needs to deal with, that ripped corner and the word beneath it don’t make the list. It isn't doing the palpitations in his chest any favors.

It confuses him. 

It angers him. 

It saddens him.

It makes him consider what could have been, forces him to face everything he's lost. He didn't succeed in running away from his problems. He ran headlong into brand new ones.

But this is his house. He has to get used to it.

These episodes aren’t uncommon. They crop up whenever Kurt needs to adapt to change. They’re unexpected, like mines in fields he discovers he’s been running through when a second ago he was picking flowers in the park or strolling down the street.

It's their unpredictability that is the true torture. 

They show up even on his good days.

His life for the last ten years revolved around his daughter. When she was a baby, he adjusted his work schedule to match her sleep schedule. They had the money to afford the best nurses in New York, but Kurt didn’t want that. He didn’t want his daughter raised by a governess. He was as hands-on a parent as there ever was. 

As Grace grew, her schedule changed, and Kurt adjusted: daycare, Gymboree, kindergarten, ballet, elementary school. He dropped her off in the mornings, then picked her up in the afternoons. They spent the rest of the day going over her homework until it was time to make dinner, which they did together. 

That was the great thing about being a designer and freelance editor. Kurt could work from anywhere, and, aside from doing consultations at Vogue, he could work any time. 

When Grace became sick, her doctor visits and her medication regimen dictated Kurt's schedule, then her chemo.

Towards the end, there was only one item written in Kurt’s schedule - lie beside his daughter in her bed, holding on to her for dear life. 

And not just her life.

His, too.

In sickness and in health, Grace kept Kurt’s life regulated. 

Things flipped drastically when she died. 

He felt adrift. Detached from the life he had gotten used to, he didn’t know what to latch on to. His internal clock would wake him up at six to get Grace ready for the day, only to find himself walking into a vacant bedroom. At the supermarket, he would grab her favorite cereal out of habit and put it in his cart, even though it wasn’t on the list. He would jolt when he'd come across a song he thought she’d like or saw an advertisement for a movie he thought she’d enjoy. 

He has yet to stop the automatic deposits from his bank account to hers, her weekly allowance piling up on top of birthday and Christmas money. She had earmarked it for college (her decision, not his). Now it waits to be donated to the children’s hospital that took such incredible care of her. He doesn’t have the heart to empty it. She was so proud of it.

He doesn’t know what it will do to him to see the balance at zero.

But the worst moment of all, the absolute worst, was when he tried to go back to work right after they lost her. 

There are many moments after Grace’s death, during Kurt’s own struggle for acceptance, that blur together, but this one he remembers so vividly, it brings a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes. 

He was in the middle of a brainstorming session with his team. His boss Isabelle was there. She had dropped by with a box of cronuts and a grande nonfat mocha. Kurt hadn’t been eating. Everyone could tell. But Kurt overlooked the signs – the sharper than normal angle to his cheekbones and chin, his collarbone that showed through his skin a little too much, his hands that never stopped shaking. He had waved the food away when she offered. 

An hour later, he was on his third one.

The tension of his presence in the office so soon after his daughter’s death slowly dissipated, making way for the familiar, though attenuated, back and forth banter he had so missed. Without knowing it, he was paving the way for a potential comeback. He wouldn’t have a line up for a while, and he would need to keep an eye on fashion trends as they came and went in his absence. But this, this felt so natural, so normal, it almost seemed like it was. He got caught up in the rhythm of this impromptu jam session. He smiled, he laughed.

He felt alive again.

Somewhere in the middle of outlining a rough schedule, he glanced down at the time on his phone. Mid-sentence, he got up from his chair and walked over to get his coat off the hook by the door.

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle over Chase’s last clap back at a jab from his boyfriend Ian, “thanks for everything, you guys, but I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk about this more when I come in tomorrow.”

The room went pin-drop silent. Kurt didn’t notice.

“Where are you going?” Isabelle asked, getting up from her seat on the corner of his desk and approaching, knowing that he would need her in a second, the way she always knew. Kurt has referred to Isabelle as his Fairy Godmother ever since he first walked into Vogue fresh out of high school and trying to find a foothold in the hectic Gulf Stream that is New York City. She became his pillar of support, a sympathetic ear, and a clear head whenever he needed one. She had thrown his bachelor party. Hers was the condo he stayed in the night before his wedding. She’d hosted Grace’s baby shower.

Also, Grace’s wake.

She didn’t have children of her own and didn't plan on it, but she loved Grace as much as anyone.

And hers was the shoulder Kurt cried on when he found out Sebastian had cheated. 

Kurt looked at her, confused, wondering why it was that everyone around him seemed to be holding their breath. “I just… have to go pick up Grace. From school. I’m going… I’m going to be late.”

Isabelle shook her head and put a hand on his. “Sweetie… ”

It took Kurt a second. 

Even after one person gasped and another sniffled, with Isabelle’s sorrowful eyes staring at him, begging him to remember so she wouldn’t have to say it, he didn’t catch on.

When he did, it hit him like an electric shock straight through his body, rendering his muscles useless, and he crumbled to the floor. Isabelle held him for over an hour in that spot until Sebastian arrived. Kurt didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go to their empty penthouse and face the truth about his empty life. He wanted to stay at Vogue with Isabelle and live in that moment where everything was alright again for one shimmering second, even if it wasn’t real.

But he had to go. He had to leave with Sebastian, who had hurt him, back to his home, even if it killed him because even though he felt like his life was over, everything else continued on. People lived, and people died. The sun set in the evening, but in the morning, it would rise again.

He just didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. 

Not without his Grace.

He was cried out by the time Sebastian got him home. Sebastian undressed him, helped him with his cleaning and moisturizing routine, and then put him to bed. It was Friday evening when Kurt shut his eyes and went to sleep. He lived that horrible moment at his office over again a hundred times before he opened his eyes. And when he did, it was Sunday morning.

Like this morning, but to a greater extent, when these attacks happen, locked in his own brain, sifting through the pieces to find one big enough and sturdy enough to hold on to, Kurt loses time.

In a blink, hours go by, sometimes a day. He’ll climb in the shower in the morning, turn the water on hot, and by the time he realizes it’s cold, it’s close to noon. He has sat at the dining room table for breakfast, staring at a bowl of oatmeal, and when he found the will to pick up the spoon, the oatmeal was old and stiff, and it was dinner time. He’s gone to bed on Monday and stared at the black behind his eyelids till Wednesday. 

As far as Kurt knows, it’s only around lunchtime, but he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen to make sure. 

12:45.

He breathes a sigh of relief. He double-checks the date to make sure he has a reason to and sighs again.

Still Tuesday.

Kurt switches back to the IKEA tab he’d been laboring long but not hard on earlier. He looks at the shopping cart he’s been steadily filling, scrolls through his selections of personality bereft, assembly line furniture, and groans. This isn’t him. This house, this blank slate, should be an endless fount of motivation. 

But he's numb. 

Maybe he's rushing into this. He should give this house and the neighborhood time to grow on him before he sentences it to the mundane.

He needs a break. (Kurt Hummel need a break from shopping? Since when?) He flips to a new page in his sketchbook. For shits and giggles, he tries drawing a sketch for his husband’s office. He starts with the easy part – Sebastian’s desk. Sebastian didn’t leave that in the penthouse, so Kurt will make it the linchpin and design around it.

Things flow surprisingly easily from there once he gets started, with a pencil in his hand writing on paper instead of working on a screen: an ornamental rug, a matching leather chair, burgundy velvet curtains, a chainmail style Tiffany desk lamp, 1930s art deco décor with a soupcon of Persian flair. But he doesn’t want the room to be too dark. No. Kurt wants nothing in their house to be dark. He adds a Salento chandelier over the open portion of the room and a sweep of color – one wall, opposite a window, a lighter shade than the rest. He doesn’t know what Sebastian’s office looks like, but there has to be a wall in there that will fit the bill. 

An enamel and copper vase, a Khatam inlaid photo frame, a few Negar Gari…

Kurt stops.

Would Sebastian want that? The softer elements countering the strict lines of the art deco pieces, what could be described as feminine influences, are Kurt’s signature touch. But might Sebastian prefer the art deco without Kurt’s fingerprints all over it? Isn’t that what Sebastian meant by Kurt being heavy-handed with the pastels? 

Back in high school, Kurt had decorated his bedroom so that he and his stepbrother could share it. He'd skipped school so he could complete it in one day. He’d worked hard on it, trying to fuse a masculine air with his theatrical influence. What he thought was an eclectic representation of the masculine and the feminine turned into a Moroccan-themed disaster.

The word his stepbrother chose to use at the time was faggy, but there were ulterior motives behind it.

Sebastian made jabs in high school about Kurt not wearing boy clothes, comments that adult Kurt recognizes as the teenage boy equivalent of pulling Kurt’s pigtails. But at the time, they stung. Sebastian wouldn’t have made those comments if there weren’t a grain of truth to them, would he? 

Sebastian has never retracted those statements, so as far as Kurt is concerned, they stand.

Kurt flips his pencil over and starts erasing. He’ll pare down the extras – trade the Tiffany lamp for a banker’s lamp, replace the rug with something more Brooks Brothers than Pier 1.

Maybe he should just opt for another IKEA recreation, but that feels like copping out, going back on his word. 

He could always ask Sebastian. He swears his husband has passed by a few times, his footsteps rising and falling outside his door, but Kurt didn’t think anything of it. He figures Sebastian is passing through on his way to get something from the bedroom that he needs downstairs. Kurt doesn’t imagine the man is pacing the hallway, even if he is, trying to find a way to tell Kurt that lunch is ready. Little things like lunch, innocuous things, have become huge divides over the past few months. With anyone else, Sebastian has a history of railroading over them, hurt feelings be damned.

But Sebastian has learned his lesson. He paid a hefty price learning it, too.

Contemplating between clearing his throat so that Kurt knows he’s there and letting another meal go cold, he sees Kurt’s head lift up. It seems like an opening. Whether or not it is, Sebastian takes it.

“Lunch is ready.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt mumbles, brushing eraser shavings aside.

“Are you… are you coming downstairs?”

Kurt erases again, then pencils something on a sheet of paper that Sebastian can’t see. “Hmm… mmm?” 

It sounds like a question and an answer, but since Kurt doesn’t follow it up with anything, it most likely means that Kurt will be skipping lunch… again. Sebastian knocks idly on the door frame, giving Kurt a second longer to tell him for sure.

“Alright.” Disappointed, he turns to leave. “I guess I’ll come back up at dinner then.”

Kurt doesn’t know why the thought returns when he wasn’t even thinking about it, why it decided to nag at his brain when he had been able to ignore it for this long, but that’s the way his brain works now. His thoughts don’t always travel straight paths. They twist and turn, taking one thing and linking it to something unrelated. Erasing the ideas he’d sketched out, removing every inch of himself from Sebastian’s office, made him think about how eager he was to be rid of that word darling from above the window, and that ripped corner returns to his mind with a vengeance.

Well, as long as Sebastian is there, he might as well ask.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian pauses in the doorway, not daring to move. “Yes?” 

“When was the last time you were here?” Kurt raised an eyebrow at the idea when it originally came to him. When would Sebastian have come to this house that Kurt didn’t know? They traveled Upstate once a year, but they always did it together as a family. And while they were here, Sebastian rarely ventured out alone. Sebastian isn’t the kind of person who would buy a house sight unseen. 

Unless he had found it during one of his outings with Grace. Which would mean that Grace had seen the inside. 

Grace would have seen this room and thought it would be hers, thought that they would someday live here, and Sebastian hid that word darling by the window for her and not Kurt.

The thought is so painful, it makes Kurt want to tear his nails out with his teeth so he’ll stop thinking about it.

Sebastian keeps his eyes locked to Kurt’s profile so he won’t miss the moment Kurt decides to look at him instead of the floor, the wall, or the ceiling.

“I found this house online. It wasn’t even on the market when I stumbled on it. To be honest, I’d only driven by it once. I hadn’t been inside until we moved in.”

“But you saw the inside,” Kurt asks. “Otherwise, how would you know about this room?”

“I took a virtual tour,” Sebastian admits sheepishly, “but it was extremely thorough. I’ve seen the blueprints, gone over the permits and the zoning. I had Tristan from the office look over the place when he came up to visit his folks. He facetimed me while he was here.” Sebastian furrows his brow. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Kurt’s heart beats regular again. Grace hadn’t seen it. 

Thank God. 

His eyes find the torn section of wallpaper, but they don’t stay there. He doesn’t want to clue Sebastian in about it if Sebastian doesn’t already know. He wants to uncover this mystery on his own. If Sebastian gets to keep secrets, big ones at that, then Kurt wants this one for himself. 

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I was just curious, you know. Wanted to understand your process. Why this house, why this neighborhood, that sort of thing.”

Kurt’s sentence comes out choppy. It’s odd how awkward talking has become for them. Sebastian used to think that the two things they had mastered were talking and fucking. They did both together with such ease. There were never any boundaries between them, emotionally or physically. Even when they were cutting each other down, which they did in the beginning, they did so with such finesse.

Not like now, when Sebastian is walking on eggshells and Kurt doesn’t want to hear half of what he has to say.

“If you come down for lunch, we can talk about my process. If you’re curious, that is.” Sebastian watches Kurt expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

And while Sebastian does, Kurt looks at his sketch – Sebastian’s office, the same way Sebastian always has it decorated. This is Sebastian without him and Grace: bland and emotionless, no light, little color, and no joy. Nothing exciting, nothing nuanced, nothing to indicate that he and Sebastian are together.

Not even those snapshots he’s so proud of.

Kurt hasn’t decided whether that’s a bleak picture or not. 

“Sure. I’ll be down in a sec,” Kurt decides because he does and doesn’t have an answer to that one. It changes as the day changes, and the days change too quickly. 

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.” Sebastian walks away, or Kurt thinks he does. He checks the time on his clock. It’s closing in on 2. 

Kurt glances up at the window, the dangling wallpaper bouncing with the breeze coming from a draft near the ceiling. It would be so easy to tear it down – grab an edge and rip, be done with it once and for all. It might even feel cathartic, exposing whatever is underneath it. But lunch is ready. He’s already left Sebastian waiting long enough.

He leaves that mystery for another day.

[wizkiddx]

Forget the world

I really really hope everyones okay at the moment. The world is truly fucking shit, but sending all my love, and it is okay to feel completely done at this point (I do hence why I wrote this instead of meeting my deadlines :/)

Summary: readerxtomholland -- pure fluff when everything gets a bit much for Y/n

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A third lockdown in the UK. More than 1000 deaths in a day. US capitol riots highlighting just how stark the white privilege is. The worlds a scary place and sometimes it gets too much. It’s good to be informed, to be politically and socially active, fighting the good fight… right? Well yes, but we are humans.

Humans are more complex than that. We ruminate we feel and we empathise. None of these issues have directly affected you, but that doesn't mean these things don’t hurt you - even a little. Bit by bit, a person can so easily get chipped away until there’s not a lot of fight left.

These daily 5 o’clock briefing, the prime minister in all his stupid oafish idiocy invading your living rooms with his persistent if oh so incorrect chat of ‘how well the UK has handled this crisis’. Then going on to spout more and more bad news. It was like a scheduled form of torture that Brits just had to through. And it just got a lot.

What didn’t help at all to you, was the fact your boyfriend was leaving for work again. You’d barely had him for two weeks before he was being whisked away in his private jet again. And even that time, it wasn’t really couple quality time… not by a long shot. Because of the complicated and ever-changing laws in the UK, you had both moved into his parents' house rather than being stuck just the two of you over Christmas. Don’t get the wrong impression, you lovvvveeeeeddddd his family - it was crazy, chaotic and infuriating in the best way.

