#so yeah. grief sucks. i hurt a lot right now. i’m weirdly better in some ways than i thought i might be

[bestfluteninja]

i am so loved. i am so so loved.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Save Me III

College!BuckyBarnes x College!reader AU

summary: Everything sucks without Y/N. Even Sam notices it, so Bucky has to do something about it ASAP.

a/n: Guyyyssss, it's finally happening. But first, there is a lot of good old angst. So enjoy!

I also have some drabble ideas for this series, but let me know if you have some things you'd like me to write.

word count: 8k

chapter warnings: *Steve Rogers voice* Language!, pessimistic world view, serious existential-crisis-level angst, mentions of death and loss, grief, fluffidy fluff, sloooooow burn

series masterlist | series playlist | read on ao3

“Yeah, that’s three points for me, homeboiii!” Sam flung his fists up in the air as he watched the orange ball drop to the ground beneath the basketball hoop.

“Oh come on! You were totally stepping over!” Bucky argued pointing to the lines drawn on the floor. “See this? That’s where you’re foot’s supposed to be, you moron.” The frustration of the night before took over his mind.

“You tryna tell me how to play basketball?” Sam’s eyebrows were raised in amusement.

But Bucky didn’t think it was so funny. “Fuck you, Sam. You’re cheating.” He mumbled as he moved to the bench to grab his water bottle.

“Hey, hey, hey. No need to be a bitch about it.”

“I’m not being a bitch, you jackass. You fucking cheated!” The discussion was already becoming desperate but Bucky couldn’t let off. The tension rising exponentially and replacing the stuffy gym air with its heavyweight.

“Hold on, now.” Sam stepped over to his friend, reaching out for his shoulder. But Bucky just jerked away with a piercing look in his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking touch me, Sam. I swear to God!” Sam stepped backward, raising his hands in surrender.

“What is your problem, dude?”

“What’s my problem? Are you serious?!” Water bottle still in hand, Bucky made a wide gesture that caused some water to spill on the floor.

“Yes! I am fucking serious. You’re acting out for no reason!”

“You know damn well what you did!”

“I didn’t do shit. You’re overreacting.” Bucky just huffed in response. Shaking his head as he grabbed his backpack roughly to stuff his towel in it.

“Get a fucking grip, Bucky! God, you’ve been bitchin’ the whole day. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Just leave me alone, Sam.” His voice was way too calm for the cocktail of emotions splashing within him right now. And Sam must have noticed it as well. His response was attempted to be just as calm - honestly so, in hopes of allaying his friend.

“I was. You just attacked me for no reason. And I ain’t playin’ like that.” He drew a deep breath, sighing loudly in the process as he rested his hands on his hips. “You think you can calm down a bit?”

“I- uhaahrg!” Bucky turned mid-sentence and punched the wall behind him with full force. The dull noise was accompanied by a low grunt. Fucking hell, that hurt like a bitch!

“Woah, okay.” Sam approached him in two large strides and peeled the Backpack out of his hand. The other was still resting on the wall, as was Bucky’s forehead. The cool concrete weirdly calming after the intense anger pooling in his veins. He didn’t see the change of expression on his friend’s face. How it turned from frustrated to concerned. His heart even beat a little faster than it should be. Bucky had never acted out like that. Hell, the most emotion Sam would get from him were cheers at a football game. But this? Totally foreign territory for the friends.

A firm, reassuring hand was placed on the shoulder that had pushed the fist into the wall seconds before.

“Please.” Bucky’s voice was only a whisper, and he had to be careful not to break then and there. Yes, Sam was his best friend. His only real friend for that matter, but he wasn’t ready to lay his burden on him. That wouldn’t be fair - to nobody. It had drawn him away from Y/N, already. He couldn’t do the same with Sam. “I just can’t-“ He exhaled slowly. “I can’t tell you, Sam.”

Fortunately, Sam knew better than to push him further. After the outburst he had just witnessed, he was probably just glad it wasn’t him facing the fist that had made a small indent in the wall before them.

