#so yeah. I will be Not Awake for the next ten hours (being optimistic)

[b4kuch1n]

ohh babygirl I put too much thots into this sports anime fic about being trans

[ashintheairlikesnow]

We Keep Going, That’s All

@whimpers-and-whumpers , this is for you. Hope your surgery goes well today!

CW: Aftermath of near-death, hospital whump, recovery whump, survivor's guilt, alcohol use, referenced drug use

Ryan shows up to the hospital with Coke bottles full of liquid that absolutely is not Coke - or not much of it, anyway - and Nate doesn't refuse the gift.

He twists off the plastic cap and takes a drink, wincing at the burn down his throat. "Jesus, Ryan, this is m-m-more Jack than Coke."

"Yeah, well. Figured we could use some relaxing." Ryan gives him a slight smile, and the bruising that's been along his jaw - the obvious press of fingers - is finally starting to fade. Off-white bandages ring his neck, hiding from direct view the deep, slowly healing gashes rubbed in by the iron collar he'd worn for a year.

There are other wounds, Nate knows, underneath the lightly-draped black t-shirt Ryan wears, under his effortlessly casual, perfectly-on-trend jeans.

There are deeper wounds still entirely underneath his skin, inside his head. Nate knows those even better. He doesn't begrudge Ryan the need to find some way to fuzz out the edges of what must be written in stark, bright blood in his memory.

Nate spent a year and a half doing the same, after all, before Bram came back for Danny again.

"How is he?" Ryan asks, settling into a hard wooden chair with plastic back and cushion in a dull pastel mauve. "Any different?”

"Then y-yesterday?" Nate exhales, slowly, rubbing at his unshaven jaw. The stubble prickles his fingertips, itches a little as it grows in. There's a razor in the private room's little bathroom, but he doesn't have the energy to use it. All of Nate's energy now is focused entirely around staying right here, being right here, for the rare moments that Danny is both awake and himself.

"Yesterday wasn't... great.”

"No, it wasn't." Nate sighs, leaning over in the chair he sits in, next to Ryan, reaching out with his good left hand to gently nudge a bit of wavy red away from over Danny's face.

The love of his life - the man he's killed for, twice, and would kill for again - lays on his stomach with his head turned to one side. The hospital blanket is pulled up nearly to his chin, hiding from view the fact that nearly all of Danny seems made of bandages these days, bandages and tubes and wires. He breathes slowly, a drugged deep sleep to let his body rest and try desperately to heal itself around the nearly-fatal place the knife went into his back.

He sleeps, more than he's awake. But Nate makes sure that when his eyes open, someone is here for him, every single time.

"Today has been a little b-better, I think," Nate says after a moment's though. He brushes a crumb from the corner of Danny's mouth. "He ate a l-little, this morning. Just Jell-O and a little bit of cereal, but...”

"But something." Ryan nods, takes another drink, looks out the window. Outside, the day is bright and sunny, with a cloudless blue sky. The courtyard below is full of visiting families and patients taking walks through the landscaped flowers, all of them in brilliant bloom. "Have you even left this room since we got here?”

"No." Nate doesn't bother to lie.

Ryan looks over at him, and smiles very slightly. "Remind me to bring you by some multivitamins do you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency.”

"I'm f-fine." Nate takes another drink, feels the warmth slowly spreading through his shoulders, relaxing the knots and tension that have been slowly building day by day. The 'bed' he has here is just a visitor's couch built into the wall, lumpy and hard, with exactly one flat pillow with a scratchy pillowcase. But he'd rather be here than anywhere else. He'll be here for every single second Danny needs him. "I eat oranges for breakfast every d-d-day. No sc-... sc-... scurvy for me.”

"Didn't we joke about scurvy once?" Ryan asks, slightly faintly, looking up at the ceiling. "After Danny came home the first time?”

"M-Maybe. Don't remember. Why do you c-care if I feel good, anyway?”

“My brother can’t fuss over you right now,” Ryan says with a casual shrug. “So someone has to. He’ll never let me live it down if anything happened to you while he’s here. I’ll get chewed out if you get so much as a headcold and we both know it.”

“I d-doubt-”

Danny shifts a little and both men go silent, watching him move in the bed - just an inch or so to the right, his eyes tightly closed, body tensing as even the slightest movement brings a wash of pain.

"It's okay," Nate whispers, and Danny's eyelids flicker, slowly open. The blue in them is hazy and clouded, but not empty. This time, at least, it's Danny who is looking at him, and not the other one, the one that Nate knows only as someone else. The one who runs Danny's body when Danny can't do it any longer.

"Hey," Danny says, in a hoarse whisper. He tries for a smile, and it's faded and wobbly, but it's there. Then he lifts his head a little, looking over to see Ryan. "Oh, you're both... here. How long was I asleep?”

"Four hours or s-s-so," Nate says, standing up - ignoring the twinge of pain in his bad knee - and moving the pillow under Danny's head to still support him even as he moves. A hint of freckled shoulder shows, with its swirling trace of scars from Bram's knife. There's a star carved into the back of his left shoulder that Nate did, at Bram's command, once.

Ryan's gaze be damned, Nate leans over to kiss it, and to kiss one by one the carved letters that are still there, faded, in the back of Danny's neck. A. D. N.

He tries not to feel the guilt that twists in him at the ownership Bram had meant to make obvious, there. His own first initial with Bram's initials, his own... his own culpability.

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, leaning over close to Danny. 

Danny’s nose wrinkles. “You smell like a liquor store.”

“Yeah, well. When your big brother scares the shit out of you by getting himself stabbed almost to death because of you, maybe you need a little pick-me-up now and then.” Ryan manages a half-cocked smile, but it’s fragile, and they both know it.

With a hiss of pain, Danny moves his hand up the bed, offering it to Ryan, who takes it without hesitation, leaning over so his forehead rests gently against Danny’s. 

“I’m okay,” Danny whispers.

“No, you’re not,” Ryan whispers back. 

Nate moves to sit back in his chair, then stands again, restless. He doesn’t want to sit there but he doesn’t know where he does want to be... until he looks at Danny, thin and dwarfed even by a small hospital bed. He sets down the mostly-jack-and-a-little-coke and climbs into the bed without hesitating, laying down behind Danny on his side, letting his good hand rest just next to a swirl of Danny’s hair on the pillow. 

Danny’s smile widens - not that Nate can see that, from his vantage point. Although Ryan can. “I’ll be okay,” He corrects himself, watching his brother. “They said there’s no sign of paralysis. I’ll walk, I’ll probably even run after a while.” He tries moving and hisses again. “A long while. It’s going to be okay, Ryan.”

“You always were way more optimistic when you were high as balls,” Ryan whispers, and he and Danny laugh, until the action makes Danny whimper at a new spike of pain. “What do we do now, Dan, huh?”

“Keep going,” Danny says, voice low, barely audible even to the two men on either side of him. “That’s all. We keep going.”

“I keep thinking I should’ve died back there, ten times over,” Ryan murmurs. “But every single time, you took the pain for me. I should’ve died-”

“Nah. You’re my little brother. I need you here.” Danny manages to keep the smile, then, and his blue eyes are warm. “If you feel so bad about it, sneak me some of that booze next time, yeah?”

"Dan, I am not going to help you mix IV drugs and alcohol-”

“Just leave it in a really easy-to-reach place and I’ll help myself.”

“Danny. No.”

“Danny yes.”

“Daniel Michaelson-”

“Ryan Niall Michaelson-”

Nate’s rumbling laughter interrupts them. It’s such a rare sound that both of them go immediately silent when they hear it, and Danny even tries to look over his shoulder, gritting his teeth through the ache to see the smile on Nate’s face. It’s slight, nearly private - a smile barely noticeable by anyone who isn’t looking for it.

But Danny is, and through the fog of the painkillers still coursing through his system, he sees it. 

“What?” Ryan says. “What’re you laughing at?”

Nate lays a hand over the star he once carved into Danny’s skin, and moves to rest his nose, just lightly, against the warmth of Danny’s neck, breathing in the scent of him under the hospital-smell that surrounds them. “Nothing,” He says, and Danny shivers a little as his lips move against the curve of the D at the back of his neck. “I’m j-j-just... realizing I’m g-going to listen to you two do this for the r-rest of my life.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ryan’s voice is dry. 

“No,” Nate says, eyes closed. He can almost feel them in the cabin, like this, just the two of them on days Bram was gone. Lying in the bed wasting the whole morning being warm, just them together. Warm and safe. It feels like being in Danny’s apartment during their year and a half of freedom, the way sometimes when Nate couldn’t get out of bed Danny would just stay with him, holding him, until the pain inside of Nate had lessened enough to let him stand. 

Now it’s his turn to hold Danny. 

-

@tiddiroki @whump-it @bleeding-demon-teeth @finder-of-rings @whumpywhumper @endless-whump @18-toe-beans @pumpkinthefangirl @goneuntil @swordkallya @astrobly @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @card-games-and-pain @raigash @whump-tr0pes @orchidscript @wildfaewhump @doveotions @eatyourdamnpears 

[morkleemelon]

off the ice || chapter 4: don’t look back

previous || m.list || playlist || next

pairing: college hockey player! mark x fem. college figure skater! reader

genre: fluff, sports au, college au

word count: 6.5k

warnings: blood, mention of surgery, description of injuries, swearing, financial struggle

author’s note: huge thanks again to my beta readers @writing-frog​ and @skiimmiilk​ for being a great help to making this story better! the slow burn fire is finally burning in this chapter and I’m so excited :) if you haven’t been listening already, I highly recommend the playlist for this chapter! enjoy~

“What do you mean ‘it’s fine’?,” you sobbed, gripping the side of her hospital bed. You wanted to give your best friend a hug, but you didn’t want to risk hurting her more. Yuna’s right leg was pinned into an apparatus, the intricate metal carefully holding together the broken bones, her usual perfect skin marred by scratches of red and patches of blue. 

“I mean what I said”. Even with a sore voice and her current situation, Yuna managed to speak with dignity.

“And Ms. Kim is right,” the doctor agreed, jotting down a prescription on her clipboard, “the surgeries went well and she is in stable condition. The good news is that with proper rest and physical therapy, she will be able to walk again. Now, it’s my duty to be honest with you. You said you’re a figure skater?”.

“Yes”. Yuna uncurled her fingers, inviting you to hold her hand. You accepted it, bracing both of you for the bad news. Ten sat at the other side of the bed pressing her other hand to his lips.

“While we cannot rule out the possibility, the likelihood of you being able to skate again is very low. Especially for the next few years”. 

Yuna’s tough façade started to crumble at the shocking reality and her lips trembled as she choked back tears. You pressed your forehead to her hand as you hid your own tears from her. 

“God damn it!”. Ten yelled, getting up and kicking away the stool he was sitting on. The loud bang was followed by the sound of quiet weeping. “I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I shouldn’t have told you to go to the car first. None of this should’ve happened, god damn it”. The older boy cried into his palms as he placed the blame on himself. 

“Please settle down and refrain from disturbing the patient,” the doctor warned, “but we would like to talk to you about the details of the accident, Ms. Kim, now that you’re awake and stable”.

Yuna nodded, a few tears escaping and rolling down her scraped-up cheeks.

“Your right leg is broken in three places upon impact with the vehicle: two in the femur and one major area in the tibia. You then sustained minor external injury as you fell to the pavement, scraping your arms and face. We will run additional tests later on to determine if you also have a concussion. If you can remember any details of how this accident happened, please describe them to me and we can notify the police to help find the suspect”, the doctor continued.

“I,” Yuna cleared her throat, “I was at a party last night and I had a bit to drink. We stayed pretty late and Ten is close with the host, so we just decided to sleep over. Then this morning, I woke up early and I wanted to go on a drive to clear my head. Ten had to get something so I left the house first. I- I checked both ways before I crossed the street to his car, but before I knew it… it came out of nowhere and I was on the ground. I don’t… I can’t remember anything about it. The next thing I remember was being in the ambulance with Ten”. 

“I heard the whole thing happen,” Ten added softly, “I was inside the house at the time and I heard the screeching tires and Yuna screamed. By the time I ran outside, the car was gone and Yuna was bleeding on the ground”. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist. “All I could do was call an ambulance. I- I didn’t see the car or the bastard driving it. All I could do was sit with her in the street while we waited. She wasn’t waking up and all I could do was sit with her. I couldn’t even move her because I was afraid it would make it worse and she was bleeding everywhere. All I could do was sit there”. 

Tears stream down your face as you listen to Ten break down. The normally bright and optimistic man now had his face in his hands, hiccupping uncontrollably at the thought of how close he came to losing the love of his life.

“Hey,” Yuna groaned, struggling to keep her own voice steady, “baby, I’m okay. When we met, you were hurt and struggling, but you got through it because we were together. We’re still together and we can get through this too”. She touched her fingers through his hair gently. 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Kim, and both of your friends. The police are currently asking for witnesses for your hit-and-run case and will update you with any findings. These are your prescriptions”, the doctor slid the piece of paper onto the counter, “the nurse will come find you later to talk about your treatment. For now, I’ll leave you all alone”. 

The room fell silent, only interrupted by the occasional sniffle as the doctor shut the door behind her.

“Hey y/n?”. Yuna turned her head gingerly to you.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I can’t do the competition with you now. I promised I would but…”

“Don’t even… how could you worry about that right now?”, you sobbed, “don’t you worry about it, Yuna, the competition doesn’t matter at all. I’m just glad you’re okay right now. You should focus on getting better, not worry about me of all things”. 

“Y/n is right,” Ten agreed, “you were there for me when I got hurt. And when I thought there was no way out, you held my hand and pulled me up from the darkness. Doctor says you have a good chance of walking, so let’s get you there first. Then we’ll work on beating the odds and getting you back on the ice again”. 

“You guys…” Yuna smiled slightly, careful not to strain her bruised jaw. 

“I’ll come visit you as much as I can,” you promised, “I can bring my sleeping bag, clothes, and a jar of peanut butter. We can just be roommates here instead. There’s free AC and disney band aids too, it’ll be great”. Your attempt to lighten the mood was well received as the couple chuckles together. 

“By the way, I called your parents while you were in surgery and they’re on their way over now. They should actually be here soon,” Ten noted.

“I’ll leave you guys then,” you offered. There was a two visitor limit and you didn’t want to intrude on Ten and Yuna’s chance to have some private time before her parents bombarded her with concern. Not to mention Mark has been sitting in the waiting room for a few hours now and you wanted to be respectful of his time too.

Offering your last words of support to Yuna, you shut the door quietly behind you. Dabbing at your watery eyes with the edge of your sleeve, you attempt to fix your run-off makeup using your phone camera. Everything felt kind of numb. The events of the last 24 hours were surreal and staying up the whole night with Mark certainly did not help as the tiredness was catching up to you. Concern, upset, worry, and frustration formed a thick cloud in your thoughts. Your brain was like a jammed printer and the thoughts were not processing. You were in shock to say the least.

You shuffle your way down the hall to the waiting area and look for Mark’s familiar blonde hair. You spot him fast asleep in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he leans his head back against the wall. His mouth is slightly agape, forming a soft ‘o’ as he breathed steadily in and out. Seeing him sleep so peacefully made you relax a little. 

At least there was something good about today.

“Hey,” you whisper, shaking him gently. His eyes blink open slowly, wincing at the bright hospital lights. 

“Hey,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes as he sits up straight. “How’s Yuna? Did you get to see her?”.

“She’s…,” you pause, “she’s okay. She said she was okay when I saw her just now and the doctor said she’s stable but…,” your voice trails off. 

“But what?,” Mark asked gently, placing a comforting hand on your back. You look around to make sure there was nobody around who could overhear. A few people sat around the waiting room a ways away, texting on their phones or flipping through the free health magazines. The receptionist’s monotonous voice droned on as she answered a phone call.

“The doctor says that Yuna might not be able to skate again,” you murmured. Even though the doctor made it clear before, saying the words out loud felt extremely surreal. You imagined if it were you lying on the hospital bed hearing this news. To not be able to skate again… it was too awful to comprehend. Tears roll down your cheeks before you could help it, dangling from the point of your chin before falling onto your green volunteer shirt. 

Mark thought about what he could say in reply to the devastating news, but decided it was best to not say anything at all. Pulling you in for a hug, you cry silently into the crook of his neck. You wrap your arms around his torso and hold on for dear life. 

The next few weeks pass by rather uneventfully after the incident, at least comparatively. Police were still on the case of Yuna’s hit-and-run perpetrator, but they struggled to find witnesses when the crime occurred so early in the morning. Even the local CCTV didn’t cover the area where it happened and the driver was still ultimately at large. 

The Lee’s and your other friends texted in the group chat plenty and you grew much more comfortable with having them around. Mark drives you to the hospital to visit Yuna a couple times a week and the three of you would eat lunch together in her room for a small sense of normalcy. It was a tough transition for you nonetheless- your best friend and roommate who you were used to seeing every day now was now seemingly so far away and your time together was reduced to a few hours a week. However, the initial shock of the situation eventually faded and the two of you came to terms with how things were. Yuna and you agreed to not cry about it anymore until she got started on physical therapy and gave recovery her best shot. Thankfully, Ten was there with her everyday and night, so it was bearable for her. 

Mark’s always been sweet about your comfort zone, too, never pushing you to talk about your feelings yet at the same time, always there for you when you needed him. Neither one of you brought up the almost-kisses, the first reason being you weren’t ready to remind yourself of the horrible things that happened afterwards and the second being that Mark wanted to respect that you needed time to process it. 

So the days tick by and seeing Mark became part of your daily routine. It was something you looked forward to when you got ready in the morning and although you didn’t really know it, it was something you needed to make your day feel complete. His good heart shined more and more to you everyday as you chose to continue to accompany him to Sunday volunteering. You got to witness how Mark’s eyes glowed whenever he talked to the people he served. He treated everyone there as if they were his own family and even though many of the people he helps are much older, he continues every conversation with sincerity and maturity. 

In addition to walking you to class everyday, Mark now has a special seat next to you in the front row of your economics lecture, leaving Jeno and Ten snickering behind you as they watch your close interactions. You ate lunch at the willow tree by the basketball court on the days you weren’t visiting Yuna. After a while, you grew used to the dirty looks from the girls across the court, even glaring back when you met Hillary’s fiery stare. Nonetheless, you developed a comfortable social routine and everything was going quite well, except for one abundant issue weighing heavily on your shoulders.

The middle of October rolls by and you grind your way through your evening shift at Frankie’s. Thankfully, it was a Tuesday, so late-night stragglers weren’t an issue. You finish scrubbing down the counters in the kitchen and wipe your hands on your waitress apron. Unfortunately, it was your turn to close so you were the only one left working tonight. Your back ached from the hours of waiting tables and your cheeks hurt from the wide smile you offered all of your customers, rude or not. Sighing, you count your tips for the day.

A bell chimes from the door.

“Sorry we’re closed-,” you stop your words as you see the figure illuminated by the low diner lights. 

“Is it too late for me to talk with the pretty waitress?” Mark grins, unzipping and taking off his wind breaker. You roll your eyes but your smile tells him you aren’t actually annoyed.

“The pretty waitress is covered in barbeque sauce and all purpose cleaner. Proceed?”

“Oh no, not barbeque sauce! Cancel request! Cancel Request!”

You laugh, throwing a nickel at his dramatic show. 

“Wait, give that back to me. I need every tip I can get,” you say, holding out your hand to receive the coin. Mark obediently picks it up, handing it to you as he takes a seat at the bar. You thank him, flipping through the crinkled, greasy bills from the tip jar. The creeping disappointment must have shown on your face because Mark broke the silence.

“Not a good night?” His words were careful. He understood you were under a lot of stress recently, but he didn’t have the heart to pry further and make you tell him why, which you appreciated. Mark assumed it was about Yuna or grades, but you never confided the real reason of how much your financial situation really scared you.

“Not a good…” you debate telling him everything. On one hand, you didn’t want to come off as needy or desperate. You were infamously bad at sharing your burdens with others. On the other, you wanted to tell Mark because you know he would listen and it would make you feel better. “Not a good anything,” you finally admit, setting the scraggly bills down on the clean counter between you. 

Only $26.84 for the whole night.

Mark’s soft brows were creased in concern as he waited for you to elaborate. He rested his chin on his knuckle, watching you pensate your feelings carefully. You meet his soft gaze, his eyes telling you that it’s okay. You let your shoulders relax, not even realizing the tension they were carrying.

“I…,” you start, letting out a small sigh as you walk your way around the counter to sit on the stool next to him. He spun his stool so he was sitting facing you. You pick at the mysterious stain on your apron. 

How do I even tell him about this? Hey Mark, I’m broke! I might drop out because I don’t have money for school, thus ruining everything my parents and I have worked for. 

“I guess I’m just worried,” you resolve after a minute, “I’m worried because, well, because of money”. You wince at hearing the words out loud but continue before you could take it back, “my parents are working really hard to get the money for my tuition, but things aren’t looking good for next semester”. You continue to tell him about how you’ve been picking up extra shifts to try to save up, but skating fees and money for basic necessities eats whatever you earn right up. The thought of quitting skating to save money came to your mind, but you never followed through because that was as much of a necessity as anything. A miracle occurred with the skating competition, only for some sick bastard to hurt Yuna. You asked around but everyone already had a partner or were too busy to participate in the competition. So now you could either go rob a bank or take a gap year and hope you’ll be able to return. Mark listened to your qualms quietly until you finished.

“The competition, did you ask people who aren’t on your team?,” Mark inquired, resting a reassuring hand on yours.

“Yeah, I even asked the girls on JV, but nobody wants to do it since they think they can’t win,” you confirm with a sad nod.

“That’s so dumb,” Mark stated, “you’re like, the best skater ever. Even the worst girl on JV could win if they did it with you”.

You look at him in surprise. His thumb ran comfortingly across your knuckles, sending tingles down your arm. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as you look back down at your joined hands. To be honest, you weren’t really sure what you guys were: officially, you were just friends at the moment, but anyone could see that there was something there. As of late, too much has been on your mind for you to possibly sit down and ponder it. Neither one of you has confessed feelings of any sort, but the night at the lake couldn’t just be ignored. And do normal friends hold hands like this?

“Right, tell that to them. Nobody wanted to be my partner, so yeah, I’m kind of in a pickle with tuition right now”

“Well can anyone be your partner?,” Mark asked.

“What do you mean? Like, just ask random strangers to skate with me?”

“No I mean like… I could do it”. His expression was serious, alluding that he meant every word of his ridiculous proposition.

“You could-” you stop to consider, “I mean I guess? I don’t think Coach Tanya said anything about the participants needing to be on the team… or be a girl. But there’s a big problem we’re not considering.”

“What problem?”

“You don’t know how to figure skate”. You free your hand from his and punch him lightly in the arm. 

“But I play hockey and I’ve skated all my life,” Mark bargained, pointing to himself smugly and shrugging, “how hard can it be?”

“How hard-” you wheeze. You laugh out loud as the serious boy looked on indignantly. “Figure skating is miles different from what you guys do. Y’all go, what, forwards and backwards? Can you do a jump?”.

“I can too do a jump,” Mark defended.

“Okay, what about a single axel jump?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you giggle, grabbing the counter and spinning your stool around. Mark watches you endearingly.

“Y/n” the sound of your name stops your childish break and you look at him expectantly. “What if I practiced every day. I can learn your uh- single axis”

“Axel,” you correct.

“Axel. I can learn this axel jump and I can practice it and whatever else you need so you can do the competition”. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but your heart skipped a beat nonetheless.

“Deadass?” 

“Deadass,” Mark nodded. 

“Why… why…”. You struggled to find the right words.

“Because I like you,” Mark interrupted, “and I want to do this for you because it would make you happy. I’d streak across campus fully nude and screaming if it made you happy”. 

Did he just...confess?

“It would,” you nod seriously.

“It would? Which part? The competition or-”

“No, the streaking,” you shake your head, ignoring the steady increase of your heart rate. You press your lips into a flat line and nod to feign seriousness. Mark paused before getting up. He reached for the hem of his shirt, sighing before lifting it up over his head. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, reaching for his belt buckle. You shriek, shielding your eyes from his half-nude appearance. Although you didn’t want to admit it, you let your eyes linger on his lean torso through your fingers.

Damn, maybe hockey does have some benefits. 

“I was kidding! Please put your clothes back on!,” you cry. You heard him laugh as he pulled the fabric back on. 

“Okay I’m decent. I’m decent,” Mark assured, taking his seat next to you again. “But seriously, I meant what I said and you don’t have to reply until you’re ready. I completely understand if you don’t know yet. Just know that I am here for you and I,” he grabbed the edge of your stool and pulled it firmly so you were facing him, “really like you. As more than friends”.

You felt surprisingly confident; the stress of life always went away when Mark was around and you forgot all about the scattered pennies and nickels on the counter. Although his confession was so sudden, you had a feeling it was coming eventually. It didn’t feel shocking, but more like… finally. That being said, you were unsure of what to say. You weren’t sure you were ready for a relationship and most of all, you weren’t sure about your feelings for him. The last thing you wanted was to say you like him back and have it end up not being true. 

Like always, the understanding, patient look in Mark’s eyes told you that he would wait for you to reply when you’re ready.

“Okay”. You smile. 

“Okay”. He mirrors.

“Let’s do it, the competition,” you decide.

“Really?”

“Yeah, let’s give it our best shot! After all, it’s a crowd vote and your popularity might gain us favor,” you tease, poking his chest. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:48pm, why?,” Mark replied, checking his lock screen. You hopped off your stool and began untying your apron.

“You drove here right?”. He nods. “Then there’s somewhere I wanna go if you’re willing to drive”. You shove your tips for the night into your bag. 

“You know I’m always down for you,” Mark smiled, grabbing your jacket off the rack and helping you into it. He stood in front of you and zipped you up without you asking, fixing the hood so it was proper. You watch him in silence and awe as he smooths down the wrinkles by your collar carefully and slings the strap of your bag over his shoulder without a word. It’s always these things, the little things, that leave you speechless.

The drive was pleasant. Mark put on your favorite radio channel and the two of you vibed comfortably to the acoustic music, the only interruptions were your quiet directions to the desired destination. You examined Mark’s face as he focused on the road, tipping his head back and forth to the beat with one hand on the wheel. It was dark, but the passing street lights illuminated his features in mesmerizing flashes, almost as if they were afraid to show his face for too long, the beauty would be too much to handle. His cheekbones were especially accentuated by the small smile on his lips. Looking at him made you feel… calm.

You pulled into the familiar parking lot. The blue neon lights above the building reading “Skate City” buzzed with electricity as the two of you got out of the car. 

“You wanted to come here? To a kid’s roller rink?”. Mark chuckled as he shut the driver side door. 

“Make fun of me now but you’ll see why” you rolled your eyes, walking through the building door which Mark held open for you.

The interior of the building was just like you remembered: the dark, ragged carpet was covered in colorful squiggles and dots resembling an abstract representation of worms and confetti. If that wasn’t bad enough, the matching wallpaper and UV lights topped off the hallucinogenic nightmare of a roller rink. Usually, it was also filled with the screams of children. Due to the lateness in the day, the rink was empty and usual disco funk was turned off. You would think it was closed if it weren’t for the man watching TV behind the counter.

“Mr. Joseph,” you call out with a wave. The man grunted, pulling his feet from off of the counter and shuffling through the mess of papers to find his glasses. He was an unassuming man in about his early forties, balding, pot-bellied, and proud. Nobody would guess that he was the man who taught you to skate all those years ago.

“Why, is that Miss y/n?,” Mr. Joseph exclaimed, rounding the counter to hug you.

“How have you been, Joe?”

“Well, you know me. I’m gettin’ by. Who’s this fella over here?”. Joe adjusted his specs and squinted at Mark.

“This,” you nudge the shy boy forward slightly, “is my friend, Mark. Mark, this is my family friend and former coach, Mr. Joseph. Also known as Joe,” you introduce.

The two men exchange a firm handshake.

“Nice meeting you, Mark. You treating her right?” Joe narrowed his eyes.

“Um so,” you cough, saving Mark from the awkward question, “Joe, we need skates for Mark”. 

“Wait but I already have skates, y/n-,” 

“No, you have hockey skates, Mark. You’re gonna need proper figure skates if we’re gonna do this competition right,” you explain. 

“Competition, huh,” Joe gruffed, waddling into the back room and motioning for you to follow. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if my parents told you, but Yuna was in an accident and now she can’t do the pair skate with me. Mark’s a hockey player but,” you glance at him with a smile, “he offered to pick up some skills and be my partner”.

“Here,” Joe smacked a pair of skates into Mark’s arms, “try these, boy”.

“Thank you, sir”. Mark bowed and went out to the bench to try them on.

Once he was out of sight, Joe leaned down to you, “you like this boy?”.

“Stop!,” you cry, covering your reddening ears with your hands.

“I’m just saying,” Joe held up his hands innocently, “I can tell he likes you by the way he looks at you. Even from meeting him just now”.

“Yeah… I just,” you stop to think about it. Well it’s true he likes you...

Do you like him?

You look to the door where you could see his shadow lacing up the new skates. You wish he would hurry back. Being without him felt like something was missing. Even if he was right around the corner, it didn’t feel good that you couldn’t see him and feel his reassuring presence. Realization began creeping in and you turn to look back at Joe’s I-told-you-so expression. He gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Make sure he’s good to you”.

Mark’s figure reappeared at the doorway, oblivious to your pounding heart and emotions which were becoming slowly more apparent. You watch endearingly as he stepped awkwardly into the room wearing the skates, stretching out his arms to maintain his balance. 

“I think they fit!,” Mark beamed at you, causing the butterflies in your stomach to migrate all around. 

“That’s good, boy. Take them on the house,” Joe guided him back out to take them off before he could hurt himself. 

“Oh no, sir-”

“Please, they were collecting dust in that storage room. Nobody wants men’s figure skates anymore these days and I’m glad to help y/n out” Joe dismissed. 

“Joe,” you stop him, wrapping your arms around Joe’s neck to give him a big hug, “thank you,” you whisper. 

“Of course, kiddo” he pat your back, “you make me proud”.

After chatting for a bit longer, you bid your goodbyes to Joe as he locked up Skate City for the night. In the car, you hold your breath and turn towards Mark. Strangely, your head was in the clouds as you examined his face, a face you’ve grown so familiar with in the past few weeks, yet seemed brand new. Suddenly, he leaned in close, close enough to count his pretty eyelashes, warranting your breath to hitch in your throat. Unaware of your, Mark places the box of skates in the backseat and sits up straight again to buckle his seatbelt. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Right, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

“So, are you tired or do you wanna do some skating today?,” you finally ask.