That, however, didn’t get away from the fact you missed him. You missed lying in till the afternoon. You missed having breakfast for dinner after cooking it up in your skimpy pyjamas. You missed silence - of the two of you just coexisting. You missed your Tom.

SO fair to say you were not feeling particularly over-enthused on this overcast Tuesday morning. Somehow sensing this while you were still asleep, Tom chose not to wake you and instead crept out the room to go golfing with his brothers and dad for the last time before he left. Having woke up a couple of hours ago, you made the executive decision to just stay there - just feeling like the energy it’d take up to move was too torturous to expend. When Tom and the boys got back then, they immediately recounted the whole experience to Nikki - Harry showing off at his particularly good round - before Tom naturally started searching for you. His mum, being almost psychic, instantly noticed and just shook her head over Harry’s droning voice as she pointed upstairs. And with a thankful nod, he snuck away - if anything grateful for the escape.

“Love…. Love?” Tom hesitantly crept into the room, your body facing away and still wrapped like a burrito in the duvet. You rolled over and gave him a small smile, to which he grinned at and immediately leapt on to the bed. Land directly on your stomach. With force. You let out an ‘ooof’ as his not so petite body knocked all the air out of you, making you groan and recoil to your side as he laughed pitifully at you. “I missed you” He just grinned, worming his way from lying horizontally across you until he was lying completely on top of you his chin resting on your chest bone as he smiled at you. “And you thought you’d jump on me to show that?” “I couldn’t help it you just looked so peaceful” You quirked your head, not seeing his point. “And your not allowed to look like that without me!” He huffed, finally rolling off you as you giggled at his stupidity. “But seriously you good? Its 12 and you’ve not moved yet.” “Mhmm just… just.” “You're just just?” He teased, now leaning up on his elbow as he smiled down at you. “Exactly. I just can’t deal with today.” You sighed as you spoke, looking up to him with eyes as if asking him to help. It made his jokey and teasing demeanour take a serious turn, his eyebrows furrowing as he really inspected your face - as if trying to the find the answer written in small print under your nose. He whispered a ‘what do you mean’ asking you to go on. “I don’t know …it’s just lockdown and America and…and you going. I’m just self-pitying really.” “No” Tom stated rather adamantly, as he sat up and then pulled you up by the arms earning yet another groan from you as he interrupted your cocoon of warmth. “You're allowed to feel shitty because it is all actually very shitty indeed.” You rolled your eyes at that, even if you did agree because you didn’t want to be the mopey desperate girlfriend who can’t handle when he goes away. “Y/n/n I’m serious. The news and everything… it’s a lot and you're allowed to feel like you can’t comprehend whats going on.” In response you just nodded, averting your eyes away from his because, for no real reason at that moment, his eye contact seemed to be forcing you to cry. But the boy did not let up. Instead, he crawled up to you, his legs sandwiching yours as he kneeled in front of you. “And… I’m going to miss you a lot when I go.” Tom gently pushed your chin up so his locked eyeline with your watery ones that instantly started to overflow. Tom murmured an ‘oh love’ as he threw his arms around you, letting you cry into his shoulder - most probably ruining his new fancy golf shirt.

You stayed like that for some time, him gently hushing you and stroking the back of your messy bed head. Until you’d finally calmed into little hiccups and Tom arched back. He cupped his hands around your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away your tear tracks. “Let's have a just us day huh? We can… forget the world.” “Forget the world?” Your laugh was a little wet and sad sounding but it was music to Tom’s ears and only spurred him on more. “Yeh! Fuck the world. It’s just you and me and we can do whatever you want!” “You’re stupid” you just giggled, trying to hide your face because he had you blushing like a lovestruck teen… which was exactly how he made you feel. “I know! So come on what should we do… movie or something isn’t right because you still can think about- I got it!” He leapt off you and started looking around the room, first pulling the chair out from its position in the corner and then whipping the duvet cover off your legs. “TOM! what-“ “We are building a fort!” And his stupid grin said it all. It took next to no convincing before you were running downstairs with him, ransacking the sitting room of all blankets (earning you some comically quizzical gazes from his Dad and Sam) before running back up.

This stupid stupid boy that you had to pleasure of calling your boyfriend had you revert to a seven-year-old as the two of you attempted to construct this fort. Attempted being the keyword, it kept collapsing when one of you accidentally stubbed your toe on the chair holding all the structural integrity of your creation (*Tom). However, after a ridiculous amount of attempts you were adding the piste de resistance - aka fairy lights - to the interior while Tom set up a game of Harry Potter monopoly on the next floor you’d made.

And that’s how you burned the day away; laughing whilst getting overly competitive at your Harry Potter knowledge; ordering pizza that you forced Harry to delivery to the entrance of your fort from the front door (you even managed to make Harry knock on the makeshift blanket door, which had the two of you cracking up no end); generally just being stupid together. Before you knew it, the time had ticked to half eleven and the both of you knew it was time to bed down for the night. With a sigh, signifying the beginning of the end of Tom’s last day in the UK, you went to crawl out of the fort - expect your boyfriend had other plans. Rather, he yanked you back towards him so you almost fell into his front and then proceeded to roll you both, so now you were lying flat on the ground while he leaned above you. “You … little miss… are not going anywhere.” You hummed at him about to ask why, before being rudely interrupted as he pressed his lips against yours. You didn't fight it though, immediately relaxing into it and wrapping your legs round his waist to pull him impossibly closer. After a few moments, you broke the kiss staring up at him with the softest eyes. “Sorry I just had to stop you from ruining the moment.” He jibed, and again you went to scowl but were cut off by his soft lips on yours once again. Tom only pulled away when both of your lungs had started to burn a little, needing to come up for air. With a whisper telling you not to move, Tom bolted out the fort. You could hear him scurrying around in the room - to be honest, it sounded like he was ransacking it- before the big light was flicked off and he crawled back in in the darkness.

This time you’d learned your lesson, waiting patiently until he spoke first. “I got a surprise… it was uh- supposed to be for when I was already away but I think now works too” You couldn’t see his face through the darkness, but what you knew, either way, was the excitement that’d be on his face - he loved revealing stuff like this to you because he is, as previously mentioned a child. And then he flicked the switch and the interior of the tent was illuminated by a pattern of stars, projecting upwards and swirling around on the blanket roof. The sight had you audible gasping, this time the dim light it gave meaning Tom could see your eyes widen in delight. “Tom its-“ “Not as beautiful as you.”

Hell, you knew how fucking corny this was. And how if any of your mates ever recounted the story you’d be recoiling is dismay at the cliche-ness of it. But at that moment you swore your heart could burst, looking between the twinkling projections and Tom’s dimly glowing features - the blue light bouncing off his cheekbones and making him look just even more divine. “We are sleeping here tonight because I just don’t want this moment to end” You whispered making Tom chuckle as he lay back down next to you, letting you curl into his side and resting your head on his chest - so you were watching the swirling walls whilst listening to his heartbeat. “This fort… will always be ours.” He spoke lowly, reaching for your hands and entwining his fingers with yours slowly. “I’m going to mis-“ “Shhhhh” He blocked you from finishing the phrase, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before continuing. “ Don’t forget we’re forgetting the world yeh? It’s just you and me.” “Just you and me isn’t half bad.” You whispered, using your thumb to draw little meaningless patterns on the top of his palm. “No… not half bad at all.” His voice was so quiet, so calming he barely even used his voice - rather just breathing the words out as he squeezed you into his chest. You knew he was trying to make you fall asleep. This is what he always did, a kiss to the head, his voice barely existing, him squeezing you just a little tighter. But you didn’t want to. Because that meant that he’d leave when you woke.

You desperately tried to fight the waves of relaxation, trying to pay attention to each little swirl and tinkle of the projector but it was hypnotic, and that coupled with the steady beat of his heart had you soon losing the battle. Tom could tell you were fighting, Tom could always tell. So he gently shifted his arm under you baggy t-shirt, allowing Tom to trace little circles on your bare skin. That was enough to have force your eyes to become deadweights as they locked shut.

“I got you…I’ll still be here when you wake up” You hummed, pressing yourself into his side a little more. “‘hankyou for… for…” Tom grinned, knowing you weren’t going to make it to the end of the sentence. But that didn’t matter. At that moment, the only thing in the world that matters was having you in his arms.

“I’ll always forget the world when I’m with you.”

[msoogabooga]

The Insufferable Tom Riddle- Part II • (Tom Riddle x Reader)

Warnings: Steamy making out, but no actual smut.

Description: Sequel to Part I

A/N: Second and final part.

Waking up on the morning of the study date is the moment where it all hits you. You were about to spend the entire day with Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle. The boy you swore you would hate till the end of the school year. Never did you expect to be in this position, yet here you are, getting ready for a day of tutoring. A very long day.

You don’t know why you decided to wake up extra early today. Or why you decided to pay a bit more attention to your appearance, but it didn’t matter. You couldn’t think straight with the rush of anxiousness rising up in your stomach. As you spray on a slight amount of perfume, you stare at your reflection in the dorm mirror. What are you getting yourself into?

Slinging your bookbag across your shoulders, you head down the stairs from your dorm and out the door of your common room. As you breeze down the corridors, you notice that it is much too early for the study date. Perhaps you were too eager this morning to get this over with. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to stop by the Great Hall for some coffee. After all, you were quite sluggish this morning and whenever you’re in this state, your patience is very thin. And with a boy like Tom Riddle, patience is key.

A quick coffee run later, you are back on the journey to the library. Though you needed this cup of coffee like you needed to breathe air, you knew that the librarian wouldn’t even let you step foot in the library with it. You sure weren’t in the mood for a scolding so you decide your best bet is chugging it down. Distracted by the coffee and the overwhelming thoughts swirling in your head, you are taken by surprise when you bump into someone. The cup of coffee flies out of your hand and spills directly on this person. Way to go. You sure have done it this time.

Spewing out mumbled apologies, you pick up the now empty coffee cup and turn to face the victim of your morning clumsiness. The cup of coffee doesn’t last two seconds in your hand as you drop it again when you look at an angry Tom Riddle drenched in coffee.

“Oh f- I’m so sorry!” You stammer out. Tom sighs and begins cleaning his ruined blazer jacket. “I didn’t see you- I just- I’m so so sorry!”

“It’s alright.” He says sharply. “It appears someone is eager to start the lesson. You know we aren’t meeting until an hour from now, right?”

“I know I just wanted to get an early start.”

“So you do care about me?” Tom says a bit more smugly now. He removes his blazer and tosses it over his shoulder, revealing a white collared shirt underneath. You avert your gaze to respond to him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Riddle.” You match his smugness. “I am early to everything. I’m only being nice to you because you’ve already suffered enough this morning.”

“Fair enough. Well if you haven’t anything else to do, perhaps we may start early?”

“Alright then.”

The walk to the library was quiet. You weren’t exactly in the mood to converse with him after the coffee incident. Though he insists all is well, you can’t help but feel a tad bit of embarrassment. Watching him hold his stained blazer jacket in his arms isn’t helping the fact either. As usual on weekends, no one was really in the library today. In fact, looking around, there was only one Ravenclaw student there. And he was passed out on a pile of notes. Clearly not going to be an interruption today. You and Tom manage to find a good quiet spot near the back of the library, blocked off by a giant bookshelf. You begin to set up your station, pulling out your copy of Advanced Potion Making.

He takes your book in his hands and begins flipping through the pages. You pull out a chair and take a seat, waiting for him to address you. Tom finds a good stopping point in the book and lays it out in front of him, just barely out of your viewing range. He slides into a chair directly in front of you.

“Alright,” he starts. “I think we should begin with some term memorization. That is the key to getting through these potions. The more practice you get, the more familiar you are with these.” You nod and he begins reading. “A magical potion that makes the taker successful in all their endeavours is?”

“Felix Felices!” You answer with confidence. You remember Slughorn explaining this potion and it was one of your favorites to learn about. Tom smiles.

“Excellent. A potion that makes the drinker quickly fall into a deep but temporary sleep.”

“Sleeping Draught, duh.” This one was a dead giveaway. It’s in the name.

“Looks like you don’t even need the help, huh? Alright let’s see…” Tom begins flipping the pages again. He stops at a page near the end of the book. You try to peak at the page he lands on but he shifts the book closer to him, raising an eyebrow at you. “The world's strongest Love Potion; does not create real love, just powerful obsession.”

Your mind went blank. Love Potion? You don’t ever remember learning about a Love Potion. Not even a slight comment from Slughorn about any sort of Love Potion. You decide to give in on this one. “I’m not sure about that one.”

“Amortentia Potion.” Tom says, plainly. “I suppose we could look into this one a bit more.” Tom stands up and begins walking to your side of the table.

“When did we learn about that one?” You say, still confused as to what he was talking about.

“Last week.” Tom pulls a chair and sits right next to you, book in hand. “He gave a whole lesson about it on Tuesday. We even made some ourselves.”

“Oh, I wasn’t here on Tuesday.” You now remember that on Tuesday you came down with a terrible cold. You spent the whole day in the hospital wing, it was certainly not a good day for your studies.

“Well I can provide a bit more insight.” Tom puts the book down and clears his throat. “It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them. For example, when I made mine it smelled like new parchment, coffee, and… perfume.” Tom gives you a look which can only be surprised as realization. It takes you only a second to remember you had sprayed on perfume this morning. Could it be… no. It is just a coincidence. Loads of girls wear perfume. Surely you’re not the only one. But coffee? Now that has to be more than a coincidence, right? Tom must’ve noticed your surprised reaction because he clears his throat and continues speaking. “So as you see, it is quite an insightful potion.”

“What would mine smell like?” You ask, already knowing what the answer is.

“Well that is up to you to decide. What scent attracts you?”

You clear your throat to speak. Your entire body is shaking, extremely anxious to speak these next few words. “Well, probably worn out books, firewood, and cologne.” The last word came out of instinct as you notice he had worn cologne today. Tom gives you a slight smile, recognizing the smells.

“Good.” He speaks softly. You dare yourself to look into his dark brown eyes once more. His expression has softened now from his normally overconfident one. Almost unsure what to say next.

“Well I guess we should-” Before you could finish that sentence, Tom takes your chin and guides your lips to his. His soft hands cupping your face, brushing your hair back. It takes you a second to realize what is happening, but when you do, you can’t help but give into him. You close your eyes as he pulls you in closer, hands gripping your waist as he slides the chair next to his. The feeling fills up your stomach and heart with a surreal fluttery feeling. His soft lips taste like mint and his hands gently brush your back. Very calming but confident enough to know what he’s doing. You almost don’t realize you shifted onto his chair until he stops and looks at you. His smile, full and genuine, as he looks at you with beaming eyes.

“Well if you insist.” He says as he grabs you by the waist and lifts you up with him. You let out a small gasp as he places you onto the table.

“Tom this is terribly inappropriate!” You whisper-shout. You glance around at the empty tables and shake your head. “We’re in a library!”

“Don’t worry, dear.” Tom says, chuckling lightly. “We’re completely blocked off by the bookshelves. It’s not like we’re doing anything too bad. Unless…”

“No!” You say in shock as you playfully smack his arm. “How crude!”

There is a slight pause until you and Tom burst into light laughter. He takes your face in his hands again and begins kissing you once more. His lips slowly drift from your own this time, inching their way down your neck. You suck in a breath as he begins pecking your neck in light kisses which slowly turn into small bites. His lips remain on your neck for a while, causing you to enjoy it a bit too much. You push him away and you cover your mouth, completely flustered.

“Too much?” Tom asks in genuine concern.

“No- it’s just that- wow. I need a moment.” You slowly glance away from him as your heart continues beating out of your chest.

“Take all the time you need.” Tom goes to sit next to you on the table.