“Can you just go?” Bucky turned his head away from Sam, forehead still touching the cold wall. His voice was breaking.

“You know where to find me.” With a last squeeze of the muscles on his shoulder, Sam retreated from his friend. He shook his head dropping the backpack and leaving the gym without another word, worry evident in his eyes.

—

It had been a week. A whole fucking week without talking to Y/N. Luckily, Sam had stopped asking what was going on after the incident. The second Bucky had returned to their room, he locked eyes with Sam who had just shot him a reassuring nod. He understood that Bucky would talk to him when he was ready for it. Even if he would never be, this wouldn’t be something standing between them. And he was thankful for that. Truly, Sam was the best. He left Bucky enough room to be himself while still nudging him to push his boundaries. He had helped Bucky make process with his emotions without realizing it, even if it was just in Sam’s presence. And for everything he had not accomplished yet, Sam was there to sit it out with him. He was patient and kind. Too good to be Bucky’s friend if you’d ask him, but he still got lucky enough to have a best friend like Sam.

Bucky was really struggling to keep his emotions in check. Everything he had had under control just a couple months ago, had been thrown out the window when Y/N was around. And Bucky didn’t know how to deal with it. It was exhausting. Wrestling with his own mind like that. For years he had been able to just shut everything off - not let anything touch him. And now? Everything went to shit. He didn’t mean for it to explode in everyone's face like that.

It had crashed into him like a fucking train. He had not thought about the reason why he became the Bucky everyone knew for a long time. And the painful memories just brought all the emotions back up again. Emotions he had worked so hard to contain. But that didn’t matter anymore. Bucky knew Y/N wouldn’t stop until she got the answers she needed. He didn’t know why she was so set on getting it out of him, but he did know that it was inevitable. And somewhere deep down, he knew that he was ready to tell her. That she wouldn’t leave as everyone else did. That she was okay with seeing the him he had tried to hide for years. It was scary but he had to do it. In order to even have the possibility keep her in his life.

Bucky sat in an uncomfortable chair, dragging his eyes over a boring old book that had stains way more fascinating than the worlds printed on its pages. He had found refuge in one of the rooms he had explored with Y/N one night. The funny posters next to the whiteboard mocking him now. Still, the room held a calmness, Bucky had been yearning for when he walked past it, escaping from the crowded library.

He flipped another page and traced a coffee stain that kind of looked like an elephant when he heard footsteps approaching down the hall. They came to a sudden stop but Bucky didn’t bother looking up. What was the point, anyway?

“Happiness is the highest good.” A soft voice traveled through the room.

A shockwave went through his body when Bucky heard it. His body becoming rigid at the sound. Though, despite the struggle he slowly peered up to the door and spotted Y/N standing there. Her arms folded over her chest, head hanging low and a slump in her shoulders he had never seen before.

“What?”

“Aristotle.” Was the only answer she gave him. It took a second for Bucky to realize what she meant. And when the light above his head finally turned on, he felt the weight in his chest lighten. He smiled. Not only did she come to apologize, but she had also looked through texts of boring dead men - yes Bucky knew how much one had to torture themselves through some of those - just to find a quote that helped her with it. To keep up the silly little game they had started when they first met, and that made the situation now weirdly comforting.

He stood up and closed the distance between them, lead by the heat swelling in his chest. When he came to a stop about a foot away from her, he could see how red and puffy her eyes were.

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” His hand reached out to hers, attempting to pull her into a hug but she swatted it away with anger flaming up in her orbs.

“No, we can’t forget about it.” He winced at her harsh counter.