Mark flashed you a crooked smile, starting the car, “Y/n, I’m always down for you. School rink?”.

You nod. 

The whole drive back to the school was noticeably more awkward, at least to you. You tensed  at every word he said and felt your heart clench when he hummed along to the soft radio tune. Saying nothing or giving short, one word replies, you didn’t trust your voice to say more. Instead, you opted to look out the window at the passing scenery for the fear of Mark noticing your flushed expression. You tug uncomfortably at your jacket collar, beginning to regret asking him to skate tonight. Ironically, and perhaps foolishly of you, you’ve received his confession yet you’re unwilling to admit the good news of mutual feelings to yourself. What should you do or say? Surely it’s not right to just say ‘I like you! I figured it out haha let’s date!” out of the blue. 

Pulling into the sports center parking lot, you notice the locks on the front door.

“Oh crap, I forgot it’s a weekday. The rink is closed after 11,” you mutter, slightly relieved at the thought of heading home to sort out your feelings alone. 

“Don’t worry, we can sneak in through the side door,” Mark answers nonchalantly, getting out to open the car door for you. You don’t disregard the kind gesture and instead feel the familiar pressure in your chest again. 

And sneak in you did. 

Mark had clearly done this a few times judging based on the way he led you confidently to the obscured side door which was propped slightly open with a rock.

You went your separate ways in the eerily empty stadium to your respective locker rooms. Splashing your face with cool water, you attempt to rein in your fiery flush. 

How should I bring it up? Or do I wait? He already said he likes me, but what if he didn’t mean it? 

After changing into your skates, you take a deep breath and head out to the ice.

He was already there waiting for you by the railing. Mark must have heard your footsteps approaching and he turned to give you a warm smile. 

“You’re right, y/n, these skates are kinda different”. He tapped the toe pick into the padded floor.

“Yeah… right,” you mumbled, struggling to meet his bright eyes. 

He’s so cute.

Pale moonlight streamed through the glass ceiling panels and illuminated your surroundings. Mark’s hair made his face glow silver and his eyes sparkled with the reflection of the moon. His face fell at your weak response, reading it as disinterest.

You open the gate and skate out onto the ice in front of him. Mark tentatively skated out to follow you, wobbling slightly at the different sensation. You reach out to grab his arms and steady him, meeting his gaze briefly before blinking away. You loosen your grip on his sleeves, the contact making your feelings go wild.

For a few moments, the two of you silently glided across the ice. For the first time ever, it seems, you weren’t sure what to say to him.

“Listen,” Mark finally spoke, struggling to a stop. He looked down at his skates thoughtfully, “If it’s about what I said earlier, if it’s about me liking you and that made you uncomfortable, I- I take it back. I feel like I didn’t give you a chance to say no if you wanted to-”

“No it’s-,” you interrupt, skating slightly ahead, “It’s not that”. 

“Then why are you acting so strange?,” Mark asked, struggling to keep up.

“I just,” you circle to a stop at the middle of the rink. How do you even begin to explain how you feel? Never in your life have you felt like this about anybody. Never in your life have you felt so special and so cared for than when you were with Mark. You would have been lucky enough just being able to know him, but he even likes you. Out of all of the people he could have chosen, he chose you.

Mark careened to a halt behind you, waiting for you to finish. You take a deep breath.

Now or never.

You turn around to face him. 

“What you told me in the diner, tell it to me again”. Your voice came out weaker than you had intended.

Mark’s eyebrows were furrowed in confusion and worry that you were upset with him. He wanted to pull you into a hug, tuck that piece of hair back behind your ear and tell you it’s okay if you didn’t love him back.

“I-,” Mark cleared his throat from his emotions, “I said that I like you, y/n. I like you as more than friends”. He looked down towards his feet but before he could blink, he was crushed in between your arms as you jumped to hug him. Your face fit perfectly into the crook of his neck and you breathed in his familiar, warm scent as he wrapped his arms delicately around your waist. The force from your impact caused both of you to drift slightly, but you kept steady. Not brave enough to look him in the face, you whisper your confession to his ear.

“I’m ready to answer you. I… I like you too. As more than friends”

Mark’s grip tightened around your waist as he lifted you slightly off the ice. Spinning around, he curled his fingers into the fabric of your sweatshirt as if he never wanted to let you go. Your heart swelled at the feeling as you held onto his sturdy shoulders. Neither of you needed to say anything more. He pulled you close so there was no space left and you listened to the gentle rhythm of his heart beating for you.

Pulling away at last, you rest your forehead against his. Your eyes fluttered closed but you could feel the tip of his nose brush gently across yours, his warm exhalation fanning across your lips. 

“You don’t happen to have your phone on you, do you?” Mark mumbled deeply, savoring the moment.

You let out a small giggle, “no, do you?”.

“Nope”

And with that, you tilted your head up ever so slightly and Mark cupped your cheek to bring your lips together. You melt into his kiss and touch, allowing the way his soft lips moved against yours to express his silent affections. Exhaling through your nose, you sigh into the kiss, moving your hand to rest at the back of his head to pull him in deeper.

Finally.

Mark ran his thumb affectionately across your cheek, his lips speaking of all the times he’s wanted to do this. Your fingers lace their way through his soft hair, loving the way he reacts as you tug against the strands slightly. 

A loud bang from a closing door causes you to pull apart finally. The bright beam of the security guard’s flashlight flashes across the ice as the two of you look on like deer caught in headlights. 

“Hey, you two! Get out of there!,” the guard shouted, pointing a finger at your embracing form.

“Run!,” you whisper yell, pulling him quickly towards the gate. The two of you run as quickly as you can in your skates, pulling them off before you enter the hallway. 

“Hey! Stop right there!,” the guard yelled, stumbling down the stadium stairs.

“Quick! In here!” Mark tugged you into the boys locker room, shutting the door before the guard could see and ushering you quickly to hide in the gap between two lockers. You squeezed in with him, panting softly as the adrenaline pumped through your body. Mark’s arms wrap around your body to pull you closer as the guard opens the door. The flashlight flicked menacingly across the dark room. You hold your breath as it comes particularly close. Finally, seconds that feel like hours pass and the security guard grunts before deciding to move on. You exhale in relief. 

Mark rests his chin on top of your head and you realize how closely you’re pressed together. You giggle into his chest, loving how warm he felt. 

“I can’t believe that I get to hold you,” Mark whispers. His fingers draw invisible shapes across your back.

You nuzzle your face into his tee shirt. “Well I can’t believe we’re doing this in the boy’s locker room after being chased down by security,” you mumble against the fabric. His chest sounded a low vibration as he chuckled back, moving his hand up to stroke your hair. 

“You are so, so beautiful, y/n,” he moves to kiss the top of your head, “I don’t know the words to express how beautiful you are to me”. 

You press deeper into his body at the words you’ve always wanted to hear. Lifting your face up from his chest, you press a small kiss to his lips, heart jumping at the still-new sensation. It was sweet, his lips ghosting over yours breathlessly as you nestle your nose gently against his in a slow eskimo kiss. 

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Mark whispers in between kisses, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long”.

You answer by gripping the fabric of his collar to pull him in deeper, moving your lips rhythmically against his. 

“I think I’ve liked you for a while too,” you admit as you catch your breath, “I just didn’t understand it. Or some part of me wasn’t ready to admit it”.

“That makes sense” Mark rests his forehead on yours, smiling, “I would have waited a thousand years if that’s what you needed”.

Again and again, he captivated you with his words. He was so good to you and never made you feel like you were anything less than perfect. Day after day, his patience with you never faded and slowly, you let him break down your walls. His comforting smile and optimism always filled you with reassurance and peace. 

So standing there, making out in the boy’s locker room, illegally, in the dead of night on a Tuesday, you became sure. You were sure that you wanted him in your life. You were sure you wanted to try to be a part of his. As you pressed your lips to his and as he ran his fingers through your hair, there was no turning back.

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[mymoonagedaydream]

Lullaby

Summary: You’d learned to live with your nightmares, never expecting to find any kind of remedy

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, mentions of parent death

Author's Note: Back on it, ploughing through some lovely requests :)

---

You couldn’t believe it when you got the call.

Tony Stark had chosen you to be his new secretary, effective immediately.

Your flight to New York left the same day, but that wasn’t no issue at all, because you had very few belongings to pack and ever fewer goodbyes to say. No heartache or sentimentality, it was finally time to get away from your past and everything that reminded you of it.

Even though America was huge and bright and terrifying, it felt like your promised land, and you were eager to absorb every last drop of its mystifying beauty. You could barely stop yourself excitedly fidgeting in your plane seat.

Unfortunately, you’d greatly overestimated your capacity for adapting to sudden change. Your first day of work was really overwhelming.

You spent the entire morning just trying to familiarise yourself with the insanely complicated computer system, and a great deal of the afternoon doing the same, only getting a “break” during the hour or so you spent sitting in Tony’s meeting with Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

They were all huge, incredibly intelligent and intimidatingly attractive- you’d really been thrown right in at the deep end.

Steve and Sam didn’t take much notice of you, giving polite smiles when they arrived but nothing more than that. You figured that, with this workload, Stark probably cycled through a new secretary every couple of months, so they’d have no real reason to learn your name or engage you in conversation.

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed a little intrigued. You felt his gaze land on you a few times, but whenever you mustered the courage to look back, his eyes immediately flicked away.

It was unbelievably difficult to focus on note-taking whilst being repeatedly studied by this statuesque, mountain of a man.

It was also unbelievably difficult to shake him from your mind even after the meeting had ended. When you finally finished for the day, you were completely exhausted and ready to just collapse.

Thankfully, your bed was only an elevator ride away.

Stark had given you a bedroom in the compound while you were looking for an apartment in the city. You told him you were struggling to find a place you liked but, truthfully, there was no way you could afford a deposit until you got your first pay check through.

You whiled away the evening hours watching some crappy shows and reading, eventually bumbling through your night-time routine and slipping into bed, hoping so much that tomorrow would be just a little easier.  

---

A long, dark hallway stretched out before you. No doors, no windows, no turns, no end.

The soft padding of your bare feet against the ground echoed off the walls as your legs involuntarily marched into the darkness before you.

You focused more intently on the sound. It began to split, a distinct new set of footsteps detaching themselves and moving out of time with yours.

A cold wave of dread trickled down your spine. There was something behind you.

You couldn’t stop, couldn’t run, couldn’t turn. All you could do was carry on walking, forced to helplessly listen to the increasingly fast approach of your pursuer.

Hot, heavy breath brushed against the back of your neck. A set of long, dark claws crept their way into the corner of your vision, twitching manically, before clamping down on your shoulder.

‘Y/n!’

You bolted upright, eyes shooting open as you tried to gulp in deep breaths, heart thumping inside your chest like a jackhammer. Still struggling to separate the residual fragments of your nightmare from reality, you instinctively jerked away the hand firmly gripping your shoulder.

Bucky took the hint and stepped back from your bedside. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Jesus.’ You roughly wiped some of the cold moisture from your forehead. ‘Why the fuck are you in my room?’

‘I’m really sorry, I know this is weird but I heard you freaking out in here and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.’

Your gaze flicked towards him, the intense concern in his face confusing you a little.

He didn’t know you at all, why did he care?

You took a few deep breaths and collected your thoughts. Maybe cursing him out like that was a little harsh, he was just trying to help. Besides, if there was any face you wanted to shake you out of a nightmare, it was definitely that one.

‘I’m okay, thank you.’ You swung your legs over the side of the bed, perching yourself right on the edge as you shot him a faint smile. ‘I appreciate you checking up on me.’

‘Anytime.’

He lingered for a few seconds, rubbing his thighs nervously, before giving you a quick nod and heading back towards the corridor. Just as he reached your doorway, he paused, quickly spinning back around.

‘I’ll be in the living room for a while. Y’know, if you struggle to get back to sleep.’

You felt your smile grow into a wide, bashful grin as you watched him disappear down the hall. Your usual post-nightmare routine consisted of splashing cold water on your face and crying for an hour, so hanging out with Bucky was immeasurably preferable.

You debated how long you should wait before joining him, not wanting to miss an opportunity to get to know him better but also worried about coming across overly keen.

Ten minutes seemed reasonable.

Slipping on a sweater, you tiptoed past the other bedrooms on the corridor, hoping to god you wouldn’t wake any of the others and accidentally make a bunch of powerful enemies before you’d even spent your first night here.

Bucky was slouched on the sofa, watching TV with the volume so low that, at first, you thought it was muted. An open but untouched bottle of beer was standing on the table in front of him.

‘D’you have super hearing or something?’

His head snapped towards you, the corners of his mouth curling into a pleasantly surprised smile.

‘Something like that, yeah.’ He patted the seat next to him as he clicked the screen off. ‘There’s never anything worth watching on at this time anyway.’

‘You make it sound like you’re always awake at 4am.’

‘Mhmm. It’s nice to finally have some company.’

Chuckling weakly, you planted yourself next to him, as close as you could without invading his personal space. As soon as you were settled in, you felt him shift towards you.

‘You get nightmares often?’

‘Most nights since I was a kid.’ His mouth fell open slightly. ‘It sucks, but I’ve learned to live with it. They’re not nearly as bad as they used to be.’

‘Really? You were thrashing around like a fish out of water.’

Your face heated up a little when you noticed his playful smirk. ‘Trust me, that’s nothing. When I was eight I dislocated my aunt’s shoulder. Didn’t even wake up when she screamed.’

‘Jesus. You could’a warned me that I was risking my life earlier.’

‘Yeah, sorry. It’s just that, usually, people wait a few days after first meeting me before they come into my room while I’m asleep.’

He cocked a mischievous eyebrow at your teasing. ‘I’ll knock next time.’

‘Good plan.’

You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a deep yawn, feeling incredibly drowsy all of a sudden, like you could drift off right there on the couch. The adrenaline from your nightmare must’ve finally worn off, it just never usually happened so quickly.

‘You good?’ Bucky obviously noticed your abrupt decline. ‘You can rest on my shoulder, if you want. Not as comfy as a bed but I can give you a hard shake if you start freaking out again.’

‘Thanks, I’ll try my best not to.’

You didn’t want to intrude too far, so you just leaned over and perched your head on the very edge of his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he shifted himself towards you, causing your head to slide neatly into the crook of his neck.

‘Did they start for a reason?’ You didn’t answer right away, needing a second to figure out how best to word it. ‘It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.’

‘No, I don’t mind. They pretty much started right after my parents died. They probably would’ve just stopped on their own after a while if I hadn’t had to move in with my aunt and uncle, pair of fucking assholes.’

He let a low chuckle escape his lips, sliding an arm around your shoulder and squeezing them lightly. ‘Well in that case I hope you did much more than dislocate her arm.’

‘I wish.’

You yawned again, unconsciously nestling your head further into Bucky’s neck and your body into his side, the soft motion of his hand stroking over your shoulder just making you all the more drowsy.

‘It’s alright, you can go to sleep.’ His soft, low voice was like a lullaby. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ 

As your eyes fluttered closed, you felt your breathing fall in time with his, and you slowly drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in years.

---

It was a little embarrassing when Steve came across the two of you in the morning, fast asleep on the couch, tangled together like electrical wires. Bucky explained the situation, but Steve didn’t look too convinced by his tale of nightmares and innocent chat.

Even Tony gave you a knowing look as he walked past your desk.

This wasn’t exactly the reputation you’d hoped to build in your first week, but nothing that could’ve shaken your good mood that day. Every time you thought about the night before you couldn’t help grinning to yourself like an idiot.

You even felt more optimistic about your future in the job, everything just seemed so much more straightforward and intuitive.

It was incredible what a difference some good, deep sleep made.

As you were getting ready for bed that night, your heart jumped at the sound of a soft knock against your bedroom door. You inched it open to see Bucky, looking a little nervous, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatpants.

‘Hey, I uh- I was just wondering-’ He paused for a second, narrowing his eyes at you slightly before chuckling and taking a step back. ‘Never mind, it was stupid.’

‘Go on. I promise I won’t laugh.’

You waited as he took a deep breath and steeled himself. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I slept better on that couch than I have in years. So I thought-’

‘Do you want to come in?’

You were a little surprised at how easily that’d fallen out of your mouth, and he looked pretty shocked too. ‘You sure?’

‘As long as you’re still willing to give me a cold, hard slap when necessary.’

He chuckled, nodding firmly. ‘I can definitely do that.’

You stepped aside and let him pass, quickly ducking your head into the corridor to check for witnesses before softly pushing your door closed.

After that night, you and Bucky fell into a routine of sneaking between bedrooms after everyone else had gone to sleep.

It was inexplicable, but the two of you just seemed to sleep so much better in each other's company. At first, Bucky had to wake you up and calm you down a couple times a night, but it really wasn’t long before you started sleeping through the night.

Between having him in your life, having your dream job and having the brand new feeling of being consistently well-rested, everything in your life finally felt like it was falling into place.

---

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---

[fellulahh]

Lucifer x MC x Satan Fic, Part 13/???

Read Parts 1-12 here!

-

With his eyes remaining on her as she left, Satan pulled the shirt close to his chest as he flopped back in his bed.

Was he crazy for thinking that perhaps MC liked him back?

-

Waking up once again in his bed, Satan was disheartened after not feeling the warmth of MC’s body. Although she may not have been there with him, he still held a small part of her close to his chest. He hadn’t realised but while sleeping, his drowsy body had reached out for his shirt that MC had been wearing and pulled it close to his body. Her scent lingered on the material and after realising how attached to it he’d become, Satan let out a deep sigh.

Part of him wished he hadn’t woken up because now that he was conscious, all he could think about was the events of the previous night.

He held MC in his arms!

When MC woke, she didn’t get disgusted by the fact that they’d fallen asleep in an intimate embrace. In fact, she seemed to react really well!

As his mind replayed every single detail of their night together, his heart began to thump. He furrowed his eyebrows as he began to question MC’s actions. He’d seen what she’s like with his brothers; Satan was adamant she wouldn’t have been so cool if she had woken up next to one of them.

And that blush she had - what did it mean?!

Sitting up in bed, Satan held his forehead in his hand. Could it be? Could MC be turning soft toward him or was he overthinking everything? Nevertheless, Satan wanted answers. Perhaps MC wasn’t aware of any blossoming feelings but the fourth eldest needed to know.

He wasn’t about to sit back any longer and watch Lucifer constantly dangle a carrot for her then yank it away. Satan needed answers and he was about to get them

Gripping MC’s shirt in his hands, he licked his lips as he contemplated. And then, swinging his legs over the bed, he made a beeline toward his door. The house was fairly quiet as he travelled through the hallways but it was still early morning so the likes of Beel, Mammon, Levi and Belphie were probably all still passed out.

Descending the staircase, Satan made his way toward the kitchen to make himself, and perhaps MC, a cup of tea. However, as he neared the door, he heard her voice inside; followed by Lucifer’s.

“I’m sorry once again for not being able to make it for coffee yesterday.” The eldest brother sighed as he leant against the counter.

“I wouldn’t worry about it - you have your responsibilities.” MC shrugged as she took a sip of her drink.

“It may not be as nice as what we would have had, but do you like your expresso?” Lucifer smiled as he gazed at her.

“Yes, thank you for making it for me.” She grinned at him as she sat cross legged opposite Lucifer. “Although I should probably stop drinking the stuff because my 90% caffeine filled veins are beginning to ruin my sleeping pattern.”

“I had wondered why you were up so early this morning.” Lucifer observed.

“Yeah, I got a lot of sleep last night.” She nodded before giggling, “I felt awful, I went to Satan’s room to watch a film with him and passed out within ten minutes!”

“Is that so?” Lucifer raised a subtle eyebrow, not wanting MC to catch on to anything.

“Yeah.” She smiled to herself.

The room fell silent momentarily as Satan listened eagerly at the door. “So do you have any plans today?” She asked hopefully.

“Well now that you say that...” Lucifer spoke up as he stepped toward her, “I was hoping you’d be free so that I could maybe take yo—“

Suddenly his D.D.D vibrated.

“Excuse me.” He sighed, pulling the device out of his pocket before disappearing out of the door on the opposite side of the room to where Satan was eavesdropping.

MC sat by herself as she waited. She tried to remain optimistic but deep down she knew it wasn’t worth it. As minutes passed, a rather glum looking Lucifer reappeared.

“You wanna reschedule?” She smiled sadly, already knowing what was on his mind.

Lucifer let out a deep breath. “That was Barbatos.” He informed her, “I need to leave and attend to some urgent needs. All will make sense soon but right now I have to leave.”

MC nodded her head in silence.

“I’m so sorry.” He apologised, disappointed that once again he’d let her down.

Lucifer’s heart began to turn cold as he realised what he was doing. In the space of 24 hours he had to turn down MC twice due to his pledge. And after the way he originally handled things when she confessed her love, it’d be a miracle if she didn’t give up on him.

Sensing the tension, Satan decided now was the best time to enter. His expression was unreadable as he felt mixed emotions. Part of him was really smug because Lucifer couldn’t provide and devote the time for MC whereas he could. But then another part of him felt anger/sadness because MC had been let down by the eldest brother.

Pushing open the door, he casually walked in still gripping the shirt in his hand. “Good morning.” He spoke nonchalantly.

“Satan!” MC beamed with rosey cheeks.

“Morning.” Lucifer muttered, scowling at Satan who returned the gesture.

MC on the other hand was none the wiser as she was too engrossed in her cup of coffee. “I thought you might have wanted this seeing as the temperature has dropped.” Satan spoke as he joined MC’s side; holding out the clothing article for her. “You didn’t have to return it to me last night, you could have worn it to bed.”

Hearing the smugness drip from his voice made Lucifer seethe. It was a miracle that he didn’t smash his own mug in his clenched fist.

“Oh!” MC suddenly spoke flustered, “thanks Satan.”

Sheepishly, she took it from his hand as Lucifer glared. Turning his head, Satan glanced over his shoulder at the eldest brother. “Shouldn’t you be off? I just heard you on the phone.”

“Yes. I should.” He mumbled.

Cautiously stepping up to MC, he knitted his eyebrows as he gazed at her. “I hope you’ll be back soon.” She spoke softly with a smile.

“Maybe Satan can keep you company.” Lucifer spat before marching toward the door.

MC was surprised by the venom in his voice. Yes, Lucifer could quite often get cold and rather unapproachable but this occasion seemed different. Turning her focus to the blonde haired demon, she tried to find answers from him.

Satan began to feel guilt as MC’s expectant eyes fell on his face. He’d purposefully teased Lucifer and he took it out on her and not him.

“He’s just stressed that he can’t spend time with you.” He admitted reluctantly as her pleading expression weakened him.

Unsure what to say, MC bobbed her head as she finished her drink. ‘Satan, you idiot!’ His thoughts scolded him after seeing her sunken expression.

“Hey.” He caught her attention. “You want to go out today and take your mind off things? I’m not Lucifer but perhaps I can still make you smile.”

“Sure.” She accepted, “I wouldn’t mind doing some shopping.”

“Alright, I’ll go and grab my jacket and we’ll head off?” He smiled.

“Not without me you’re not!” A new voice boomed.

Strutting into the kitchen, Asmo joined their sides. “I didn’t realise you were awake.” MC chuckled at him.

“Honey you can’t talk about retail therapy and not have me know.” He stated sassily.

[imagining-supernatural]

The Morning After

Part 26 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary:  You wake up the morning after the collapse and deal with the fallout of your fight with Sebastian

Word Count: 2,362

Warnings: ANGST. Mentions of past abuse (sexual & physical), mentions of abortion, mentions of murder... literally ALL the angst

Waking up was always hard. The world was so much simpler when you were asleep. Whatever you were dealing with before you fell asleep was so far away in those waking moment, but it never took long for the real world to hit.

This time, the real world came with claws.

Arguing with Sebastian. Confessing to murdering your father. Your head feeling like it was exploding. Losing your sight and then…

Nothing.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice asked. It took a moment to place it as Brenda, your favorite nurse. Once you placed her, you heard the other tell-tale noises of the hospital. The constant beeping of monitors, squeak of wheels as gurneys were rolled out in the hallway, and dull chatter of nurses as they passed your room… “Y/N, are you awake?”

Maybe if you didn’t respond, you could somehow make this become a dream. Because that wasn’t delusional at all.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

You tried to shake your head, but there was resistance. Something pressing against your head that was never there before, when you woke up in a hospital.

God, what if you opened your eyes and still couldn’t see anything?

What if you opened your eyes and there were cops there, waiting to cuff you and read you your Miranda rights?

“Y/N, I know you’re awake. Just open your eyes for me.”

Well, if either of those options were true when you opened your eyes, you sure as hell deserved both. So what did it matter?

Carefully, you started opening your eyes, flinching when the light hit your cornea and you reflexively shut your eyes again.

“Good, that’s good. Try again.”

It took a few more minutes of coaxing, but eventually you were able to keep your eyes open. By that time, Brenda was joined by Dr. Chowdhury and a woman doctor you’d never seen before. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen.

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you never saw him again. The next time he came into your life would be in the form of being served divorce papers.

“Y/N. This is Dr. Abara,” Dr. Chowdhury introduced. “She performed your surgery and successfully removed your tumor.”

Hold up.

“What?”

Your doctor offered you a smile. “It is gone. Your cancer is gone.”

“Oh my god.” You’d never heard your voice so shaky. “What—what happened? I don’t remember much—”

Dr. Abara stepped forward. “The tissue around your tumor became inflamed. It wasn’t surprising, considering how long you’ve been on this aggressive treatment. It was, however, monitored closely throughout your treatment. The inflamed tissue pressed against the nerves in your neck and your spinal cord. As a result, you lost vision for a time and you lost consciousness as well.”

“But it’s all good now?” The words were foreign on your tongue.

She nodded. “We will be performing tests and scans over the next week to make sure we got all of the cancerous cells, but we are very optimistic.”

Cancer free. You weren’t going to die. You had a future.

But the question that bounced through your mind as you answered the doctors’ questions and let them give you a brief exam was what kind of future did you really have?

Sebastian had obviously written you off. And you didn’t blame him. Maybe he was just waiting until you were recovered more before calling the cops on you and your future would be spent behind bars. If that was the case, hopefully you could serve your time in the same prison as your sister. At least then you’d have someone who understood.

Just a week ago you’d been excited at the prospect of getting this tumor out and spending your future with Sebastian.

And now?

Well, now every time a shadow cast across the blinds, your muscles tensed. Whenever the doorknob to your room turned, your anxiety skyrocketed. It was just a matter of time before the cops showed up.

What fortuitous timing. As soon as you’re cancer-free, someone finds out the truth about you. They don’t have to feel bad about calling the cops.

Sebastian doesn’t have to feel bad about calling the cops. And it was a part of the deal to get a divorce after the surgery. He has all the excuses—no, no. He has all the reasons he needs to never see you again. They aren’t excuses. He has solid reasons.

It was three hours later when he finally walked through the door. He was careful to be quiet, slowly closing the door. The hesitance was not something you’d ever seen on him. Just knowing that you’d caused it made you shrink into yourself even more.

He turned and straightened up when he saw you were awake. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you managed to eke out after a deep breath.

“How’re you feeling? I assume the nurses or surgeon or Dr. Chowdhury have talked to you. Let you know how everything went.” At his pause, you responded with a shallow nod. “Right. Good. Uh… I wish I could have been here when you woke up, but the surgery took longer than they told me and my agent call—”

“It’s okay,” you whispered, interrupted him.

“No, it’s not. You should have had someone here when you woke up.”

“I’m fine, Sebastian. You don’t have to—”

“I should have been here,” he asserted. “I’m your husband.”

Your eyes fell to your lap and you whispered, “You don’t have to be.”

Your reply obviously caught him off guard because there was silence for a solid ten seconds before he spoke again. “What?”

“Surgery’s over. That was the deal, right?” You massaged your left ring finger, devoid of your ring as an excuse not to look at him. Before surgery, a nurse had removed your rings and given them to Sebastian for safe keeping. It was doubtful you’d ever see them again. “I remember what we were talking about before I collapsed and this is your out. I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign and I won’t blame you for whatever phone calls you want to—”

“Phone calls? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about…” You scoffed and finally looked up at him. “I’m saying that my sister’s not the only Y/L/N who belongs in jail.”

And a very uncomfortable silence fell over the room.

This was the moment where he finally agreed with you. The moment where he finally realized what a huge mistake it was to not get that annulment back in Vegas.

After what seemed like an eternity, he started moving in slow, measured steps towards the bed you were sat on. “I called Jasmin. After they rushed you into surgery, I figured I should let her know. And we got to talking.”

So you got to lose your husband and best friend all in one day.

It was fitting.

Sebastian sat on a chair after scooting it closer to your bed. “She knows more than you give her credit for, you know. What you said about your dad not being the first person you-you killed… Your first was when you were fifteen, right?”

And your blood ran cold.

“You and Jaz convinced her older brother to let you tag along on a trip to Denver and you managed to slip away for a couple of hours. But you’re a horrible liar, so she was worried about you and followed you.”

“Fuck,” you barely breathed. She never said a word. All these years.

“Y/N… you went to Planned Parenthood.” He reached for your hands, but you reflexively jerked them away. Rather than retreat, he let his hands fall on the bed next to you and looked up at you with wide, clear eyes. “That’s not murder. You were fifteen. Your father was abusive and—”

“Not the father. He never touched me like that.” Why were you defending him? If there was one thing you knew for certain in this world, it was that that man didn’t deserve any kindness. You were coming clean, so you might as well come clean about everything. Good and bad.

You forced your muscles to relax back into the pillow and closed your eyes. “But he gambled a lot. Had a lot of debt. And… and couldn’t always pay up. So, uh, so some of his… friends,” you spat the word. “let him pay his debts another way.”

“God, please don’t tell me…”

Huffing a bitter, humorless laugh, you found yourself pulling the thin hospital blanket further up your body. “Yeah.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Fuck, he was getting choked up. If you opened your eyes, you bet there would be tears on his cheeks. You didn’t deserve sympathy. “It doesn’t matter how I got into that situation, I still did it. I still got the abortion. And I still killed my dad.”

“It does matter. Y/N, it matters so fucking much. Look at me, please. Baby, I’m begging you.”

“You remember when I told you what that lady from my hometown said when she found out I had cancer?” You refused to open your eyes. “That it was God’s way of punishing me for not adopting my nephews? She wasn’t wrong, exactly. He was definitely punishing me for something, but it wasn’t that.”