You clear your throat, calming down a bit from your snogging session.“I just didn’t expect you to like me. You know, in that way?”

“Well of course I like you.” He smiles, brushing your hair back. “I’ve been liking you since our fourth year.”

“Really?” You ask. Tom nods. “Well you certainly don’t have the best way of showing it. With you always arguing with me and our, frankly kind of silly, competition.”

“As you can see, expressing emotions is not my strong suit. But I try my best. I was worried I might scare you away. I’m glad I didn’t, hopefully?”

“Well, clearly. So what now?” Tom rests his chin in his hand in ponder. He leaps from the table and stands up once more.

“Meet me by the Great Hall tomorrow at the same time?” Tom asks. “We can have a proper date then. Coffee and all. Hopefully in a cup and not on me this time.”

“No promises.” You laugh. “But yes, I would love to.”

“Alright then. Though, right now a certain someone still needs to pass her potions exam.” He pokes your nose and you smile. “Luckily I’m here to help.”

“Then stop flirting with me and hurry up and help.”

Tom picks up the Advanced Potion Making book once more and opens it up. “It would be my pleasure.”

[enigma-im]

Twelfth day of Christmas...

Trope: Mutual pining Relationship: Robot x Human Word count: 6,589

The bell chimes from the door. Without missing a beat I continue welding the derby car in front of me. It doesn't take a genius to realize who is here at such a ridiculous hour. Tenna just has to wait till I'm finished fixing up Bruce's dumpster car. Sparks fly off the dented pieces of metal, splashing around in wonderous fireworks. If the sight wasn't a norm I'd almost consider its beauty. As I lower the flame to judge my work I see Tenna sitting on the couch across from me. I try not to look at him, knowing the second he has my attention I'm done for. I can kiss getting this done before tomorrow morning goodbye.

I try my damndest to ignore him, just finishing off the line before I can bother thinking about him. It's a hard task as I already feel anxious with him watching me. His stare picks at me till I'm honestly fighting the urge to look up. It's like he has some gravity to him that I'm drawn to.

"Damn it," I sigh. I turn off the torch and slam it on the hood of the Junker. I snap my helmet covered eye to him, seeing that infuriating smirk on his skull-like face. He has to know what that does to me. Tenna is an annoying little tick that has no business getting under my skin the way he does. His constant presence and never-ending teasing will be my undoing one day.

But damn if I don't love him for it.

Slamming my helmet up I glare at him," Have any idea what time it is?"

"10:34pm exactly," he spreads his arms wide on the couch headrest," is that a problem?"

Scoffing at his know-it-all look I toss the helmet on top of the car with the welding torch. I walk over to my workbench, picking up a used rag to wipe my face. Glancing over at Tenna I catch him staring, his legs spreading wide in an 'I'm powerful' pose. I roll my eyes as my heart flutters. How dare he.

"What do you need this time, Tenna," I ask, cutting to the chase.

"Haven't seen you in nearly a week and all you've got to say is 'you know what time it is' and 'what do you need this time'," he mocks my voice," can't I just come to see my favorite mechanic?"

I look deadpan to him," I've known you for nearly two years, not once have you just come to visit me. So I'll ask one more time, what do you need?"

He drops the act quickly, his shoulders sagging as he leans forward," Ricky Bower accidentally knocked me on my ass last week, and ever since I've been losing feeling to my hands." he raises his palms upwards, clenching his hand into fists. "It's strange and I'd greatly appreciate your help," he attempts to be kind as he asks. Knowing I can't ever say no to this idiot I motion him over to the bench.

Tenna hops up with a pep in his step. I watch him snatch the roller chair from beside the car, bringing it over before plopping down. Holding my hands out he sets his gently over them. I take the moment to feel his lightly warmed metal and leathery palms. His body has fascinated me for as long as I've known him. Having great knowledge in most things that deal with metal and wires I have never really understood how someone can make life like him. He is amazing.

Shaking out of my exploration I trace my fingers over his palm, looking up to him. "Feel that," I ask.

"Nope," he pops the P. I pinch at his fingers, digging my nail into the springy synthetic.

"That?"

"Why all the testing? I told you I can't feel a thing," he snaps. I grind my teeth at his tone, tempted to drop the task. I don't need him charging in here and demanding a fix. Scoffing I give into my petty ire and push his hands away.

"Alright, Mr. Know-it-all, fix your damn self," I hop out of my chair, ready to abscond to my office to pout like a lovesick teen. Before I can make it a step he snatches my wrist, tugging me back.

"Fine, fine," he sighs," I'm sorry. Will you please ignore my pitiful outbursts, I'm just a tad frustrated not being able to feel anything." his gaze drops to where he Is holding me, rubbing his thumb across my skin. He huffs.

I snatch my hand out of his," Fine, but one more and I'm kicking ya out."

"Wouldn't expect anything less," he smirks.

I grab his hand again, trailing my hands to his forearm where I open a panel. The underside of his arm pops off easily. Having replaced this very piece long before it no longer stays connected. I set it off to the side. I expertly look over his wires and parts. It all looks to be working fine, I dig my fingers in to investigate deeper.

"So what did Ricky do again," I ask, filling the silence as I work. I feel him shrug as his arm jostles in my hands.

"That dumb son of a bitch was wobbling on his way out the bar. Being the kind soul I am-" I roll my eyes,"-I walked him home. As he nearly caves his head in on the street I grab him, trading places with him as the dumb son of a bitch to cave his head in on the street." I snort at the image. The all graceful Tenna falling headfirst into the pavement like a drunkard. The scene replays in my mind as I snap my eyes up to him.

"So it's your head, not your arm," I bark as I grab the panel and click it back to place. Standing, I snatch his head and tug it towards me. He hovers close to my bosom but I'm far too distracted with tearing off the cranium plating to care.

"Very grabby today," he chuckles. I toss the panel to the bench and dig through the countless wires to reach where the small dent on the back of his head is. The protective layer that sits on the back of his head is pressing too hard on his processor. The wires are detached and loose. I scoff, pleased but annoyed at finding the issue. What an idiot for going a week without coming in.

I try to take a step away from him to grab my wire welding set but I'm held in place. Confused, I look to the hands holding my hips. Tenna looks up, quickly letting go and sliding back with the chair.

"Sorry," he coughs," you kept bumping me and I-uhh- yep." I stare for a moment, squinting at his strange behavior before I run off to my office.

I fix up his head, pleased as can be as I shut the panel back. Plopping down onto my chair I hold my palms out again. I gesture him forward. He drops his hand unceremoniously onto mine.

"Have you always been this warm," he asks, pressing his palm against mine.

"Does it feel different," I ask worried I screwed something up. I'm no genius in the ways of advanced robotics. He doesn't answer, trailing his hands over my wrist. Growing curious he abandons my hands and cups my cheeks. His fingers pet over my nose and under my eye. Smoothing down my eyebrows as I tense.

"What are you doing," I slowly recoil from his touch though it feels so welcoming. His thumbs grace the corners of my eyes as he smiles sweetly to himself.

"I can feel the crow's feet, ya fixed me again, doc," he jokes. I slap his hands away, insulted at the insinuation that I have crow's feet. He laughs, letting me walk away in a huff.

Tenna

I left her place later than I intended, leaving her asleep on the couch. Heading out of her scrap yard I make my way down the road towards my home. Passing many closing bars and dark alleys. I manage to get out of the dumpster fire that is downtown to get to my humble abode out of the city. It's not a far walk, a decent enough journey to a sweet little place in a sweet little neighborhood.

I trot up the steps, the door unlocking at my proximity. Stepping into the living room I find Ricky asleep on the couch similar to Valerie. Quietly I make my way to my room, flipping the light on to look at the large messy room. I step over the clutter of junk, passing by my vanity. Stopping for a moment I admire the dent on the back of my head, wincing at it.

"Didn't have to hit so hard," I grunt.

Quickly completing my nighttime rituals I plug myself in and power down for the night.

The next morning I sit in the kitchen, reading on my tablet as Ricky steps in. He's a half-dressed, sloppy man, sorting through the fridge.

"How did last night go," he asks. I sigh, dropping the tablet to the table.

"Pretty good actually. She fixed me up quickly, got to even hold her for that bit, and we talked afterward. You know Gilbert stiffed her the forty he owed her for fixing up his Camry," I answer. He grunts in answer, chugging milk like the slob he is. I grimace at the white trickle going down his neck. With a satisfied gasp, he wipes his face.

"Did you actually get anywhere this time or did you play annoying best friend again," he asks.

"No," I cross my arms," I didn't plan to do anything anyways."

Ricky snorts," wimp."

"Hey," I bark," I'm not a wimp. I'm just a good guy trying not to ruin a good thing going for me."

"yea," he shrugs," a wimp."

I pout, grumbling under my breath as I try to think of something clever to say. Ricky just snorts again, heading towards the cupboards for a snack.

"Just go for it, you beating around the bush just leaves time for her to find someone better. She puts up with your stupid injuries that you cause just as an excuse to see her. Nut up and make a move," he suggests. I can't help but chuckle at the pun. It trails off as I grovel in self-pity some more.

"It's not that easy, Rick," I sneer," she can barely stand me, and asking for more than what we have would be me just ruining something good. If all I can get is once a week with her then I'll take it. She doesn't need some idiot pulling her back anyway."

Ricky glares at me but shakes it off as the argument goes in circles. I adore Valerie, ever since she first fixed me up. She's so snarky and kind, I couldn't help but adore her. But, I'm nothing special and I know she finds me tolerable at best. I sigh, slacking in the chair.

Valerie

Bruce stops by sometime this week to grab his Junker car for the derby this weekend. With the bit of money he gives me I have enough to splurge on some necessities for the shop. I spend my day off cleaning up and ordering pieces online. Though I'm one for always working I enjoy getting to calm it all down every Tuesday. No customers to argue with, pieces of shit cars to try to fix up. Just alone with some loud music.

I sweep the garage floor, startled at the bot standing by the front door. Jumping nearly out of my skin I pause the music and catch my breath. Tenna laughs at me as I hold my hand to my chest.

"If I wasn't mistaken I think I scared ya," he teases.

"Yea," I shout," not shit." Tenna gives me a moment to ease my racing heart before continuing his teasing.

"You humans are just so jumpy. Scared of your own shadow," he snickers.

I scoff, setting the broom aside," cause you're any better? I remember vividly you whimpering over me replacing the pistons on your back."

"Hey," he barks, pointing to me," being in pain and getting scared are two different things and I wasn't whimpering. If I was, it was because you don't have a gentle bone in your body."

I wave him off," excuses, excuses. What do you want anyway?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets he walks further into the shop," was just passing by and figured you could be of help in fixing the dent on the back of my head. You see, the ladies don't find the battle wound charming."

I snort," battle wound? Falling onto concrete sounds extremely heroic."

"Saving poor old men from cracking their skull on the sidewalk sounds pretty damn heroic," he defends himself. I smile, waving him over to the workbench.

"I'd recommend stopping with the 'heroics' though. You're in here nearly every week with some 'battle scars'," I scold halfheartedly. He sits down at the bench as I circle him to check out the dented metal on his head. Grabbing him and tilting him forward I see what I can do.

"Not my fault I'm such a good person," he grumbles. I snort, shaking my head.

I try just removing the dent the old fashion way, pulling it back into place. With that not working I remove the piece and try to hammer it back. That just makes it look worse. As all else fails I set out to make a new piece. I sort through some scrap I have mashed together in a milk crate. Jabbing myself on different bits of loose metal I find a sheet perfect enough to mold.

All the while I'm working I can feel Tenna's gaze on me. It makes me fumble with my work as I feel pressured by his attention. I want to seem smart and capable around him but he has a tendency to leave me flustered. I bite my cheek and try to think of something else while I cut the sheet of metal.

With the piece made I head back over, ready to try and perfect it. I stand behind him, tilting his head back down.

"Anything new lately," I ask him to fill the silence. He shrugs.

"I've been trying this new drink for bots, it's supposed to keep the inners all clean and oiled," he answers.

"Yea, how's it taste," I ask, knowing how picky he can be.

"Like shit. It's like they make us taste everything but won't put the effort into making things we can eat good," he huffs," it's almost insulting." I hum in answer. I lose track of the conversation for a bit as I walk off to smooth the edges so it can click into place.

"So Christmas is next week," I shout from across the shop.

"Yea, and?"

"What do you me 'yea, and', are you not doing anything," I ask.

He shrugs," what is there to do? Ricky is heading off to his parents then and I'm left alone till he comes back."

I nod in understanding. Ricky is Tenna's only friend. Though I have no room to talk, Tenna is my only friend. I fiddle with the piece in my hand as I ponder asking him to spend his holiday here. Surely that's a stupid question, why would he want to spend his day with me?

"Besides, it's a family holiday. As you know I lack in that department," he tries to joke. I swallow a comforting comment.

Walking around him again I set the piece, admiring the handiwork. I turn to the workbench for some spray paint to keep the color scheme. Though I've replaced most of his parts with scarp I do try to keep it presentable. I shake the can as I fight back the urge to invite him. It's a waste invitation, he wouldn't want to. I sigh.

"Tenna," I start, he hums," do you want to spend Christmas here with me?"

He straightens at the question, asking defensively," Why?"

"What do you mean why," I bite back.

"What do you mean 'what do you mean'? Why are you inviting me to your human celebration," he barks. I scoff, spraying the back of his head quickly.

"You're going to be alone and I thought it would be a nice thing for me to do," I answer.

"Oh, how giving of you. Don't put yourself out just for me," he folds his arms. I toss the can onto the desk, circling to his front.

"What is your problem, I'm just being nice," I sneer.

He glares up at me," I don't want the charity. I imagine you have better people to spend this time with."

"Oh yea, cause I'm drowning in friends right now. Got a family halfway across the country and no money to get to them. I'm spending this time of year alone and you of all people should know that," I shake my head, holding up my hand before he can speak," know what, never mind. Didn't know having to spend Christmas with me would be such a hassle."

His shoulders drop as he begins to stand," I didn't mean it like that, Val-"

I stop him," No, it's my fault. Should have known better. It's my bad." I turn on my heels and make my way to my office, Tenna trailing after me.

"Valerie, I didn't mean it that way. I was-," I interrupt him again.

"Fucking aye, Tenna, I get it," I snap," I fixed your stupid head, you can leave now."

Tenna tries to get in another word before I slam the door in his face. I stomp to the desk, collapsing in my chair as Tenna tries to knock on the door. His words are muffled but constant. I ignore him either way, stewing in my hurt feelings like a petulant child. Damn robots.

Tenna

I reluctantly leave her place, feeling like utter shit as I do. I hardly meant for it to come out like that but I couldn't help but get defensive. She wanted to spend her special holiday with me? Surely that had to be pity. I never want her pity, that alone stings more than anything.

I walk home, feeling the cold air more than before. Heading into my home I go straight for my room to stew in my ignorance for a little longer. Falling onto my bed I groan as I recall the conversation. How can I be such a fool? Rolling onto my side I rub at the new plate sitting on the back of my head. She always fixes me right up. Not once has she said no. I smile to myself before the image of the door slamming in my face came back. I groan again.

A while later I come out of my room to speak with Ricky, finishing with my moping for the time being. I find the slobby man lounged on the couch watching tv. Falling into the chair across from him I let out an exaggerated sigh. Ricky pretends to not notice so I do it again. With a roll of his eyes, he mutes the tv, turning to me with a fake smile.

"Hello, how may I help you," he says with great theatrics. I rest my cheek on my palm.

"Valerie's mad at me," I answer. Ricky tosses the remote down the couch, clenching his jaw.

"Yea? What did you do," he asks. I don't bother pretending I did no wrong.

"She asked to if I wanted to spend Christmas with her and I got all in my emotions about it," I grumble. Ricky scoffs, looking at me bemused.