“It’s fine, Y/N-“

“It is definitely not fine, Bucky!” She stepped back, holding his gaze with an intense stare. There were tears brimming in her eyes but Bucky knew better than to try and soothe them away. He just stood there, waiting for the impending storm that was not avoidable anymore. “It kills me, Bucky. It really kills me that you think this world has nothing more to offer than pain and sorrow.” A sob broke through her speech. “I want to show you so many things. I wanna tell you how amazing people can be. I wanna hear you laugh and I want to see smiles on your face, and surprise, and happiness, and so much more. But you’re standing in your own way, Bucky. You’re sabotaging that for you and everyone around you because you always feel the need to seek out the worst in everything. What happened? How did it come to that? Because I really want to punch that person in the face… and somewhere else if it’s possible.” She drew a deep breath that followed by a long exhale. “I just had to get that out. I’m done now.” Her voice was firm despite the obvious urge to break within her. The tears now streaming down her face and gathering in the fabric of her shirt.

“What happened, Bucky?” She emphasized, but Bucky stayed silent, his eyes trained on the floor as he struggled to suppress the prickling heat rising in his throat. He could see her stepping closer in his peripheral.

“I wish you would trust me enough to let me help you.” That was the sentence that crushed him. He did trust her - too much for that matter. And that was part of the trouble. His whole being fought against revealing too much about himself all the time; but around her, this urge was gone. And he felt empty - without purpose when he stood there unable to determine what he should focus his energy on. Unable to tell whether being himself was good enough for the bright and colorful personality within her. It surely wasn’t. It wasn’t even for people way less perfect than Y/N. So he had shut it out. In fear of being broken again. Tied it up with a strong rope and thrown in a box that made sure to never let it escape. Except, maybe for Sam some day; and maybe some other people. But most of these people were gone now.

Bucky felt her tug on the hem of his shirt, urging him to look up into her flooded eyes. There was so much comfort nestled within them that Bucky took the courage to slowly open the box inside him, letting the crimson red fringes of his true fears show.

“Why is it so important to you?” He whispered, tears threatening to fall on his face. His throat was dry and speaking felt like stroking it with sandpaper.

Her response was instant. As if there was nothing she was more certain about. “Because I care about you.” A weak smile snuck on her face as her hand traveled to his, squeezing it intently in the process. Warmth spread from her touch - a tiny nudge for him to step towards the deep and dark pool of fears he had tiptoed around through the years.

The tears now no longer preventable, he choked out a pained: “It’s hard.” This whole situation was scary. It was unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried. Let alone in front of someone. It must have been back when he was a kid, in front of his mother, probably - No. It wasn’t. Bucky didn’t know why he tried to lie to himself. He knew damn well when it happened the last time. It was the day he had become the Bucky he was today. Shut-in and cold to anything the outside world would present itself with.

“I know. I know it’s hard, but I need you to tell me.” Y/N’s tears continued to fall, her hand squeezing his a second time. “Please.”

There is no escaping this, Bucky. Just do it. If she leaves, she leaves. You can’t stop her. You’ll just shut it out again. You’ve done it before.

“I had a friend named Ste-” Bucky had to swallow the lump in his throat. It had been years since he had said that name. “Steve.” He paused. He would get through this. Y/N’s hand in his grounding him, he proceeded to open up. “He left for the Army when we were 18. He always had this hero complex, I don’t know. Always put himself in danger for the greater good.” Bucky had to smile at the memory of him. Okay, Bucky. You can do this. Just fucking breathe. “But it was hard on me. I didn’t have a lot of friends back then. I still don’t. He was my best friend, my brother. I’ve known him since we were kids.” Okay, here it comes - the painful part. Man up and face it. “At one point he stopped contacting me. I was so angry and hurt, I missed him like crazy.”

Y/N stayed silent. Listening to him intently. She placed her other hand on his arm, rubbing it in comfort.

“Came to find out he went missing on a mission. I felt so bad. Let my feelings get in the way of rationality. Steve wouldn’t have left like that. Not without a reason, at least.” He sighed. “Didn’t change the fact that I became an asshole to everyone - even my parents. My dad got in a bad accident the same year. Died a couple weeks after, and I was so scared. I didn’t know how to fucking live.”

Bucky lifted his head to look in her eyes, gripping her hand even tighter.