“Fucking hell, sweetheart. Will you just fucking look at me!?” The last few words ended in a near-yell, surprising you enough to get you to do just as he wanted. Seeing he had your attention, he sat forward. “Baby, what you went through was horrifying. You reacted how any rational person would and I know it’s not what you want to hear, but you’ve gotta learn to cut yourself a break.” As much as you wanted to interrupt his monologue to let him know he was wasting his breath, you waited for him to finish. You had to know what arguments he had stored in his head if you had any hope of countering them. “Your sister left when you were eight. You were abused since you were eight years old. There is not a single person whose opinion matters that would blame you for any of it.”

“My sister killed her abusive boyfriend. She lived the same abuse I did, and a jury found her guilty. I killed my abusive dad. I don’t really see the difference.”

And he didn’t have an immediate retort to that point.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Sebastian. So I suggest you stop wasting your time.” You kept eye contact for a moment longer before breaking it to slide down on the bed and turn your back to him. “I’m tired. Doctor said I should sleep when my body tells me to. Brain surgery, and all that.”

He didn’t say anything else, nor did he leave. You sensed him sitting back in the chair behind you, but didn’t dare look over your shoulder to see.

It wasn’t a lie, what you’d said. You were tired. And Dr. Chowdhury had told you to listen to your body and rest when you needed it. But… but you just couldn’t seem to go to sleep. For fifteen minutes, the two of you sat in silence. For fifteen minutes, you hoped and prayed that Sebastian would just leave you behind.

For his sake, you hoped he would call his attorney and get divorce papers going. You hoped he would call his PR team and get them to spin a nice tale on why you two were kissing in the airport last week and this week you were signing divorce papers as a Christmas present. A story that wouldn’t hurt his career. That would paint him in a good light.

“Why now?” Sebastian shattered the icy silence. When you didn’t answer, it was like he could sense your confusion. “We were happy. You were happy. The night you were drunk you said…” He trailed off, and your mind jerked back to that night, wondering what you said to him that he would bring up now. But he kept talking and you pushed it away. “And this is a shitload to carry around. Maybe I just read you wrong this whole time, but…”

“You didn’t,” you confessed quietly, staring at the far wall. “You didn’t read me wrong. I did. I… I think that when I refused treatment earlier this year and prepared to, uh, to die, that I convinced myself that the cancer was my-my-my…my sentencing. And that made it easier to accept that I was going to die. And so I just kind of… I skipped ahead and I let it cancel out. I let the cancer bury everything.”

When you fell silent, he continued on for you. “So when the good news finally settled in…”

“With the cancer gone, there wasn’t anything to hold back everything else.” Tears started blurring your vision, but you tamped back the emotion. You didn’t deserve the release of tears. “And I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me because I do. I really do. I know that as soon as I recover and get back to my real life, I’ll be able to cope and push it all down again and I will truly be thankful for you saving my life, but right now all I can think is that you should have left me in Vegas.”

And today set the record for uncomfortable silences between you and Sebastian.

That was, until you heard him move. You assumed he was finally leaving the room, but instead you felt the bed behind you shift moments before he laid down behind you with an arm wrapped tightly around you.

“What are—what are you…”

His arm held you close when you tried pushing away.

“I’m going to hold you until you fall asleep. And you’re going to let me.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he beat you to the punch, repeating your words back to you. “And you’re not going to change my mind, so don’t waste your time.”

“Seb—”

“We can continue this discussion later, but I’ll be damned if I let my wife deal with this alone. Especially after just getting brain surgery.”

“Seb—”

“I’m not leaving you, Y/N.”

More of her past... man. What she had to live through with her father. Why do you think Sebastian is so determined to hep her through everything? Also... CANCER FREE!!

CHAPTER 27: THE CONFESSION

[speuradair]

Home | M.N.

Word Count: 1.9k

Contains: anxiety/fear description, half angst/half fluff, absolute crack fic scene at the end lmao

Requested: anonymously

“ you feel scared, so makoto offers to let you sleep in his room (plus everyone’s reaction the next morning when they see the two of you) please! “

-

Was that… somebody knocking?

A drowsy haze seemed to fill Makoto's mind at first, fighting him as he tried to blink himself awake. He hadn't even noticed he'd fallen asleep, but the bright LED clock now read 9:58 pm; He must've been asleep for at least an hour. In just a few minutes it would be 10 o'clock and Monokuma would announce to everyone that nighttime had begun.

So why was someone at his door? At first he wasn't sure if he should answer it. He tried to believe that none of his classmates would actually try to hurt him, but that dumb bear's words knawwed at the back of his mind. Technically there was a chance that someone was trying to lure him out.

Hope and good faith prevailed though, leading him to open the door. He was glad it did, too, as he realized who it was.

In the dim light of the hallway was his childhood best friend. Though you'd told him earlier that you just wanted to shower and go to bed, now you were at his door, very much awake.

“I’m really sorry to bother you...” Sleeve covered hands rubbed at your eyes as you stood before him, your gaze askance.

“(Name)? What are you doing out so late?” He noticed your fingers trembling as they fidgeted behind the fabric. “I- is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry, I know this probably sounds really dumb, but I couldn't sit in my room all alone anymore. I was in the shower and I really thought I heard someone trying to get into my room, and I probably just imagined it but the longer I stayed in there alone the more I thought I heard someone coming-"

He recognized your fretful rambling immediately.

Makoto nodded, pulling you into the room before you could talk yourself into any more of a panic than you were already in. "Hey, it's okay! I don't think that's dumb, you just got scared. I'm sure we're all pretty scared.."

You just nodded meekly. A soft sniffle escaped you as you turned your head away from him. Your hair was still damp and you seemed disheveled, as if you'd left in too much of a hurry to truly have gotten ready for bed. Seeing you so perturbed turned his stomach. It wasn’t often that you truly allowed yourself to break down in front of anyone; The rare sight was rather unsettling.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment. His first thought was to wrap his arms around you and hide you away in his tight embrace, but he decided against it before he’d even begun to move towards you. While you two were close, his ever growing feelings for you and just general innate awkwardness held him back from making any bold moves even in vital situations like these. While your unusually aloof manner and refusal to even look at him was killing him, he still couldn’t force himself to comfort you the way he so desperately wanted to. Instead, he stood still where he was.

“Maybe you did just imagine it,” he tried after a few moments, “Like with the water running and already being worried about it, it would be easy to, you know, imagine the sound of someone at your door…” Shit, even his words sounded awkward. Was that even what you wanted to hear? Or was that just going to upset you more?

“I know I probably just imagined it, Makoto, but what if something like that happened in the middle of the night? What would I do then?” You finally looked up at him, eyes glassy and rimmed with red. Your features had tightened with worry. “Y- you don’t have to worry about that, right? I mean, we can’t go outside during nighttime.” Shifting closer finally, he gently reached to interrupt your fingers which had begun to pick at your lips.

You let your hand remain in his and drop down to your side. “But that’s just a promise we made, right? If someone decided to break that promise… “

He didn’t want to admit it, but you had a point. There were no real consequences for breaking the agreement you’d made. It was as easy as opening the door and stepping out, just like you had moments ago.

“T- then… Why don’t you stay in my room tonight? Would that make you feel a little better? All it said in the school regulations was that we had to sleep in ‘the dorm rooms’ right? It didn’t state specifically which room each person had to sleep in. So…”

“Y- you want me to stay the night?”

"Ah, I didn't mean it l- like that!" He found himself letting go of your hand to subconsciously rub the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed a bit, "I just mean that.. well, you got scared being alone, and we are.. you know, best friends.."

"I'd like that," you exhaled, a weak smile ghosting over your lips though just for a moment. In a normal situation, he would've been overjoyed at the opportunity to spend the night with you. Now, though, it just felt like a weak attempt to reinforce a false sense of security. There was nothing romantic about it.

He smiled at you a bit, clearly relieved that you didn't take his suggestion the wrong way. "Here, why don't you lay down? You look tired. I can stay up and make sure no one comes in in the middle of the night."

You seemed to think it over for a moment before nodding again, then padding over to lie down on his bed. The sheets were still warm from his nap and, though you'd only been at the school for a short time, they already smelled like him.  

He moved over to sit at the desk, his attention still entirely on you. Shaky breaths left your lips as you laid there, the soft sound breaking the otherwise silent room. You looked so… broken. It hadn't been more than 24 hours since you all had ended up there, yet that damned mastermind already had you terrified like this. That fact alone infuriated him enough to want to take down the asshole behind this himself.

Before he could get too deep into his own thoughts, your wavering voice called out to him.

"Makoto, could you.. lay with me?"

His eyes widened a bit at the request. You wanted him to lay in bed with you? Sure, you were best friends, but that seemed pretty intimate. Initially he felt a bit flustered by the thought, but then his gaze fell upon your slumped form a few feet away.

Clearly you were still shaken up. Your eyelashes glistened with eager tears and your lip seemed to tremble with exhaustion. How could he ever turn you down, especially when you looked like that? He just had to suck up his embarrassment and agree.

"Y- yeah, if that's what you want," he studied you with soft eyes, waiting for you to confirm before hesitantly laying himself beside you on the small twin sized bed. Here, especially up close, you looked so fragile. He hated seeing you so upset. In the long twelve years you’d been friends, Makoto wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you so vulnerable. Now, more than ever, he wanted to pull you against him and promise to keep you safe. To tell you how he'd do anything to see you happy again, or how honored he felt that you came to him to feel safe. He wanted to tell you how much you meant to him, and how his heart raced as you laid this close to him...

He laid still though, maintaining his respectful distance as he watched you carefully. Now wasn't the time to risk putting any more pressure or discomfort on you. When you two got out of here, if you two got out of here, he swore to himself that he'd tell you how he felt. For now he would just focus on staying awake so you could sleep soundly. Slowly, though, he realized you were shifting closer to him. Was it intentional? You looked so cold and scared, he couldn’t take it anymore. Feeling bold for a moment, he reached out for you, and when you didn’t immediately flinch or move away, he pulled you tightly into his chest. To his surprise, you were quick to grab onto him. Now he could feel just how violently you were shaking.

Now that it had been on his mind long enough, he could recall one specific time you clung to him like this. You were just ten years old, and the two of you had gotten lost while playing in the woods. By the time you’d found your way out again, it was nearly dark and the temperature had dropped. You’d hid against his side the whole way home, leaving him to guide you. It had been seven years, but feeling you desperately hold on to him like this made him feel helpless and small all over again.

“Hey…” he mumbled softly against your hair, “It’s okay. I… I’m sure nobody here would actually kill anyone, right? Monokuma’s just trying to scare us.” You didn’t respond, so he kept talking. “And when they realize we’re not going to do what they want, they’d be too bored to keep us here. I’m sure we’ll get out soon.”

“Not everyone is as optimistic as you are. Some of the others seemed… really convinced by those videos…” Your voice was soft enough that he could barely hear what you were saying, but he picked up the pure distress in your voice loud and clear.

He wasn’t sure what to say honestly. He could lay here with you all night reiterating his hopeful perspective, but would that really be enough to console you? Eloquence never was his strong suit.

Instead, he tightened his arms around you, letting you bury your face in his jacket more. There wasn't a lot he could do right now. Everything felt so out of control here. He couldn't force the others to play nice, and he couldn't force the sicko behind this to let them leave. All he could do was try and make you feel safe.

So he clung to you too, tucking you against himself protectively. “It’s okay, I won’t let anyone get you. I promise I’ll get us home again.”

As the two of you slipped into the cafeteria for the morning meeting a few minutes late together, Makoto hoped that everyone else would be distracted enough to not notice. He knew how it might sound if they just heard that you’d stayed in his room, and the last thing he wanted was to have people making any suggestive comments.

Though, as his luck would have it, everyone was waiting on the two of you, and you were immediately noticed.

“Hey, there they are!” Aoi beamed, cutting off whatever Byakuya was saying mid-sentence. “I knocked on your door, (Name), but you weren’t there!”

“She wasn’t in her room? Then where was she?”

Hifumi barely let Yasuhiro finish asking before he snapped to answer. “Keh, it certainly seems that Madame (name) spent the night with Mr. Naegi, embracing their basest urges-”

“Ew, don’t say that!” Now you cut him off.

“Y-you slept with Naegi?!”

Makoto couldn’t tell whether Toko was disgusted or impressed. He decided he didn’t want to know.

“What?! No, she just slept in my room because she got scared-”

As if right on cue, Monokuma made his appearance and joined in the taunting. “Ooooh, looks like somebody’s been taking advantage of the sound proof walls!”

“N- no, really! It’s nothing like that!!” Makoto put his hands up in defense, a bright red tinge coloring his cheeks at the explicit insinuations. This was going to be a long morning meeting.

[veraynes-blog]

19 with TenSimm for the cuddle prompts, if you please 😁

19. While someone's sick. Ten/Simm

In which the Master reluctantly plays doctor. Please excuse his questionable methods of care, he's never had to work at making someone feel better before...

So this got massively longer than I intended, but I hope it's the sickfic you were thinking of! 😄❤

~

They don't notice the Doctor's apparently caught something from their latest travel destination until they're two galaxies and half a millennia away. It's not the kind of thing Time Lords are particularly wary of, picking up illnesses. They have an immune system that fights off most things, and failing that the TARDIS has a sterile field built in which scans and eliminates contaminants.

Neither of them are sure how exactly the Doctor manages to avoid all failsafes, only that, somehow, as he stretches up to adjust the temporal settings on their flight path, there appears to be the beginnings of an angry red rash on the inside of his wrist.

"What the hell is that?" the Master demands when he first sees it, jerking his own hand back from the control panel and safely out of reach.

The Doctor blinks in equal surprise, pushing his sleeve back to examine the marks. "Oh. Not sure. Huh."

The Master wrinkles his nose in distaste at how genuinely interested the other man sounds at the development. He really will do anything for novelty.

"What did you touch?" he snaps accusingly. "...Or should that be 'who'?"

The Doctor shoots him a scathing look, and doesn't bother to address the latter. "I don't know, nothing that's jumping to mind." He runs one finger carefully over the little red lumps. "It doesn't hurt. Not even that itchy."

The Master feels like he's having a stronger vicarious aversion to the whole thing than the Doctor. He can't help looking down at his own hands and wrists, turning them over quickly in search of spots, mercifully finding nothing. Even so, his skin suddenly feels like it's crawling, and he rolls his shoulders unhappily as he imagines half a dozen vicious itches spring up across his back and chest.

"It's probably just a reaction to something," the Doctor dismisses absently, tugging his sleeve back down with a shrug. "Must have an allergy in this regeneration. Can you grab the -?"

But the Master is already striding for the door. "Absolutely not, keep your scabby hands to yourself. Talk to me when you're back to normal." He's going to go shower, thoroughly, and check in the mirror just to be sure that no suspicious blemishes have materialised anywhere on him.

Behind him, the Doctor scoffs. "Thanks for your heartfelt sympathy," he mutters, and then the door closes on whatever further whinging comes next.

~

"It's freezing in here."

The Master arches a sceptical eyebrow over the top of the computer tablet he's working on. It most certainly is not. In fact he rather suspects the other Time Lord has already been messing with the ambient temperature settings of the ship to crank it up a few notches.

It's been a few peaceful hours since he left the Doctor tinkering in the control room. He's sprawled across one of the couches in the library, tablet propped up on his chest, so he has to push himself up enough to peer over the back of the cushions, mouth already open to offer the sarcastic response he's got in mind.

But he stops, and blinks wordlessly at the sight he's met with.

The Doctor's discarded his suit jacket and tie, despite his protestations about being cold, and the reason is fairly obvious as the Master flicks a glance down over him. He's sweating visibly, an unhealthy sheen across his forehead and his shirt damp with it. His skin looks flushed, eyes far too bright as his gaze trails disinterestedly around the library

The Master sits up slowly, vaguely incredulous frown in place.

"Are you... actually sick?"

The other man gives him a slightly blank look, and then wanders closer. The Master almost flinches, because he can catch the faint sour wrongness of it now, and can only watch in amazement as the Doctor slumps tiredly onto the other end of the couch like his strings have been cut. This close, he can see through the open collar of his shirt that the rash has spread to his chest.

Frankly, the Master has no idea what he's supposed to do with the development. 

It really isn't often that Time Lords get sick, not like this. He can't even remember being around it before. He has a distant memory that there'd been an opulent, cathedralesque hospice on Gallifrey, for aging Time Lords beyond their final regenerations, but he'd never gone near. And his own brushes with illness and injury have been very different experiences to this.

He stretches out a hand, pausing momentarily in the air, and then hesitantly presses the inside of his wrist against the Doctor's forehead with a little bump. That's what people do, isn't it? He's definitely seen it done. It's an unpleasant sensation, if he's honest, clammy and startlingly hot.

He snatches his hand back in surprise, gingerly wiping it off on his suit trousers.

"You've got a fever," he says, uselessly, like the Doctor might not have noticed.

The other man gives him a half-smile, looking stupidly charmed by his clumsy attempt at diagnostics.

"Yeah. Sorry."

~

It gets worse quickly after that.

The fever keeps rising, along with the Master's mounting horror as he realises he's going to have to do something to help, and has precisely no idea what. Irritably, he goes scrounging through the TARDIS medical ward and comes back with ice packs, painkillers, and various medicines that might in some way be useful, dumping the collection in front of the other man.

"Come on, you're the Doctor here - which of these are you prescribing yourself?" 

"S'metaphor," the Doctor slurs slightly, from where he's slumped back against the headboard of his bed. He stares listlessly at the offerings, then lifts a shoulder. "Not medical."

The Master sighs tightly. "Yes, whoever imagined that particular pretension might come back to bite us, hm...?" He shoves one of the ice packs none too gently over the other man's forehead, ordering him to keep it there, and perches on the edge of the bed with his tablet to search through the TARDIS’s database for what else he's supposed to do.

He can't figure out exactly what it is the Doctor's picked up from the planet, although that doesn't surprise him much. They tend to react differently than other species anyway, so there's every chance the same illness presents completely differently, or like nothing at all, in the humans he caught it from.

He is, however, more than a little concerned that whatever's wrong could be contagious. If the Master gets sick as well, it doesn't bode well for either one of them, but he's not sure what other option he has but to take the risk. Leaving any Time Lord in the care of some alien medical facility is out of the question, as far as he's concerned; even the best of them have no understanding of the complex physiology they're dealing with, and the worst aren't always above taking advantage of the chance to study them, which the Master won't tolerate.

But nor can he afford to just... keep his distance, because within the day the Doctor is in no state to look after himself.

The fever makes him lethargic and slow to respond, sulkier than usual in his discomfort. He keeps falling into restless sleep, and when he is awake he's nauseous and dizzy and won't stop scratching at his stupid rash until the Master threatens irritably to restrain him if he keeps going.

For his part, the Master resigns himself to setting up on the couch in the Doctor's bedroom. He brings a book. It turns out to be somewhat optimistic, sadly, because what he actually ends up doing is listening to the Doctor's increasingly pathetic complaints like he's proclaiming dying wishes.

"Nggh. Everything hurts. I can feel my organs hurting. I can feel organs I didn't know I had hurting."

"Take another painkiller," the Master suggests blandly, flipping a page.

"Fine." There's a pause. "...Can you get me a drink?"

With ill grace the Master fetches water, and begrudgingly even sorts food (soup, because it's easier to pin him down and force him to drink it, if he has to, than endure pleading with the uncooperative prat to feed himself). He adjusts the ship temperature to the recommended settings (taking great joy in overriding the Tardis's safeguards against him) and diligently picks through the eclectic mix of mostly alien medications he found earlier, trying to determine which ones will safely treat a fever in a Time Lord by cross referencing against the medical sites he pulls up on his tablet.

He's not what anyone would call a natural caregiver, he suspects, more impatient with the whole process than anything. But he is precise, and capable, and thankfully the Doctor is not unaccustomed to doing as he's told these days.

It's not until he can't get a sensible answer out of the other man that he really starts to worry.

"Go to sleep."

"No, I need to get the... the thing. The thing, you know. With the magnets."

The Master closes his eyes in tired exasperation, and when the Doctor starts pushing off the covers like he's going to get up, he shuts his book with a snap and goes to stop him. A quick, efficient shove puts him flat on his back without issue, and the Master insistently puts the ice pack in place again.

"Stay." It's not unlike having a particularly hapless pet, he thinks, ungenerously, and wonders again how long this is likely to go on for.

Rolling his eyes, he turns for the door. "I'll be back in a minute, I need to -"

"Don’t."

The Master glances at him curiously, surprised to find himself met with a strangely fervent expression.

"Don't go." The Doctor says it with such sudden desperation that the Master is immediately sure he's not talking about him just stepping out of the room for a minute. "Don't leave."

"You're delirious," he informs the other Time Lord flatly, prodding at him to try and get him to lie back down. "Go to sleep."

The Doctor makes an uncoordinated grab for him, catching at his sleeve. "No, stay. Please. Stay with me."

The Master shakes him off with a frown, a little unnerved. They don't ask each other things like that. They just don't. It's understood.

But then they don't usually get sick, either.

He deliberates silently, unsure of himself, as the Doctor continues to look up at him with a faintly pleading expression.

Finally he sighs, supposing it's as good a way to keep him pliant as any. Reluctantly, he takes off his tie and waistcoat and lays them aside. Then rolls up his shirtsleeves and unbuttons his collar, because the unnatural heat that's pouring off the other Time Lord can be felt even from where he stands at the edge of the bed, and he can only imagine it's going to be worse the nearer he gets. He moves one of the pillows back and sits stiffly on the edge of the bed.

Agitatedly propped up on one elbow, the Doctor watches him with glazed, too-bright eyes, brows pitched up hopefully. His hand sneaks out across the sheets, already plucking at the edges of the Master's shirt before he's even settled. The Master ignores him for the moment, bringing his legs up on the bed to cross atop the covers, adjusting the cushion behind himself so he can sit propped against the headboard. He remembers he's forgotten his book a second too late - because by then the Doctor is already tipping into his lap, cheek resting heavy against his thigh, one arm thrown awkwardly around his waist.

The Master blinks down at him in bemusement, hands hovering a few inches away from touching. Everything he's done today has been beyond the realm of his typical experience, but this...

He's not sure he's ever been anyone's source of comfort before now.

Warily, he lets one hand settle on the Doctor's shoulder, resigning himself to staying put for a while. There's not much else he can do anyway, in terms of pragmatics; there's water on the sidetable, and he's already plied the other man with what food and medications he can keep down. So he tips his head back against the headboard, gaze drifting upwards, and tries to make himself comfortable.

~

The Master wakes up disoriented. At some point in the night he's slipped down to lie properly on the bed, finds himself curled on his side half-tangled in the mess of sheets. He squints, looking round himself in confusion - and then experiences a moment of senseless panic as he realises he's alone.

He isn't sure what he thinks, in that brief second. That the Doctor's wandered off, that he's gotten worse, that he'll make himself worse. That - he couldn't possibly, it wasn't that bad, surely? - that he might even have regenerated while the Master slept.

He doesn't have time to fully sit up in alarm before the bathroom door opens, and the Doctor steps out. He looks worse for wear still, bumping tiredly into the doorframe on his way through, but far more aware of himself than he'd seemed last night. And in the same regeneration.

The Master relaxes gradually, embarrassed by his own irrational reaction as he lets himself rest back onto the pillow, rubbing the gritty sleep from his eyes. There's a crick in his neck and his shirt's twisted uncomfortably round him and he's never wanted a shower more in his lives.

The Doctor shuffles toward the end of the bed and manages to crawl onto it, but doesn't quite make it all the way back up to the pillows. He gets far enough to collapse with his face pressed against the Master's stomach, one arm draped loosely over his hip, and clearly calls it good enough.

The Master snorts at the attempt, but deigns to place his hand on the back of the Doctor's head, fingers working through the mess of his hair. It's somewhat unpleasant, the strands still damp with sickly sweat, but the other man is in no position to notice his look of distaste as he continues the motion. The feverish temperature has finally dropped, the Master notes absently.

They're quiet for a few minutes, dozing like that. At length, the Doctor stirs against him, fingers curling loosely on his waist.

"You stayed," he murmurs, words distorted as they're spoken right against his midriff.

The Master frowns, keeping his eyes closed. He feels oddly self-conscious, firstly for having done as asked, and now having it commented on. A list of excuses drift automatically through his head. He hadn't had a choice. He'd been being manipulative. Something... sarcastic.

"Shut up," is all he say, though, in the end.

[let-it-raines]

Every Monday Morning (1/1)

Emma Swan likes her routines. She wakes up at four in the morning, goes to work as a host on The Morning Show, spends her day doing segments about cooking and this season’s fashion trends, and then she goes home to spend time with her son and help him with his homework. She’s finally found something stable, and she doesn’t like change. 

So when the show’s regular chef retires and is replaced by Killian Jones, it throws Emma for a loop that she doesn’t necessarily like. 

At least not at first. 

Rating: Teen

a/n: So, I’m a day early as it’s her birthday tomorrow, but I realized today I won’t be able to post tomorrow because of family obligations. I think @searchingwardrobes​ might be okay with spreading the celebration out a bit! 

Happy (almost) Birthday to the birthday queen herself ❤️ You are an absolute gift of a person who spends time writing stories for most everyone on their birthdays, and while I can’t do quite that, I thought I’d write you a little something because you absolutely deserve it! It’s been a joy getting to know you! I hope that you have the best day with your family! 🎉

Thanks @wellhellotragic​ for helping me figure out what to write about, even if I rejected everything. lol. And also, nonnie, I promise the “read more” is being used, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t work on mobile!

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @captainsjedi @wellhellotragic @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer  @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods​ @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven  @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81

-/-

It’s five in the morning, Emma has coffee in her ridiculously oversized mug that Henry gave her for her birthday last year, and she absolutely does not want to be awake right now. She wants to be in her pajamas, and she wants to have to struggle to get out of bed and to have to make Henry breakfast that he’ll take two bites out of before deciding that he doesn’t actually want the pancakes she made. It’s been an obnoxious thing lately, his weird aversion to foods after saying that he wants them, and she’s really going to need him to grow out of that habit.

Kids are freaking weird, and after ten years of motherhood, she still has no idea what she’s doing.

“Stop twitching,” Ruby grumbles.

“I am not twitching.”   “You are.” Ruby huffs, and Emma straightens herself in the chair before taking a slow sip of coffee. “It’s not easy to put your eyeliner on, and it’s even more difficult if you keep moving.”

“I am not moving, Rubes,” Emma insists before crossing her leg over her knee only for Ruby to slap it away so that both feet are on the bottom of the chair. “Okay, maybe I am a little bit, but I didn’t get the chance to workout this morning, and I’m feeling all jittery.”

Ruby hums, and Emma tries to relax her eyes so that Ruby can keep working on her makeup without it smearing. “Why not? Did you not sleep well last night?”

“We were up late doing Henry’s homework. I swear, I’m not that old, but some of his stuff I’ve never heard of. The math is killing me. I would never in my life want Neal to come back, but I feel like it would almost be acceptable if he could do this math.” “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

“Stop wrinkling your nose.”

“I am not.” “You are,” Ruby laughs as her finger hits the tip of Emma’s nose. “Give me ten more minutes, and then you can get dressed and take a few minutes to eat something and drink your coffee.”

“It’s Monday,” Emma sighs. “It’s Chef Rudianni day. I’m about to eat everything that he cooks when he does his segment.”

Ruby stops the light pressure of the sponge on Emma’s cheek, and she opens her eyes to see that Ruby is staring at her with an apologetic smile. Shit.

“Chef Rudianni retired last week, Ems. We’ve got a new guy, and whew, let me tell you, he’s as hot as the food that he’s going to teach you to make.”

Disappointment settles in Emma’s stomach. Maybe that’s just the lack of food…the lack of Chef Rudianni’s food. “You are shameless and also breaking my heart.” Emma groans and leans back in the chair while crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t care how attractive the new guy is. I wake up at four in the morning every Monday with the hope that I can get food from Rudy. It is literally the only thing that gets me through the day.”

“Being a host on one of the most popular morning shows in America doesn’t do it for you? You work for half a day and then are home in time to spend all afternoon with Henry.”

Emma grunts and waves Ruby away. “Yeah, whatever. You don’t have to rub it in my face that I’m lucky to make me feel bad about it.”

“That’s what friends are for, my darling. Now, arch your left brow. I need to fix that little stray.”

Ruby keeps prodding and plucking and doing everything that she does every morning to make Emma look camera ready and not like she’s waiting to die from lack of sleep, and while it’s usually Emma’s time to relax, she doesn’t get much of that when her producers come in and run her through this morning’s program. Emma never does any “real” news, which is perfectly okay with her. There’s enough darkness in the world that she doesn’t want to have to extensively deal with that while at work. Instead, she spends her mornings talking to people who run their first marathons at the age of sixty, tries on different outfits for each of the seasonal trends, and gets to pretend that she knows how to cook as she does cooking segments.

Chef Rudianni made it easy for her to pretend that she had something more than basic cooking skills, even if he did very obviously make fun of her off the screen, but she never cared about that because the food was that good.

She’s not entirely sure about this new guy, and she hasn’t even met him yet. He better be able to cook pie for Thanksgiving. That’s what’s she’s going to miss the most.

(Emma is obviously very hungry right now, and she’s not even technically supposed to eat that much of the food.)

“You look happy this morning,” David teases her as she settles down at her chair behind the desk.

“It’s Monday, and I’m tired.”

“Working on a morning news show was not your calling.”

Emma rolls her eyes and twists in the chair as Mary Margaret, the second half of the power couple of The Morning Show, sits down in her chair next to David, and Will Scarlet, their weather and sports guy, sits opposite of her. They’ve got maybe ten different hosts total, especially since this show lasts for five hours, but the four of them have been the main four for the last three years. It’s nice, even if their personalities can clash, but Emma likes to think that’s what makes it interesting. Mary Margaret and David are both so full of hope and happiness, and the energy radiating from the two of them make it easier for she and Will to be a little more optimistic about things.

(There was once an incident with Will laughing at a story about a woman who made her living making sweaters for dogs, and they had a month-long sensitivity training session afterward. That also may be why they are all unwaveringly positive on-air.)

Emma hums and reaches forward to grab her coffee cup, wishing and willing that the caffeine will help her make it through the day. “I think I was meant to be, like, a late-night host or something, but then I couldn’t get away with wearing slippers underneath the desk and would have to be funny all the time.”

“Does it hurt to wear heels even while you’re sitting?” Will asks.

“Why don’t you try it one day, Scarlet? I’ve got someone coming in tomorrow to show the fall color trends for shoes. I’m sure she could give you a pair to try on. You’ll look great delivering the news in some plum pumps.”