"Your girl asks you to spend a holiday with her and you got pissy," he sits up, throwing his feet onto the floor," are you dense? Your girl asks you to spend time with her outside this stupid arrangement you two have and you don't immediately say yes and jump for joy?"

Well, when you say it like that I feel like more of an asshole. I lean forward and groan into my hands. I'm truly a fool.

"I couldn't help it. It felt like she was doing it because she felt bad and I couldn't handle her feeling like she had to do that," I clarify. Ricky barks out a humorless laugh, reaching over for a pillow and tossing it at me.

"You fucking idiot," he barks," what does it matter if she felt bad for you? If a girl wants you to spend time with her then the answer should always be yes!"

"I'm aware of that now," I shove the pillow aside," you know I suffer from lack of filter from brain to mouth."

He snickers," as do all men."

"so what should I do?"

Ricky stands from the couch," go back and apologies then kiss her like the lovesick fool you are."

"Be serious, please," I fall back against the chair. Ricky walks past, heading to the kitchen.

"I am. You keep beating around the bush and you need to be direct. Tell her how you feel- or better yet, show her how you feel- and then you two can get down to fucking like rabbits in her garage," he answers, shouting as he rounds into the kitchen. I stumble on my retort as I think about having my way with her in her shop. Her sweaty body against mine as I listen to her sweet cries of pleasure. I nearly short circuit at the thought, drooling if I could.

Ricky comes back in, hitting me on the head," Stop that, I don't wanna see if a robot can get a boner."

I shoo his hand away," shut up. That's a stupid plan."

He falls to the couch with his bowl of mixed snacks," compare to your year-long plan of injuring yourself I'd say it's fucking genius." I chuff, looking towards to tv in thought. They aren't stupid plans, they've worked every time. Even when she's been mad at me I've managed to get back in there to apologize with a well-placed missing wire. I snap my head to Ricky.

"There's an idea," I smirk," she has never said no so far." Ricky looks from the tv back to me, gawking before sneering.

"No," he points at me," don't chase that thought. For the love of God, just talk to her. You are making this harder than it has to be."

I rest my elbow on my knees," no, no. it will work. Just need your help trying to break something easily fixable and-"

"NO," he jumps up, slamming his bowl on the table," I'm not going to keep helping you hurt yourself just so you can go see her. I'm fucking done with this childish game. You need to get your shit together and talk to her like a damn adult."

I stare at him for a moment, caving quickly," but Ricky, just be a bro one more time. I promise I'll try to make some headway but for right now I just need to get her to talk with me and sh-"

"Tenna," he shouts," I can't keep doing this! I'm fucking done." he storms out the room. I shout after him, trying to plead before he slams his door. Huffing I fall back into the chair, looking to the space in thought. Well, that didn't work.

Valerie

I stew for the week, growing angrier as Christmas nears. The one time I try to reach out to him as more than his mechanic he shuts me down. How could I even hope for a second that he would see me more than that? Under the feeling of rage I have the weak sensation of disappointment and pain.

Wanting an actual friendship wasn't asking for much, right? It's not like I confessed my feeling, laying myself bare for him to judge and reject. It was a simple invitation for us both not to spend this time of year alone. I scoff, slamming my tools round harder than needed.

"Don't fucking need him anyway," I grumble," far too busy to spend Christmas with him." it's a lie but it does make me feel better. I can use the free time sorting through that horrendous filing cabinet. Yea, that's a good way to spend my day off.

I power through the week working on odd jobs, secretly holding out for Tenna to walk through the door. He never does though, staying away the whole week while I continue to stew. I don't miss him, no, far from it. It's just quiet around here, that's all. I sigh at the lie.

Christmas eve leaves me cold and alone. I try to work, keeping with the minor distractions till I'm just left numb. Some self-pampering is needed. I make myself a hot chocolate, sitting on my couch, and playing Christmas music throughout the shop. I mumble along to the overly repeated songs as I sip my drink, chewing on some marshmallows.

"Merry Christmas to me," I groan.

Nearly asleep I jolt awake at a pounding at my door. The cold leftover bit of cocoa spills on my blanket as my muddled brain tries to sort out what's happening. The pounding sounds again from the front entrance, followed by some shouting. Scared, I grab a tall wrench off the workbench as I head to the door. The second the entrance is inches open does the person on the other side barge in.

A sloppy-looking man charges in, carrying a tarp behind him. I scowl at the guy, barely noticing the heap of metal strewn across the blue tarp.

"Excuse me, what are you doing," I snap. The man lets go of the tarp with a heavy grunt.

"Help him," he glares down at the heap on the tarp. I finally take a moment to look, gasping at the sight.

"Tenna," I drop to my knees, grabbing at him. He is laid wrecked on the ground, not moving. The lights in his eyes are dim but still there. It's a minimal relief but the black scorch marks up his arms aren't.

"What happened, who are you, why is he-," I try to ask.

"He fucking shocked himself with a socket, and I'm Ricky. Now fix him so I can kick his ass when he's alright," the man growls. I nearly recoil at his volume but I can't look away from Tenna. Focusing, I grab at his arms, tearing off the panel to see the damage done. There are plenty of popped fuses, the wires leaving black marks where they meet. I reach in to find the most damage, throwing my hand back as the metal burns my fingers. I press my hand to his chest, wincing at the heat.

"He's overheating," I say as I jump up. I run over to my office, grabbing plyers and a screwdriver.

"Yea, what does that mean," Ricky asks, panicked. I shoo him aside, falling to my knees besides Tenna. Reaching for his torso again I slide his shirt up to his chest and begin to pry the plate off. Using the screwdriver I manage it easily. Looking at his bare inners I use the plyer to dig in the tiny hole near his artificial heart. I press the button deep down in there, turning him off. The light dims from his eyes as his body shuts down. The barely-there glow of his pupils is a faint relief.

"What are you doing," Ricky shouts," why did you turn him off, is he dead?"

I scoff," he isn't dead, or he better not be. I shut off most of his main functions so he can cool off while I fix the wires that he popped. He is technically still on but it's minor functions, mostly."

"Mostly," Ricky barks," can you fix him?"

"Of course I can fix him," I answer with false confidence. I think I can fix him. I'm sure as hell going to try because if this idiot dies on me I'm going to turn his body into a coffee machine. No, he won't get out of this that easy.

"yea, ok," Ricky answers, shaking a bit. Before I can start on Tenna I turn to Ricky.

"It's going to be ok, I got this. Why don't you grab my tools off the bench while you tell me what happened," I ask calmly. He nods, stumbling over to the bench while I pry off the plating on both arms. Ricky passes me the set, sitting down at Tenna's feet. I wait for him to start.

"I found him in his room after I heard a loud pop. I didn't think it came from him but when I saw him laid out jerking around on the floor I couldn't think. Gods," he rubs his face," I could kill him for putting me through that."

I rip the worn wires out, stripping them and re-welding them to his body," what did he do?"

Ricky scoffs, turning away," fucking shocking himself with the outlet. I swear, he is like a child sometimes." I scrunch my face up confused.

"Why would he do that," I ask.

"Because of you," he answers easily. I snap my attention to him, defensive and confused.

"Because of me?"

Ricky looks at me, fighting with himself before he reluctantly answers," this idiot has been making up every excuse to see you."

"So he shocked himself to see me," I ask, not really getting it.

"Shocked, maimed, dented, sabotaged. You name it, he had done it just so he had a reason to see you," he shrugs. I finish with one arm, leaving the plates off to let it cool. I start on the other side.

"Why would he do that," I wince as I burn my finger again. I feel Ricky's heavy gaze on me. Turning to him he sighs.

"Because he is in love with you and only idiots in love do stupid shit like this," he gestures to Tenna. I bark out a laugh, startling Ricky.

"No, that's not it. Why did he really do this," I shake my head amused. This hunk of junk couldn't be in love with me. That's funny in itself to assume such.

"He's in love with you. Has been since he met you," he answers. I scoff.

"I doubt that very much. He has been nothing but an ass, only coming to visit when he needs something. I consider him a good friend but I know he only sees me as his mechanic," I try to smile through the bitterness. Ricky laughs, throwing his head back as he busts a gut.

"Are you kidding me," he snickers," you two are exactly the same! Two idiots who just don't get the other."

I sneer, finishing up the wires before grabbing my soldering kit. Surely Ricky is mistaken, Tenna isn't in love with me.

"So, Valerie, are you in love with him," he asks with a big grin on his face. I fluster at the question, making him laugh again. "I fucking knew it. To think, I never met you and could tell you were as enamored with him as he is with you. If only he took my advice then you two would be spending your Christmas humping like lovesick teens," he chortles. I fluster more, wanting to roll up into a ball.

I solder the last wire, grumbling under my breath at everything. How can he go and do something like this? And just to get my attention? If what Ricky said is true then Tenna is more of an idiot than I thought. He never gave any hint that he liked me, let alone loved me. I spent the whole year feeling like shit because I adored this idiot, thinking he couldn't even give me a second glance. When he wakes up he is going to have an earful.

As I put away my tools I grab the plyers again. Stretching over his chest I press the thin tip into the hole, pressing the button. I wait for the telltale sign of his rebooting but there is nothing. I press it again, holding it before releasing. Nothing. Before I can push it again there is a loud drawn out beep.

"What's happening," Ricky jumps to attention. I don't answer, having the same question myself. Leaning over his body I stare into his eyes, the dim light extinguishing completely. My heart plummets, a cold chill running up my spine.

I jump up, bolting across the shop for my trolley. Ricky stands, asking too many flustered questions as he watches me wheel the trolley over. I grab the jump-started off the middle shelf, slamming it a tad too hard on the floor. Reaching for the two clamps I attached them to Tenna's chest. I look at the machine, ready to turn the knob. Before I can start, I check Ricky, making sure he isn't in danger of being shocked as well.

I turn the knob, a charge running through Tenna. I hold it for a few seconds. Leaning over Tenna I look for his lights, seeing none I try again. I mumble under my breath pleas and prayers. Checking again for a light I truly panic.

"No, no, no," I readjust the clamps on his body," you do not get to do this to me, you damn idiot!" I twist the knob again, asking any higher power for this hunk of junk to start.

"What's going on, is it working," Ricky asks unhelpfully. I ignore him, sitting in my own fear. I twist the knob, antsy as I wait.

It's a harsh few seconds of nothing. My heart feels like it's squeezing, threatening to pop with such force. A litter of please escape my lips as my eyes sting. He can't do this to me, he fucking can't.

"You son of a bitch," I whimper in anger," I do not deserve to find out you love me too and then have you die on me. You damn piece of shit, reboot!"

I twist the knob again, perhaps turning it a tad too hard. His body gives a sudden jolt, convulsing for a moment before he sits upright.

"Motherfucker," he shouts, clenching at his open chest. He tears off the clamps, curling into himself as he shudders. I can't describe the utter joy I feel at hearing him speak. Without much thought I grab him, pulling him into a hug. He tilts into my hold, still shaking and clenching his chest.

I grab his face, turning to me," If you ever scare me like that again I will turn you into a metal scrap cube." before he can answer I smash my lips again his less soft ones. He grunts in surprise, nearly recoiling. I hold him firm, annoyed and overjoyed all at once. Tenna melts into the actions, the hands curled against his chest grabbing at my shirt to tug me closer.

"Aw, that’s sweet," Ricky tease, smacking Tenna on the back of the head," glad you're alright but if you do that shit again I'm turning your scrap cube into a toilet." Tenna parts from me, smiling up at his friend.

"Wouldn't expect anything less," Tenna chuckles.

Ricky nods, rubbing snot on his sleeve," see you at home."

"You're leaving," I ask, watching him head to the door.

"Yea, you two have a lot to talk about. I'll get my words in later when he isn't high off you," he waves dismissively. As Ricky shuts the door behind himself Tenna and I are left in tense silence.

I look to Tenna, happy to see the bright glow in his eyes. He was nearly lost to me, left to be just a piece of fine metal on my floor. I smile at him, he returns the gesture. I then punch him in the chest, wincing at the metal. He winces, curling into himself again.

"Ow, let's not punch the injured man," he snaps. I growl at him.

"Wouldn't be injured if you weren't such an idiot," I snap," Of all the moronic things I know you're capable of, this tops the list. What were you even thinking? You could have been wiped, gone forever at Tenna the robot. Left at factory reset as a blank slate. God, I could kill you right now for being so blasé about hurting yourself!"

"I did what I had to do, ok," he bites back," it's not my fault that it's the only way you would give me the time of day."

I scoff, pushing him away," only time? Excuse me but I don't think you even bother trying a different way. Not once did you stop by for a casual chat or asked me out for some dinner. Hell, I've never even been to your place. I'm not the one in the wrong here just because you're an idiot!"

Tenna groans, starting up a sentence before backing off with a shake of his head. He tries again, falling short once more. In the end, he grabs for me, tugging my reluctant self into a hug. He drops his forehead to my shoulder, holding me sweetly.

"I'm sorry," he says simply," I've been reckless and unrefined ever since I met you. It's not your fault, I'm just a fool who has no idea what he's doing."

I tug him closer, petting at his back," yea, but you are the fool I fell in love with."

He squeezes tighter, rubbing his face against me. Tugging me into his lap we take the silent moment to bask in the glow of just being alive. I'm livid with him, beyond belief am I angry, but I nearly lost him today. That alone is enough for me to just sit in his lap and hold him.

"Do you really love me," he mumbles near my ear. I pet the back of his head, pressing a kiss to him.

"Sadly," I tease. He chuckles, leaning back to look in my eyes. He slants his lips against mine, timid and slow as he does.

"Well, I'm happily in love with you too," he says against my mouth. I tug him in for the next kiss, leisurely licking his lips and cupping the back of his head. We part only for us to rest against the other.

"I'm really sorry though," he nuzzles my head," I feel like a great idiot now."

"Truly the king of idiots, actually," I joke. He smiles, nodding in agreement.

"Can you forgive me," he asks. I nod.

"My biggest flaw is I can never say no to you," I say," it will surely be my undoing."

Tenna smiles big and wide, hands falling down to my hips to tug me close. We kiss like lovesick fools we are, straying off any more words for the enjoyment of just being here. Somehow we make it to the couch where he corners me against himself and the cushion. I fall asleep to him playing with my hair. Before I can succumb to rest I mumble to him.

"Merry Christmas."

He presses a gentle kiss to my head," Merry Christmas, love."

[huearmy]

Life is Beautiful - III

Summary: You are a glass half full person, your life motto is “Life is too short to… Insert something and anything here”. During your whole life you wanted something more, and even not knowing what it is, you put yourself to find out and get it, experiencing everything  brilliant that the world offers - within the measure of what is safe, of course. The curious thing is that your way of living ended up rousing  the interest of two vampires. One who sees beauty in everything and  loves to exist, currently working with suicide prevention; and another one who no longer sees grace in things, in that boring immortality that never ends, and only complains about the Netflix catalog all the time.

Pairing: Jimin x reader / Taehyung x reader.

Genre: fluff, angst, mature (not really a smut i guess?)…

Words:   8k+.

Rating: +18

Warnings:    As much as my writing is soft and light, and as these are not the main  topic of the story, treated in a non-descriptive way, there are sensitive themes from the beginning of the first chapter to the end of the fic that can trigger sensitive people, like depression, suicide, addictions in general - Jimin literally works at a suicide prevention center here.  SO PLEASE! Read responsibly, my intention when dealing with topics like  this is always 1) dealing with them in myself, as a way of putting out  part of my own healing process 2) generating identification in other  people, so they can go through the difficult time a little less alone.  THIS IS A STORY THAT SEES THE WORLD WITH POSITIVITY.