“I found out that not having to deal with emotions helped a lot with getting things in order. So I did just that. Have been living like it ever since. It makes things easier you know? Not caring. Being able to focus on objective.” Sure, it meant that Bucky didn’t get to experience all the other emotions, but that was a small price to pay for the promise of never having to feel this pain again.

“But that’s no way to live.” They were both full-on crying now. Trying to comfort the other with faint touches and gazes that held a weight to them none of them had ever experienced.

“I know that now. Because then you came in and my whole fucking world turns upside down.” His chuckle mixed with another sob, producing a choked noise.

Y/N leaned forward, embracing Bucky in a tight hug. Burying her head in his shoulder and squeezing his middle with her arms, as if she was trying to get all the hurt out of him. She didn't need to do that. Bucky understood, now, that feeling this hurt was what he had needed. His arms wrapped around her shoulders in a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered in her hair. “I want to see the world the way you do, I really do. But you have to give me time, Y/N. I’m really trying but it’s scary as hell. All these feelings are overwhelming. I don’t-“ Another deep inhale, collecting the calming scent of her shampoo, “I don’t know how to deal with it all. I'm terrified.”

“I’m here for you, Bucky. I always will. And I’ll be patient with you if that is what you need.”

Bucky smiled over her frame. He was thankful for the things she offered him. Even if they utterly terrified him. In the end, he noticed that talking about his feelings had lifted a tremendous amount of weight from his chest. He was able to voice his fears again. And he was finally feeling all the emotions he had been suppressing for way too long now. And hopefully, he would soon be able to understand and embrace them as well.

—

Bucky laughed. Yes, he laughed. He did that a lot lately. His head was slightly propped against the wall behind him, his legs covered under a fuzzy blanket.

“That’s fucking hilarious!” He exclaimed as they watched a movie. Seated together on Y/N’s dorm bed, because her roommate was at home over the weekend, Y/N leaned on his chest enjoying the protecting arm around her shoulders as they both watched the laptop screen in Bucky’s lap. Y/N tensed for a second before fully relaxing again.

“You know I’m all for expressing yourself but could you please cut down on the swearing?” She looked up at him by laying her head back further towards his shoulder. Her hand moved up to his face, smoothing out the frown that had settled on his forehead with her left thumb.

He had noticed how she flinched or briefly glared at him every time he threaded a swearword in his sentences. But he couldn’t help it. Sometimes it was just the perfect way to describe things and really express everything that could otherwise only be explained in a hundred unnecessary words.

So yeah, he cussed. What was so bad about it? Literally, everybody fucking cussed. It’s what adults did. But somehow, Y/N’s bodily reaction to it stirred something within him.

He didn’t say a lot after that. Mainly because he was scared that another curse word would slip past his lips. So he just smiled, pulled her deeper into his side, and hid his face in the crook of her neck. “Ok, doll. I’ll try.” He whispered hesitantly, breathing in her scent in the process.

“That’s all I’m asking for.” He liked that she didn’t push him to become different like a lot of other people in his life had done. He had learned that the mere mention of disapproval for the way he carried himself had pushed him to provoke that very reaction from his environment. Somebody told him to stand up straight? You knew damn well that was exactly what he was not gonna do. He even hunched a little further on a particularly desperate day. Or back when he still lived at home and his father told him to empty the dishwasher. Yeah, no fucking way he was gonna do that now that he asked him to. He realized later that he was an idiot for behaving that way. It was childish and it just added to the weight pressing down on him after he died.

Bucky settled back a little, still holding Y/N close after he pressed a reassuring kiss on the crown of her head. Y/N didn’t ask for a lot. She barely mentioned when something was bothering her, actually. So, Bucky knew that this was something she really cared about. Not that she didn’t already care about everything a little too much - seriously, he would have already collapsed under the pressure she put herself through - but for some reason, it worked for her. So when she asked him to curse less, it felt like an order he had put upon himself to follow. To bring her comfort, and with that, ease his mind as well.