“I’d do it. You know that.”

“We’re live in thirty seconds,” their producers call out, and each of them turn from each other back to face the camera, coffee mugs put down and hair adjusted with perfectly white smiles etched across their faces.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Good morning, America,” David begins.

“And welcome to The Morning Show,” Mary Margaret finishes.

And thus they begin.

The first ten or so minutes is spent with David and Mary Margaret reading off little snippets of news before connecting it to their personal lives, talking about their kids and their relationship before throwing it off to Will and Emma and to banter back and forth. Emma never talks about Henry on-air. His existence isn’t something she shares with the world, mostly because she doesn’t want Neal suddenly popping back in realizing that he has a son. He would definitely try to take advantage of her again and use her job and Henry as some way to advance his life, and Emma isn’t here for that. So, she plays the part of a single twenty-eight-year-old woman and never shares anecdotes over her life at home. At least not ones that involve Henry.

Soon they all branch off into their different jobs and topics. Emma and Will both leave the main table so that Will can do the weather and Emma can set up to interview a college student who is taking Krispy Kreme donuts and putting his own spin on them, and like every morning, time flies by in a mess of interviews and segments and talking to all of the people who are both crazy and awesome enough to stand outside their studio window just to get a chance to see where they film.

It’s an insane life, one Emma most definitely stumbled into it, but she loves it.

Until she walks over to the fake kitchen they have on set and sees the new guy setting up whatever it is he’s cooking today. Emma stops in her tracks, the heels she put back on scratching against the linoleum floor, and she has to take a moment to collect herself. Ruby wasn’t wrong when she said that the new chef was attractive. He obviously is. Even from here she can see the sharp line of his jaw covered with scruff that’s a shade or two lighter than the black of his hair, and his eyes are so blue that Emma is almost positive they’re contacts. It’s ridiculous. He’s tall, but not outrageously so, and she can see the muscles in his forearms and biceps under the t-shirt that he has on.

Guys who look like that always know that they do, indeed, look like they do, and it’s never good news. They think they’re a gift to women world-wide, and Emma prepares herself for him to be the same way, especially with the way that he’s obviously flirting with one of their production assistants, Tink.

Why in the world did Chef Rudianni have to retire? She’s going to miss him and his sweet elderly man ways where he thought of her more like a granddaughter than anything else.

Taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she’s a professional, Emma walks toward the cooking set, grabs her apron off the hook, ties it around her, and walks up to the guy to introduce herself. He’s a once-a-week segment for four minutes, and it really won’t be that bad. It can’t be.

(Emma hates change.)

“Oh.” Tink jumps when she sees Emma, pink rising on her cheeks, “Mr. Jones, I’d like you to meet Emma Swan.”

The guy’s shoulders tense before he turns around, and Emma’s eyes are immediately hit by the blue, which is even more insane closer up. So is the brightness of the smile that seems to stretch all the way up to his eyes.

He better be a damn good cook.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, love,” he drawls out, the thickness of his British accent curling around his tongue. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

Emma forces a smile and nods her head as she reaches forward to shake his hand. “Emma Swan. Welcome to The Morning Show.”

“I’m glad to be here. Any tips for my time here? Who likes to steal food off the table? Anyone absolutely hate any certain kind of food? Anyone I should avoid?”

Emma releases his hand and cocks her head to the side, trying to size him up. “Just cook the food and smile for the camera when you’re supposed to, and you’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t expect me to be a good assistant. I’m not at all a chef. I faked it.”

He winks, and Emma has to grit her teeth. This guy is obviously a natural flirt. “That’s because you haven’t cooked with me yet.”

-/-

Killian Jones is even more charming on-camera then he is off of it. She has no idea what kind of television work he’s done in the past, if he’s done any at all, and he is every bit the natural at working the camera and the crowd as he takes her through the steps to make an absolutely fantastic end of the summer barbeque for the end of July that has her having to wipe barbeque sauce off her fingers in the middle of the segment. It’s also got everyone else coming over to check out the food, something that almost never happens, and Emma isn’t entirely sure how she feels about any of it.

It’s good for the show, at least. She knows that. She’ll simply have to get used to a little change every Monday morning.

-/-

“Mom,” Henry moans as he flops down on the couch, “I am starving. What’s for dinner?”

Emma shrugs her shoulders and gets up from her favorite chair in the living room to walk the few feet to the kitchen and the fridge. When she opens it, there’s barely anything inside. It’s half a gallon of milk, some cheese sticks, a bag of carrots, and then leftover lasagna Mary Margaret gave them a week ago. Emma needs to go grocery shopping, but she hasn’t had the chance recently. It’s been a crazy few weeks with work, the month of August and half of September flying by, and grocery shopping has been at the bottom of her list of things to do.

Mom of the year award, honestly. She needs to bite the bullet and pay the surcharge to have her groceries delivered, but the frugalness of growing up in the foster system has never really gone away when it comes to things like that. Expensive shoes? Sure, she can spend a few hundred dollars on that. Paying twenty dollars for a delivery fee? No, absolutely not.

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Emma looks at the complete lack of food in the fridge and decides that eating here is not an option. And she cannot eat takeout Chinese food or pizza again this week. That is not an option her stomach will agree with.

(She is making a change when it comes to their eating habits tomorrow. She swears.)

“How about we go out for dinner, kid?”

Henry sits up from the couch and puts his phone down, which is pretty much a miracle since this is the time that he’s allowed to use it, and he looks so much like Neal in this moment that her heart pangs. Or maybe that’s the consistent amount of junk food. She doesn’t really know.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s Friday night, and it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

“I mean, you  don’t have anything better to do. I was going to play my game with Avery.” Emma narrows her eyes at him, and Henry holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you find a place we’ve never been, and we’ll go there?” Henry opens his mouth and Emma holds her finger up. “Within one subway stop of here. I don’t want to traipse across the city. Let me go put on some actual pants, and then we’ll go, okay?”

Henry nods his head before quickly grabbing his phone and looking up restaurants while she walks back down the hallway to her bedroom to change out of her pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a light sweater that will keep the chill away since every restaurant is inevitably freezing. She can’t wait until fall truly rolls around and the temperature dips so that she can walk around all bundled up and no one will say a word.

Of course, this is Manhattan, and no one cares if Emma is walking around in nice, clean clothes or a T-rex suit.

When she’s finished getting ready and has run her hands through Henry’s hair to try to calm it down despite his protests, they leave their apartment, saying goodbye to the doorman Henry has pretty much adopted into their family, and follow the GPS to the restaurant Henry picked out. Emma didn’t look into it too much. All she saw was that it had good reviews and food that Henry would most definitely eat without complaint, and she was good to go.

(Her rumbling stomach really helps her make decisions much more quickly than she would otherwise.)

The place is on a corner lot, black gates cornering off the outdoor tables that all have umbrellas open over them if they’re not already covered by the black awnings that extend over the windows and toward the bubble lights that are brightening the space even with the constant flow of street lights and car headlights that keep passing by.

Sweet William.

“Kid,” Emma hesitates as they wait for the crosswalk light to turn on, “this place is packed. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to eat here.”

Henry tugs on her hand, and she looks down at him to see him smile. “Can we please at least try? The website said we didn’t need reservations, and that it has really good cheeseburgers. And those Alexander drinks that you like.”

“You really shouldn’t know about my alcohol preferences.”

“I know that you really like piña coladas, but you’re always too embarrassed to buy those unless we’re at the beach with Mary Margaret and David.”

Emma huffs and tugs Henry closer to her side so that she can kiss his forehead. “I think you’re too observant for your own good.”

“I thought moms wanted their kids to be smart.”

“We do…to a certain extent.”

The light changes and suddenly there’s a rush of people walking across the street. Emma holds onto Henry out of instinct as they move along with the crowd and walk up to the restaurant. Emma doesn’t expect them to get a table, especially once they walk inside and she can see that all of the tables and booths are full, but she asks the hostess anyway. She gives Emma a tight smile, one that is definitely more annoyed than kind, and then they’re told that it’ll be a forty-minute wait unless they want to sit at the bar. Emma’s fine with that, especially since Henry is insistent on getting one of these cheeseburgers, so they’re quickly guided through the restaurant until they get to the bar in the back and are stuck in the corner on the little swivel chairs.

How in the world has she never heard of this place? It’s obviously popular and in walking distance of her apartment. Emma needs to get out more often, but that’s too much effort.

When in the world did she turn into an old woman?

Probably when she had a kid at eighteen and then began getting up for work far before the sun rises.

Henry catches her up on everything that’s been happening at school in the past week. His friends are all obsessed with some new YouTube blogger that she’s going to have to check out, and his science project is due in two weeks. Emma puts a reminder in her phone over that because they will forget about it, and Henry will come home the night before it’s due so that they have to make a last-minute trip to the store for absolutely everything he needs and neither of them will get any sleep.

“Wait, so what happened with Avery’s mom?” Emma asks Henry as she sips on her diet coke.

“She had to go to the emergency – ”

“Swan!”

Emma’s head flips so quickly at the sound of the familiar accent that she almost gets whiplash, and all of the sudden Killian Jones is standing in front of her behind the bar with a stupid grin on his face. It’s the one that he does whenever he’s made a joke after she spectacularly fails at some kind of cooking thing or spills food on her apron, and Emma is experiencing whiplash in more ways than one.

What the hell is he doing here?

“Jones,” she greets, nodding at him. “What are you doing behind the bar?”

He raises his brows, a signature move of his as she’s learned over their weeks of doing segments, but then they settle back down to their normal place. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Nothing,” he sighs as he leans forward and rests his elbow on the bar top. “Who’s this young gentleman? Your date for the evening perhaps?”

Heat rushes to Emma’s cheeks, as well as the urge to mutter a few curses, because this is not good. Not good at all. Only a few people at work know about Henry and those people are people who she spends time with outside of work. Those people are her family, bloodlines be damned. They’re not the chef who comes by every Monday morning and attempts to flirt with her while showing her how to make an apple cider bar for fall holiday parties.

Emma opens her mouth to try to save some face, but then Henry is speaking. “Henry Swan. You’re the guy who teaches my mom to cook on TV.” Henry leans forward and nearly knocks over his drink. “You’re not doing a very good job.”

Emma scoffs while Killian leans back with his hand on his chest and his entire face lit up with his laugh. A few people look over to them, but they quickly turn away while Killian keeps chuckling and Emma finds herself at a total loss for words.

Her son just called her a bad cook and also told someone that he’s her son. How in the world does she react to that?

“I’m trying my best, lad,” Killian chuckles, wiping away a tear from his eye, “but your mum is very much a beginner. Maybe if they let me come in for her show more often, I could help her out more.”

“Maybe,” Henry shrugs. “Do you work here?”

“Aye, I do. This is my restaurant.”

She hopes the floor is clean because Emma’s jaw is about to drop there.

Of all of the restaurants in this city, Henry had to pick this one.

“Cool, so you make the cheeseburgers? The reviews online say they’re really good.”

Killian looks at her, his eyes wide, and Emma realizes that he’s silently asking for her permission to keep talking to Henry. She doesn’t know how she knows that, but she does. Nodding, she tilts her head back toward Henry.

“I have other chefs that help me out,” Killian continues, “which is why I get to come out here and talk to you guys, but I did come up with the recipe for it. Is that what you ordered?”

“Yep. Mom ordered a salad and is making me eat part of it.”

“Ah, well, vegetables are important, and I promise that my salads are good salads.”

“I’ll believe it when I taste it.”

Emma snorts and hides her smile behind her drink while Killian looks back at her and moves his brows across his face. She didn’t know he could have this long of a conversation without flirting.

“Do you two want a table?” Killian asks them as he tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, and not for the first time, she notices the red scars that stretch up his left hand and arm. “I know we’re busy in here tonight, but I think I have a little pull to get you a table.”

“Thank you, but I think we’re fine. Right, kid?”

“As long as I get my cheeseburger, I’d sit in the bathroom and be happy.”

Sometimes Emma forgets that Henry is a ten-year-old boy who still finds the occasional fart funny and that he doesn’t have a great sense of hygiene, and then he says something like that to bring her back to earth and reminds herself that her kid is, indeed, a kid.

Killian stays and talks to them for a few minutes before he’s called off to sign some papers and disappears behind a set of double doors that Emma assumes lead to the kitchen. They don’t see or hear from him again that night, though their food gets to them much more quickly than most everyone else at the bar. Henry absolutely devours the cheeseburger, barely taking a bite of any of the vegetables that she puts in front of him, but she doesn’t expect anything less. Her salad is really good, though. She usually hates any salad that she has to eat (the pressure of being on TV and all), but she actually enjoys it tonight.

Even after she asks for the bill, and she’s told by the bartender that their check has already been paid and that they have a to-go box of a blueberry cobbler waiting for them at the front of the restaurant.

Emma is a sucker for any kind of cobbler or pie.

Henry seems to think that this has been the coolest night of his life, and she took him to Disney World in June after years of begging.

When Monday morning rolls around, Emma is as exhausted as ever, and she muddles through her routine of hair and makeup before rolling out onto the set and plastering a smile on her face that matches everyone else’s as they banter back and forth about their weekends. It’s fine, normal as ever, and then Emma is being shuffled over to the kitchen set in between takes where she sees Killian already in his show-provided apron.

Shit.

She forgot about this? How could she? It’s been a part of her routine for eight weeks now.

“Morning, love,” he greets, grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here.”

She huffs and grabs her apron before tying it around her waist. “We obviously can’t stay away from each other’s places of business. What are we cooking today?”

“Healthy, easy meals that work perfect for leftovers for your kid’s lunch the next day.”

Emma’s heartbeat quickens, and she quickly looks around to see that everyone is distracted watching David and Mary Margaret go over some viral video. “Hey, so don’t mention Henry on air, okay? I never meant for you to meet him, and I don’t…he’s the best part of my life, but I like to keep my home life and work life separate.”

Killian nods and walks a little closer to her so that he sways into her space, his hand lingering close to hers. “I assumed as much, love. I promise you that I won’t mention him, and believe it or not, this was planned before I knew about your boy.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely a liar.”

He shrugs. “A liar who bought your dinner and gave you a complimentary dessert because I heard you were a fan of cobblers and all things in the pie family.”

“You know, just because you buy me dinner doesn’t mean I’m going to start liking you.” Killian winks before waggling those damn brows again, and Emma has to bite back her laugh. “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

-/-

As the weeks go on and summer officially fades into fall, Emma continues to stick to her routines as all of the new parts of it become a little more normal. She wakes up early, occasionally getting to the gym before work but most of the time right after she finishes, goes to work to spend a few hours talking, and then runs errands before picking up Henry from school and spending her afternoon with him. Sometimes Ruby or Mary Margaret and David come over and on occasion Will takes Henry to the batting cages to practice his batting stance, but other than that, things are all the same.

Well, mostly.

She has gotten better about buying groceries more often (hello grocery delivery even with the delivery prices) and attempting to cook so that they can order less takeout, and Henry complains about her cooking a hell of a lot less.

(She really isn’t that bad.)

The one big change, however, is that every Friday night she and Henry wander a few blocks over to Sweet William to get dinner. It started out as an accident, mostly Emma craving a cheeseburger after going to a Pilates class that absolutely kicked her ass, and the two of them found themselves sitting at the corner of the bar again. That quickly changed as the hostess moved them to a booth that has comfortable seats and enough space to fit a few more people. Emma insisted that the bar is fine, but she was told that the owner insists that the two of them sit there.

(Henry is convinced that having a special table for him is the greatest thing in existence, and who knew that being treated specially at a restaurant would be such a huge thing for Henry?)

It goes like that every Friday night. She and Henry go to Sweet William, sitting at the same booth that is always reserved for them, and the two of them make it a challenge to try as many things on the menu as they can. Killian always comes out and sits with them for a few minutes, smelling of a mixture of foods that he doesn’t usually smell of on The Morning Show set, and he’s as charming as he always is.

Emma doesn’t trust it.

Except for the fact that she kind of does.

This is a coworker who is being kind to her and her son. He’s not doing anything untoward, and he’s not asking her for something. Not at all. Killian is simply being nice, entertaining Henry’s questions about what it’s like to be a professional chef and what it’s like to be on TV. Emma scoffs at that, telling Henry that she is literally on TV far more often than Killian is, but he doesn’t seem to care about any of that.

Professional chef obviously trumps Mom.

They learn that Killian moved to New York from London five years ago to open this restaurant after needing a change of scenery and getting all of the right paperwork and that he stumbled into working on The Morning Show because his restaurant manager saw the opening and applied for him as some kind of joke that ended up working out. In turn, Emma shares the story of meeting David when he came to visit the local news station she was working in and how that he offered her the opportunity to start working for the network. It took a bit of convincing, but she and Henry moved from Maine to Manhattan and had a bit of culture shock.

They love it.

The conversation never really seems to stop flowing, not at Friday night dinners and not during the Monday morning segments that keep on getting better and better as Emma becomes honestly comfortable bantering with Killian as she devours all of the food that he cooks. Ruby teases her about it, making far too many inappropriate jokes involving eating, and it only gets worse when there’s a stack of papers on Emma’s desk with printed off tweets talking about how many people look forward to having Emma and Killian working together.

“They ship you,” Ruby explains as she paints red lipstick onto Emma’s lips the day after a particularly funny Halloween segment where Killian made all of the food look both delicious and disgusting in all of its gory and spooky goodness.

“What in the world does that mean?”

“You have a ten-year-old. How do you not know what that means?”

“I think it’s a relationship thing, and he’s not interested in those, which I’m thankful for.”

“He will be,” Ruby promises, and Emma swears that doesn’t make her sentimental. “And shipping is, like, when you want two people to be together.”

Emma almost jolts forward in the chair, but she’s working particularly hard at not moving. She will not react to that. “That’s just weird.” “Eh, kind of, but also not really. You two are ridiculously hot and also have great chemistry together. I get it. Part your lips for me.”

Emma completely and totally pushes that entire conversation to the back of her mind as she finishes getting ready for work and spends her morning doing a Ninja Warrior course with a five-year-old who is a million times better than her at it. It’s actually ridiculous, and she really shouldn’t have worn tight jeans for this.

Not the best outfit choice. At least she got to wear sneakers and a sports bra. It probably would have been disastrous otherwise.

So things are changing, but even the new routines become actual routines, which is exactly what throws Emma for a loop when Henry asks her if he can spend the night with Avery Friday night. She says yes after checking in with Avery’s mom, and after dropping Henry off with his backpack and a promise to see him at noon tomorrow, Emma goes back to an empty apartment that never seems quite right when Henry isn’t around.

Emma’s all about her alone time, something she doesn’t get a lot of even with Henry getting older, but she’s thrown by not having him with her tonight. What does she do? Treat herself to a spa night? She doesn’t really need one. Her job pretty much keeps her pampered all the time. Maybe she could read a book? Or watch a new TV show? But what TV show? There are so many that she’s behind on, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Food would probably be a good start.

And without really thinking about it, Emma grabs her purse, zips up her boots, and walks out the door of her apartment to find herself at she and Henry’s usual Friday night spot, the little reserved sign with their names waiting for them.

Except she’s by herself.

Until someone is sliding a piña colada in front of her and then sitting across from her in the booth.

“How in the world do you know that I like these?”

Killian grins, one of those dumb ones that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle. “Your boy told me that you love them but that you have some ridiculous hang up about ordering them.”

“They’re not on your menu.”

“I know a guy.” Killian nods his head toward her. “Where is the lad tonight?”

Emma hums and takes a sip of her drink. It’s freaking fantastic, and she’s got to thank Henry for spilling her secrets to Killian. Or, at least, that one secret. “He is spending the night with a friend, so he abandoned me to eat by myself.”

“Kids, they betray us all.”

“You’ve been betrayed by a kid?”

“No. I find myself to be too charming.”

She snorts, not really meaning to. “Don’t get too full of yourself, Jones. One day you’ll probably have children, and they will betray you.”

He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Eh, I don’t know about that.”

“What? You don’t want kids?”

Wow, Emma. Just go for the personal, why don’t you?

“Don’t answer that,” she blurts out. “That’s too personal of a question, and I should have never asked it.”

Killian reaches over and places his hand over hers on the table, warmth spreading up over her arm. “It’s fine, Swan. I don’t find you intrusive. I think I’d like kids someday, but I’m thirty-four now, not seeing anyone I see a future with, and my relationship history isn’t the best.”

“I can understand that.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m a twenty-eight-year-old single mother to a ten-year-old. Do the math.”

Killian smiles and reaches up to adjust the collar of his shirt so that she can see a flash of dark chest hair and the slightest bit of ink. “Aye, I know. I didn’t want to presume. Is Henry’s dad – ”

“He doesn’t know that he exists,” Emma blurts out before downing far too much of her drink. This is too sweet for large gulps like that but really damn good. “I never got the chance to tell him. I was seventeen with no resources except for a slightly sympathetic foster mom and a part-time job as a video editor at a local news station, and Neal just disappeared into thin air one night.”

“What a bastard.”

“You’re telling me,” Emma scoffs. “It’s why I asked you not to say anything about Henry. I’m not ashamed of him. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…”

“You don’t want Neal to try to come back now that you’ve made a bit of a name out of yourself,” Killian finishes for her, and for the first time in all of the times that she’s told this story, someone understands. “I left London because my brother died in a Naval accident, and my long-term girlfriend left me because my grief was too much for her. She tried to contact me for the same reason the other day. On some level, I understand you even if I know having a child makes things more complicated.”

Emma’s heart absolutely pangs. Sharing tragic backstories and the scars on her heart is not her thing, but something about this man makes the words nearly flow out of her without hesitation. It’s not something she’s used to, not in the slightest.

“What was his name?”

“Liam. He, well, he’d call me a bloody idiot for naming this place after him and after the flower. It was my mum’s favorite, most likely why she named Liam what she did even if we never called him William. I thought it was a great way to honor them both, especially since they’re the people who taught me how to cook.”

“It was.”

Killian tightly smiles before lifting up his hand to wave a server down. “Though, I had a miserable experience with a dish gone wrong that nearly burned down my kitchen and took off my entire arm, so I’m not sure how great of teachers they actually were.”

“You have a restaurant that’s always packed, so I’d say they did a pretty good job.”

He leans forward as a server gets closer to them, and heat does not curl in Emma’s stomach when Killian winks. Not at all. “Or maybe I’m simply that naturally gifted, darling.” She opens her mouth to say something, but then Killian is turning away. “Wendy, can you tell everyone in the back that I’ll be dining out here tonight? Miss Swan is just about to help me come up with our seasonal menu since she has a real thumb on what the public wants.”

“Yes, sir, I can do that.”

Emma arches her brow. “Just invite yourself to my dinner, why don’t you?”

“Would it make it up to you if I pay?”

“You always pay. Every employee in this place refuses to take anything other than a tip from both me and Henry.”

“Huh, wonder why that is.”

They spend the next few hours picking apart the menu, arguing back and forth over food and drink preferences and the pros and cons of classics and specialties, and Emma has never laughed so hard over food. In fact, she’s never laughed so hard in her entire life. She’s spent so much time with this man but usually in short spurts, so she’s never actually gotten to see what he’s like or learn too much about him. He’s still quick to make an innuendo and slow to accept changes or any kind of criticism to the menu, but by the time the restaurant is closed and all of the tables are cleared, they’ve figured something out.

And had a few too many drinks that have her laughing even more.

They also have her accepting Killian’s offer to sleep in his guest bedroom in his apartment upstairs. She should say no, should not at all be accepting an offer like that when she has a perfectly good place ten minutes away, but she’s tired and the thought of getting to bed soon feels too good to pass up.

Her routine changes just a little bit more, and she embraces it for once in her life.

The alcohol makes it be a little less terrifying.

-/-

Killian does an entire segment on pies on the show Monday morning.

He says that it’s for Thanksgiving, but she knows that it’s for her.

He also adds more to the menu at Sweet William.

-/-

After that night, Henry starts inviting Killian over to the apartment for cooking lessons, claiming that both he and Emma could learn to be a little better so that they could eat more than one good meal a week, but Emma knows that there’s some kind of ulterior motive in Henry. There’s a sparkle in those brown eyes of his, and even though he claims that he wants to cook (as much as a ten-year-old can), he always seems to find himself in the living room so that Emma is left with just Killian.

Sneaky kid.

Who gets even sneakier when he invites Killian to Thanksgiving dinner with them. Emma was going to do it. She honestly was, but Henry beat her to it. And that’s exactly how Emma shows up at David and Mary Margaret’s house on Thanksgiving with Henry, Killian Jones, and three pies.

Every single person there is thoroughly intrigued and confused.

Emma is too.

She doesn’t bring men to holidays. She doesn’t bring men around at all. And she especially doesn’t bring men around who sit with their arm around her shoulder or who press their hand lightly into the small of Emma’s back as they stand in the kitchen and debate the different types of dressings to go with turkey.

Except that’s exactly what is happening here, and it sends a little thrill down Emma’s spine that she can’t quite place.

(She can, but it’s almost too terrifying to do that.)

Killian knows most everyone from his mornings on the show, so Emma doesn’t spend her time trying to ease him into things. He does that completely on his own and charms everyone the way that he always does even if she sees him scratch behind his ear, which is undeniably his nervous tick. And hopefully, just hopefully, no one is asking him a million questions like she’s getting asked about whether or not the two of them are dating and does he know that a weird section of the internet ships them?

They’re not, and he does. They laugh about it over wine and Emma’s really gross lasagna on the nights Killian has off from the restaurant.

The day passes in a blur of football and too much food, and before Emma can even blink, the three of them are packing up leftovers and getting an Uber back to Emma’s apartment. Henry crashes as soon as they get there, mumbling something about being too exhausted to take off his shoes, and then he disappears into his room while Killian puts the Tupperware containers into the fridge.

“You don’t have to do that,” she tells him before adjusting her shirt from where it wrinkled. “I can do it.”

“It’s fine, love,” he insists and he puts the leftover apple pie away next to the one he made for her to stay here. “Should we get some coffee and watch a movie? Are you one of those who is ready to celebrate Christmas already?”

“The turkey has been eaten, Jones. It’s time for Christmas. If I didn’t feel like I was dying from overeating and having to talk to people all day, we’d be out getting a Christmas tree right now.”

“Would I be the one carrying it?”

“You know it.”

“It would be my pleasure. I think the pine would mask the smell of kitchen on me.”

Emma turns the coffee maker on, and while it percolates, she starts straightening up the kitchen, putting away dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down countertops, but since they cooked (they being mostly Killian) in the kitchen of Killian’s restaurant, there’s not much to clean up. It’s what has her looking at Killian as he stares down at his phone, fingers typing away a message before the screen goes black and he’s placing it in his back pocket and looking at Emma with the softest smile that she’s ever seen.

And maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s that she’s feeling good…hell, maybe it’s because Emma wants to do something for herself for a change. Maybe it’s that her reasons don’t matter. All she knows is that she’s stepping forward and pressing her palms to Killian’s cheeks and kissing him.

She’s kissing him.

He doesn’t kiss back, not at first. There’s a bit of a grunt, one that doesn’t necessarily sound pleasant, but then his hands are pressing against her back and his lips are moving over hers while he backs them across the kitchen until the sharp edge of her counter is hitting her back. His kiss is warm and tastes of apple and cinnamon and quite possibly a bit of the rum he had right before they left. Emma groans when his teeth nibble down onto her and his hand snakes up underneath her shirt so that she can feel the heat of his palm.

Everything about him is warm and inviting, and as his tongue runs over the seam of her lips and she parts her mouth for him, Emma realizes that it’s been like that the entire time, even when she was upset with him simply for replacing Chef Rudianni and daring to be something different.

Emma almost likes different now.

No, she does. When it’s the right kind of different and a change that she’s okay making.

Killian pulls back, and Emma realizes that they’re both panting, foreheads pressed together and noses squishing into each other’s cheeks. Emma nearly giggles at the thought of her having beard burn.

She’s the height of maturity. She also doesn’t care. It’s been a long time since she’s felt like this.

“That was,” Killian breathes out.

“Definitely happening again,” she smiles before kissing him again.

Little by little they manage to make it out of the kitchen and back to Emma’s bedroom, both of them careful not to make any noise so as not to wake Henry, and once the door is locked behind them, clothes are shed and Killian’s lips run across her body, whispering words that sound sweeter than anything else, until he’s driving her into madness in a way that she hasn’t felt in years.

Maybe not ever.

The good changes keep on coming.

(So does Emma.)

-/-

Henry barely bats an eye when Killian is there to make them breakfast in the morning even though Emma is more than sure to make sure everything stays appropriate for him. She’s not really sure how to navigate dating around Henry, and when she asks him if he’s okay with she and Killian being together, he tells her that he wants her to be happy.

He also says that he wants to keep getting free cheeseburgers.

-/-

A year later, Killian names the cheeseburger at his restaurant after Henry.

The piña colada is named after Emma.

-/-

Every Monday morning and every Friday night turns into every day, and Emma is more than okay with that change.

[beautifulletdownfics]

Twenty Good Reasons :: Part Two

Hello! Welcome to the ‘Someday, Someday’ sequel! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here! Before you start, make sure you check out the Harry & Nina Chronology page to catch up on a few of the drabbles and novellas that slot in the gap between ‘Someday, Someday’ and ‘Twenty Good Reasons’. As always, please don’t be strangers, posting into the void is a terrifying thing! Love K x

+++

As soon as Harry sent me a text saying he was getting on the plane home I got flighttracker.com up on the television set in the lounge room.

It took sitting staring at the screen for the twenty minutes I ate my breakfast before I let out a loud groan and decided I really couldn’t sit on the sofa all day watching Harry’s eighteen hour flight move painstakingly slowly across the screen. I spent the whole previous day cleaning the house from top to toe, and even got on top of the weeding in the garden. I was driving myself mad.

Laykn came over just after lunchtime to return Harry's Xbox console that he borrowed the day Harry left. I made him stay for a cup of tea and forced answers out of him about how every aspect of his life was going. It turned out University Lakyn wasn't always keen on filling in his big sister in on things. I rang my parents afterward, telling my mother everything I'd been able to get out of her son, and comparing notes from the last time she spoke to him.

After I took all of my own questioning from her, I spent an hour walking down to the high street and picking up a few food items I didn't keep in the house while Harry was away. When I got back I distracted myself by making a vegetable lasagna that would still be nice for Harry to reheat later on.

Friends reruns were playing on the telly but after three episodes I found myself spending more time checking the time than I did concentrating on Ross and Chandler's romantic weekend away together. It was well and truly dark outside, and I knew that Harry would be between phones right now, not quite fully tuned into his personal until the work one was off.