Chapter I Chapter II -

As soon as Jimin left for his date with you, giving one last thanks kiss on Taehyung's cheek, the house suddenly became darker and too huge, all the colors and brightness going away with Jimin's presence.

Even after a few minutes Taehyung was still on his spot in the middle of the living room, where he wished his best friend luck. What should he do now? How should he spend his empty time? He looked around, bored eyes not fixing on anything in particular. He slowly walked to the kitchen, just because it was the first door in front of him, and without thinking at all, opened the fridge. Since it was the refrigerator of two vampires, obviously there was only one thing inside, a few bags of blood labeled by type, and nothing more but empty space. It had been a few days since the last time Tae had eaten, and it was nowhere near as much as he was used to consuming, or as much as Jimin wanted him to take. He could feel his stomach empty, but he had no desire to take even a drop, almost feeling sick at the idea. He closed the fridge.

He sighed. A whine caught his attention to the floor, a tiny, cute, confused Yeontan looking up at him.

"You would never leave me, right?" Tae asked with a pout. The puppy just whined again. Tae picked him up, right in front of his face. "I need to find a way to turn you into an immortal creature."

With the little dog firm in his arms he got back to his room, seeing no other option on what to do than play video games till Jimin's return. His colorful neon set up welcoming waiting for him. Games are just uninteresting as series and movies, but at least playing online, with unknown, and often hostile, people, he feels a little less lonely. He has kind of some friends or so called, he doesn't really know any of them, never have met them in real life - he doesn't even want to - but it's been a while since they occupied an important part of Tae's existence, just for being his company.

He played with the loud people till around four in the morning, keeping himself silent in the call for most of the time, just hearing them teasing themselves and picking silly fights over nothing from time to time, talking only when someone talked directly at him. Then the mortals one by one go to bed, and he goes all alone again. Even Yeontan is soundly sleeping.

What should he do now? And why didn't Jimin come home yet? It had been more than ten hours since he left... He got into the bad habit of getting home in the morning, betting on running in the sun, almost killing Tae with worry. Maybe he had so much fun that he lost track of time, maybe there's another cat to find... But what if something bad happened? Should dates take so long to end? Should Tae call? He never calls, today shouldn't be any different... Maybe he would get in the way of something fun or important, the last thing he wants is to bother Jimin...

At the end Taehyung was standing by the front window, hiding behind the curtains, not moving a muscle, waiting, as usual. The street was empty, no light coming from the other big beautiful houses's windows, no cars or pedestrians to observe, yet that was what he was doing. The dark sky started to light up, his eyes adapting to it, the sun showing up painfully slowly. A movement caught  Tae's attention, his side neighbor taking the trash out, like he always do on tuesday and thursday, and in the other days the old man still wake up pretty early and sit at his porch to watch the sun rise, drinking coffee, with his old cat on his lap. Taehyung saw him in this routine with three different old cats at different times. The old man practically dragged the black bag of garbage and himself down the sidewalk to the dump, with short and slow steps he went. As always. Maybe there was something wrong before and Tae didn't notice, maybe it was because of the wet grass and mud formed by the storm the night before that they still didn't dry, but the old man fell a few feet from the curb, and for some reason he wasn't trying to get up.Like, he was moving in some way, but wasn't getting up.

Taehyung waited, not blinking an eye as he stared at the man struggling on the ground, immeasurable torturing seconds. Then the man stopped moving at all. And something kicked inside Tae. He didn't even think, he couldn't. He was unable to stop and reason about it, or control his own body... To look out the window and notice that the sun had risen enough to illuminate the front door that he was now opening at full speed. When the sunlight touched his skin, it burned like hell, forming instant painful blisters, but he didn't hesitate and just ran outside. Straight to the old man, catching him without stopping and then crashing their both bodies on the porch.

"Hey, are you ok?" Tae choked, feeling his lungs burning. "Sir!"

The man didn't respond, instead he was emitting weird choking sounds, heart not beating the right way. Even before his self isolation, Tae didn't have too many experiences with mortals than casually knowing them and drinking from them, he knows they are fragile, but he doesn't study or get interested like Jimin, he didn't know what was happening. Was this man having a heart attack? A stroke? What should he do? He doesn't know the symptoms of their diseases... Jimin would know... But now Taehyung was all alone and half of his mind was focused on his aching skin that seemed to be melting into the sun itself. With his trembling hand Tae reached to his phone in his hoodie's pocket, already dialing.

"What is your emergency?" A voice came from the other side.

"H-hello... Good morning... I..." He stammered. "My neighbor passed out in... infront of his house. He is not ok. He is old."

"Noted. Please calm down. Can you tell me your address so I can send an ambulance?"

"Sure..." Tae recited the address he only uses to purchase things on the internet. "It's a big white house, with a big porch."

"An ambulance is already on it's way."

"Thanks..."

Taehyung tried to sigh in relieve, but now he couldn't stop thinking about his own bad situation. The porch was providing shadow for him to hide, but for how much time? And when the paramedics would come and see him like that, what would they do? He didn't have the strength to run back home, the morning sun is not so strong, but exposing himself to it's light twice is suicide. And he couldn't enter the neighbor's house, there was no one to ask permission to. There wasn't no one to ask for help. He was going to die alone. When Jimin arrived from his date all he would be able to find would be Taehyung's ashes... Nothing more...

"Jiminie..." Tae was crying now, dialing the only number registered in his contact list.

Just one second - literally - later his friend's voice greeted him.

"Yes?" Jimin's voice came like a whisper, a happy, satisfied smile audible in it.

"Jimin? Are you coming home?" Tae tried to sound calm, so he wouldn't ruin everything with Jimin date experience and all, but his voice betrayed him, showing nothing but the fear he was feeling. He just didn't want to bother.

"Tae, what's wrong?" Jimin mirrored his feelings now. Tae breathed once, the air burning inside, and then practically vomited the words of nervousness. "I'm outside, on our neighbour's porch. I can't go back inside... The sun will reach me, Jimin. I don't know what to do." He was panicking, the world around him was spinning, getting him overwhelmed.

"Keep on where there are shadows no matter what. I'll be there soon. Don't cry ok?" Saying to him not to cry had the exact opposite effect. Once again, vampire's tear ducts are basically dry - especially after almost being charred, their bodies retain all possible liquid - but the other symptoms of crying happen, and it can be quite dramatic from the outside, as if they were faking it. But the sobs and the lump in Taehyung's throat were very real.

"Jimin?" He called,he could hear Jimin and another voice on the other end of the phone, but he wasn't paying attention, he couldn't, instead his eyes fixed on the line of the sun on the wall, approaching him and the faint neighbor. "Don't leave me alone..."

"Just go, your friend needs you."   Tae looked around, searching for a place to hide, finding nothing but the old man's rocking chair, it wouldn't do much to cover him from the sun, but was his only option. He crawled across the floor to the chair, knocking it over with a loud sound of wood hitting wood, and laid curled up like a ball behind it.

"Jiminie?" Tae voice sounded petrified, he really was. After decades not stepping out  the house, the very first time was at minimum trumatic. "Yeah? I'm here."

"Can we stay on the call till you get here?"

Taehyung was terrified. They both were. If he was going to die he didn't want to be alone. He was feeling so pathetic.

"Of course, my soulmate." Jimin said, as soft as he could. "I'll be there in no time tho, so it'll be a short call. Don't worry."

"Please, drive safe." Tae whispered.

Jimin laughed, not a really fun laugh.

"I always drive safe, Taehyung, safety first."

"Liar." Tae pouted.

"Well, how can I save you if I don't pierce some red lights on this beautiful not so busy morning?" Jimin questioned, trying to bring some humor to the conversation.

Taehyung sighed, feeling the heat of the sunlight approaching him.

"You won't be able to save me if you get in a crash... How much time?"

"One minute." Jimin was tense.

"Ok."

Coming from the end of the street, around the corner, the ambulance with the siren on approached and stopped in front of the house. Two people in paramedic uniforms ran towards the porch with their equipment, heading straight for the old man lying by the door. Tae hugged his legs against his chest to get smaller, hoping they wouldn't' see him hiding behind the chair and just do their saving people thing. "Oh my god! There's another person here!" The paramedic woman said in horror, probably shocked by Taehyung's very burned skin. "Sir are you ok? Can you hear me?"

Tae whined. What if they try to put him in the light?

Before the woman could even get close to him, another high-speed car came from the end of the street, screeching, and instead of stopping beside the curb, like the ambulance, the sports car driver climbed onto the sidewalk parking on the neighbor's grass. Jimin came out of the car covered by a big black umbrella, stride and the jaw tight. "Ignore our presence and continue your work helping the old man. You won't remember us as soon as we leave." Jimin ordered, his eyes shining colorful shades as the paramedics got hypnotized and obeyed him.

Half a second later he was beside Taehyung, replacing the chair, covering his friend with a long black coat.

"Taehyung... I'm here."

"Jiminie... You came."

"Of course." He helped Tae to sit up. "Can you get up?"

Tae nodded and with Jimin's help he got on his feet. In silence they both walked below the umbrella to the car, and then Jimin drove back to their underground garage a few meters ahead. If time seemed to run desperately fast before, now it has stopped completely, leaving everything in slow motion and numb. As the large door behind them slowly closed they were swallowed by the darkness of the garage, their silhouettes static and tense, the only sound being soft aching whines. Gradually Taehyung's senses returned, he became aware of his surroundings, the other cars parked in a row, the light from the corridor coming through the door's frosted glass, the scratching of Yeontan on the other side waiting for them, the smell of a mortal someone who he did not know impregnating the whole car they were in... especially in the passenger seat he was in. He hadn't died in ashes, burned by the sun in a minute or less, and he didn't know what to feel about it, whether it was relief or awe.

After a long time Jimin sighed and left the car, one second later he was beside the other to help him. None o f them talked anything as both of them got up to the second floor, or while the bathtub filled with water and music was placed in the background to fill the silence.

"Take care as you wash that, and drink..." Jimin whispered, seating beside the tube as Tae got in, holding out a pack of blood to his friend.

Tea hissed as the water touched this burned skin, aches staying on its surface.

"Thanks." He took the pack, his voice little. Another long silence. "Aren't you going to ask what I was doing outside?"

"It hasn't even crossed my mind yet, to be honest. I was too worried about you..." Jimin pouted, resting his head at the side of the bath, facing the ceiling. "Thinking about it tho, is pretty obvious... Just be careful next time you help someone, please."

"I'm not good at it like you." Tae took a sip slowly, he was waiting to be scolded by Jimin, for some reason. "Sorry to make you come earlier, this way... I didn't mean to screw your date..."

It made Jimin smile. "You are the most important and constant thing in my life Taehyungie." He took a deep, full of emotions, breath. "And you didn't screw anything, Y/N was super understanding even if she was just half awake, and I can just talk to her later and make things out. She knows you are everything to me."

Tae just humed.

"How does she know I'm everything to you?"

"I told her. Silly"

"Cool." Tae's lips formed a tin timid smile, that's a nice thing to hear after such a stressful experience after all. "Hum... Can you wash my back? I can't reach it..."

Jimin knelt beside the tube and took a wet towel, taking all care to not put too much strength on his hands as he rubs Tae's injured skin. Almost like magic - almost - the water made the blisters to dismantle, releasing more ash on the surface, yet it would take a lot longer to heal properly. The better was just feeding and sleeping now, at least que floor was full of empty packs, perhaps as much as a healthy vampire should have taken in two months.Taehyung hissed when a specific one stung more when it burst.

"I feel like hibernating." He yawned.

"You should. Take all the rest you need." Jimin agreed, reaching for the hand shower, to also wash Tae's hair.

Tae closed his eyes as the water ran down his face.

"Will you stay close... taking care of me?" He asked in a small voice.

"Of course. We are a clan, we take care of each other hibernating bodies." Jimin joked.

And Tae laughed. What a rare, beautiful sound.

"A clan of two." ________________________________________________________________

You were waking yourself up with strong coffee in the kitchen, in pajamas - not that you slept in them, right, but it was your usual home clothes -, considering if you should spend energie making pancakes or just go back to bed and procrastinate to do all the house chores and study, and just daydream about last night instead, soon it would be lunch anyways... Your roommate, on the contrary, was in full swing, walking around with the vacuum. All her energy was draining yours, all you wanted to do was lie down and stare out the window with silly smiles gracing your face.

You drank all of your coffee at once before opening the latest rental listings you favored - all in the same region you already live in, or reasonably close to college. None of them make your heart warm as your current home, but you can't do anything about it, you need an apartment you can rent.

"Baby Y/N, There's a package for you down stairs." Lydia entered the kitchen.

"For me? I didn't order anything." You crooked your head in confusion.

She disappeared for a second on the corridor, then got back.

"I'm pretty sure it is for you... I'll get it for you." She smiled.

"Thank you, Lydia." You waved at her, calling her by the name she chose to herself inspired by the Beetlejuice movie.

Not wanting to be a vegetable all day, you got on your feet to wash your mug and then start your day properly. You have laundry to do, tons of assignments to catch up, and a new home to find. Maybe you should search for tiny student studios, you could live in just a claustrophobic room and bathroom for sure...

"The delivery guy was super cute. He told me it's a surprise someone sent you, that's why you didn't know about it."

"What the heck..." You laughed, feeling your heart skipping a bit.

Lydia placed a brown paper bag on the counter, clipped to the top of the package was a handwritten note in a letter you don't know, probably from someone at the establishment who sent it. You picked it, and as you started to read, a smile grew on your lips.

I'm still sorry we didn't have breakfast together, to make up for it I sent this little treat, I hope you like it, Sweetheart. - Jimin.

"No way, that's so sweet." Your roommate commented over your shoulder, where she read the note too, taking advantage of being much taller than you. You opened the package to find a beautiful slice of cake, it looked delicious. Apparently Jimin found the ultimate path to your heart. The part of you that like to be spoiled was dancing in happiness.

"You didn't tell me how the date went yesterday, but it must have been good..." She took the restaurant brochure from the bottom of the bag. It was an expensive establishment. "We did a lot of fun things..." You said with a smile with double meaning. "I'll eat this in my room! Bye!"

Said that you took the cake and ran back to your room on your tiptoes.You put it on the desk and took a selfie smiling beside it.

You: Thanx! <3 <3 <3

You sent the selfie and waited, unpacking the plastic fork that came with it, ready to taste. The reply, however, came faster than you expected.

Jimin: Can I call you now?

Could your heart burst even more? Instead of replying you called him already.

"Hey, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?" Jimin's sweet voice said.

"Like a baby. Thanks for the cake."

"Did you like it?" He was expectant.

"I don't know yet..." You were trying to open the plastic packaging with one hand, and failing miserably. You couldn't hold a self pity laugh to escape. "Just a sec."

You put your phone down and opened the cake packaging and taking a bite, a delicious bite. Still chewing you got the phone back at your ear.

"I like it." You decreed with your mouth full.

"Good." Jimin's voice dropped an octave, and it took him a while to continue. A very low music played in the background of the call. "You're not mad, are you? Because I ran out this morning..."

To be honest you were a little bitter, yes, at first when you woke up in the empty bed you didn't remember talking with Jimin earlier, the memory came to your mind just when you were brushing your theet minutes later, but because of the reason presented, and because Jimin didn't show signs of being a guy just interested in having sex with you and then disappearing right away, you pushed the feeling aside and gave the benefit of the doubt. He gave you cake!

"Not at all, Jimin." You smiled, so he could hear it in your tone. "How is your friend? What happened?"

"He got burnt... While trying to cook. Boiled oil." Jimin faltered. "He will be ok in two weeks."

You got a seat on your bed.

"Oh. It was bad then." You never had worse burns than sunburn for not using sunscreen, the kind that peel off for days afterwards, so you couldn't even imagine. "Tell him I wish him to get well soon."

"I'll tell him. He is a baby when he's not well. I already took two week out of work so I can take care of him properly."

"Two weeks?" You tried not to pout. You wouldn't see him at work for two weeks, if you would see him at all.

"Or until he tells me he needs me." Jimin didn't notice your swing of humor. "So I was wondering, since I won't be seeing you at work... What do you think about me picking you up at the end of your shift to take you home? So we see each other as usual and you get home safely, and faster too."

You were not expecting this. "Jimin, you don't need to... No need for you to wake up late at night because of me..."

"I've traded the day for the night for centuries now, sweetheart." He laughed "I won't be sleeping at this time, it won't cost me anything to pick you up. On the other hand, I'll be able to see you."

If before you were a little bitter, now you were just sweet.

"We can also hang out another time... If you're free." You suggested. "Is that proposal to meet your dog still standing?"

"Of course, sweetheart. We can appoint that."

"Nice..." You look around, searching for something to keep the conversation up. You were not fast enough..

"I'll turn off. Ok?" Jimin said.

"Sure. I have tons of clothes to fold..." You let a self mockery laugh out. "Till soon."

"Bye bye."

He was gone. And you were alone with your expectations and a piece of cake. Still, your whole mind was full of Jimin to think of, so you fought your will to spend the day in bed after a long and hectic week, and a long and fun night, and got up to do your chores, putting on the headset and playing on the list of lively songs to tidy up the house. Is a super fun playlist you have, would it be nice to send it to Jimin? Maybe you should make a playlist for him... Yeah it would be nice. ________________________________________________________________

Jimin turned off the phone and looked at Taehyung's sleeping face. After the bath, he made his friend drink some more packs before putting him to bed, and only after he promised once again not to leave Taehyung alone, that he finally closed his eyes and let the deep sleep take him. Hibernation is to make the vampire stronger, so that they can heal from wounds or even emotional trauma, to rest fully as almost no other creature on earth can... But it is also the most vulnerable moment for them too, so great clans have great dungeons very well kept. Now, these two young vampires only have each other.

Tae's skin was full of round spots the color of recent burns, a pale pink, not pretty, even if the boy himself is the most beautiful creature. His eyebrows were still tense, as if he's still afraid. "I'll be here when you wake up, silly." Jimin massaged the center of his forehead lightly, trying to make him relax, and brushing his hair out of his face. "I have nowhere to go."

At the very beginning, Jimin was alone, since his first memory. All by himself he lived as a wanderer. Until that man came and offered to take care of him, turning him into an immortal, in return all Jimin needed to do was call him a master and be loyal. There were others besides him, a girl very much like the master, a concun lady, a tall woman with long hair, a man with a serious face. The master called everyone a family, each had his role, as a joke, Jimin was the eldest son... Still, he was still alone. He never bonded with any of them, even if he tried.

One day he just walked away, all by himself, as a wanderer. The world was beautiful to see, to know about, to experience, even if all alone he would be happy living like this. He traveled and visited places he didn't even know existed, even after becoming a vampire the world was too small for him at first. Then he started to expand this world. Decades after his emancipation he met Taehyung on a train. The boy was a newly transformed vampire, lost, not knowing what to do or where to go, scared with all things that happened to him without warning. Unlike Jimin, who was a planned transformation, Taehyung had been an accident by a very inexperienced and foolish vampire, who didn't even see that his prey was not dead when he ran away. He was dealing with everything alone.

Jimin offered to take care of him, in return Taehyung should be his friend. They were the cure for each other's loneliness, and nothing in the world is more important than that.

So, for hours, lying next to his sleeping friend, Jimin stayed, and stayed. He would move from there only when the bloodthirsty sink in - or when Yeontan needed food etc. Never getting too far from Tae's room. ________________________________________________________________

Two days went by till Jimin felt his throat dry and stomach hurting and got down to the kitchen. The fridge was empty, literally, all packs ended after the incident. "I need to get more..." Jimin muttered to himself. "Dog food and snacks are also running out... And I could buy some... I'll make a list."

He pulled out a stool and sat down at the kitchen island, and opened his notes. Messages of yours popped up on the screen. You: hey. I wanted to make a dad joke.

You: about being tired

You: cuz im tired af

You: but im toooooo tired to think

You: [image.jpg]

Jimin opened the image of you with a sleepy face hidden by your hair and the hood of your hoodie, while you turns over a can of energy drink in a coffee cup. It was a cute fun photo. Since your date you both have been texting each other nonstop, as soon as you are awake and until you go to bed, your fun photos and not so fun jokes making him feel less lonely or bored or sad or weird. Jimin: I don't think this mixture is very healthy.

You: probably. but i didnt sleep.

You: tday is my shif!!!

You: i need to stay up :(

You: [image.jpg]

A photo of you in dramatic despair.

Jimin: I'll pick you up. Ok?

He put the phone down and stretched. Jimin is used to interacting with people every day, and having Taehyung when he gets home, and the last few days without that was enough for him to feel the change and be uncomfortable with it. He is a very friendly individual who needs other's presence, anything he has to do at home is too boring when there's no one to appreciate it. He likes to dress up stylishly to just go out to walk, just to feel handsome and gorgeous. Now he was bored. Still the idea of going out, letting Taehyung alone and unprotected, even for five minutes, was eating him inside.

You: r u sure?

You: you don't need

You: i said dat already.

Jimin sighed.

Jimin: Yes. I'm sure.

Jimin: I want to see you.

And he needed to get blood too. All he wanted you to say was something to motivate him to get out of house, or else he would be in this deadlock, not knowing what to do.

You: i want to see you too

That will do. Jimin's smile got wider.

Jimin: Then there's no reason to not give you a ride today. See you later, sweetheart.

He left the conversation with you and went to another whose contact was without a name or photo to identify. Jimin: I'm going to pick up my orders today. Please get everything ready.

As usual no answer. Jimin got back at writing down his “grocery” list, consisting of things for dogs, personal hygiene and cleaning products. ________________________________________________________________

Jimin finished dressing and looked in the mirror, beautiful as usual, but not feeling as good as always. He checked all the windows and doors in the house, to make sure they were tightly closed, emphasizing those in Tae's room. He checked if there was water and food for the doggie, and replaced the pee mat with a new one. Everything was in order, but he still felt anxious when he kissed his sleeping friend's forehead before leaving the house. "I'll be back soon... I'll just pick us some food." He whispered, feeling bad for half lying to Taehyung, even if he was unconscious, and feeling weird  about the idea of admitting he was leaving to also see you.

He left, letting the room's door open so Yeontan could enter freely, and went to the garage. He still hadn't taken the time to clean up the ashes from the burnt skin that was left in the seats of the car he was using, so he passed by it, choosing another one, a model not so sporty, but equally expensive.

The streets were silent and empty, as the clock showed it was three in the morning. The only real movement he saw was of bars and clubs, as he crossed the center of the city. One or another homeless man lying under a marquee, with his old blanket and cardboard protection. In other circumstances he would stop and interact. He tried to focus only on the music playing on his phone, his favorite among those on the playlist you sent him.

Jimin finally arrived at his destination, parking in a vacant spot in a practically empty parking lot, in front of a private hospital. He wore a shoulder bag from the back seat of the car, and bypassing the front door of the emergency area, he entered through an exclusive entrance for employees. No one would see him or notice his presence. Having done this hundreds of times and knowing the way by his hand, Jimin guided himself through corridors all the same and antiseptic until he reached a pair of doors with a "Blood Bank" sign on them. "Good night. I have an appointment." He politely said to the nurse at the front desk. "Is Seokjin here?"

"Good night. Yeah, is his shift today." She held out a key to him, sleepily looking up. She was a human, but she knew what he was and why he was there for.

"Thanks." He went through the corridor behind her, passed by the lab and the blood donation collection room, and called the elevator at the end. The only option to go was the underground. Six seconds and he was in a very clean room with a too white illumination. There was no one to be seen beside metallic cabinets and refrigerators, and also an empty metal table.

Jimin waited.

From a heavy metallic door came a man. A really handsome and gracious vampire in resident doctor uniform. As he saw Jimin an enormous charming smile spread on his face.

"Oh, you are early. I was  finishing to separate your order." He sang.

"Hi, Jin. Anything special today?" Jimin put his bag on the table, and his hands on his pockets.

Jin clearly noticed his bad mood and tension.

"Not really, there's a lot of O+ and some A+. We haven't had many different donations this past week."  Jin cruzou os braços. "But as usual I kept the ones with the most delicious smell for you, the very healthy ones. As you and Taehyung are picky eaters."

"That's why I only negotiate with you."

Jin smirked and left the room with the bag, back through the same door. He used to help young vampires, teaching them how to hunt properly, as the centuries passed he started his little business of blood selling, good origin, discreet and without victims. Despite working directly with customers at the local point, his scheme is huge, practically a monopoly.

Jimin looked at his fancy wristwatch, you would be out of your shift in a little bit more of half an hour, and he should stop by the grocery store in the way.

Jin came back with the bag obviously full now.

"Everything is sealed and refrigerated but put in the fridge as soon as possible." He said as always. "And send my kisses to Tae, he doesn't respond to my messages for days now. Sometimes I have time to play with him."

Jimin considered telling Jin about Tae's condition, but opted for not doing it. This issue was something for the two of them to deal, and only them.

"I'll tell him. He loves playing with you on call."

Jin noticed Jimin's hesitation.

"I know. Bye." He didn't comment anything about tho.

"Bye, Jin. ________________________________________________________________

You like your job, you really do. Is something you feel needed as you do it, powerfull, helpful. Is something you believe in. But now, after a whole day deprived of sleep, full of stress on college, not finding somewhere to live next month, and mostly, after the last call - a situation you want to forget - you are destroyed, Crying pathetically in the bathroom was the most coherent thing you could do. You just hoped the mental breakdown would come in a place other than the office bathroom, and preferably it would be at home, where you could cry yourself to sleep in your flower pajamas, hugging your stuffed dolphin.

You stopped to wash your face and tried to breathe calmly. It wasn't the end of the world, you can handle this. Your supervisor already released you a few minutes earlier - because you were no longer in a position to work - so all you had to do was gather your stuff and wait for Jimin to pick you up.

As usual, your heart accelerated just thinking about seeing him again, especially now that you are a thing, this feeling compared to anxiety and stress is just divine. You: i'll wait at the lobby.

You: was released earlier today

You threw some notebooks and pens into your backpack and locked your personal locker before checking your belongings again - be careful is never too much - and went down the hall to the stairs. Jimin: No need to wait. I'm already here.

You almost jumped the last stair steps to the ground floor, passed by the concierge's empty space behind the counter, and before running out, checked through the glassy door if you could see Jimin or his car. At first you didn't find him, and was about to text him again, but then he lowered the window glass and you can see him in another car, different from the other night. You gaped at him - you're a very impressionable countryside girl - and got into the passenger seat.

"Good night, handsome." You said, putting your heavy backpack on the floor between your feet.

"Good night, sweetheart." He lost no time and reached to peck you in the lips, slightly holding you chin with his fingertips. The butterflies in your stomach were crazy. He studied your face closely. "You look dejected, did something happen?"

His care made you smile.

"Stressful day, lot of little things. It got hard on me today, but just it." You shrugged, an amused tone in your tired voice.

"Want to talk about it?" He cupped your face with both hands. You did the same to him.

"Honestly I want to sleep." You giggled. "What about you? You don't look the best either."

He sighed. Your care made him happy too.

"Just feeling lonely and stressed too." He licked his lips, thinking what he could or could not say. "I don't like to be trapped at home. I need to take care of Tae, but he is...  not well to make me company, so I'll be lonely till he is ok."

You looked confused but tried to understand, choosing not to ask any more questions. Jimin didn't quite explain what happened to his friend, but it seemed like something serious, and if he didn't want to give you details, you wouldn't insist. "That's sad. I hope he is ok soon." You timidly pecked him, hoping this would make him feel better.

It worked. With a grin Jimin pulled away and started the engine.

"There is something I can do?" You asked, still wanting just to be sweet to him.

Jimin made thinking pout, and you wanted to take a picture of it, not fast enough.

"Spending time with me would be awesome." He answered, making you hum. Your routine is so busy and hectic that having time to see your friends is always a miracle, because you either have work and college stuff or you just want to sleep. You started to count on your fingers what your next break is so you can hang out with him. He continued, however, already having his own idea. "Why don't you come to my place to sleep with me?"

Your chin dropped, but it wasn't what you first thought.

"You want to sleep and I want company. If we cuddle it will be the best combination of our necessities being solved." He proudly smiled.

A soft smile fell into your face as you melted. Life is too short to deny cuddles with the guy you like on what you’ll now call your second date.

"Sure."

"Wait, really?" He looked at you with round happy eyes.

"Yeah. Of course. Just borrow me a pijama or something."

To get out of the way of your place he turned the wheel abruptly to enter a return that he was going to miss one second later, crossing all the lanes of the empty avenue. For a second you got startled but then you were giggling at how excited he was at the idea of taking you home. Well, you were excited to take him home too, nothing more fair. As you moved away from the city center, to more noble areas, full of beautiful houses and buildings, you started to expect that any one of them would be JImin's house, but he just kept driving, until you were no longer exactly in the city, and some mansions started to appear in the landscape. Looking at these huge, clearly expensive homes, you wondered how many bathrooms each has. Jimin, on the other hand, was considering what to do to feed you and make you comfortable, slightly freaking out because there's nothing to eat either in the fridge or in the cupboards other than a box of cereal he bought to win a collectible gift. Did he need to do something to make you feel more comfortable? He never received visits at home... "I need to tell my roommate and my mom that I'm not spending the night at home..." You murmured to yourself.

"Your mom too?" Jimin frowned. "Doesn't she live far away or something?"

You smirked looking at your phone.

"Our city is four hours from here, but I always ley her know where I am. So she is not worried. Besides, we talk all the time anyway..." "Oh." He thought about it. "You two are good friends."

You nodded.

"In the way of moms and daughters." You noticed the car was slowing down.

"Can I send her a photo of yours? Just so she knows your face?"

"Women have to be careful, right?" He commented, thinking that it is useful to know the face of the man that your daughter is seeing if something bad happens. He read a lot of things about it on twitter, and being a vampire himself he knows how bad things can happen too.

"Yep." You made a face. "But I want her to see how hot you are. She asked for a picture before but I didn't have a good one."

Jimin was between blushing and smirking. But vampires can't blush because the blood doesn't circulate, so you didn't see that reaction, just the burning look he gave you from head to toe. The butterflies in your stomach exploded and died. Before you could take the picture you noticed that you were now parking at a garage, and your chin dropped  at the sigh of six more cars - seven in total, counting the one you guys were inside. The garage itself was bigger than the apartment you currently live in. Just the idea of so much money intimidates you a little.

"Take a selfie, then." Jimin passed an arm around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"Ok." You did as said, the flash illuminating the inside of the car. "You are also photogenic."

"And you are beautiful." He looked at the photo with a cute smile. "Send it to me too. Come."

He left the car and you followed him closely behind, he carrying your backpack for you. He took off his shoes to get in, and so did you, wearing the pair of cloth slippers he offered you. You grabbed the sleeve of the black blouse he was wearing, despite the low light available looking at the whole house over his shoulder, the hallway, the living room, the stairs, everything huge and spacious, and you noticed too, with a very masculine yet artistic decoration. Definitely for you, only two people living in this whole space is strange. In your family you are in six occupying a much smaller house. Whas that a grand piano?

"It's a nice place." You thought you should say something. "Cool design."

"Tae is responsible for that. He's a very visual person."

"I see."