At ten pm—an hour after his flight was due to land—I gave up on flighttracker which decided to freeze and refused to let me reload the page. Optimistically, I put the kettle on and set out tea for two, ascending up to the bathroom and getting ready for bed as slowly as I could make myself. I returned to the kitchen and made the tea, taking both mugs with me up to the bedroom and setting Harry's on his bedside table. I remembered pulling back the covers, getting in and flicking through to where I was up to in the book I was reading.

The next thing I knew, I was startling awake with a kink in my neck, my book open on my chest and the morning sunlight streaming through the windows at the foot of the bed.  

"Harry?"

He wasn't in the bed next to me, and when I sat up there wasn't any luggage anywhere to be seen.

I swallowed thickly and kicked myself out of bed, stumbling around the corner of the bed and holding out my hand to keep from falling over. I legged it out and down the hall, skipping down the stairs as quickly as I could, running a hand through my hair when the entrance hall was empty of all traces of Harry as well.

It was in that exact moment that I scolded myself for not picking up my phone and seeing if there was anything there, but I left it on the loudest setting and told myself I would have woken up from its disturbance had it rung.

Just when I started running through a list of serious but not life-threatening things that might've gone wrong with the flight I stopped dead in my tracks and took a few deep breaths.

He was asleep on the sofa.

Lying on his tummy with his face pressed into the seat, his cheeks pink and hair a mess. I dropped the hand from my own hair and slumped my shoulders, he was okay.

Comatose, but okay.

Home

I readjusted my pyjamas, suddenly nervous but a slow building happiness was also rising. I was wearing an old Clavin Klein windcheater of Harry's and my own pair of sleep shorts that hardly poked out underneath the jumper. I'd take the time to shave my legs the previous morning and bit my lip through a small smile as I approached the sofa. I rested one knee at Harry's hip and slowly lay down, half on top of him.

"You're in trouble, Mister," I said, pressing a warm kiss to the shell of his ear.

A noise rumbled through Harry's chest and he puffed out a breath as he woke, "Hmmm ... Hi."

I smiled against his skin at the croak in his voice, "I didn't wake up to you, why are you down here?"

"Didn't wanna wake you up," He managed to get out, sounding only slightly more awake. His words slurred and they weren't laced with the affection I was used to when Harry had just arrived back home.

"How about me waking up to an empty bed when your flight was supposed to get in last night?" I whispered, thinking it might lull the affection I desired out of him.

But maybe it was too much to expect, too soon.

His voice was blunt, “Nina, I'm exhausted and jet lagged and a little hungover."

“Oh—

“—And a bit grumpy," He finished over me, sounding exactly as he had described himself.

"Okay then," I backed myself up and pushed up on my hands to leave him be, disappointment and hurt rippling through my chest.

"No," He blindly waved an arm about to try and grab hold of me but failed, "Where are you goin'?"

"Go back to sleep," I said, standing over him and considering whether or not I had the emotional strength to tell him to go up to bed.

I decided I didn't and allowed the cruel idea of letting him sleep poorly on the sofa be his punishment for hurting my feelings. I didn’t care if he was tired and hungover, I missed my boyfriend and he was finally home. I wanted a loving moment from him.

When I got into the kitchen I barely looked up out the window at the kitchen sink, slowly filing the kettle with water, when a tall body pressed heavily up against my back. I watched his tattooed arms come out in front of us, one winding around my tummy while the other turned the tap off.

“I’m a shit.”

I let out a long sigh and let Harry hold me, also allowing his statement to hang over us. I shut my eyes when he dropped his forehead to my shoulder, resting it there for a few moments before eventually giving my tummy a tight squeeze and then pressing his lips to the crown of my head.

“I love you,” He said, “I’m sorry … That was a terrible homecoming.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I didn’t say anything, just letting the moment happen silently as my throat clogged up. I covered his arms with my own though and did my best to hug him back, both of us facing the garden. After a moment I reached forward and turned the tap back on. Harry didn’t step away from me, instead, he kept our bodies pressed together and moved with me as I leaned over to put the kettle on the holder and then reached for tea bags, Harry opened the cupboard above and got the mugs.

I could feel Harry’s eyes on my every movement as we waited quietly for the kettle to boil and I then set about pouring the hot water. I ducked out underneath Harry’s arm to go to the fridge for milk, smiling when he hadn’t moved from his spot and wordlessly held up his elbow so I could slip back in front of him.

“Hungry?” I asked quietly, turning my neck only half of the way back to look at him before tugging on the string of my teabag as a distraction.

I felt Harry nodding against my head, “I need food and ibuprofen and about three years sleep. Neens, I really am sorry.”

“I know you are,” I put him out of his misery, turning around and resting my tailbone against the bench while holding my steaming mug between our chests.

“I’m home, Nina,” Harry declared softly, “Like, home home. Proper home … Long home, not little home. Me and home, we’re in it for the long haul. Eight weeks of no work phone, that’s gotta be almost silver anniversary status, yeah?”

His self banter made me giggle, and his eyes lit up as mine did, “Do you and home need a moment?”

“No,” Harry shook his head, “But my girlfriend and I do.”

Our mugs were set behind us on the counter and it was then that Harry and I finally got our moment of reunion together. Even though he tasted stale from travel, it was still Harry and I kissed him with all I had.

"You need to shower," I scrunched my nose at him when we pulled apart, watching as Harry tangled our hands together.

"Rude," Harry scoffed back. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Come wash my hair?" He asked through a sheepish smile, raising my hand to hip lips and pressing a kiss to my wrist.

“No,” I said petulantly, turning my head away from him, “You’ve killed the mood and I shaved my legs for nothing.”

Harry tilted his head back and let out a fabulous, loud belly laugh. I crossed my arms over my chest and watched him, my heart fluttering from seeing him so happy but trying to keep my face straight. He leaned forward, languidly pulling my body against his and pressing his mouth to the shell of my ear, “I can get the mood back real quick, trust me.”

My toes curled on the tiles below us and I followed him up to the bathroom when he pulled on my arm, a glint in his eye.

+++

Afterwards, Harry refused to have a nap and instead followed me back into the kitchen in just a pair of sleep shorts and a headband I hadn’t the heart to tell him was actually mine, not one of his.

Harry hands rested on my hips as I started the kettle again for tea, but his fingers ghosted around and ended up firmly pressed against my bum, forcing me closer to him as his kisses down the back of my neck became more heated. He let out a breathy laugh against my lips when I flicked some water at him, breaking the contact of his lips on my skin. I let out a definite squeak after Harry gave my backside a hearty squeeze.

“Gotcha,” He taunted quietly, looking quite proud of himself.

I settled myself back on the heels of my feet and turned around to face him, “I don’t appreciate being man handled!”

“Aw,” Harry pressed a kiss to my nose, “But I’m your man, baby. And I’m home.”

I laughed at the megawatt grin on his face, he looked more than proud of himself, “Eggs?”

“Please!” He finally stepped away from me and patted at his non-existent tummy for dramatic effect.

“Sit up,” I gestured to the stools behind the breakfast bar, “I’ll make them now.”

I knew he was watching me, but I soon forgot and let myself focus on assembling everything for eggs on toast. Everything was set out and I was waiting for the pan to heat up on the hob, Harry cleared his throat and when I looked up at him he only raised his eyebrows at me.

“Why aren’t you talking?” He asked after a beat of me looking at him, unsure what he was getting at.

“Huh?”

He pointed to the frypan to remind me it was on the heat, I turned back to it but Harry spoke behind me, “You usually talk to me when you’re cooking.”

“Oh,” I shrugged, cracking three eggs for Harry and two for me into the sizzling butter, “You’re tired and worn out … Figured you could use the quiet.”

“Talk, please,” He responded quickly, without letting my last word hang. “I was a grumpy jerk earlier. I want to chat.”

“Well,” I started slowly, deciding what story might be best to launch into, “I think your Mum had a nice time down here last week for her birthday—

“—She did” Harry interrupted quickly, “She told me multiple times she loved staying with you.”

I moved around to face Harry and bit at the tip of my thumb, “Yeah … She might’ve called me a few days after to reiterate that.”

Harry’s eyes crinkled with a proud smile.

“Um,” I thought for a second, squishing my lips together as I pondered and set out the toast on our plates, “Laykn had a second date with that economics student, Rosie. Won’t tell me anything about it though …”

“I’ll get on it and go for a drink with him, see if I can get more out of him,” Harry winked at me, reaching for the plate I was holding out to him.

I boosted myself up onto the chair next to him, waiting a moment to watch Harry take his first mouthful. When he didn’t have an adverse reaction I was happy to eat myself, it wasn’t unusual that I’d have to get up for salt and pepper to redeem my attempts. Unsurprisingly, he ended up scoffing down his food and then reaching over to fish bits off my plate when I was a little slower than him. Harry always picked at plane food and came off  nearly every flight hungry.

"So ... What are we gonna do with all our freedom?” Harry's warm hand pressed down on my shoulder so I'd sit down when I started gathering up our empty plates, instead he stood and walked them over to the sink, “We have weeks to get thoroughly sick of each other.”

"I figured you'd sleep most of the day today and ... And maybe tonight we could just go for a walk and get Indian or something easy for dinner?"

I watched for Harry's reaction as he rinsed off the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher, "Let's get in the car and drive ... End up somewhere by the sea."

"Tonight?" I asked, confused.

"No," He shook his head and stuck his left arm up to scratch at his right shoulder, "I mean let's go right now. We'll pack and go away for a few days."

"Harry," I laughed, "You've just been away from home for five months."

"Not with you," He replied quickly.

"I'm going to be here!"

“You don’t have anything planned for the next few days, do you?”

“Well, no,” I began, “I thought it would be nice to have a few free days with you—

“—Exactly! Neens, I just want to go and have a few days somewhere where it's just us … I just don't want to feel like the rest of London is watching us all the time. I'm sick of being watched, please?"

He had made his way back around to me, and I turned in my chair so that he could stand between my legs and make his appeal directly to me. I ran my hands over his cheeks and then back up over his head as far as I could reach, scratching at his scalp carefully. I understood what he meant, being on tour was a fishbowl and photos of Harry were streaming in by the minute; the fans and the rest of the world were completely saturated with what felt like his every movement.

"Okay," I agreed, "Whatever you want ... Do you want me to call your mum and tell her we'll be there later—

“—No," He said quickly, "No, I don't want to go to my Mum’s ... Or your parent’s place. I don’t want to see anybody else, I just want us for a bit,” He leant in and kissed my lips slowly, pulling back but only to rest his forehead against mine and watch me.

“Okay,” I nodded.

Harry smiled, “Good. Let’s be on the road by ten.”

*******

In the end, it was more like eleven thirty by the time we got ourselves sorted.

I had expected Harry to collapse on the bed at some point after we were dressed, or while we were packing, but he never did. He never grumbled again, or outwardly looked tired, he was lighthearted and silly and seemed genuinely excited to be heading out of the city with me. I wouldn’t have blamed him for changing the plans in lieu of sleeping once he realised how tired he was. I saw him take two ibuprofen and then it was like the complaints he’d had when I woke him up vanished. Usually, when he got home off a tour he slept for seventeen hours, ate a few meals worth of food, showered when I made him and then passed out on the sofa.

When we started packing our bags, he loudly made a 'no fancy clothes' rule because we weren't going to be going out anywhere while we were away. I thought I was being helpful when I put his Blackberry charger on the bed to be packed but he dramatically snatched it up and threw it across the room.

"Not taking that stupid thing," He muttered, turning on his heel and going into the bathroom to collect our toothbrushes.

When he came back out I was still looking at the cord on the floor near the door, I couldn't remember the last time Harry hadn't obsessed over making sure the charger was with us. He never let his work phone run out of charge.

"No phones," Harry said sternly, frowning when he considered the best thing to pack our toiletries in, "I'm going to put my iPhone on aeroplane mode and just use it for the camera. If someone really needs to reach me they can go through you, and if they don't have your number they don't know me well enough to need me."

"Harry," I said softly, "Is something going on? I mean, is something wrong?”

“What? No,” He responded loudly, the kind of loud that meant he was lying. His stance got defensive and his eyes were wide as he shook his head at me like what I had suggested was preposterous.

“Harry,” I started carefully, “You’re kind of frantic right now. It’s understandable that you’re tired and I get that you want to be away from people, I really do, but the sea will still be there tomorrow after you’ve slept.”

His shoulders slumped, "I'm freaking out a bit, yeah?"

"Just a bit," I nodded, waiting for him to find the words to explain and also giving myself a moment to breathe through the tight feeling that had bubbled up in my chest.

"I got a car back with Tim last night and ... And he's not doing so well, Neens. It made me really sad, then it just made me desperate for ... For not having that happen to us. I mean," Harry tossed his electric shaver onto the bed haphazardly and looked defeated, "Like, he's going home to an empty house for the first time. It sucks."

"H," I went to reach for his hand but it was already on its way up into his hair.

"I know, we're not Tim and Alexis but at the start of the tour they were fine, just like us and now ..."

"It's awful, Harry, I know."

He looked up at me then with red, glassy eyes, "It fucking sucks, Neens."

"So we're going away for a few days," I said simply, hoping he saw that I understood now. Over the course of a few years, Harry had grown to love and trust his tour bassist, Tim who had broken up with his girlfriend shortly after Harry returned to the Asia leg from seeing me in London. Harry found it hard to navigate to to best be a friend to Tim during it all and I’d had my suspicions that Harry had been shaken by it for his own reasons as well.

"Yeah," Harry sniffed. "I don't know exactly what went wrong for them ... But I just need to know that you know I'm gonna be here. And if you every needed me to come back, I would. But also just that ... That I always want to be with you. Always."

"I know," I said, taking the few steps to him and slipping my arms around his waist. "I know you do."

"Good," He nodded, roughly fisting at his eyes where a few tears had fallen. "Fuck, Post Tour Teary Harry, how spectacular."

"Do you want to cuddle and nap before we go?" I whispered. "You're exhausted, Harry."

"No, I want to go find a disgustingly quintessential English seaside cottage and cuddle there."

I silently nodded against his chest, squeezing him once and placing a kiss against his sternum, "Let's get a wriggle on then."

Harry wanted to drive, claiming to have missed his car. And if we were being honest I missed him driving, I hated trying to navigate the stupid thing. I thought he might give it up though, being so tired, but he insisted he was okay.

The first hour up and out of London was spent with Harry expelling story after story from the last few days of tour, which were always especially fun. I laughed along with them all because it was nice hearing stories from someone who was getting paid to do what they loved; even if his job meant he was away a lot it was worth it to see Harry so happy with his lot in life.

Laughing helped the ache in my chest as well.

Driving with no intended destination was interesting, but Harry was filled with a boyish joy every time we got to a major intersection and we picked one way or the other. He was quick to reject any sign that pointed to the areas of the Midlands that were familiar to him. And even though we ended up heading in the same direction up the country, it was nice to be going through different villages to what the main highways take.

"Okay," Harry rested my phone on the bonnet of the car and angled it towards me. We had stopped for lunch about four hours into our drive, "There's a place about an hour away that looks nice, should I call?"

I saw two photos of lake views and a huge bathtub, "Yes. Walks and baths, perfect."

His eyebrows scrunched together, "It's too far to walk to the beach from though, are we okay with driving to the beach?"

"Harry," I latched my hand around his forearm and drew his eyes my way, "It looks perfect."

He paused for a second and then smiled, "Great. Gimme a kiss and then I'll call while you go get some more car snacks."

I reached up on my tippy toes and planted a kiss right in the middle of his lips, "Back in a minute."

I turned around and waited for some traffic before crossing the road to where the little line of shops that made up this small village were. I briefly heard Harry politely greeting someone on the other end of the phone line before I started considering my options for prime road trip munchies.

When I got back to the car Harry was leaning against it, facing the direction I was coming from, with his head tilted back to catch the warmth from the sun. He had pushed his black Ray Bans up to the crown of his head and his legs were casually crossed at his ankles.

"Working on your tan?" I said by way of greeting.

He didn't open his eyes straight away but a lazy smile turned up his face, "Yeah. Some of us get colour when in the sun, you wouldn't know about that though, Miss Pasty.” I swatted at his stomach and he was quick enough to catch my hand and pull me into his chest, "Don't worry, I love you anyway."

"How big of you," I said sarcastically.

“Naw, don’t be nasty, Neens,” Harry kissed my temple and left his lips to rest warmly against my skin. “You smell nice.”

“Thank you,” I smiled up at him and watched as the decision to kiss me played out on his face.

When someone driving past gave their car horn a little toot at us, Harry pulled away with a goofy grin on his face, smacking his lips together where they had just been caught with mine. By the time he got around to his side of the car my blush had subsided and I let Harry take my hand in his as he pulled out into the road again.

It was still light when we got to the neighbouring village to the cottage Harry booked. He pulled up at one of the houses in town and kissed me quick on the cheek, saying he’d be right back. I watched as he jumped up the steps and knocked on the front door. He talked briefly with an older gentleman who looked around Harry at me at one point, I held up my hand in a wave. Harry took a key and piece of paper from him, shook his hand and then made his way back to the car.

“So the house is about ten minutes away on the lake,” Harry began, handing me the map and crossing his seatbelt back across his body, “He said his wife went out there earlier to put the lights on for us, and a few basics in the fridge for tonight and tomorrow morning. He said there’s a Tesco in the village that opens at eight a.m.”

“Right, well, I can guarantee we won’t be there at that time,” I said quickly.

Harry laughed briefly but was then the picture of concentration when I started pointing out the little streets and back roads we needed to be taking. Eventually, we were crawling up a tree lined driveway towards the dull light from a beautiful, white house.

“This place is so much bigger in real life,” I marvelled, leaning forward in my seat as more and more of the cottage came into view.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry began, “I really should have told you the phone screen wasn’t to scale.”

I hit him in the arm, “Don’t be a git.”

Once we had figured out the locks on the door and dumped all our luggage in the lounge area, it took the two of us all of three minutes to spread out across the entire house and find the best bits. There were four bedrooms, two living areas, three bathrooms and a strange library conservatory hybrid in the centre of the second floor.

I found Harry lying flat on his back on the floor of the master bedroom ensuite.

“Wow,” I leaned against the doorframe, “Having a good time there?”

“I was just standing …” He said, his eyes not opening as he let out a slow breath of air, “And then I thought, ‘Harry, it’s time to lie down, you’re tired, mate.’ So now I’m lying down and Neens, it’s really nice.”

“Ah, okay,” I sang lightly, stepping into the room and crouching onto my knees next to him, it was obvious his exhaustion hit him all at once, “I think it’s time for bed, yeah?”

“Nina,” His palm landed on my knee and when Harry turned his head to me his eyes were open, “I’m really happy right now. Let’s sleep here.”

“That’s a terrible idea, Harry,” I whispered, covering his hand with my own, “Let’s count backwards from thirty and by the time we’re done you’ll be in bed and half asleep. Ready? Thirty … Twenty nine …”

“Oh,” He faked crying, but pushed himself up onto his elbows, “You’re so awful to me.”

“I truly am … Twenty eight,” I stood up and braced as much of Harry’s weight as I could manage, “Twenty seven.”

When he was standing he loped his arms heavily over my shoulders and leaned against me clumsily, “Nina, you don’t have to keep counting.”

“Twenty six …” I said, “I feel like now that I’ve started it’s something I’ve got to finish.”

“You don’t,” Harry said softly, leaning out and dropping his head down to my level for a slow kiss, “You got me off the floor,” I sucked in a breath as his fingers slotted into the top of my jeans, skirting around to my hips and then back to the zipper, “Let’s shower before bed, hmm?”

“We showered this morning at home,” I said hoarsely.

“We definitely need to shower again.”

I could only look up and watch Harry’s eyes as his long fingers expertly popped the button of my jeans and slowly shimmied them down over my hips. He kissed my knee on the way back up and I braced my hands on his shoulders as he stood. Harry silently tugged on the bottom of my shirt, prompting me to lift my arms so he could remove it too, when it was gone he traced the outlines of my bra with the backs of his fingers.

“God, I’ve missed you,” He breathed out, voice cracking as he looked back up and just blinked at me. “Does it make me a dick to say that when I’m getting you naked?”

I shook my head back and forth twice, never breaking eye contact but slowly reaching out for Harry’s t-shirt, I gripped the material at his shoulders and pulled it up. Harry’s hands went down to pull it over his head and he backstopped out of his jeans when I tugged them down his legs.

When I was standing upright again Harry’s hands came up to my face and held it carefully, looking across my features carefully before pulling me in for a languid, hot kiss. A kiss that moved into our bodies pressed against each other and Harry slowly removing our final pieces of clothing. My breathing was getting heavier and Harry noticed, because he wrapped his arms around me to still us.

“I’m sorry,” He kissed the hollow of my ear, “I know I started this … But I’m so tired nothing we do from here will be any good for either of us.”

I let out a small laugh and leaned in to kiss his chest, “It’s alright. Tomorrow.”

Unlike earlier this morning, we showered together in the most innocent of ways, although this time he shampooed my hair. Once we were out Harry had just enough energy to pull back the duvet and roll himself underneath before he was out and completely unresponsive. It was still only early in the evening, so I took a few extra minutes to slip into some sleep shorts and a jumper, before unpacking a few of our things and trotting downstairs to make a cup of tea.

I did a slow walking tour of the house then, mug in hand and the fingers of my other hand dancing across surfaces and picking up trinkets to find their purpose. It felt magical, to be somewhere unfamiliar but homey with Harry. I found myself thinking he’d been quite astute in thinking we needed some isolated time together. By the time I was back upstairs, pulling back the covers on my side of the bed, Harry had already rearranged himself onto his stomach and kicked one leg out of the duvet and back on top of it.

I got in quietly, and held my breath for a moment to make sure that I hadn’t woken him up. When he didn’t move or make a sound I let my back sink into the mattress and took a moment to be fully comforted by the fact he was merely lying beside me. I thought of all the countess nights I’d fallen asleep on my own, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to trick myself into believing Harry was actually in the bed with me. But every morning I’d wake up alone and have to force myself into positivity again; force myself into being happy for him. So many nights I fell asleep to the sound of my own tears, and woke up in the morning to a headache from them. And for some unknown reason the overwhelming sense of relief I felt right now had me crying here too. Silent tears that rolled uncomfortably down my face and tickled my neck, and it was impossible to stop them so I let them go, breathing steadily but biting my lip to stop any sobs coming out.

It just felt so unreal to be in a moment I had held as a beacon of hope for so long. It felt like I’d been holding down the fought by myself for a lifetime, and all Harry had to do was walk in the door and suddenly I could breathe again. He was warranted in his fear of turning out like Tim and Alexis, because while he was away there was something about us that seemed so false, so conditional. I understood why them breaking up had shaken him so much, because while I had no reason to, there was something in every day that had me thinking perhaps today would be the day a delicate cord between Harry and I might be severed, taking everything down with it.

Sometimes, fragility was beautiful.

The rest of the time it was fucking terrifying.

*******

Harry didn’t wake up until almost two p.m. the following day.

I heard his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs from my spot cocooned in a rug on the sofa. They were slow at first but once he got to the top of the stairs he called out my name, I responded, and he jogged the rest of the way to me.

“It’s the afternoon!” He said, breathless and diving into the spot next to me, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Hello,” I said into his kiss, “I wanted you to rest. You obviously needed the sleep.”

“What have you done all day?” He asked, peeling the book out of my hands and not bothering to look where it ended up on the floor. At least he’d managed to slip my bookmark into the right page.

My eyes followed it momentarily but then Harry’s hands pulling apart my blankets distracted me, “Hey, I’m warm.”

“Wanna be warm with you,” He mumbled, frowning as he turned his body around and coaxed me into his lap with the blanket now over his shoulders and around me too. “Just been reading?”

“Yep,” I nodded, covering Harry’s cheek with my hand when he rested his head on my shoulder. “And I went into the Tescos earlier for some food type things, it’s a sweet little village. They only had the milk chocolate Digestives though—

—No,” Harry dramatically threw his head back against the sofa, “Milk chocolate sucks.”

I laughed for a second before he settled back against me, “You feeling better?”

“Positively refreshed … And starving,” He laughed, “But human again … Sorry about yesterday …”

“Sorry?” I questioned, trying to get a look at his face but Harry’s eyes were directed at his hands. “Harry,” I nudged him with my knee.

“You were crying last night,” He said in a small voice.

I looked away and rested my head back against the cushions, “You heard …”

“I woke up and I think you’d only just fallen asleep, but you left the lamp on and I could see your face. What was going on, Neens?”

“Just having a moment,” I smiled at him. Harry sat up next to me and took my hands into his lap. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Nina. Why were you crying? ‘Cause I was a dick yesterday at home? ‘Cause I was crabby at you?”

“No,” I replied urgently, but my voice didn’t have any of the weight I wanted it to, it sounded pathetic.

“Nina,” He warned sternly.

“Okay,” I sighed, “You … It hurt when you didn’t … When you were less that excited I was there yesterday, it hurt that you didn’t make a fuss like you usually do. I mean, I know it was only four weeks ago that you came to London—

“—Stop,” Harry told me, “Don’t make excuses, I hurt your feelings.”

I felt like I was going to cry, “I missed you. And I know it takes a few days for you to switch out of tour mode, that you’re all go-go-go until you get off the plane at Heathrow and you collapse at home. I know your job is physically and mentally and emotionally taxing, Harry.”

“But …” He prompted, not looking defensive or accusatory.

“But … But when you’re away I’m at home counting down the days until you’re back,” I took a deep breath and tried not to let any tears escape, “I’m just holding onto the hope that in three months … In two weeks … today, will be the day you come back and I get to feel like you’re a real thing I get to have that’s special and mine and no one else’s … And then I guess, you come back ready to shut down to rehabilitate but I’m just gearing up to launch into just being together and … And it clashes a bit.”

“Neens,” Harry swallowed, and I heard the slightest sniff from him, “I don’t … I didn’t want to shut you out, that’s not what I was … I just … When I got back I …”

He had no idea what to say, and I didn’t know how to extend anything out to him to help.

“I was crying last night because I was relieved you were home, and I wasn’t alone anymore,” I said after a moment or two of silence. “It just caught up to me that you were safe and well and happy in the bed next to me. That’s all I ever want for you, Harry. And I know that towards the end of tour you’re often not those three things anymore like you are when you first leave me … I worry about you.”

Harry seemed to spend some time to take in what I had said, and after a few minutes he nodded solemnly, “I know you worry … And I think … I think sometimes people simplify it—and I go along with it—but they think the hardest part about being apart or me being ‘on tour’,” He used his pointer fingers as air commas, “They think it’s all about staying faithful, that the challenge is not cheating. But that’s a load of shit and quite frankly kind of insulting,” Harry’s frown was deep set, “It’s easy not cheating. It’s really, really easy being faithful,” He shrugged, “That part of it is simple. What isn’t simple is navigating emotions and anticipating your needs over the phone, or trying to figure out how tired you are over Skype. Trying to work out where you need motivation or encouragement from me in your life, and working out what you’re not saying when I don’t see everything. If I’ve had a shit day I can avoid you, or I can edit things to make you feel better about my being away. Or … Or I can blame you and lash out when you don’t automatically get stuff; when I have to explain through my frustrations.”

“It’s so much easier when we’re together,” I added at the end.

“Exactly,” He sighed, “We can’t always have the right conversation on different continents. Not properly.”

I thought carefully about whether or not to say the next thing, “Awhile ago when I saw her, before they broke up, Alexis said her and Tim weren’t talking anymore … Not like they used to. I didn’t think too much of it but I look back on it now …”

“I didn’t really notice he wasn’t mentioning her much anymore,” Harry nodded slowly, “Tim said it was too late when he was scrambling at the end to save it, that they’d both hurt each other too deeply to be able to fix it over Skype.”

“I don’t want that to ever be us, Harry,” I melted my body further into his, desperate for connection.

“I just don’t want us to hurt each other,” Harry agreed, “Or when I do you’ve got to tell me, Neens.”

“I knew you didn’t mean to hurt me yesterday,” I defended him.

“Who knows though,” He argued, “Maybe that’s where it starts. Maybe it starts with unintentional bumps that neither of us notice, or think are serious, and then …”

“… Then comes stuff I don’t want to sit here and think about any longer,” I finished.

Harry held me tightly then, "Let's go for a walk. Around the lake."

And just like that he was up, charging around the place getting warmer clothes and jackets, and finding walking boots and scarves even though it wasn't that cool out. He was suddenly giddy and excited about exploring, it was infectious and I laughed until my sides hurt as Harry layered us both up and swatted at my backside to get me out the door. But the time we were outside the whole sad mood had lifted from us, Harry's cheeks were red from the wind and his hand latched onto mine tightly.

We walked in silence for a long while, balancing on the edges of a one person path side by side. Whenever there was a puddle he would try and force me to lose my footing just before it, or blatantly try and push me into it. It always ended in a good cuddle though, because I'd scream and then grab hold of some part of Harry’s body which he would then manipulate into a side hug.

It was cold down on the lake, the wind coming off it tangled in my hair and made a shiver run down my spine. But it was beautiful because the sun's reflection was hitting it at just the right angle for beams to strike at the trees all around. It was the perfect evening with the ever present chill that covered Northern England.  

I knew from experience there wasn’t much in life Harry loved more than getting lost on long walks. Every time we went home to spend time with his mum, or with my family, he would always drag me out into the countryside to spend a few quiet hours together; palms, fingers and souls locked. Sometimes Harry would want to chat, but more often then not it was simply being together that was enough. Anne had told me once that as a kid—even a teenager—it wasn’t unusual for Harry to disappear for an afternoon and come home with muddy wellies and wind-chapped lips.

We stopped walking when the path came almost to the water’s edge, right in the centre of a wide opening in the trees that meant we had a breathtaking view of a wider area of the water. I adjusted myself in front of Harry, smiling to myself when he easily rested his arms over my shoulder and latched them together across my chest.

“What would you do if Nessie stuck her head of the water, right there?” I pointed out at the centre of the lake.

I felt Harry’s laugh against the crown of my head, “Definitely not tell Scotland, it would destroy them. Can you imagine?”

I turned around in his arms, “I think if I was Scotland I’d want to know my whole life had been a lie.”

“C’mon … There’s another clearing a little bit further ahead.”

It never occurred to me to question how Harry might know there was a second clearing coming up. But the path got a little rocky, and Harry backed himself down so he could hold my hands and help me keep my footing. I was staring at my feet the whole way and when we were finally at the bottom I looked around, but kept my eyes up where the was now a wall of trees around us and then a steep incline into the water. It looked like a spot that might be where people swam in summer.