He took you to the second floor, straight to his room. He dropped your thing on an armchair and looked around, expectantly. It was cute, there were some plants and drawing like you sometimes see him doing at work, an ukulele on the wall... It was as you could imagine his room would be.

"I don't have a clue of how to make you feel comfortable... What should I do?" He was honest.

You smiled sweetly and took his hand on yours, and he knew if he had a beating heart it would have stumbled at the sigh.

"I'm ok. Comfy clothes to change would be nice tho."

He kissed your forehead with a grin.

"I can manage that." And he measured you from head to toe again, now really to get a sense of the size of the clothes he needed to get you. And then left through the pair of the closet's doors.

As you waited you kept looking around and took a seat on the king sized bed, you were tired after all, feeling your eyes heavy and feet hurting.

"Jimin where is the bathroom?" You barely articulated the words.

"What?" Jimin came back with some clothing in hand.

"Bathroom..."

He gave you a fondly look and deposited his clothes - a t-shirt slightly bigger than you and a soft fabric shorts that seemed to fit you - on your lap.

"Next door on the left, near the stairs to the attic." "Thanks." You picked the clothes and your toiletry necessaire and crawled out into the hall.

On the way there was only one door on the right side of the hall, which you hadn't noticed the first time you passed it. A door ajar with an ambar lamp light coming from inside. Without thinking too much you stopped to look and saw in a bed who you imagined to be the friend, Taehyung, sleeping in the center of another big bed. He looked like those illustrations of Snow White in the crystal coffin, beautiful, flawless, but pale as a corpse, the face emotionless. He looked so unreal, felt like if you touched him he would vanish away like a dream. You don't know how long you were looking at him, a few meters away, but you only managed to look away when your heartbeat became too loud in your ears. And only then did you realize that you had walked a few steps towards him. You hurried to the toilet and closed the door behind you as if something was chasing you. Looking in the mirror, you couldn't name what this feeling was. More than quickly and still shaking you changed, washed your face and brushed your teeth, and to go back to Jimin's room you were with his head down. He was already in bed waiting for you in a pair of silk pajamas, and frowned when you walked in. "Is something wrong?"

"Nope." You denied it too quickly, embarrassed to say something like 'I saw your sleeping friend in the other room and for some reason it made me nervous'. Then you smiled shyly and climbed into the bed. "Excuse me."

Jimin interpreted your fast heartbeat as shyness and pulled you close as soon he could reach you. You snuggled into him too, and your eyes felt heavy once again, the smell of him calming and slowing you down. Before you finished settling into a comfortable position you were asleep. ______________________________________________________________

Then you had your cute cheesy morning with Jimin, as you wanted. He was with his eyes open when before you, holding you tight as he scowled through his phone behind your head. You looked up and the first thing you thought about was how unfair life is. In addition to the slightly messy hair, Jimin was beautiful as always, without the sleepy face or puffy eyes of someone who just woke up, it gave you a mixture of emotions of ingenuity and admiration. You sure looked like a withered dumpling.

"Goomorning."  You murmured against him. "What are you doing?"

"We have no food, neither me or Tae cook, so I'm ordering you breakfast. Did you sleep well?" He kissed your nose, as he added croassaints to his order - he couldn't let you enter the kitchen and see all the literally empty cabinets, the only exception being a very suspicious bag, full of blood bags, inside the fridge, that he put there yesterday without you noticing, using his superhuman speed.

"Babier than yesterday." You reached for your cell phone too. "Shit, I have a seminar about neuro-physiology in fifty minutes... Where's a bus stop nearby?"

Jimin looked at you confused, for not understanding the reason for your question right away and then for having no idea what to answer. He doesn't take a lot of buses to know where they pass. "Don't worry about it, I can call you a car. And so it's time for you to eat without haste." As much as you enjoy being pampered and cared for, you are the type of person who feels guilty when others do it in excess, especially when they spend money on you. And you're starting to feel that way with Jimin. On the one hand you want to accept everything he may have to offer since technically you have no reason to deny it, but on the other hand your paranoid mind can think of several uncomfortable reasons. Your insecurities also arise to say that at some point a handsome, rich guy with two degrees like Jimin will eventually be bored with you, a poor, broken, screwed to finish your first graduation, so why not enjoy it while it lasts? Damn, that also makes you very guilty... That's why you only have poor and fucked up friends like you. Jimin raised his eyebrows at you, and then you realized that you hadn't answered anything yet, and just debated the subject a lot inside your own head. "Ah... Ok. Thanks." You stuttered. Your brain just wasn't about to form full phrases.

He holds you tighter.

"Don't be shy. You are keeping me company, the minimum is to guarantee your transport." He took your face in one hand and kissed you slowly, lazily, and you returned it with a sigh. With his lips still on yours, he whispered in a hoarse voice that made you shiver. "And if I don't treat you well, you won't be back... And I want you to..."

You were about to answer the flirt, but a sharp bark interrupted you.

"Puppy!" You sang, rolling to the edge of the bed to see a little dog with pretty expressive eyebrows barking and jumping beside it.  By the power of all the cute things in the world you spoke in baby voice. "Own... cute. Hi hi, buddie." "Come here, Tannie." Jimin whistled.

The puppy got rid of your  anxious for pets hands and ran to the other side of the bed, and appeared a second later, jumping onto the bed and over Jimin. You rolled back, also leaning on Jimin to look the other way. "Do you have a ladder for him to climb on the bed?" Jimin smiled with your enthusiasm about it. "The whole house is adapted to be accessible to his little tiny legs." He said. You put your hands on your chest. "Oh, no. My heart." Jimin sat up to peck you again before getting up, stretching slightly. "He wants to eat, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Just a sec." He picked up the dog and left.

You pouted for not playing anymore, but you understand, you were hungry too, and you had to get up and get ready soon to go to college, or else you would get late. You jumped out of bed, got your things and barefoot even ran to the bathroom. The door to the other room was now closed, yet you felt a shadow of the feeling of the night before and went by it as quickly as possible, without looking in the direction. After that, you took a quick shower, ended up borrowing a t-shirt from JImin, because to wear the same shirt from the previous day was out of the question, you had a great brunch from a expensive bakery that you had never heard of, played a little - too little - more with Yeontan, and went to college by car, something totally new to you. The rest of the day you were chased by the desire to see Jimin again, to go back to his house and stay there, in the bubble of good things he gives you, by the feeling that you somehow don't deserve it, and by the almost scary feeling  that you felt when you saw a complete stranger in his sleep.

Notes: I said I would update it before 2021! HAHAHA Sorry it took a whole life! IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO THE TAG LIST LET ME KNOW. FEEDBAKC IS GOOD TOO. ____________________________________________________________

Tag list: @ireallylikeyourwriting @angrygardenerr​ @depressed-dude20 @milktaetae95 @tangledsparkles​  @wlalsrkfla​ @minikolima​ @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ @midiplier

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 10 September 1839

4

9 20/..

F62 ¼° and fine at 4 20/.. had been up at 3 20/. for a few minutes – off from Keala [Kealanoja] at 5 28/.. very nice clean good Inn – good beds and eating in about ¾ hour steep pitch on the wood bridge and Gross would put the drag on – forbade his doing so again without my orders – at 6 ½ picturesque little low unpainted village and river – 1st stage road rather sandy or small red gravelly and more hilly than before – fine lake (fjord) ahead (right) – and we had a peep of it before – drizzling rain begins now at 6 35/.. picturesque rounded wooded hilly country the vale we wind along widish and well cultivated – dotted all over with barns – rye harrowed in in several directions on the same plot of ground wavy and crosswise and several ways in some of the fields -

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0027

September Tuesday 10 the little corn left out is I think oats – Guidepost

at Salå [Salo] indicates

Abo [Åbo] 55 w.

St. p- 565.

Helsingforss [Helsingfors] 155

Kiala 12 ½ here but 12 2/3 at Keala [[Kealanoja]

Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylä] 18 ¾  our next stage

at Salå [Salo] at 6 42/.. – small singular house – could not sleep – from here road hilly (pitchy) much young forest with mossy rocks Norway-like – and rud-red moss on the stones – cranberry (Lingboer) juniper and observed a little sweetgale John observed that here the juniper was quite fresh, and Sweden much withed! no truth in this – A- and I see little difference between here and about Stockholm – no corn to cut [seen] today and very little to house and we left much to cut between Falun and Stockholm everything quite as forward here as there – no maples (saw one solitary one afterwards) nothing but fir except birch and alder and a few Salleys about 7 55/.. pretty little shallow lake – the 2nd stage very pretty picturesque valley-winding drive – not much cattle out – but both horses and cows look chiefly chesnut – the [fine] wooded rocky hills very picturesque – our servants breakfasted before starting but not we – more sheep out this stage than before – little windmills everywhere scattered up and down in Sweden they are larger and near to towns –

vide Handbook p. 131 column 1 Road to Keala [Kealanoja] described as one that one should shudder at anywhere but in the north!!!

at 8 25/.. 1st gate and another a few minutes afterwards – In Sweden the roads blocked by them perpetually – on average 1 every ½ English mile or more and Norway almost but not quite so bad – no need of forbud – How much better than in Sweden! I see it is potato tops (they hang on the rails to dry for the cattle) that look so green and heavy on the rails I could not make them out yesterday – at 9 at Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylän]  a little low wood station house of no great promise but kitchen a part – some very tolerable rooms for us travellers and we stop to breakfast – no begrudging the time for 2

September

Tuesday 10

calêches at the door going off with each a pair of horses, and we must wait a couple of hours – Really one is much better off here in Finland than anyone ought to expect considerably the small means of the country – we like Finland – we have learnt our lesson as to roads and stations in Norway and latterly north of Upsala [Uppsala] and we are quite at home now – the roads so far very good – rather more heavy and hilly this last stage than before – the road from Åbo to Keala [Kealanoja] or Kiala very good and hardly a hill or pitch at all to our mind – I hear someone trying to tell Gross that 3 miles = 30 wersts from here there is an Inn kept by an Englishman – the drizzling rain that began about 6 35/.. last more or less till about 8 – breakfast coffee and boiled milk and bread and butter charged to John at first 3 ½ rubels – then in a bill to me 1 rigs. dollar and a half I would have it in rubels – he charged 2 rubels -  2 rubels = more than 1.24.0 rigsgold but paid it – and on my saying I would write my complaint the man turned pale and snatched away the book – he understood my saying in French he had no right to make out his account in Swedish money – I asked John what to write signifying that I was dissatisfied but he got off telling me, and both I and he got a little impatient about names of places and exactness of distances paid for 18 ¾ w. + 1/6 = 4/53 and the place called Lombala instead of Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylän] – Does that make 1/8w. difference? a civil fat traveller here came and gave us a currant wheat flour saffron sort of roll – would have been very good but for the saffron – off at 10 50/.. (Dont trouble this house again – the landlord would not give charge for a five Rubel bill when I wanted to pay for the horses but had plenty when I had to pay for breakfast) – good deal of forest this stage (sandy road) from Lombala to Olsbola [Olsböle] (17 ½ w.) on moss-covered rock as in Norway but still all young wood

at 11 50/.. village and wood bridge over river – we seldom pass thro’ villages but see them occasionally scattered at some distance from us tho’ the country not so populous as the north of Sweden –

vide Road book p. 161.  4 Runstyeken = 1 kopek

.:. 12 Runstycken or 1sk. B.  12 öre = 18kop.

= 3 kop. and 1 Dollar B. = 144 kop.    50 Daler = 24 Rubel

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0028

September Tuesday 10 if 4 Runstycken = 1kop. and .:. 3 kop. = 1 sk. Swedish banco then 1 Dollar B. = 48x3 = 144kop. but I received 181 kop. per D.B. at Åbo yesterday –

and the price offered at Stockholm was 41sk. rigs. per Rouble (32 Sk. banco) –

Bill at Lombala 1.24.0 rigs = 48+24 = 72sk. rigs

72/41 = 1 31/41 rouble or about 1 ¾ rouble instead of two Rubels that I paid – but reckon

2kop. = 1sk. rigs.

3 kop. = 1sk. banco

vide foot of last page

at 12 35/.. potato tops frost bit – the people are right to cut them while green – at 12 ¾ Olsböle very neat nice clean looking station – the post says went in – wrote in the Biörsby 16w.

till Helsingforss [Helsingfros] 117w.  

St. P- 528w.

book – very nice rooms Hämenkylä [Hämeenkylän] 17w.

and some small cold fried fish in larder cupboard near the stairs – one should be well here  - civil enough to give us change for a 5 Rub. number in ¼ hour (at 1 1/2) pretty lake (right) and scattered village – pretty country – road hilly and sandy and foresty and green young rye among the burnt fir stumps – very heavy sandy gravelly road thro’ the forest now at 2 5/.. after a terrible heavy full uphill thro’ the forest – little low unpainted picturesque village and houses scattered all about – very pretty bit of open wide vale here shut in all round by wooded rocky hill – at 2 ¼ another pretty lake and basin valley and hill into young forest again – at 3 our 3rd gate all the way from Åbo and a gentleman’s house hid in wood birch and alder very pretty drive – hilly, woody, villagy, sandy – at 3 5/.. uphill get out and walk ¼ hour – a great relief – gathered a little morsel of rud-red moss stone looks just like round – not easily rubbed-off – observed 1st time curious

September Tuesday 10 little pink fungus like a little round pink button pink bare round granite masses of rock and a few bare round granite hills – very pretty drive this last stage – and now in ascending nice little lake en face (right) and station (now at 3 25/..) of Olsbole [Olsböle]  - oldish looking house but good fire blazing in the kitchen – might sleep? yes! just

went in to write in day book – nice room – might sleep – off at 3 48/.. oats out here the sheaves made into like small hay cocks –

corn everywhere (here and Sweden and Norway) taken up rather promiscuously – that is the heads not all together but some at one end and come at the other of the sheaf – potato tops hanging on the fences (like those in Sweden) to dry – very pretty – wooded wooded island hills and lake – and scattered picturesque little cottages – and rock and windings of the valley – and in a minute or 2 pretty little boulder stone built church with separate belfrey as common here in Finland – more small unpainted houses the natural drab-colour of weathered boards with white chimneys – road very sandy now after passing the church – at the end of this lake a few red cottages white window frames and chimneys – and a large yellow house with dark drab roof looking like a gentleman’s house with its appurtenances – wood – water wooded islands – cottages – very pretty – here some lands of rye about a yard broad – all along occasionally a little Swedish [?] in the pastures – beautiful drive this stage – now at 4 20/.. sunny and peep of the gentleman’s house – and wind down hill over bridge – river – [beeches] along it other side and fir forest along our road – very pretty – hilly more  pitchy – this our most beautiful stage – but nothing yet at all equal (as to steep road) to the descent upon Swinesund ferry or Xtiania – at 4 ½ saw mill (little one) and little cascade of the river – very pretty and the beauty goes on – at 4 50/.. pretty picturesque village (on our pretty river) of Milnasbrook as pronounced – 2 or 3 mills and pretty cascade of the river

SH:7/ML/TR/13/0029

September Tuesday (and right) on entering village is guide post pointing (right) to Ekenas [Ekenäs] and now at 4 55/.. road sandy à la Hazelunen – at 5 10/.. cross the broad shallow stream (wood bridge) into another scattered little unpainted village – have seen much of the narrow land-rye since 1st observing it this morning – the church and lake (left) of our last passed thro’ village very picturesque – the belfrey tower of the church carved up in 4 steps of roof finishing in a little dome – our drive this stage very beautiful – the most beautiful since Åbo – Sunshine now at 5 25/.. and for this hour past. and now in young forest again – alternate forest, and break, and villages and water and wooded hill and rock – but the road very sandy – at Nyby at 5 40/.. – nice little new unpainted single house standing in a circular spot cleared out in the midst of the forest which since 5 25/.. we have come thro’ – the post indicates Nyby

till St. P- 495 ½ v. [w.]