I stumbled over as close as I could get to the edge without feeling like a might fall and just looked out over it all. This wasn’t the same was looking over the Themes, or even like watching the ocean in Blackpool, this water was calm and smooth. I wished there was some way to be sitting out in it.

“Nina.”

I turned back to look for Harry and just like that my calm, smooth thoughts were gone. He was still back where the trail ended and I hadn’t realised he wasn’t right behind me anymore.

Harry was down on one knee holding out a ring box in front of himself, his smile growing slowly as I took him in. I watched him for what felt like a long moment, but really it would have only been a few seconds. I noticed his hands shaking slightly and the way his very expensive jeans were covered in dirt.

My eyes went back up to where Harry hadn’t moved a muscle except when he waved me forward, coaxing me to come closer to him. Harry laughed when I stumbled a bit, my hands shaking but somehow completely ready for what was about to happen.

“Nina Mae,” He started formally, with a fondness that seeped straight to my tummy, “I love you … Beyond what I ever thought I could. And everyday with you is safe and happy and … And full of love. I feel like I already said that,” He backtracked quickly, but then seemed to snap back onto task, “But … It’s true. I’m an idiot who can’t remember what he wanted to say … Just that …” He took a deep breath and steadied himself, “I love you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I said without any hesitation an barely giving him time to finish the question.

Harry’s eyes widened, “Yeah?”

My eyes went glassy so I nodded my head instead, “Yes.”

Harry gave me the most magnificent smile I think I’d ever seen, and as my own face cracked into happiness so too did the tears fall. I gave him my left hand when he reached for it, and tried to hold still enough as he plucked the ring from the box and fumbled his way into putting it on my finger. I couldn’t see though happy tears and it wasn’t until Harry launched up at me and picked me up into a hug that I looked over his shoulder at my hand.

“Harry what the fuck is this ring!”

When he put me down his face was right up to mine, I noted his tears and the way his smile hadn’t dropped a millimetre, “What?” But he instantaneously looked panic-stricken, “Do you not like it?”

He’d taken my hand in his and was holding it between us, “No, you idiot, it’s gorgeous, it just looks like it cost more than a car!”

Immediately he started shaking his head at me, “No, we’re not talking about how much it cost, only what it means. And it means that I get to see you wear it every day for the rest of our lives.”

I quietened, drinking his last words in, “The rest of our lives,” I mused.

His face exploded in a beaming grin again as his arms wound around my waist and rocked me, “Yeah. You like that?”

“I love it,” I said and hooked my hand around the base of his neck, pulling his lips down to where I could reach them.

Harry’s hands cradled my face as we kissed, but it was a hopeless way of expressing our happiness when breathy laughs and huge smiles were still our reactions. I didn’t care because surging through me—more than possibly any kiss could convey—was such a feeling of togetherness and just being completely in love with the man in front of me. I didn’t care if our lips were bumping and our noses were knocking each other out of reach.

Somehow though, we figured out how to express everything with our bodies. The kisses slowed down eventually, Harry’s hands lingered lower on my body. I might’ve liked to have taken in more of the lake, but that was before I climbed back up the hill Harry’s fiancé. I could hardly take my eyes off him for a second as we walked back, both our faces split in grins and red from happiness. Harry had his phone out and kept taking photos of me and of the two of us together.

It wasn’t long before my mind was suddenly rushing with a hundred questions for him.

“How long have you had the ring?

“Oh,” Harry breathed out slowly, swinging our joined hands between us, “I … Uh, I got it in New York.”

I pulled back quickly and had to squint through the growing sunset, “New York?”

Harry looked down at me dumbfounded, like he couldn’t understand why my tone had changed, “What’s the problem?”

I frowned, “That was months ago.”

My hips were convincingly pressed back against Harry’s then when he seemed to understand I was curious, not upset. He leaned down to kiss me once with smiling eyes, “Yeah, it was a while back. It was virtually just after you were with me for the first week of tour … I drove you to the airport then went straight into the jeweller and picked it out.”

“Harry …”

“I’ve had it in my luggage for five months and been terrified something would happen and I’d lose my bags, or you’d find it. It’s been a petrifying secret to have, trust me.”

He waited for a few moments, watching me as I thought about all the time that had passed with Harry having this magnificent thing hidden in with his stupid t-shirts and smelly socks. Eventually though, he leaned down again and snuck his hands underneath my shirt before guiding me into another brilliant kiss.

“What about our families?”

Harry hummed a laugh, “They knew. I rang your dad in a panic the minute I left the shop.”

“My dad?” I looked over at him as we started walking again.

“Well,” He took a deep breath and had a glint in his eyes that told me story time was beginning, “Last Christmas when I told him I wanted to ask you to marry me he requested to see the ring, which at that stage I didn’t have, so when I had it I just sort of felt like I had to tell him first.”

“What did he say?” I asked. “Wait, last Christmas? As in, more than a year ago you told my dad you wanted to marry me?”

Harry smiled broadly, “I knew well before last Christmas, but yeah. It was a year ago I started properly thinking about it. I waited until now thought because I didn’t want to propose and then fuck off for six months, that felt unfair.”

I tilted my head to one side, “I’d have said yes a year ago.”

“I know,” Harry replied simply. “Back then your dad told me I’d be stupid not to ask you, and that he knew the first time he met me that one day I’d want to marry you.”

“Really?” I grinned.

“Yeah, your dad’s an old softie.” Harry squeezed my hand, “And when I called him from New York he asked me if I was scared. I told him I was petrified!” He laughed, “And I showed my mum and Gem the ring a few months later when they visited me in the States in summer, from then on basically any time I’ve been with any of them—my family or yours—I’ve just been getting harassed about when I was going to ask you.”

“They haven’t!” I was horrified at the thought.

“Oh my god,” Harry cried out dramatically, covering his eyes with his free hand for a moment, “I was sure you’d notice all the looks they were giving me at Christmas this year. The number of times I was positive you were about to walk in on a conversation I didn’t want you to overhear … I gave your brother a dead arm one morning because you walked in right as he asked me if I wanted him to ask you for me. Fucking idiot.”

“I didn’t realise at all!”

He squished up his nose, “I’m glad … But it was okay … They’re all just excited. Your brother has put himself in charge of my Stag do as well which I’m a bit scared for, if I’m honest. It’s been killing Gemma too, as soon as I told her she was furious at me for giving her a secret she couldn’t tell you.”

“I had no idea …”

“Good,” Harry looked over at me in mock seriousness, “‘Cause I told her if you ever got wind of anything she was the prime suspect, stinking tattletale.”

“You’ve all had this really big secret,” I pouted, but smiled when Harry leant over to kiss it away.

“T’was a good secret though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“I mean, also completely terrifying,” Harry added in a rush.

“Why terrifying?”

“Because I had no idea what to say!” He exclaimed, “How do you ask the most important person in your life to tether themselves to your tree forever?” I held back a laugh, loving the way Harry came out with the most ridiculous ways of saying things when he got passionate and silly like this, “There’s a lot of pressure to plan everything perfectly and then say the right thing, Neens."

I suddenly froze and grabbed his wrist, "Wait."

Harry paused and looked puzzled by my stopping, "What?"

"Is this ..." I pointed all around us, "This wasn't all just a last minute thing, was it? You had this place booked ages ago."

A slow smile crept over Harry's face, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Harry!" I cried out, "You knew we were coming here! It was all an act, convincing me to come, taking random turns all the way here. You'd already booked it and knew exactly where we were coming!"

"No comment."

"You're a liar!" I accused through a smile, jabbing my index finger to his chest.

Harry snatched my hand and squeezed his palm over it, "You really think I've had the ring for nearly a year but wouldn't plan the proposal?"

"You're the worst! I was worried about you packing us up in a flurry all anxious and jittery."

"Well the jitters weren't fake ..." He smiled at me, "I’ve been recording notes on my phone for months. In fact," He pulled on my arm and draped his over my shoulder, walking us back up the final path to the front door, "I very nearly asked you to marry me at 4am in that hotel room after your debut."


"You did?"
 "Yeah," Harry nodded, "I left you in the room and was downstairs waiting for my car and just thought, 'You idiot, Harry, why do you keep leaving this woman without her wearing that ring?' All I wanted to do was run back up and ask you right then, flight to Japan be damned."

"So many secrets," I shook my head playfully at him.

He kissed my palm in response, "No more now."

We made it to the house and when we pulled apart to take off our shoes and outer layers it wasn’t long before we were joined hands again and tugging on arms to get back to the house as quickly as we could.

“Can I listen to them?” I asked, almost tripping over the entrance-way mat when we fell through the front door together, Harry and I joined at the lips and his fingers tugging on the zip of my jeans again.

“Huh?” He forced out, walking himself backwards through he living room. His shirt was already off, with his jeans looking to follow soon.

“The voice recordings,” I reminded him, jumping slightly when his cold fingers slid against the skin around my hips.

“Nina,” He let out a deflating groan, “Later,” His lips traced the line from my ear, along my jaw and almost to the side of my mouth.

“Sorry,” I said quickly.

He whispered lowly, right into my ear, “I know you can be a curious little thing sometimes, but right now I’ve got other priorities. Because my beautiful, gorgeous, sexy girlfriend is now my fiancée ... So I’d really love to just spend some time—a lot of time really—just completely ravishing her, yeah?”

I blushed and nodded against his chest, feeling daft but in a warming, endearing way, “Yep, okay.”

“Alright,” He breathed out, his hands slipping underneath my jeans and moulding around my bum, “I love you.”

Harry slowly started lifting my layers of clothing off, pressing his lips over any newly exposed skin he deemed necessary to kiss. The joy bubbled in my stomach, not only at his contact, but every time my eye caught my left ring-finger my need to feel Harry got more urgent.

He wasn’t lying either when he said he wanted to take his time, although when it came down to it he still had weeks of exhaustion under his belt, mixed with the joy and celebration of the day. Movements were clumsy in spots, and awe giggled our way through a few mishaps. But Harry knew my body, and his forehead creased in beautiful concentration as he did everything he could to pleasure us both.

We could only last so long before I was snuggled into his side, trying to catch my breath completely content. It had been a funny back and forth between us, because while I was charged with the excitement of the engagement, Harry was slow and considered, enjoying the fact this was the kind of love that was made when we knew we wouldn’t be separated in a few days, and I supposed it was some kind of relief to him as well, that he'd been thinking about this moment for months and now he could enjoy it.  

I hadn’t noticed him fiddling with his phone until I heard Harry’s voice fill the room.

“Uh, okay. Proposal idea number one: Ask her at Brighton Pier … Like every other stupid boyfriend … No, no. Maybe Blackpool? The waterfront is nice there. You could have tea-light candles on the beach.”

“Stupid idea, candles wouldn't stay lit outside,” Realtime Harry said, rolling over onto his side to face me and holding the phone between us. I watched as he clicked on the next recording.

“No matter what you say, you’ve gotta start with ‘I love you’. Then something about how she makes everything better. And maybe something about the start, when she would hardly talk to you but it just made you want her so much more … And so you’ve always known having her in your life was a gift … A privilege. Ah shit, call Mum and ask her for ideas.”

I giggled at the last bit, knowing Harry definitely would’ve called Anne for help.

“Will you marry me … Will you do the honour of marrying me … The honour of becoming my wife … I want to be the man you call your husband … Shit, no … Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I said aloud, smiling softly when Harry’s eyes met mine.

He had already hit play on another recording but I didn’t register what it was saying, instead I propped myself up on one elbow and leant over him. Harry naturally fell onto his back as I moved, letting me rest across his chest and tangle my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck.

“Are you happy?” He asked quietly, searching my face for the answer before I gave it.

“So happy,” I swallowed back emotion, “So, so happy. I can’t wait to be your wife. I mean, it sounds weird now, but happy weird, you know?”

“Yeah I know,” Harry grinned, “I’ve been picturing it for months now, like more than just the idea of it like when we were dating, really imagining what it would be like.”

"Hmmm," I pondered, "Being Harry Styles' wife ... Am I old enough to do that?"

"I certainly think so," Harry was quick to supply, and while I knew he wanted to say more I was much more pleased when he didn't. I didn't want to think about anyone else's opinion of this at all right now. I had been stupid to even mention what I had.

"Wife Nina," I mused slowly.

"I don't want to wait," Harry said, "You said you can't wait to be my wife and I know that's just an expression but ... Let's actually do it, Neens. I don't wanna be engaged forever. I want to be your husband, at your earliest convenience, of course," He finished with a silly voice but it took nothing away from his urgency at the beginning.

Let's actually do it ... I want to be your husband.

I had a thought that turned my cheeks pink and Harry noticed straight away, his knuckles came up to my face and pressed against the blush, “Stop,” I whined.

His green eyes met mine, “Did you think something naughty?”

“No!” I tugged on his hair, “I just thought that … I think you’ll be really hot as a husband.”

“I’d prefer if you interchanged ‘hot’ with ‘wonderful’,” Harry corrected, but he was smiling a cheeky smile that had me wanting to roll my eyes at him.

“That too,” I deadpanned, leaning back into him where we had naturally moved apart to talk.

Instead of starting another conversation though, I slotted my leg between Harry’s and smiled to myself when his eyes widened at the movement. I took my time leaning in for the kiss he knew was coming, holding myself over him and just grinning when he moved his head up to meet me and I pulled back ever so slightly.

When our lips finally met Harry wanted it, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders so I couldn’t move back again and before I could build the kiss up his teeth were already lightly tugging at my bottom lip, giving perfect access to his tongue tracing the bitten skin.

When I rearranged myself so my hips were further up the bed and I could control our movements better we were both startled by Harry’s voice continuing to come out of his phone. Harry looked down to where it had been wedged underneath is arm and was now where we could hear it again. I couldn't care less about the phone and instead focussed on nipping at a small patch of skin at Harry’s collarbone, he moaned and squeezed my hips.

“Neens,” He rasped, “I’m so completely down for what’s happening here, just … Just for god’s sake help me pause this stupid recording!” He was fumbling with the phone and the sheets and I laughed at his obvious distress, his breathing laboured and eyes wild in desire, “I can’t listen to myself talk while you’re naked on top of me and giving me a hickey.”

“Alright, okay,” I swatted his hand away and held the side button of his phone down, just resorting to turning the thing off completely. “There,” I heavily placed it in his hand to make a point.

“Brilliant, thanks,” He dropped the phone over his shoulder behind him, forgotten, and ghosted his fingers over the bare skin across my neck, “Hi, fiancé.”

I bit my lip and his hands worked back underneath the covers and went straight for the backs of my thighs, “Hi.”

+++

Author will do tricks (more chapters) for praise

[himbowelsh]

Jet lag & Webgott. I know the theme is PAIN but can I request something mildly to very funny??

a little fall of meme can hardly hurt me now  ( accepting )

‘make it funny,’ you say, at which point i instantly forget the concept of humor

By this point, David has become fluent in Joe’s bitching, whichever language it’s voiced in.

It’s an acquired skill — frankly, one he could have lived his entire life without acquiring — but knowing where Joe stands makes navigating their relationship a lot easier. When it comes to the little things, Joe wears his heart on his sleeve. If he doesn’t like a particular TV show, he’ll say it… loudly. When it’s snowing, he’ll agonize about it until David’s tempted to shove him outside and lock the door; when it’s too hot, he’ll strip without shame, hissing like a disgruntled cat all the while. By now, they’ve been dating long enough that David knows Joe like a familiar book, leafed through a hundred times over. Sure, sometimes he could do without all that context, but a working knowledge of Joe’s quirks makes dealing with him that much easier.

Joe Fact #263: He can’t stand long flights.

It’s not like he’s a nervous flier. He’s just… a lot to handle. Part of it has to do with Joe’s inherent restlessness, a genetic predisposition to never hold still for more than a minute; part of it is just Joe’s talent for being annoying. And he can be… really, really annoying. Damned obnoxious. He doesn’t read, he’s hardly interested in the movies — he just spends the entire flight complaining. Why can’t he get WiFi? Why can’t he order another gin and tonic? Why are the seats so lumpy? Why do you want me to close the window, Web, look at this view, it’s priceless —

Having the window open makes him air sick. Joe knows this.

It’s not a massive problem, but during any long flight, it becomes an inevitable one. Queasiness is just another thing Joe gets to complain about on long flights. Part of David thinks it’s all a ploy; an excuse to get up and move around the cabin, even if it’s just to hide out in the bathroom and try to get WiFi signal. 

To be fair — on their trip to the Amalfi coast, when Joe had to sprint to the bathroom mid-flight and stayed there for over an hour, he probably wasn’t faking it.

Flying with Joe is unbearable for everyone involved… so when Joe announces his new solution, David’s optimistic. They’re two days out from a trip to Hawaii when Joe reveals a bottle of air sickness pills — apparently “the best they sell on the whole Internet, Web, I checked.”

David’s skeptical. “Are you… sure you can’t just make it?”

Joe huffs, genuinely offended by the question. “Fine! This time I’ll just blow chunks all over you. In-flight entertainment’s gonna be The Exorcist. How about that, Web? Fuck.”

David rolls his eyes — but he doesn’t argue anymore. At the time, it seems like a testament to his self-control.

Oh, how naive he was.

The pills make it through customs in their carry-on bag — something Joe gloats about for the next half hour, like he’s just pulled one over on the government, even though David looked it up and medication is allowed on planes. While waiting for their flight, Joe insists on Cinnabon. Insists, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He pouts, he pleads, and finally he just tows David over to the stall without any forewarning and sits him down at one of the tables. (Joe Fact #312: Arguing with Joe while he’s got a pastry craving is like reasoning with a brick wall.)

The cinnamon bun in front of Joe is larger than your average infant.  “You ever heard of ‘tempting fate’?” David can’t help but ask around his own mouthful of pastry. 

Joe reaches over and smears frosting on his chin.

Without any delay, they make it on their flight in record time. Joe waits until they’re sitting, buckled in and watching the flight attendant go through safety procedures, to dig the pill bottle from his bag. A strange sense of unease churns David’s stomach, though he can’t for the life of him say why. Joe glances over, smirking; as David watches, he pops the two pills and swallows them dry.

“There. This flight’ll be smooth sailing.”

With four and a half hours of airtime ahead of them, David can only pray.

Joe’s not the researching sort — that goes without saying — but David has always been. He never takes a medication without looking up the full list of side effects in advance. When, twenty minutes into the in-flight movie, Joe’s head starts to loll against his shoulder, he’s not surprised.

“You alright?” he murmurs, turning just enough to speak the words softly into his boyfriend’s temple. Joe shifts, sighing heavily, and tries to straighten up again. It’s more effort than it’s worth.

“Might just end up sleeping through this thing,” he mutters. “Movie’s a snorefest anyway.”

It’s some movie about a dog. Neither of them have been really paying attention. “Okay,” David replies, keeping his tone casual. “That’s fine, just… get some rest.”

Joe shifts in his seat, making himself more comfortable. For about ten minutes, David stays very still. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t fidget; he doesn’t even breathe loudly.

When he looks over again, Joe’s dead to the world.

Oh, thank god.

David tilts his head back to grin at the ceiling, fist pumping the air without a sound — definitely earning a few sideways glances from other passengers, but he doesn’t care. Finally. After all this time, all this anticipation —

There’s no time to waste. He rummages through the carry-on at his feet, emerging with three large books, and headphones dangling from between his fingers. David drops his tray table, sets up his classical music Spotify playlist, cracks open the first book, and orders a Bloody Mary.

Peace at last.

The amount of long flights he’s endured through Joe’s whining… the amount of poking he’s had to deal with, the amount of dirty jokes whispered in his ear, all the times Joe’s stolen his books or drained his phone battery… he’s earned this, okay? As David leans back in his seat, it’s impossible to keep from grinning. Slumped against the window, Joe’s soft snores are easily drowned out by his headphones. They’ve got another five hours of flight ahead, and David plans to enjoy them.

Which he absolutely does, for the first hour. By the second, Joe’s got a specialty airline pillow under his head and a blanket tucked around him; David’s wallet is thirty dollars lighter, but it’s worth it. He runs his fingers through Joe’s hair absently, still engrossed in his book; after a while, he finishes it, and starts another one.

Somewhere around the third hour, Joe stirs, face smushing up against David’s shoulder. Gently, David repositions his head, only to find his boyfriend blinking drowsily at him.

“Hey, Web…” Joe’s voice is raspier than usual, thick with sleep. “How long’ve I been out?”

“A little while. We’re about halfway there.”

Joe hums, head flopping back against David’s shoulder. After a minute, he becomes aware of the blanket around him; a small huff escapes him, turning into a chuckle halfway through. “Aww, Web. Knew you cared.”

“As though I’d ever hear the end of it if you woke up with a sore neck.”

As though just to spite him, Joe cranes his neck at an unnatural angle to look up at him. “Wouldn’t be the first time we woke up sore together.” He pauses, thoughtful, then grins. “Wanna renew our mile high club membership?”

David shakes him off.

“Okay, okay, shit —“ Joe straightens up, disgruntled. Even sitting up in his seat, he sways a bit, as though rocking to turbulence no one else can feel. Davis observes as he gradually slumps against the window again, all the energy drained out of him. Mile high club — uh huh, very likely.

“These pills have any weird side effects?” Joe asks after a moment, brows furrowed. David rolls his eyes.

“How many times have I told you —“

“Read the fine print, yeah, damn it, Web. I get it.” Joe’s eyes scrunch shut. “They’re just not gonna — gimme an extra toe, or turn me green or anything, right?”

“No.” David diverts his attention, recommitting to his book with new stubbornness. “Orange, maybe.”

“That’s a color I can live with.” Without looking, Joe reaches over. Whatever he’s trying to grab, he ends up smacking David in the jaw. Hard, damn it. As David draws back with a muttered curse, Joe’s hand finds his chest; he gives it a few solid pats, maybe as an apology. “Mind if I sleep the rest of the way?”

“Please,” David rolls his eyes. “Be my guest.”

After a while, Joe’s snoring picks up again — and David is left to read in peace. He makes it through about a quarter of the next book before his eyes start hurting, and he finally has to set it aside. He orders a snack. He watches some late-night show. He doodles a bull shark on his napkin and daydreams about the white sands of Honolulu.

By the time the plane’s begun its final stretch, David is more than ready to start vacation. His pulse thrums with muted excitement, mind racing with all the things he wants to do as soon as they step off the plane. Every slight jolt of the plane as it descends kicks his anticipation a little higher.

By all rights, it should also jar Joe awake… but when David looks over, he’s surprised to find his boyfriend still sleeping.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Rip Van Winkle’s blanket-clad shoulder. “Nap time’s over. We’re almost there.”

Joe groans, shifting in his seat. When David tries again, he blindly smacks him.

“Jesus — will you —“ With a huff, David yanks the blanket away, leaving Joe bare. Suddenly exposed to the plane’s crisp air conditioning, Joe’s face scrunches up. He writhes in discomfort for a moment, fumbling around for the blanket, before at last cracking an eye open to look at Webster.

“You’re a sadist, Web.”

“I’m tired of watching you drool,” Webster retorts, busy packing up his carry-on. “Come on, rise and shine. We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”

Joe gives a drawn out sigh, as if it’s the greatest inconvenience in the world to ask him to be awake. Still, he props himself up. Over the next few minutes, as the airport tarmac slowly comes into view, he pulls himself from the syrupy haze of half-sleep, back into the land of the living. By the time they’re on the ground, he’s still blinking hard and rubbing his head, but awake.

“At least we’re had an easy flight,” David chirps as they make their way up the aisle.

“I dreamed I was on some tropical island, with a buncha pool floats, and the local girls were letting me eat fruit slices off their chests.”

“I already told you, we can’t do that in public — plus I have to wear sunscreen! I burn! Why do you want to eat fruit that tastes like sunscreen?”

“Just leave a spot bare —“

“I can’t stand tangerines,” Webster declares, cutting the argument off before it can take root. “Find a better fruit. If it’s pineapples, I’ll consider it.”

“That’s because you, like pineapples, are disgusting.” 

Joe suddenly stumbles, bracing himself against the ramp. On reflex, David catches him by the arm  —  but Joe isn’t falling, apparently, just steadying himself. When David raises his eyebrows, his boyfriend rolls his eyes and brushes him off.

“I’m fine, quit lookin’ at me like that.” A second later, Joe is on the move again. “Just a little jet-lagged.”

To be fair… David did enough research on the motion sickness pills in advance to know they made you drowsy. He just… didn’t look up how long it would last. 

By the time they’re collecting their luggage, Joe is lounging on a nearby-bench, half-asleep; David has to haul every suitcase off the conveyor belt on his own. He also has to hail a taxi by himself… and, when they pull up in front of the hotel, with Joe dead to the world against his shoulder, pay for it.

“Come on,” David mutters, dragging his boyfriend out of the car. “Home, sweet home.”

Joe wakes up just enough to blink at him in amazement. “Wow, that was some vacation, Web!”

The bellboy who comes out to greet them blinks at the sight of David, two suitcases braced against one arm, a comatose body against the other. With barely a word of apology, he deposits Joe on the luggage trolley. Joe, who seems delighted with this turn of events, just pulls his legs up. 

Hopefully the hotel has a big bed, because it seems like they’ll be spending their first night in Hawaii getting to know it well.

[bgn846]

Worthy Chapter 5: Denial FFXV A/B/O Promnis

<Previous Chapter 4 “You think I’ve what?!” Ignis sputtered over his morning coffee.  “That is preposterous. How on earth did you come up with that, Gladio?” He asked leaning forward over his neat but cluttered desk.

 The shield smiled.  “Sana and I were chatting last night, and she mentioned that Prompto may have imprinted on you.”

 Ignis was still in shock by the very idea.  He hadn’t heard of an omega imprinting on anyone in years.  “That sounds barbaric,” he uttered finally as he retrieved his phone to open his calendar.

 “Clearing your schedule so you can research imprinting, are we?” Gladio asked with a smirk.

 Huffing, Ignis rolled his eyes at the shields antics.  “You already know the answer: I must know what I’m dealing with so I can better prepare.”

 Gladio furrowed his brow. “Um, what exactly would you be preparing for?”

 “If I knew that, Gladiolus, then I wouldn’t need to research, now would I?” Ignis answered curtly.

 The shield smiled.  “Will you at least admit you acted differently around Prompto when he was here?”

 Pausing and thinking on Gladio’s statement, Ignis did know he’d taken more care than normal in dealing the omega.  “Yes, I will concede that I have been somewhat affected by Prompto’s visit. If my research proves Sana’s theory correct then I will . . . .” Ignis trailed off.

 “Uh – you will what?”

 “I will go rescue him from the frozen hell that is Niflheim and share my closet!  Gladio, I don’t know! Go away, I need to work, and you’re filling my head with ideas of domestic bliss.” Ignis huffed.

 This statement elicited a bark of laughter from the shield as he stood to leave.  “Fine, I’ll leave you to it, but will you at least let me know what you find out? Honestly, I’m sorta jealous you get to experience this and not me.”

 “Come now, Gladio. You and Sana are made for each other.  I know you had a rocky start, but she loves you dearly. She’ll even be moving here in a couple months.  That’s more than I can say for my nonexistent pack.”

 “The invite still stands if you want into ours.  Sana thinks you’re cute.”

 “I have considered the idea, but I think your pack has the perfect dynamic right now.” Ignis smiled.  “Now get out of my office.” He made a shooing motion in Gladio’s direction in hopes he’d leave.  

 As he watched Gladio go, Ignis felt a funny feeling tumble through his stomach.  Was he actually getting butterflies thinking about Prompto? He promptly postponed his next meeting and hunkered down at his computer to find out.

     --

   “Noct!!” Prompto whined over the phone.  “What am I going to do? I’ve ruined everything.”

 “You haven’t ruined anything, Prompto. Stop freaking out.   I swear to you, Ignis isn’t upset. You can still send a reply, and he won’t mind the delay.  I promise,” Noct tried.

 “But it’s been two weeks since he sent it!  I was too scared to reply. How dumb is that? He asks if I’m okay, and if I had any trouble, and I ignore him.”

 “I’ve known him most of my life, Prompto, and I’m telling you it’s fine.  Send him a text back. He’ll answer you. What’s the worst that can happen?”

 The blond couldn’t help himself as he blurted an answer. “He bans you from having contact with me, and I die lonely and depressed.”   Prompto couldn’t help but be dramatic. It’d been two whole weeks since his return from Lucis, and he was missing it every day. It would absolutely gut him to not be able to talk to Noct.  Having a friend helped ease the sorrow of everyday life.

 “I’m going to have him call you if you’re not careful, buddy.”

 “Wha – No!  I’ll text – I promise, don’t have him call me. I’ll die for sure if he calls me,” he stammered.

 “I expect a full report later on what he wrote back.”

 Prompto sighed. “Now you are being silly. He won’t answer me.”   He could hear Noct huff. It wasn’t like he understood what life was like as a male omega.  Nothing went your way.

 “I’ll remain optimistic for you, then.  Hey, I gotta go; I need to attend some super stuffy council meeting.  Can I call you later when I finish?”

 “Yeah, for sure. I’m not going anywhere.”  The call ended as they both said their goodbyes. Now to the matter at hand.  What to write back to Ignis?

 Opting to keep it simple Prompto, opened his messenger app to type out a reply. Glancing at the unanswered message from Ignis he winced.  Why did he wait so long! The advisor had only wished to know if he had arrived safely.

 Prompto Argentum 10:18AM:          Thank you for checking in on me and I am safe.  

 Before he could chicken out, he hit the send button.  Tossing the phone further away, he curled up on his bed and groaned.  Why was this so difficult? It was conversation, pure and simple. A pinging noise made him bolt upright and stare incredulously at his phone.   There was no way Ignis had texted him back. It must have been from Noct.

 Reaching out slowly as if his phone might bite him, he flipped it over.  A response from      the    Ignis Scientia was waiting.  Prompto’s brain took this moment to spring into action.  What if he was writing back to tell him he was not allowed to talk to Noct anymore?  Fearful of what the text might say, he didn’t open it for another ten minutes.

 Finally, though, latching onto Noct’s previous words of encouragement, he took a deep breath and opened the message.

 Ignis Scientia 10:20AM:          Excellent. I’m very happy to hear you are safe.  Do let me know if you need anything in the future.  

 Prompto looked at his phone with wide eyes.  Okay, he’d written back and left it open ended.  Now what? Should he reply? He wished Noct was available so he could ask what to do.  Was Ignis simply being polite or was he supposed to say something?