Biörsby [Björsby] 16v. [w.]

Kyrckstad [Kyrkstad] 16 ½ v. [w.]

the horizonally laid logs (laid in moss one upon another) are not covered inside or outside but look very neat – here as at Lombala this morning (1st time) the double glass window is already put in inside, and paper pasted over the crevices here where everything is clean and tidy we have a beautiful white moss and dried yellow marigolds put at the bottom between the glasses – at Lombala it was coarse cotton wool – just sketched the little box as above and wrote thus far and then prepared for dinner now at 6 40/.. drizzling rain from about 6 35/.. to 8 but afterwards fine, and very fine sunny afternoon and fine evening – it now begins to be dresky and ½ hour hence soon after 7 it will begin to be darkish – with our heavy carriage and the steep pitches in the roads we want daylight, and then there is no danger, and [news] not the strongest may bear our

September Tuesday 10 galloping downhill – dinner at 7 10/.. to 8 20/.. a coq de bois and a gelinotte – excellent little pancakes and good bread and excellent butter and good cheese, and good water and afterwards each of us had a cup of good coffee – enjoyed our dinner and took our time – before we had done 2 Russian gentlemen from Helsingforss [Helsingfors] to Åbo came in – had Grotza at 8 20/.. to 8 ¾ - F61° now at 8 50/.. pm

[liibrii]

Chapter 2: Tattered 

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1

wc: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, depression.

a/n: I don’t really have anything to say other than I’m enjoying writing for Aran so much. if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 

Aran knows people don't always mean what they say.  Even he had done it before and it destroyed a few of his relationships. Knowing that doesn't make your words hurt any less.

He tries to convince himself you didn't really mean it, still a part of him wonders if that's how you really feel. How you've always felt. For all those years he was assured of your friendship and now you've pulled the rug from under his feet. None of your words align with the image in his head. Perhaps you've never been the person he remembers. The you in his mind is just that, a memory, a perfect picture he created from bits and pieces he chose. Has he truly always seen only what he wanted to see?

Thoughts of you run through his mind as he stands on the back line. One more serve before he wraps up. Bam.

To always see good in people is what he was thought growing up and what he still tries to do to this day, even if years had thought him people aren't only their good sides. He always thought of you only at your best and failed to even get to know you properly. What kind of friend does that? You're in pain and he can't help because he has no idea where the wounds are. He has no idea where to look for them because he refused to see. 

Perhaps he is a terrible friend after all.

Bam. The ball gets caught in the net and falls. Aran watches it roll away before picking up another. He breathes deeply. It's all about focus, he reminds himself, even when his mind wants to slip he has to remain focused.

All of his teammates have left already. Home, to their partners, their families. What will he return home to? An empty apartment with take-out he'll eat on the couch. Alone. Maybe he should get a pet. But when will he have time to care for it?

Bam.

He should call home. Check on his friends. Maybe if he had checked on you more often then-

Bam.

What use is pondering over what could've been? With each serve his palm aches more, his muscles already sore from practice but he doesn't want to stop yet. One more.

“There's a difference between training hard and overdoing it, you know?“

Perhaps life is just memories of days long gone sipping into present.

When he turns to face you uneasiness rises in him. Any other time he'd be elated to see you. Now even words to greet you with escape him. You come closer, shoes softly squeaking on the gym's floor. “Doorman let me in. After a little bit of convincing.“

“Really?“

“No, I slipped past while his back was turned. How long are you planning on staying? I saw all of your teammates leave already.“

Aran turns the ball in his hands. It's becoming slippery from all the sweat. He can't bring himself to look you in the eyes. “My serves are gettin' sloppy. I need more practice.“

Bam.

You stay where you are, watching and fiddling with the strap of your bag, until you can't bear the silence anymore and speak up. “Aran, I actually wanted to talk to you. About you know... what I said.“

“T's okay. I know ya didn't mean it.“

“I did.“ Your voice eerily echoes in the otherwise empty gym. “As shitty as it is, it's how I felt.“ You're eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I'm sorry.“

Aran catches the ball he just threw in the air for another jump serve. When he looks over at you you're still intently focused on your shoelaces, gripping the strap of the bag so tight your knuckles turned white. Why are you beating yourself up so much? If you feel something, you feel it. What reason for it do you need to have? Knowing how you felt hurts, that much he can't deny. And yet he can't hold it against you.

He puts the ball on the top of your head, just like boys used to do back in high school to annoy you. “If ya really insist on apologisin' then I guess I have no other choice but to forgive ya.”

As his words sink in you shyly glance at him. “You sure?“

“'Course I am,“ smiles Aran, balancing the ball so it doesn't roll from the top of your head.

“You're not angry? At me?“

He takes the ball and starts throwing it from one hand to another. “Not really. Very surprised. A little hurt.“

“I'm sorry-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,“ he cuts you off. “Set for me and we'll call it even.”

“Aran, my sets are in no way near the level you're used to.“

“So?“ he asks already walking over to fetch the ball cart. “Ya still remember where to stand, right?“ he teases, cackling softly when you roll your eyes and take off your bag and jacket, all while trying to hide a smile creeping on your lips.

It takes a few tries for you to remember how to make an overhand set. Aran's filled with giddy warmth when you manage to send the ball in the right position for him to spike it over the net. Perhaps all those lessons with Atsumu years ago didn't go to waste after all. Your little victory jump makes him burst into laughter and he rewards you with a high five.

It really is an echo of history.

Your skills are rusty, something that makes you apologise profusely every time you mess up, even after he reassures you he doesn't mind, and ruffles your hair.

With each set you relax more, till every smile and laugh seem sincere. Only now Aran realises how he missed this carefree side of you. Time always flies too fast when you're around and soon enough, out of breath and wiping the drops of sweat from your forehead, you call an end of this individual practice.

He hurries with showering and changing into fresh clothes, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, especially since you have morning lessons tomorrow. He buys you a drink from the vending machine. It's not much, but staying hydrated is important, he tells you when you tease him about it.

“You know, that brought back a lot of memories,“ you say while walking to the train station, then poke his shoulder. “Thanks.“ The smile dancing over your lips makes his cheeks warm up. You glance over to the sky hiding behind a golden halo that city lights cast over the rooftops. “Do you ever miss Hyogo?“

“Sometimes.“

“I miss the stars.“ You kick a small stone from your path. “You've become quite a star too you know. With all the fans and attention I really wonder, do you get lonely?”

Your question catches him off guard. “I'm too busy to get lonely,“ he lies.

“I get lonely sometimes,“ your eyes still search for a glimmer of a distant star. “And tired. Some days I just want to sleep all day. Do you ever get the urge to do that? Skip practice and stay in bed?“

“No. If I skipped practice how will I become better?”

You purse your lips and nod. “That's why you're a professional athlete and I'm just trying to figure out why I have to separate blue and red laundry.“

“Those are two very different things.“

“Both are just some pieces of cloth. Why do I have to separate them? If they got problems with each other they should grow up and talk it out.” 

That’s not what he meant, but your slight annoyance over technicalities of doing laundry still makes him laugh.

In the coming days Aran checks his phone every chance he gets, just to see if you already wrote back. No matter what you talk about he wants to hear it; be it about your day or the delivery man being late with your order. His teammates notice and tease him about it yet he denies you're anything more than just a friend, and they exchange knowing looks when his back is turned. Even if his entire body heats up at the sole mention of your name Aran isn't ready to admit to himself, let alone others, he wants you to be more.

Not when he isn't sure if his feelings for you are being muddled by his memories.

That Tuesday you grab a dinner together that turns into a late night walk through the streets. It's not a date, Aran keeps reminding himself. It's just two friends hanging out as you've done a thousand times before. So why is his heart threatening to thump it's way out of his chest?

After that night weekly hanging out with you becomes a regular occurrence. Sometimes you go out to eat, sometimes you drag him along when you go shopping, saying he has a good eye for colour combinations. It has nothing to do with the fact he buys you ice cream every time. Some days you come to his place to play video games or watch movies. Seeing his favourite series making you laugh warms his heart.

As you become more comfortable around him your facade slowly, bit by bit, starts to crumble. He's scared to see what lies beneath yet at the same time he wishes it would break already. He can't help you if he doesn't know, can he?

Whatever is troubling you he wishes you'd trust him enough to confide in him. In the back of his mind lingers the question he's too scared too ask.

Does Kita know what's on your mind? Do you still talk to him?

You used to be close to the team. The one they relied on. The one who so lovingly tapped their fingers before each game. Do they know your eyes are puffy? Do they know every sleepless night that goes by makes the dark circles under your eyes harder to hide? Do they know his heart breaks every time he sees the tremble of your lips when you force a smile?

No matter how bad he wants to hold you, tell you it's going to be okay, the mere thought of reaching out paralyses him.

What if you don't want his help?

If you did, you would've asked already, right? Not even practice can stop him from thinking about you. His disappointment grows a little when he sees no new messages. Perhaps you don't want to talk to him after all.

He's just leaving the gym when his phone lights up and seeing it's your name makes his heart flutter. He eagerly picks up. “Hi!“

“H-hey.“ Already in the first word the strain in your voice is apparent. “Um, am I interrupting you?“

“No, of course not. I just finished with practice. What's up?“

“I-“ He hears you take a deep breath. “Um, I don't, I don't feel so good...“ Your next words are almost a whisper. “Could I come over?“

“'Course ya can come over. I'll be home in about an hour.“

By the time he arrives you're already there, standing by the entrance nervously stepping from one leg to another. You give a shy wave when he approaches. He noticed you've been acting weirdly sheepish around him and he's not used to it. You're friends. What's making you so nervous?

You trail behind him, hands tucked deep in your pockets. You don't even pull them out when taking your shoes off.

“Tea?“ he offers when you make your way towards the sofa.

“Sure,“ you nod, sitting and tightly hugging a pillow. “Sorry about that,“ you say when he joins you with two cups of tea, “I just... bad day, you know? Didn't want to be alone.“

With a smile he assures you it's no problem. You're welcome to come by whenever you want.

You tell him about college, about work. “Boss is a shit bag,“ you complain. The working hours make you late for your lessons and even professors are getting fed up with you always being late. Not to mention your classmates aren't keen on lending you notes to copy.

It's all too much, you say, work, college, the pressure of everyone's expectations. Your fellow students give you funny looks sometimes, you tell him. It's only a few years but you're still older than them, at the age where your parents are asking when you are going to settle down. Have children. Get a stable job. Well how could you when you haven't even gotten your degree yet? It all makes you feel like a failure.

And yet something tells Aran that's not why you're here. Maybe it's the nervous fumbling with the hem of your clothes. Maybe it's because you don't look at him at all. A silence falls on you as you sip your tea. Aran considers asking out right but you gather the courage before he does.

“Shin called.“  

“Ah.“ That's all he manages to say.

“He's doing good, in case you're wondering. He asked if we have any plans on visiting any time soon.“ Your eyes skim over his face. “That would be nice, don't you think?“

Aran forces a smile. “Sounds great.“ Once again your words threaten to shake the ground he stands on. All he hears is 'seeing Shin would be nice'. His grip on the cup tightens and he puts it away before he'd crack it.

“Do ya miss him?“ he asks, words coming out more choked up than he intended. He clears his throat when he leans back on the couch's backrest.

You think over his question. “I miss my best friend.“

He asks. Even if he doesn't want to know the answer, he asks. “Will you get back with him?“

“No.“ Your answer is quiet, but firm. You readjust yourself to lean on the backrest, facing him, the pillow still tightly squeezed in your grip. “Shin is a great guy just... not the right for me. Wasn't easy to accept but that's how it is.“ You fumble with the thread sticking out from the stitch. “I wasn't good for him, you know?“ you quietly continue. “He protected me since we were kids but at some point it all just... fizzled I guess. I was so used of always being by his side the thought of living without him terrified me. He was that stability I craved. For a long time I believed he would give me a goal in life, or something similar.“ You chuckle. “Try getting through seventeen-year-old-me's head that's not how relationships work. I knew we wouldn't work out. But I stayed because I was selfish and stupid... and scared. I think he knew. And it started to take a toll on him. So I left before he'd break.“ Tears start forming in your eyes. “Shin could never understand why I'm so sad without a reason... Maybe if I left sooner... well, it doesn't matter now.“

“Ya can still go back,“ hearing his own words shatters Aran's heart, “once ya feel better.“

The brief laugh you give almost sounds like a sob. “Can I?“ You forcefully wipe the tears away. “Even if I could it wouldn't be the same as I remember now. It's hard to explain but somehow, what’s in your memories is always better than reality. Know what I mean?“

He knows. Memory is the thief of future.

The lump in his throat grows larger, heavier as he watches you try to hide tears starting to run down your cheeks. He's lost, not knowing what else to do but to pull you closer, tucking your head under his chin. He hugs you and softly caresses your back. “It's alright,“ he whispers when you apologise through sobs and tears. He keeps repeating, it's alright. What else could he possibly say?

You relax in his arms and your sobs slowly turn to muffled sniffles. Aran only wishes you feel safe in his arms, your head leaning on his shoulder, your arms shyly wrapping around his middle. It's not the most comfortable position but he's to scared to readjust. He hears your hitched breathing sync with his own as he runs his hands up and down your back and, exhausted from your crying, you're soon fast asleep.

Perhaps for the first time in his life Aran's starting to really understand you. It pains him, knowing your struggles. You, who were always so full of light, you who were the pillar, tall and unyielding, one he could always lean onto. How memories managed to muddle his perception of you so much is beyond him. The only thing he can do is promise himself to never let them deceive him again. After all, who needs memories?

He messages you more frequently. Not too frequently, he doesn't want to appear nosy or pushy. Just often enough to let you know he's there for you if you need him.

You've been busier with college lately, so weekly hang outs turn to late night phone calls. Hearing your voice feels like a refreshing cool breeze on these hot summer nights.

He collapses in his bed, only half listening to your rambling on about one of the professors. He didn't catch her name.

“Aran? You still there?“

“Yeah, I'm still here. T's been a long day, t's all.“

He hears you hum and he can imagine the way you lean your head to the side. “Coach in a bad mood?“

“Not really. I'm just not feelin' my best. Couldn't sync with Aritsura's sets. But ya know, more practice 's all we need. How was your day?“ he asks, forgetting you just told him a few minutes ago.

“It was alright,“ you say instead of repeating what you already told him. “Actually, I wanted to apologise. About last time. I shouldn't have dumped all my problems on you.“

“How many times do I need to repeat it's okay. I'm here for ya.“

“Still. I'm sorry. It was a lot. I... I don't want to be a burden.“

His brows furrow. How many times does he have to repeat it? Why don't you get it? “Yer not.“ Your low chuckle makes him irritated . “I mean it. If ya ever need to talk just say, alright?“

“Yeah, yeah I will... Thank you. It's just that... I don't want to ruin this friendship too. That's all. Tell me when I become too much. Please.“

What are you talking about? “Whatever is on yer mind I promise I can handle it.“

“Can you? So you not being able to play your best has nothing to do with me dumping all my problems on you?“

Something in the way you say those words pushes the wrong button. He's only trying to be here for you, why can't you see that? “I don't care enough to let it impact me.“ Fuck. Even before the final word leaves his mouth he knows it came out wrong. “I'm sorry, fuck, y/n, I didn't mean it like that-“

“It's okay,“ you interrupt. “You're right.“

“I'm-“

“Get some sleep Aran. You have practice tomorrow. G' night.“ You end the call before he gets the chance to say goodbye.

Fuck.

Ch. 3: In the light, your name

Tags: @rosecaffelatte, @aonenthusiast