 Shoving his phone away a second time, he got up and started pacing his room.  A full thirty minutes later, he made the decision to answer back.

Prompto Argentum 10:50AM: Thanks I will.  I hope your day is going well.

 Again, he hit send quickly and waited.  He knew his chances of having Ignis reply right away were slim, but he still held out hope.   Apparently the astrals were being kind and granted his wish.

Ignis Scientia 10:53AM: Aside from sitting in a dreadfully boring meeting at the moment, my day has been splendid.

 Prompto knew from Noct that Ignis usually attended the same meetings as the prince.  Did this mean that Ignis was texting him while he was working? Did the meeting end early? Curiosity got the better of him, and he texted his friend.  

Prompto Argentum 10:55AM: Are you still in your meeting?

Noctis Lucis Caelum 10:57AM: Yes, can’t talk yet. :(

 Did this mean Ignis was in a different meeting, or was he actually trying to communicate while he was working? Worried his texting would get Ignis in trouble, he wrote back a reply.

Prompto Argentum 11:04AM: Did your meeting get out yet?

 Ignis Scientia 11:06AM:          I’m afraid it’s still droning on.  I do have an amusing view; Noctis is struggling to stay awake.  I would send you a photo, but it would blow my cover.  

 Prompto squealed out loud when he read the response.  Ignis was at the same meeting, but he could text him and Noctis couldn’t!  The blond wondered if it had anything to do with him being an alpha. He would have to ask Noct about it later.

Prompto Argentum 11:07AM: lol I wish I could be there to see it in person.

 Surprisingly, Ignis texted him a few more times, and then things went silent.  Either Ignis got in trouble or he needed to focus. Prompto hoped it was the latter.  Ignis was so nice, and he didn’t want him to get reprimanded for texting a lowly omega.

 The blond was about to text Noct when heard his mother call him.  Wandering down the hall, he found her staring at a fancy invitation card.

 “Dear, do you know who Lady Pravus is?” she asked curiously.

 The memories of Noct’s story regarding Lady Pravus, from the night of the banquet, came flooding back.  “Yeah – why?” he mumbled.

 His mother seemed shocked that he knew of her.  “I’ve never met her nor heard of her until now. How do you know her name?”

 “When I stayed with Noct, he told me about her.  She’s not very nice,” he added quickly.

 “Oh, well, you don’t know that for sure,” she chided.  “I’m sure she’s fine. Your step brothers aren’t that bad when it comes to judgement of character.”

 This really confused Prompto.  “Mum, what are you talking about?”

 “Oh, sorry, I’ve just received this invitation to attend a dinner in celebration of the upcoming engagement for Alban.”

 Prompto interrupted his mother, “Alban is going to marry that icky lady?!   Oh no, that’s not good.”

 “Prompto!  That is no way to behave when you haven’t even met her.”

 “No, believe me, mum. Noct told me stories about her, and she’s a really terrible person.  Alban shouldn’t marry her. Bad things will happen,” he urged. “Please believe me.”

 She sighed but maintained a knowing look.  “I will wait to meet her before I pass judgement.  You will have a chance as well, as you’ve been invited to come along.”  Soliamare smiled. “A fancy dress party, how lovely. I do miss going out and getting dressed up.”

 He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  His mum was seriously excited about this evil lady coming to visit.  “When is the dinner?”

 “Tomorrow evening.  I must make sure my dress still fits. It’s been so long since I’ve had occasion to wear it.”  

 Prompto watched his mum turn and happily go to her room to check her closet.  Astrals, this was bad. He had to talk to Noct.

    --

     “Specs we have a problem!” Noct hissed as he shoved Ignis into a comfy armchair.  “Remember that horrible woman, Saeva Pravus?”

 Ignis visibly grimaced at the mention of her name.  “If she is harassing you in some manner, I shall put a stop to it immediately.”

 “No, its worse!” He huffed plopping down on the couch opposite his advisor.  “I spoke with Prompto an hour ago and snaky is trying to marry his stepbrother!”

 “Firstly, Noctis I would advise you to refrain  from getting in the habit of using nicknames like that.  You may accidentally let it slip in public. Secondly, which brother?”

 “You have to ask?  Alban of course, she wants to be queen.”

 “Tell me everything you know,” Ignis requested with a look of determination.

 Noct spent the next ten minutes outlining what Prompto had told him. The prince could see Ignis working through all the details as he went along.   Finally, when he’d finished, he waited to hear what his advisor had to say.

 “I dare say that is bad news indeed.  You mentioned the dinner was planned for tomorrow evening, correct?”

 “Yeah, what are we going to do?”

 “Hmmfff, I don’t know that we can do anything at this point, Noct, aside from gather information.”  Ignis stood abruptly and pulled out his phone. “I must go and think on this further. Call me immediately if you hear any additional information.”

 “Hey!  What should I tell Prompto?  He’s not sure what to do.”

 “Tell him to be very careful, and under no circumstances should he be alone with her.  Do you understand?”

 Noct nodded and watched his advisor turn to leave the suite.  He thought back to one of the first times he’d met Lady Pravus.  She’d cornered him several years ago at a party. He shuddered to think what would have happened if Ignis hadn’t saved him.  He didn’t know about her methods for entrapping people then. He’d been too young.

 Apparently, she would make a rather forceful advance in private.  Then, depending on what she wanted, she would threaten to accuse her target of sexual misconduct. Heaven help you if you tried to shove her away - that would turn into one hell of a scandal.

 He grabbed his phone to call Prompto. The prince wanted to warn him about her tactics.  He didn’t care what happened to King Alban so much, but Prompto didn’t deserve that.

    --

 Prompto fidgeted with his cuff as his mother and he walked over to the party.  The main government building didn’t have fancy dining facilities, so most events took place at the great hall inside King Alban’s residence.   He was beyond nervous, especially after what Noct had told him regarding Lady Saeva. His plan was to stay glued to his mother’s side for the whole event.  That way he would be safe.

 He wasn’t even sure why he’d been invited; no one really cared if he was there or not.  Then Prompto realized the truth: if he wasn’t there to escort his mother, then one of his icky step-brothers would have to do it.  The real reason behind his presence made his chest ache; his mother didn’t deserve such disrespect.

 He’d already tried to persuade his mother to bail, but she was adamant about attending. Prompto knew if he outright refused that she would go alone.  He couldn’t do that to his mother.

 The party was in full swing when they arrived, and Prompto could tell some of his step-brothers had started drinking early.  Great, this was going to be interesting. Thank the astrals he didn’t have to sit anywhere near them during dinner. He was even spared having to look at Lady Saeva. She was seated on the same side as Prompto but at the opposite end of the long table.  This didn’t stop his mother from craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the woman that seemed to have stolen Alban’s heart.

 Alban stood up at one point to make a boring toast.  He was a terrible speech writer, and Prompto didn’t understand why he never asked for help.  Could someone be so proud that they’d rather look stupid? It was so strange.

 Feeling a light pinch to his arm, the blond looked over to his mother.  She had that look - the one that was silently chastising him for ignoring the king.  Attempting to smile, he focused on looking cheerful. Alban stopped rambling shortly after, and Prompto bumped his mother’s arm. “The dinners over. Can we go now?” he whispered.

 “No!” she exclaimed.  “I wish to meet Lady Saeva.”  

 Groaning, Prompto frowned.  “Why, I’ve already told you about her.”

 “We’ve been over this already, dear.” Soliamare sighed. “Don’t test me.”

 “Fine,” he huffed.  Prompto reluctantly got up and followed his mother as she sought out the future queen.  He had to give his mum credit; she did know how to part a crowd. Trailing in her wake, they were eventually standing in front of Lady Saeva.  She was stunning in person, but Prompto was still scared to even talk to her.

 She turned and smiled demurely to his mother.  A useless conversation about dinner followed. Prompto watched in near disbelief as Lady Saeva laid on the charm so thick it was almost suffocating. His mother fell for it hook, line, and sinker.  He assumed she would ignore him as everyone else did. However, she finally turned her attention to him.

 The blond could have sworn he saw Lady Saeva’s lip curl ever so slightly.  It was at this terrible moment that he realized Noct forgot to mention one very important fact:  Lady Saeva was an alpha.

 Shit.

 He could see her nostrils flaring minutely; she was working to identify his dynamic.  Figures Alban wouldn’t have given her any information before the party. Instead of approaching him to shake his hand, she kept her distance.  It was as if she’d been expecting something else entirely. Lady Saeva was uneasy about something, and Prompto couldn’t figure it out.

 Turning towards his mother, Lady Saeva spoke finally. “Oh my, I do need to say goodbye to my friends before they leave,” she announced. “Do forgive me. I’ll find you later and we can finish our talk.” The whole interaction reeked of insincerity.  

 Trying to calm his nerves was hard as Prompto waited for her to get out of earshot.  “Mum, can we go please?” he pleaded in a hushed tone.

 “What? No, I must stay. She wants to talk with me again,” she breathed excitedly.  “Won’t it be nice to have another female around? I am terribly outnumbered these days.”

 Prompto bit his lip. He really wanted to grab his mother by her shoulders and tell her that Lady Saeva was lying.  She had found an excuse to leave and took it. There was no intent to come back.

 “I must go freshen up while she’s busy.  I’ll be right back,” Soliamare announced.

 There was no time to even protest as his mother took off for the powder room.  Suddenly, Prompto felt very anxious. He didn’t want to be here in the first place, and now he was alone.  The idea came to him to hide in the ballroom across the hall. It wasn’t in use for the party, so he could rest in peace.

 Scurrying to the corner of the room, he quietly slipped out the door and into the empty space.  Finally, he could breathe. It was dark, but he could still see well enough with the moonlight filtering in through the large windows.

 The sound of a door creaking open caused Prompto to turn in a panic. There in the soft light was Lady Saeva.

 “I thought I saw you slip in here,” she crooned.  “Come here so I can get a better look at you,      omega    ,” she ordered.

 Prompto remained frozen in place.  He didn’t want to go near her, and no manner of influenced alpha speech was going to make him.

 “Oh, you’re going to fight me.  I suppose then I’ll have to come to you.”

 Finding that his throat had gone dry, Prompto watched her slowly saunter over.  The future queen didn’t stop until she was a few inches from his face.

 “I can’t have you disobeying me, omega. That simply won’t do.   When I order you to do something, I expect you to act. Is that understood?”

 Surprisingly, Prompto’s brain managed a nonverbal response despite his frozen vocal cords. A small shake of his head shook his blond locks.  

 “Oh, a rebel.  How cute,” she breathed.  “It doesn’t matter. I will break you, omega, and I will enjoy every second.  Perhaps I’ll start right now,” she mused.

 Prompto heard the rustle of fabric, and then something pointy was being held to his stomach. He was too scared to look down, but he was pretty sure it was a knife.  

 “Now hold still while I see what you taste like,” she hissed as she leaned forward to sniff his neck.

 A small strangled noise left his mouth, but he didn’t dare push her away.  She could easily stab him in his gut and claim he’d been the one to make an advance.  Then a door slammed, and Lady Saeva backed away immediately, hiding her knife once more.  

 She turned to face whoever had come in.  “Who’s there?” she demanded.

 Prompto didn’t wait to find out and bolted.   He couldn’t hear anything aside from his beating heart as he rushed out of the room.  If Lady Saeva called after him, he didn’t hear it. He needed to go, but he had to find his mother first.

 Soliamare was waiting just outside the main dining room, looking for Lady Saeva no doubt.  “Oh, there you are,” she said cheerfully as he approached. However, when Prompto was closer, she furrowed her brow in concern.  “Dear heart, what has happened to you? You’re shaking and have gone pale as a ghost.”

 “I –I don’t feel good, mum, can we please go home?  I might throw up,” he added, hoping it would make her act.  Luckily, it did, and within minutes he was tightly gripping his mother’s arm and walking back home.  He had so much to tell Noct, but what could his friend do to help? He was a kingdom away and had his own duties to handle.

 Maybe he could lock himself in his room until this was all over, though he suspected his mother wouldn’t allow it.   His mother ended up making him tea and sitting with him on the couch. He felt safe right then, but he was terribly concerned it wouldn’t last.  He hadn’t breathed a word of what had happened, but he worried his mum wouldn’t believe him anyway. Instead, he tried to calm down and eventually drifted off clinging to her.

    --

   “He’s an omega!  Why wasn’t I informed?” Saeva hissed as she paced Alban’s sitting room.  “I refuse to marry you with him in residence.”

 “Why? He’s harmless,” Alban defended.  “What are you afraid of?”

 “That blond haired brat could bear a child and threaten your claim to the throne!  I won’t allow that to happen.”

 “What, Prompto have kids?  Nah, he’s not even got a mate.”

 Saeva looked offended.  “Astrals, that’s worse. He could produce bastard children left and right.  Do you want an omegan whore associated with your family name? I would think not.  You must deal with this.”

 “How exactly should I ‘deal’ with it?” he huffed.  “If I sent him away would that make you happy?”

 “He’d still be out there, and he could come back anytime to threaten your title.”

 “He’s thirteenth in line, Saeva. Even if he had kids, they wouldn’t ever be near the throne!”

 “That’s not true! If none of your other idiotic brothers wed and we don’t conceive, then one of his offspring could inherit.  That is unacceptable. I will not let your royal name be sullied by his likes.”

 “I still don’t know what you want me to do about it.” Alban frowned.  “What’s left? Death? Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”    

 Saeva narrowed her eyes at Alban.  “I won’t marry you unless he’s gone . . . unless you’re too much of a coward to deal with that sort of thing,” she replied innocently.

 “I’m no coward,” Alban shouted.  “I’ll figure something out.”

 “Good.  Now, I’ve got a splitting headache, and I wish to retire early.  Lunch tomorrow, love?” She smiled sweetly.

 Alban grinned and bowed as she left. Now to figure out what to do about Prompto.

     --

   “Are you certain he didn’t see you?” Ignis asked for a second time.

 “Yes, positive.  No one saw me; I’m trained to not be seen,” Nyx replied as he leaned forward in his chair.

 Ignis sat at his desk in deep thought.  Nyx’s report had been very disturbing; Lady Saeva had made an open threat against Prompto.  He had to work fast. Things were in motion that he had little control over. “She said that she’d break him?”

 “Yeah, it was grade A creepy shit, Ignis.  I had to work hard not to warp over and stick her with my dagger.”

 “I would have found a way to make it work,” Ignis pondered quietly.

 “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen after I slammed the door, but blondie took the cue and ran away like greased lightning.  I made sure to follow him and the queen back home. They made it safely.”

 “Nyx, I am eternally grateful for your help in this matter, and I fear what Lady Saeva’s next step might be.  We may need to act in a slightly unorthodox method to combat her,” Ignis admitted.

 “I’m all for unorthodox; sign me up.” Nyx grinned.

>Next Chapter 6

[sohannabarberaesque]

Underwater America with Peter Potamus: Florida’s Space Coast

art by MaudeDraws (https://www.deviantart.com/maudedraws)

This story continues a Friday Fanfic series which debuted late last year, in which Peter Potamus and friends go on a cross-country tour of the nation’s most interesting diving sites in the hope of selling their adventures to television. This story takes place early in the summer of 1970.

I drove the bus out of Ocala at around six o’clock in the morning while everyone else inside was still sleeping off our latest refreshing adventure.

Early into the next leg of our cross-country tour, I pondered taking the winding country roads instead of the highway. I eventually decided on the highway, for the roads were generally less bumpy—thereby making the crew less irritable—and faster, even though we had lots of time to get to our next stop: Florida’s famous State Road A1A, featuring the longest stretches of beaches one could ever hope for.

About 90 minutes later, once everyone was awake, alert and begging for breakfast, we stopped at a diner in Ocoee, not far from Orlando, Walt Disney’s latest conquest. In fact, as we sat in two separate booths looking at menus, the conversation turned to the resort.

“What do you think he’s got there?” Breezly pondered.

“Do you think we could get up close and take pictures?” asked a slightly hyperactive Squiddly, shivering with delight.

“Yeah!” Magilla giddily exclaimed. “Maybe we could have a piece of history!”

“Please,” Mildew said in his usual sassy style. “I doubt they’d let anyone near a construction site. Plus, this is Disney we’re talking about, so they’d probably shoot you!”

“Indeed,” I added, dead serious. “I’m not going to waste valuable time going there. We’ve got Cape Canaveral coming up in a few hours.” The thought of me or any of the others possibly getting arrested for trespassing immediately came to mind. “Let me remind you all that even though we’re all having fun here, I’m spending my life savings to make this dream happen. You all have nothing to lose, but not me.”

Squiddly and Magilla clammed up immediately. I figured they knew what I was talking about: nobody else had any means of support. Hokey and his partner Ding-a-Ling only had their street smarts to get them out of jams. Lippy and Hardy were just struggling. While Magilla could simply go back to Peebles’ Pet Shop, it simply wasn’t a life. This was a ticket to a new life for them and I was not about to risk that for something stupid.

Breakfast, otherwise, was nothing special. The coffee was a little too strong for some of them, and some of the meals just weren’t up to par. Lippy, sitting opposite from me, wasn’t thrilled with the slightly-soggy pancakes, either. We still paid for the meal, though, and went on our way. At least Squiddly loved the bagels and lox.

To compensate for the lack of Disney in our lives, we made an unplanned stop at the Tosohatchee Wildlife Management Area in Orange County. The area brings hunters, birdwatchers, campers, hikers, botanists, fishermen and wildlife enthusiasts together under one roof, and today all of the above were out enjoying themselves.

We took plenty of pictures of birds that morning, with bald eagles and kestrels hunting for their next meal, while herons and ibises, among others, hung out in the wetlands. We were also able to get on camera a group of wild turkeys congregating nearby, with Mildew and Hokey instantly regretting not bringing a shotgun—if only we had one.

“Monsters,” Loopy said with a smirk, although I am certain that, deep down, he would’ve wanted it.

The excursion turned out to be a good thing: the heavy showers came in a few miles after we got back onto Route 524. Better now than later.

“Oh, dear,” Hardy moaned. “That’s going to ruin our plans.”

“Aww, don’t sweat it, Hardy!” replied his optimistic friend, Lippy. “Better now than when we’re out on the boat, right?”

“If you say so,” the sour-flavored hyena moped. “I suppose it could have been worse. We could have been out in the water when—“

As if on cue, lightning struck a few hundred feet away from us, startling everyone but especially Hardy, who would’ve jumped into Lippy’s lap had the seat belt not prevented him from doing so—and yet, we all soldiered on past the rain and out of danger, and just in time.

The timing was perfect: the sun shone brightly on the Indian and Banana rivers, the first things one sees before entering State Road A1A from the north. Sandwiched between the two rivers is Merritt Island, home to the John F. Kennedy Space Center, known throughout the world for NASA’s Apollo space missions that eventually put man on the moon for the first time in history.

We stopped at the northernmost point of Florida’s Space Coast—the town of Cape Canaveral, where space tourism and beach tourism combine to provide an unforgettable experience. As we were on a mix of both pleasure and business, however, we immediately sought out a boat to rent for today’s underwater journey.

Once we secured one, we got to work loading our gear from the trailer into the boat. To avoid confusion and clutter, not only are the swim fins and masks hooked to the belt of the harness, our names are marked on the backs of the harnesses so we do not end up wearing someone else’s kit. We then started on our way, into the Atlantic Ocean.

As we continued on our way, we were able to get a glimpse of houses lined along the streets, not far from the Space Coast’s gorgeous beaches. These streets bear the names of past U.S. Presidents, the greats and not-so-greats among them: Washington Avenue. Adams. Jefferson. Eventually ending with Harding.

“Huh. Coulda sworn Van Buren would get his due,” Wally said before letting out his familiar, ear-pleasing laugh, noting the absence of his own street.

Further along the coast, the beaches were endless, although the places had different names. Cocoa Beach? Satellite Beach? Melbourne Beach, just a drive away from the city of Melbourne? It’s all good. You get to enjoy the feeling of sand between your toes.

I made certain to check my gear to ensure everything was operational. I took a breath from the regulator and found no problems. While everyone else was testing their tanks and regulators, I went into the cabin to plot out a course for ourselves using a nautical map.

Now, Cape Canaveral itself is not an ideal place for diving. Consulting the guidebook, I had two options: either explore a natural reef twenty miles out of Port Canaveral in an area called Pelican Flats, or explore the wrecked Dutch steamship Laertes, the Allied cargo vessel sunk by a German U-109 in May 1942. We couldn’t tackle both at once, as those two were a mile apart. As I looked further through the book to see if there were other reefs, it turned out there are plenty of other wrecks along the waters off A1A, some of them much, much older.

My mind was made up: we would be exploring a reef that day. …Or at least, I thought! Maybe some of the gang wanted a change of scene early. If there were other natural reefs along the coast, they were hard to come by. So, I told them we’d go to the reef.

After agreeing amongst ourselves on 90 feet for 40 minutes with a seven-minute decompression stop, we geared up for our journey into the depths in our familiar way: tanks secured to harnesses; harnesses worn and buckled securely; fins snugly worn; mask lenses spat-at-and-rinsed before donning; regulators being given a final check.

art by Kandlin

After a final safety briefing and the dropping of the anchor line, we were about to back-roll into the ocean when an Atlantic flyingfish flew up from the water and landed right on Breezly’s lap. We all had a terrific laugh over it, even after Breezly non-chalantly threw the fish back in the ocean, toward where the little fella had hoped to go.

“We could’ve had some lunch!” Lippy laughed. “Why’d you throw it back?”

“I didn’t want to punish him for one simple mistake!” Breezly replied with a warm smile to match his warm heart.

After that slight delay, we back-rolled into the water and slowly followed the anchor line down to the ocean floor, right next to where the reef was located.

Immediately the ten of us split up into several groups, giving us several times the opportunities for fun things to happen, though the feeling of water against one’s skin or fur is always a source of delight, regardless of the results of these dives.

One thing we noticed was that the reef was not a coral reef as some of us had hoped. Instead, we found plenty of short seagrass, an important source of nutrition for some of the aquatic life. The lack of coral gave me the first impression that the reef resembled a formation of mossy rocks and boulders one would perhaps find in the woods.

On the ocean floor nearby, Hardy swam close to what appeared to be a small, wide formation. It looked like it was a little smooth to the touch, unlike coral, so he brushed a few fingers along the length. The “formation” moved slightly, causing Hardy to jump back a little. The thing Hardy touched was a Florida sea cucumber, one of many such invertebrates found along Florida’s waters. To reassure Hardy, Lippy gently picked it up and showed its underside, with its many rows of tube feet, and the oral tentacles on the front side. Hardy nodded, having fully understood.

Meanwhile, Hokey and Wally, apparently not yet over their hunger pangs, scoped out a sizable group of lobsters congregating beneath a portion of the reef. With no net with which to catch them, and no way to bring them back, lest they carry it with them throughout the dive and even the decompression stop, they were at a loss. Even so, they were not about to be defeated.

Hokey beckoned for Loopy to swim over. Once Loopy joined the pair, Hokey pointed to the lobsters that were taking cover, then rubbed his belly to communicate everyone’s favorite language—food.

Loopy looked at Hokey quizzically, pointing up to the surface: did Hokey really intend to take his dinner up to the boat? When Hokey and Wally nodded in the affirmative, Loopy shook his head, not wanting anything to do with it.

Wally, however, had a plan, and he started to take off Loopy’s scarf, despite the wolf’s objections. Once Hokey got into the mess, Loopy had no chance. He then laid down one end of the scarf by the lobsters, waiting on one of them to take the bait. It didn’t take long, as one of them gripped the scarf.

Excitedly, Hokey pulled the scarf out, but the lobster, sensing what was happening, let go and rejoined the others.

Wally laid out the bait again, but before a lobster could hook onto it, Loopy, disgruntled, snatched the scarf away and swam far from them in order to put it back on. So much for lunch.

Meanwhile, our camera-octopus, Squiddly, located a gorgeous queen angelfish swimming alongside me. The somewhat fluorescent-looking colors on its body make it stand out from most of the other fish. Getting to experience seeing one up close is exciting enough, but when about a dozen more show up in the vicinity, you get worried about whether or not you actually loaded the film into the camera!

Some of the others were able to witness a loggerhead sea turtle swim by them. Mildew started off by following it, with Loopy instinctively joining his lupine companion. Soon, Lippy and Hardy were on the chase as well, though I do believe they just wanted to pet it. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just get it over with and form a conga line.

I followed Magilla and Breezly when they decided to stray a little from the reef. We had reached a sandy area where the two of them went fish-watching, without any of the others getting in the way.

We were able to witness a group of African pompanos on their way to the reef. While the juveniles prefer to go where the ocean currents lead them, adults prefer the coastline, in depths of up to 100 meters.

Outside of that, we were unable to find many fish of interest, outside of a solitary cocoa damselfish that swam right between the polar bear’s and gorilla’s bodies. The two of them turned around in unison just as the fish passed them; perhaps those two should have signed up for synchronized swimming instead.

We were about to rejoin the group when we saw what appeared to be a large school of fish—at least from a distance. As they drew ever closer, however, we realized they weren’t fish, but a group of about three dozen manta rays swimming towards us and above us. We quickly turned around, kicking our legs as quickly as we could, swim fins waving up and down, so that we could alert the others. We were going to get a chance to swim along with the rays.

art by Enookie

Squiddly got in front of us so he could capture this epic scene. I positioned the other camera at a different angle, and we were on our way.

As we followed the group of rays, we were awestruck by the graceful movement of their pectoral fins. Taken individually, it’s a gorgeous sight, but to witness over thirty of them doing it was like viewing real-life natural art.

Mildew had the right idea when he swam the backstroke. The rays’ movements, combined with the limited light of the sun, made for the best viewing experience.

The mantas have a pair of horn-like cephalic fins on either side of their mouth. When the manta forages for food, these fins flatten in order to channel food into their mouths. At the surface they will feed on zooplankton such as shrimp and krill. At deeper depths such as these, they will feed on small or medium-sized fish.

As were were approaching a variety of fish, we had no choice but to let them be. Squiddly kept filming, yet kept a safe distance. As the rays fed on the sundry fish, I discovered, while editing this film for broadcast, that one of the rays may very have well feasted on that same cocoa damselfish Magilla and Breezly saw earlier. That’s the way life goes for an animal: one day you’re minding your own business, and the next day you’re gone. I would talk about life’s fleeting mortality, but that’s for some other show. It was time for us to ascend, anyway.

In deep dives, nitrogen starts to accumulate in the diver’s body. If a diver ascends like one usually would in a relatively shallow swimming pool, these nitrogen gases could turn into bubbles, thereby causing decompression sickness, which can be potentially fatal.

To help relieve the pressure, the diver’s ascent must be approximately thirty feet per minute. Depending on the details of the dive, a decompression stop may also be necessary fifteen feet from the surface. In this case, because of a 90-foot dive for 40 minutes, our wait was seven minutes. Even in dives at shorter depths, precautionary safety stops of three minutes may be required.

Because of the potential for danger, it is advised that dives are planned carefully. Use the most conservative figures when consulting dive tables. Know how much air you have, and do not plan lengthy dives if you don’t have the air to do a safety or decompression stop.

Squiddly Diddly, bless him, doesn’t have those disadvantages we mammals have. While we waited to ascend again, the good old octopus took the time to take one last tour of Pelican Flats, showcasing all its flora and fauna in its glory, however fleeting it may be. Who knows—maybe the fish Squiddly caught on camera could be the next to be swallowed up by a manta ray!

After the decompression stop, we made our final ascent to the boat, where we climbed out of the ocean, one at a time. Some of us laid back, gear still on, a little worn out from overstimulation.

“All those wasted years of trying to catch lambs,” Mildew chuckled. “Now this is living!”

“Who woulda thought? Swimming with manta rays!” Magilla said giddily, removing the gear one piece at a time and drying himself off.

“I think all of us needed that spark in our lives where we truly got to experience something special,” said I, stacking my fins and mask together as Squiddly climbed back onto the boat, the last to do so. “We’ve all forgotten how much of a thrill life could be. All we’ve been doing before is trying to survive.”

Lippy and Hardy, having known the feeling for years, nodded in agreement.

I slowly arose from the ledge and walked to the cabin. “All right. Let’s get this boat back, we get the gear back in, get our tanks refilled, and then finally we relax. I hear there are some good seafood places here.”

“How about a lobster?” Hokey said, smiling, eager for something exquisite.

“Me, too!” Wally added.

“Eh, we’ll see,” I said with a laugh, and the others were pretty much amused.

Once back on shore, we got the tanks refilled and all the gear loaded back onto the trailer. We bade farewell to Cape Canaveral and continued further south along A1A. Although Cape Canaveral isn’t a haven for divers, what we did see was good enough to warrant a visit, and the beaches are still very exquisite. If you would like to get to know NASA’s space program up-close and get wet and sandy—preferably not at the same time—set aside some time to visit the Space Coast.

Although we never got a chance to explore the Laertes shipwreck, a greater opportunity arose pre-dive when I learned of an early 18th-century Spanish ship, part of the doomed 1715 Treasure Fleet that transported goods and treasure from Spain’s territories back to the mainland. In our next episode, in which we travel to Florida’s Treasure Coast, we will explore one of those ships lost to a hurricane, the Urca de Lima, and perhaps come away with some treasure of our own.

[tiaragqueen]

See The Light: Chapter 1

A/N: My first ever series! Hopefully I can finish this before the end of the year.

***

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

yandere bts masterlist | main masterlist

[Edited]

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you.” - Every Breath You Take [The Police]

          “I got a new house!”

          The message came in one day, where you were just lying around on the couch. It was your day off; something that you had long anticipated after weeks of endless meetings and a barrage of complaints. You had considered resigning a few times before, simply because the pressure was becoming harder for you to bear, but you reminded yourself that a new job might not have the same payment as your current one. You absolutely couldn’t risk losing this job – with such a high salary – and falling into poverty. The apartment rate had increased a few months ago, so it only served as a reminder that you couldn’t make a delicate decision that had the potential of ruining your future.

          “Congrats!” you texted back. You were never a fan of long reply, and your friends often complained that you could be too curt for their liking. That, and because you rarely responded to messages. You couldn’t help it, though; you preferred meeting them in person rather than chatting.

          A picture popped on the display one minute later, showing a basic two-story house amidst the plethora of verdant trees. There wasn’t anything remarkable from it, aside from a few graffiti that smeared the garage door, but nothing some splashes of paint couldn’t handle. Several holes from old age and termites adorned the door, but that was it.

          “It’s beautiful.”

          “I know.” There was a moment of silence before your phone dinged again. “You wanna come over? Feel the fresh air and the like? God knows how you deserve a little break once in a while.”

          You pursed your lips. While you had been planning to spend the rest of the weekend cooped up inside your house, there was nothing wrong from spending time with her either. Irene had been your best friend since middle school, and she was the one who introduced you to Kim Namjoon, your future employer. You could at least make an effort to indulge in her wishes; to repay her kindness for helping you through so many hardships.

          After all, what harm could be done from a simple sleepover?

          Shrugging, you agreed to her invitation and dropped your phone beside you after locking it. You huffed, staring at the ceiling as you contemplated whether you should spend the remainder of the day packing your clothes or procrastinate until there was no time left. Knowing that Irene could be scary when provoked, you quickly got up and headed to your room.

          Better to do it now than later.

          The next day, you were already prepared with everything and waited in the lobby of your apartment. Irene had promised you that she would pick you up last night. Normally, she was punctual, but it had been ten minutes and there was still no sign from her. Not even a text message. You decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and willed yourself to wait a little more despite the cram that crept up your legs.

          A few minutes later, a shiny red car pulled up in the curb. The black window slowly slid down, revealing the woman you had been waiting for. Irene waved from inside the car, her other hand holding the steering wheel.

          “Hey, sorry I took so long. There was crazy traffic back there,” she said.

          With that sheepish and apologetic smile, you knew you couldn’t stay mad for too long. Still, it didn’t mean you wouldn’t let her off the hook just like that. And because you were feeling rather playful today.

          “I waited for almost an hour, you know?” you grumbled as you put your luggage on the backseat. You called the shotgun and pulled the door shut a bit too harsh than intended.

          “Oh, come on! It wasn’t even that long.” Irene kicked the accelerator and the car began to move forward. “By the way, how was work? Everything good?”

          You groaned. “It was stressful. The clients kept complaining like, why couldn’t they just suck it up and appreciate our efforts?! God, this week was the worst.” You sighed, rubbing your temples to ease the growing stress and frustration.

          “I’m sorry to hear that. But hey, look at the bright side! You’ll get to sleep in my new house now.”

          “Yeah, I guess...”

          Irene rubbed your arm comfortingly. “It's okay. Don’t let it get to you. I’m sure next week would be the best week.”

          You hummed, half pessimistic and half optimistic at the thought. If there was one thing that you learned from being an adult, it was that you couldn't be too hopeful with the future because fate always found a way to screw it up somehow. No matter how hard you worked to prevent that, you were helpless against nature.

          “I sure hope so.” you murmured.

          The rest of the trip went in silence. Occasionally she stopped to fill the gas, and you used that chance to finish nature’s call and bought some snacks. Other than that, you didn’t make any attempt to talk and Irene was more than understanding with your situation. It was moments like this where you truly appreciated her; how she was able to predict your moods and feelings and never slip in some advice without your consent. Because you often wanted a willing ear to listen to your venting, not lecturing you like some kind of a naïve child.

          Sometimes, you considered her as more like an older sister and not just a best friend due to her caring nature.

          “Here we are.”

          You jolted awake, flinching at the abrupt exposure of sunlight. Rubbing the crust from your eyes, you yawned and groggily climbed out. You blinked – once, twice – before gazing at the building in front of you. It looked just like in the picture she’d sent; ordinary and a bit more weatherworn.

          “So,” Irene sidled up to you, crossing her arms proudly as if she were watching a showcase. “What do you think?”

          You pondered your answer for a second before nodding in approval. “Yeah, it definitely looks prettier than in the photo.”

          “I know, right?” She grinned, happy that you didn’t comment on the plain appearance despite her awareness of your little white lie. Your effort to be considerate to her feelings was much appreciated, though. “I just need to fix some things and this house will be the comfiest house in the whole country.”

          You hummed as you went to unload your bags. She helped you carry them on to the second floor, where she told you that it would be your temporary room. You didn’t mind it, although you did think that it would be a hassle to have to go up and down the stairs every time you wanted to eat. At least, the room was in a slightly better condition.

          “My room is here, okay?” Irene said, patting the first door near the entrance. “The kitchen is just down the hallway, adjoined with a bathroom. Your room already has its own bathroom, though. So you don’t need to go downstairs every time you want to take a bath.”

          You nodded to let her know that you were listening. “Of course.”

          “And this is...” You both went upstairs, where she pointed to a string that dangled on the ceiling. “Is the attic, obviously. I haven’t had the time to check it out yet. Feel free to do it. Who knows, you might find some undiscovered gems in there.” She winked playfully, much to your confusion.

          “How much is this house anyway?” you asked after she finished the brief tour. There were too many rooms for you to memorize, thus you decided to stick to the main ones. It wasn’t as if you would venture deeper, with or without her permission.

          “Oh, it was a little expensive than I thought it'd be.” She jutted out her bottom lip to express her displeasure towards the fact. “I mean, it’s kind of understandable. It is a big house, after all. Had I gotten it at a low price, I'd be suspicious. But I wished it was a bit cheaper, you know? Am I making sense now?”

          “Well, at least you managed to buy it, right?” you murmured, patting her back. You didn't want her to regret her decision. This house might not be the prettiest in the city, but at least it seemed livable. That alone was enough for you. “For this kind of house, having an expensive price isn’t strange at all.”

          “... I guess I should consider myself lucky for getting a discount in the first place.” Irene sighed, a yawn immediately escaped her mouth. “I’m tired. I’m gonna take a shower and hit the hay.”

          You raised an incredulous brow. “It's still afternoon, though.”

          “So? I’m tired and I need to sleep. You can eat the food if you’re hungry or watch the TV, just not too loud. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

          Watching her figure that disappeared down, you moved to enter your own room. It was rather spacious, with a King size bed pulled up near the window that overlooked the woods. Two nightstands adorned the bed, each has their respective lights. A cupboard stood near a door of what you assumed to be a bathroom, as told by Irene earlier, along with a few hangers attached beside it. There was also a study desk on the right side of the window, dust coated the surface.

          You made a mental note to clean up the furniture to ease her work, and because you couldn’t stand dirtiness either. Your parents used to call you messy, while in reality you just didn’t bother to clear up something that would be messed again. Of course, it didn’t mean you liked dusty things.

          But it could be done later. For now, you would spend your time relaxing and possibly binge watch some movies. Grabbing a towel from your bag, you slung it over your shoulders and walked towards the bathroom. You figured a nice, long and hot shower would go a long way to assuage the daily distress.

          While you were busy doing your things, a pair of dark eyes watched you from the darkness.

[blurry-fics]

Taken By Sleep

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of illness/death, hospital setting

Word Count: 3588

Author’s Note: This is my second entry for @ohprettyweeper​‘s MotH Challenge! Like last time, the prompt is bolded within the fic. Requests will be back next week! (pic credit)

You grabbed your bag from the passenger seat and closed the car door with your hip. There were still a few minutes before visitation hours officially started, but you hoped that the nurses would be nice and let you slip in a few minutes early. With Tyler’s condition getting worse, you tried to get in as much time with him as possible.

Your phone buzzed as you were walking through the front doors of the hospital. Without missing a beat, you pulled it out of your pocket and read the text.

Josh: Got a late start. Will be at the hospital ASAP

You finished typing out a response just as you reached the front desk. The nurse smiled at you.

“Y/N Joseph, nice to see you again.”

“You too,” you said, trying to put on a brave face. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

“I do, but visitation hours don’t start for another ten minutes.”

You tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. Instead, you forced a smile and headed down the hallway that you knew led to the coffee shop. Picking up a drink for you and Tyler would help kill time and hopefully cheer him up a little bit.

You arrived back at the check-in desk at exactly 10:59, armed with two warm drinks and a smile on your face. The nurse looked up as you gently set one of the drinks on the counter.

“There’s still a minute,” she smiled.

“My husband is terminally ill, I think you can make a sixty second exception.”

“ID, please.”

You grabbed your ID and slid it across the counter to the nurse. By the time she was done checking you in, the clock read 11:00.

“Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

You grabbed the second drink from the counter and walked down the hallway towards Tyler’s room. He was already awake as you slowly pushed the door open with your forearm. His face lit up as soon as he realized that it was you and not another nurse.

“Lovely,” he grinned.

You smiled at the nickname he had given you years ago. “I brought you some coffee.”

“You did?”

You noticed that the bags under his eyes had gotten deeper since you had last seen him yesterday. His hands shook a bit as he reached out to take the coffee from you, but you tried not to pay too much attention. Tyler hated when anyone brought too much attention to his condition.

“I got here too early and the nurse wouldn’t let me come see you yet, so I thought getting you a nice warm drink might cheer you up.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you, lovely.”

You walked over and took a seat next to his hospital bed. The chair was still in the same position that you had left it yesterday. Tyler slowly brought the cup to his lips and took the tiniest of sips.

“Josh said that he got a late start this morning but he’ll be here as soon as possible.”

Tyler nodded as he pulled the lid off the top of his cup.

“It’s hot,” he explained. “Hopefully this cools it down.”

“How was last night?”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I didn’t eat much, but I guess that isn’t really news.”

You reached out and grabbed his hand, “You should try and eat, Ty. You need to keep your strength up.”

“I know. I’m trying. I really am.”

“That’s good.”

You gave his hand a light squeeze. He managed a weak smile before bringing the cup to his lips again.

“I talked on the phone with your mom last night. She said that they’re going to try and come visit again next week.”

Tyler nodded slowly, “She told me about that. All my siblings are coming into town.”

“Are you going to be able to handle that?”

He let out a weak laugh, “It’s family, I’m not really sure that I have a choice.”

You rubbed your thumb against the back of his hand and smiled. Even when he was sick, he was still putting others before himself.

“You know, I watched a movie last night,” he continued.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I can’t remember the name, but you would have really liked it. I wish I had waited to watch it when you were here.”

“You didn’t know I would like it,” you reassured him. “Maybe I’ll watch it at home tonight and then we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Ok,” he smiled and gave your hand a light squeeze. “I’ll ask one of the nurses what movie it was.”

Suddenly, he pulled away his hand from yours as he started coughing yet again. You quickly took his coffee out of his hand and began to rub his back. He sounded worse than he had yesterday, if that was possible, but you tried not to worry too much. Tyler was going to be ok.

“Sorry,” he muttered once he finally calmed down.

“No, don’t apologize.” You handed his coffee back to him. “You’re ok.”

Tyler was about to say something else when the door to the room swung open. Josh stood in the doorway, holding a variety of coffee cups in his hands. His face fell when he realized that you and Tyler already had drinks.

“And here I was thinking I was being original,” he sighed.

Tyler began to laugh, but it was short lived before he was bent over in another coughing fit. You grabbed his hand and began to rub his thumb.

“I got here too early and had time to kill,” you explained.

Josh nodded as he handed out the drinks that he had brought. The name brand coffee was a welcome change from the watered down drink that you had previously been sipping on. Tyler took a deep breath after recovering from his coughing fit and took his cup from Josh.

“What have I missed?” Josh asked as he pulled over a chair from the other side of the room.

“Not much,” you said. “I really didn’t get here that long ago.”

“How are you feeling, Ty?”

Josh leaned forward so that he could rest a hand on Tyler’s arm.

“I’m ok,” Tyler nodded.

You and Josh shared a knowing look. Tyler was never one to let people know if he wasn’t ok. He could have a limb missing and he would still tell people that everything was just fine.

“Have you been working on much music?” Josh asked.

“Not much,” Tyler answered. “Whenever I try to write, my hand just tires out too fast. I’ve got some good stuff up here, though.”

Tyler smiled and pointed to his temple, earning a laugh from both you and Josh. He seemed pleased by that.

“I’m excited to start working on the next album with you.”

“Don’t worry, Josh. I’ll be out of here and we’ll be working hard before you know it.”

You smiled, but couldn’t help the pang of sadness that shot through your chest. In the back of your mind, you knew there was a possibility that there wouldn’t be a next album. Tyler might never be out of the hospital again. It was hard for you to think about,

Tyler must have noticed your distress, because he reached over and grabbed your hand.

“Are you doing alright, lovely?”

“Yeah, I’m ok,” you nodded.

“Ok, good.”

Josh reached over and gave you a pat on the back as well. You took a long sip of your drink and tried to direct your mind elsewhere. There was no point in worrying about something that wasn’t even guaranteed to happen.

*     *     *

You and Josh decided to head down to the cafeteria around noon to grab something for the three of you to eat. Worries were still sitting at the back of your mind--as they seemed to be every day--but you were trying to make the most of what time you had.

“Are you sure you’re doing ok?” Josh asked as you walked. “You seem more out of it than usual today.”

“I’m just worried,” you shrugged. “He seems worse than usual and I can’t tell if it’s my imagination or not.”

“I think it’s just your imagination. Tyler seems fine to me.”

“You’re right. And the nurses seem pretty optimistic about his condition. I really shouldn’t be so stressed over this.”

“Exactly,” he said, pulling you into a side hug. “Remember what we said when he was first diagnosed?”

“No matter how much time he has, we’re going to enjoy every second together.”

“Right.”

“Right,” you repeated.

Tyler smiled as you and Josh walked into the room, now holding trays full of food. He carefully looked over his options.

“Are you going to eat?” you asked.

“I’m going to try,” he said as he reached for a sandwich. “This food looks pretty good.”

“Remind me to bring you some outside food tomorrow, Ty,” Josh said. “I’m sure you’re tired of hospital food.”

He simply shrugged, “There’s worse things to eat.”

“Like bananas.”

Tyler scrunched up his nose, “Yeah, like bananas.”

You laughed and grabbed the food that you had picked up for yourself before taking a seat back in the chair next to Tyler’s bed. He looked over at you and smiled.

“Did I tell you how nice you look today, Y/N?” Tyler said.

“I think you mentioned it,” you giggled, thinking of the numerous times that he had given you the same compliment already.

“Good,” he said. “Because you deserve to hear it.”

“You look handsome today too, Ty.”

“I do?”

“Yes, very handsome.”

He set his sandwich down for a moment and simply grinned in the direction of his legs. It was nice to still see him get so giddy over the simplest things, especially when everything around him seemed so dismal.

“What about me?” Josh chimed in with a laugh.

“You’ve never looked better,” Tyler said, still wearing the same dorky smile.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks for bringing me food, guys. This sandwich is pretty good.”

You reached out and lightly rubbed his arm, “It was no problem.”

*     *     *

“I should probably get going,” Josh announced. “Jim will be needing dinner soon.”

You checked the time, which to your surprise showed that it was already six in the evening. Time had flown by and you only had an hour left with Tyler before the nurses would finally kick you out.

“Alright, drive safe,” you said.

Josh pushed himself up out of his chair and walked over to the far side of Tyler’s bed so that he could give him a quick hug.

“Same time tomorrow?” Josh asked as he started to back out of the room.

“It never changes,” Tyler smiled.

“Great,” Josh grinned before turning and walking out the door.

He waved through the window before disappearing. You scooted your chair a little closer so that you didn’t have to stretch as far to reach Tyler’s hand.

“You know, I like when Josh is here, but I look forward to the hour at the end of the day that I get to spend with just you,” Tyler smiled.

You squeezed his hand, “I enjoy spending time with you, too.”

“I can’t wait until I get to come home again. I miss snuggling up with you in our bed. Especially when you fall asleep on my chest halfway through the movie we’re watching.”

“Things will be like that soon enough, Ty.”

He nodded, “I think about those moments a lot.”

“What moments?”

“Moments where the only thing that matters is you and I. Like when we got married. Or when we go on walks in the morning and the sun has just come up over the hill. Or right now.”

“Those are good moments,” you said, bringing his hand to your lips so that you could press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You know what the hardest part of all this is?” he asked.

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you swallowed it and kept talking, “What is that, Ty?”

“The thought that, if I don’t get better, I might have to leave you.”

Your eyes were brimmed with tears before he had even finished his sentence, “You’re not gone yet.”

“Not yet,” he smiled. “And I won’t be anytime soon.”

“That’s right.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

With a shaky hand, he reached up and gently brushed one of your tears away. You grabbed his hand and held it to your cheek for a moment, just enjoying being close with him. He smiled and slowly rubbed his thumb along your cheekbone.

The two of you sat and talked for the rest of the hour, reliving some of your favorite memories together or just talking about life. Aside from the occasional coughing fit, Tyler seemed to be doing pretty good. He was happy, to say the least.

Right at seven, one of the nurses popped in and told you it was time to go. You gave her a thumbs up and said you would be out in just a minute, you just wanted to say goodbye to Tyler real quick.

“I’ll be back right at eleven tomorrow, ok?”

“I think the nice nurse is working the morning shift tomorrow, so you might be able to slip in early.”

“You know I would be here fifteen minutes early, anyway,” you laughed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, lovely.”

You bent over the edge of the bed so that you could give him a kiss. He held you close for a moment, claiming that he just wanted to admire you, before taking hold of your hand.

“I love you,” he smiled. He made a point of telling you every day before you left.

“I love you too, Ty.”

You each squeezed your hand for a moment before you let go and walked out into the hall. Tyler’s face had fallen a little as soon as you left the room, but you knew that you couldn’t stay.

*     *     *

You closed the front door with your hip and walked into the kitchen. Your arms were full of groceries that you had put off buying for weeks in hopes that Tyler would be able to go with you. Grocery shopping on your own had never exactly been a hobby of yours.

Tyler had texted you while you were driving home. Now that you were no longer occupied, you decided to take a look at it. It was a short text, but it made you smile nonetheless.

Thinking of you tonight (just like every night). I love you

You typed out a response and set your phone back on the counter. As soon as all the groceries were put away and dinner was made, you were going to watch the movie that Tyler had told you about earlier that day. It would help you take your mind off of not being by his side while also giving you a way to feel closer to him, which you were thankful for.

You hummed as you finished putting things away. It was one of the few things that made the house feel less empty.

*     *     *

The sound of your phone vibrating against the wooden coffee table woke you up. You hadn’t even realized that you had fallen asleep towards the end of the movie, but it explained why you were still on the couch in the living room at close to two in the morning. The endcard of the movie was shining on the screen.

“Phone,” you muttered as you reached forward.

You blinked your eyes a few times to clear the sleep from them. Your eyes scanned the name and your stomach immediately sank. The contact name was one simple word.

Hospital.

You hit answer call immediately and brought the phone to your ear, clearing your throat as you did so to sound less sleepy.

“Hello?”

“Is this Y/N Joseph?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Sorry to bother you so late, but we have news about your husband.”

“Is he ok?”

“Unfortunately, he passed away about an hour ago due to complications from his illness. Doctors tried to revive him, but they were unsuccessful. I’m sorry.”

You sat frozen in place, staring at the ground. Everything had seemed fine earlier today. Had Tyler even known that something was wrong?

“Is there anything that I need to do?”

“We’ll be in contact with you about steps to take from here.”

“Ok, thank you.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

It felt like time had stopped as you slowly reached forward and set your phone on the coffee table. All of the air from your lungs was gone, taken away in an instant. Your hands were shaking as you reached up and brushed back the hair that was stuck to your forehead.

You weren’t sure how long it was before you finally got yourself to get off the couch and walk towards your bedroom. Your legs felt stiff and slow, like they weren’t moving quite right. Nothing felt right, if you really thought about it. The world felt different, now that you knew he was gone.

The bed was cold as you slid under the covers and pulled them up around your neck. You no longer felt tired. Or sad. Or anything, really. Everything just seemed empty. But it was late and now you had a whole new list of things that would have to be dealt with in the morning, so you decided to try and get some rest.

All you could think of as you fell asleep was Tyler.

*     *     *

“Hey, come on,” Josh said, pulling the covers down off of your shoulders a little bit.

“No,” you grumbled, pulling them right back up again.

“Y/N, you can’t stay in bed forever. That’s not what Tyler would want for you.”

“Don’t you dare drag him into this,” you snapped, finally turning to look at him.

You know you looked like a mess. The last few days had consisted of nothing but laying in bed sobbing. It was the only thing that you could get yourself to do.

“I didn’t mean it like-,” Josh sighed. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need some time.”

“Will you at least come downstairs with me? I brought stuff to make you your favorite lunch.”

You felt the bed dip with Josh’s weight. He rested a hand on your arm and gently rubbed it with his thumb.

“Do I have to get dressed?”

“Nope, you can wear exactly what you’re in right now.”

“I’ll be down in a second.”

“Ok.”

You waited until you heard the sound of the bedroom door closing before you actually got up. Slowly, you shuffled towards the bathroom, deciding that you could probably do with a quick face wash and brushing out your hair.

You took a long look at yourself as you stood at the bathroom sink, still not quite wanting to go through the motions of washing your face. Your entire face was puffy from crying, especially around your eyes. The bags under your eyes were deep from barely sleeping and Tyler’s sweatshirt that you were wearing was dotted with stains from crying. It was a wonder that Josh could even manage to look at you, really.

You took your time making yourself look somewhat decent before heading downstairs. Josh was already in the kitchen, working on making the food for the two of you. Jim, who you hadn’t realized Josh had brought along, perked up when he noticed you come down the stairs.

“Do you want to take a seat at the counter?”

“Sure,” you mumbled.

You slid into one of the stools and rested your elbows on the counter. Josh managed a small smile and you wondered how he seemed so put together despite everything that had happened.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“I just don’t understand,” you said, voice already beginning to break. “He seemed like he was doing well when we went to see him a few days ago, and then I got the call that he was gone. They said that he had more time.”

“They can’t always accurately predict those things.”

“I know. I just wish that I had known it was our last day together. I could have prepared myself or said more to him.”

Josh walked around the counter and pulled you into his chest. You were surprised that there were any more tears left in you.

“I just… I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”

“I don’t think any of us were.”

“How am I supposed to move on from this? And keep living without him?”

Josh stepped away to hold you at arm’s length.

“We’ll find little ways to make it through. Then, one day, it might not hurt as much to think about.”

You nodded slowly, “There’s so much that needs to be done. His family and the funeral and the fans. There’s too much.”

“Hey,” Josh rubbed your arm slowly. “Right now you only need to focus on today. This moment, even. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Tyler loved you. Never forget that. He would want you to be happy.”

You wiped away a tear with the back of your hand, “You’re right.”

Josh smiled and went back to making food. You took a deep breath and leaned back in your chair. He was right, the pain wouldn’t last forever. Things would just have to be handled one at a time.

Then, one day, you and Tyler would be together again.

[thetriggeredhappy]

8 and 55 Speeding Bullet, please? Thx!

wasn’t sure if you meant both #8 and also one for #55 or if you meant one drabble encompassing both of them so i just went ahead and did the second one. strap in fellas we’re about to get Angsty

8.) “This isn’t what I wanted.”

55.) “Just smile. I really need you to smile right now.”

Sniper’s hand was cold and clammy, alternating between lying very, very still, and gripping back hard enough to nearly hurt. That said, Scout preferred the second one. It helped him convince himself that Sniper still had some strength left despite the shivers that wracked his body and the inability to keep food down, as well as him not quite managing to properly fall asleep, never for more than ten minutes or so and never too deeply, the pain or the fever shaking him conscious all too soon.

It was supposed to just be a simple contract. Out in the jungle, taking out some business rival of their boss, Mr. Saxton Hale, who’d invited him to the area under the pretense of a hunting trip to “make amends” between them. The hit itself was relatively easy, but extraction had taken a turn for the worse.

The team had consisted of Scout (playing the role of distraction), Sniper (who would be making the hit itself), Demo (to take down the building the target was in, to destroy evidence), and Pyro (to help with the evidence destruction and to be there as backup if something went pear-shaped).

But then when they were on their way out, Demo was delivered a shotgun round into the back, and they were forced to use almost all of their meager supply of medical fluid to try and get him walking again. And they’d managed it, and gotten out safely.

But Sniper, quietly during the worst of the chaos, had taken a bit of fragmentation to his leg. He stopped the bleeding, wrapped the wound. Assumed he would be fine until they could get to a supply cache and raid it for more medical supplies, or until they could get back to the base. All he’d need is some crutches until he got there. Nothing major.

And then it’d gotten infected.

Scout listened to the shaky, raspy in-and-out of Sniper’s breathing, the way it rattled around inside his chest far too much. Either he would survive the night and be well enough to travel by the next day, or he’d…

Or…

Scout rubbed over the back of Sniper’s hand with his thumb. To bring things around all the more, it wasn’t the most opportune time for part of the team (and by extension, probably all of the team) to find out that he and Sniper were… involved. There wasn’t really much excuse for the way Scout had been acting, with them being “best friends” only explaining so much. Somewhere around the point that Scout started holding Sniper’s hand and sitting at his bedside all hours of the day, the excuse (no matter how true) had kind of fallen apart.

Sniper jerked suddenly, pulled awake from his almost-sleep, and stared up at the ceiling for a few moments with obvious confusion, clearly trying to re-orient himself.

“Hey,” Scout said quietly, squeezing his hand once.

Sniper’s fingers twitched in what Scout sincerely hoped wasn’t Sniper’s best attempt at reciprocation. “Hey,” he replied, voice weak and raspy. He cleared his throat lightly, wincing at how raw it still was. Scout had almost needed to leave the room when Demo had taken the shards out. He really, really didn’t like listening to Sniper in so much pain. The changing of his bandages was easier, but only barely.

Scout didn’t look down at his leg. He just looked at Sniper’s face.

That wasn’t great either. His expression was all twisted up in a grimace, and he shifted his head slightly, clearly unwilling to do much else. “What time’s it?” he asked, voice a creak.

“Just after nine,” Scout lied, award that Sniper couldn’t see the clock very well from his position and his lack of glasses.

“How long was I out?”

“About an hour,” Scout lied.

That left Sniper to sigh, gritting his teeth. “I suppose Demo’s not back with painkillers yet?” he asked, hopeful.

“Not yet. Said he’d radio when he was on the way back,” Scout said.

A second sigh. “Damn.”

Scout watched a series of expressions flit across Sniper’s face as he shifted his weight minutely.

“Why did two of us have to get fucked up?” Scout asked, dropping his head to press his cheek into Sniper’s forearm. “Seriously. Why do we suck at our job?”

“It happens. Just bad luck is all,” Sniper said, hand twitching again in a weak attempt at a squeeze. “Can’t help bad luck, or bad intel.”

Scout looked at him quietly for a few moments. He turned his face down. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he said softly.

Sniper didn’t reply.

“I wanted to…” He drew shapes on Sniper’s hand with his thumb. “…I wanted to go and, and head out and sightsee when this mission was over. We were supposed to have a layover in New York, an’ you’ve never been on the East Coast. Not with me, at least.”

A weak attempt to squeeze his hand. Scout squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“And, I wanted to… one’a these days, maybe, we…” He needed to swallow back a lump in his throat. “You’ve never met my family, and my, I’ve got all these nieces an’ nephews and stuff, and hey, what kinda uncle would I be if I didn’t bring over a genuine Australian to meet them? A shitty one, that’s what.”

The slightest intake of breath. Scout didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

“And—I wanted to meet your folks too,” he said, feeling himself rambling but not caring enough to stop it. “See your house. All the dogs you were tellin’ me about. I’ve never been on a farm before, if you can believe that. Born-and-bred city boy, all that crap. Maybe I’d like it. I dunno.”

His eyes were burning. So was his throat.

“And—and I wanted to,” Scout tried, and his voice was rough, but so was Sniper’s, so it was probably okay. “I wanted to, travel with you. Go out and see stuff, maybe, when all this was over. It wasn’t supposed to… you weren’t supposed to, to get all messed up an’…”

His voice finally broke, and now he was the one gripping too-tight on the other one’s hand.

“It ain’t fair,” he choked. “It ain’t fair.”

“I know, Roo. I know,” Sniper said softly. A beat of pause. “Get up here. Hurts seein’ you all broken up and not bein’ able to hug you. C’mon. Breakin’ my heart, ‘ere.”

Scout only paused for a moment before he complied, moving to wrap his arms around Sniper, pulling him in close. Sniper gave a grunt of discomfort as he managed to force his own arms up around Scout despite protesting muscles, and they remained there for a good moment.

“Who says we can’t still do all that, aye?” Sniper asked after a moment. “C’mon now. I thought you were supposed to be the optimistic one. Can’t have you goin’ all grim on me now. Bad for morale.”

Scout pulled back enough to look at him, and Sniper winced as he forced his arm back around to cup his face.

“Go on then. Perk up,” he said, trying for a little smile. “I can’t look that bad, can I?”

Scout’s eyes were watering in earnest. His voice caught in his chest, grating against his ribcage. Sniper’s expression faltered.

“Really. What’s that look for?” he prompted.

Scout reached up to cup Sniper’s hand to his face, sniffling, furiously blinking back tears. “I just, I feel so fuckin’ useless,” he admitted. “You’re lyin’ here sick an’ hurtin’, and I—I can’t do anything. It’s killin’ me.”

Sniper gave him a little smile. “Hey, now. You’re doin’ plenty,” he corrected gently.

“Cryin’ like a baby isn’t helpful,” Scout said with a huff.

“Maybe not. But you’ve been here,” Sniper said, thumb rubbing over Scout’s cheek, “at my side, watchin’ out for me. Helps put me at ease, otherwise bein’ as helpless as I am, I’m sure I wouldn’t sleep a wink. And you’ve been holdin’ my hand, helpin’ keep me distracted from the pain. Telling me I’ll be okay. Not laughing at me for being such a useless lump. Or complaining about how bloody gross my leg looks, because I know it looks gross, I’ve seen an infected wound before, they’re nasty buggers.”

“Are you really tryin’ to comfort me right now?” Scout asked disbelievingly.

“A bit,” Sniper confirmed. He tilted his head, ever so slightly. “Roo. What I’m getting at is that… you, here? This helps me. It really does.”

Scout sniffled again. “But what can I do, to make you feel better? Other than that?”

Sniper’s face was pale, and shiny with sweat, but his eyes were surprisingly clear. “Just smile. I really need you to smile right now,” he said, voice wobbly.

Scout blinked at him.

Sniper took a breath, exhaled. “Scout, I’ve gotten hurt before—par for the course—and I’ve gotten pretty badly sick as well. But this is…” He had to take another breath. His voice was weak, shakier than Scout had perhaps ever heard it. “Roo, this is scary. I’m… I’m scared right now. I just need you to tell me it’s going to be okay. Just a little smile, that’s all I’m asking.”

Scout looked at him, swallowed hard. Leaned in and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. When he drew back, it was easy to bring a smile onto his face.

“Yeah. You’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be alright,” he said, and managed to believe it, at least for a second, seeing the relief on Sniper’s face, the way the tension melted from his shoulders.

“I’m gonna be okay. It’s gonna be alright,” he repeated back.

It would be alright. It had to be.