—

That was easier said than done. Bucky realized the days after how often he liked to sneak a “fuck” in every sentence he formed and it made him feel guilty thinking about the times Y/N had ignored and shrugged it off as if it didn’t bother her. He really tried, but he found himself stopping mid-sentence sometimes to remind himself that the thing he wanted to say could be conveyed without cursing. It was really effin’ hard. So he settled for the slightly alternated, but still acceptable versions of cussing for now.

“…so I gave him that answer and Professor Vision went shirtballs.” Bucky finished his story. He had just come home from his class on metaphysics with one of his favorite professors. Mr. Vision was a strange man, with daily rituals that he executed mechanically. But Bucky liked him. Mainly because he seemed to know everything about the world, but ironically enough, Bucky had the impression that Mr. Vision himself had not yet answered the question he was teaching on. “What is life?”

Bucky had just started studying Philosophy as a joke because he already questioned the world he was living in anyway, but he grew a liking for the contents of his studies within the first few months of his freshmen year. And so he stuck to it. Embracing the foolhardy picked major as a calling that pushed his ego to the extremes. But his mom wanted him to ‘start doing something, already’ and it just happened to be a thing he could actually bear. Of course, he was sure he would have finished whatever he had started, not wanting to waste his mothers’ money like that because she insisted to pitch in on half the student loans he had to pay each year. He would have become a carpenter or maybe joined the army. He would have made do with whatever he had started because 'life was a joke anyway'. At least that was his disposition back then. Now? - He wasn’t so sure about it.

“Did you just say shirtballs?” Sam almost laughed but then his expression changed. He looked concerned for Bucky and squinted his eyes at his friend. “Are you okay? Do I need to call a doctor?”

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m fine, just trying to swear a little less.” He grinned, satisfied with that answer. He turned to the door to hang up the jacket he had yet to take off.

But Sam didn’t fail to catch the honest smile in his friend's feigned smugness. “That doesn’t, by any chance, have anything to do with your little girlfriend?” He wiggled his eyebrows and Bucky’s ears tuned read as he sunk his head between his shoulders, his hands balling into fists.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He turned around looking at his friend who was now laughing.

“But you want her to be.” The brunette stayed quiet at that. Of course, he wanted her to be his girlfriend. She was the most perfect woman he had ever met and she had brought so much happiness into the past months of his life that he was sure he had not felt in the rest of his miserable existence combined. Of course, that was his fault, but he appreciated that Y/N lifted the pessimistic blanket that seemed to be draped over his head constantly.

Sam took his friend’s silence as a “yes” before he continued to tease him. “Man, you are Whipped!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Ah, there it is! I was worried she deleted the old Buck for a second.” Shit! - No! Dang it! - God, this was hard.

“I am not whipped.” Bucky attempted to clarify, pressing every word through his clenched teeth.

“Yes, you are.”

“NO, I’m not, Sam!” He drenched the name in a warning undertone. But Sam only turned his back to Bucky descending the room humming. “Whatever you say, dude.”

“Bucky and Y/N sittin’ in a tree, K. I. S. S. I…” And then he was out the door before Bucky managed to grab something to throw after him. He was sure he had a huge ass grin on his punchable face then. And he made a mental note to wipe it out of there later.

—

Spring was approaching quickly and apart from the stressful period of exams week, the time seemed to pass by quicker than Bucky liked it to do with Y/N by his side. He had just picked her up from her last class for the day and strolled with her through the courtyard again. It was a little rainy outside and, honestly, Bucky wouldn’t normally walk through the muddy green if it wasn’t for her. She made him enjoy even the dreariest of days, reminding him of the summery smell of wet soil or the fact that slugs and worms would probably have a party right now, considering it were their favorite conditions. Yeah, she enjoyed life in the easiest of ways. Ways, he had never even considered before. When her situation wasn’t ideal, she imagined what profit others could pull from it and drew her happiness from that. It was truly amazing how effortless she made living seem, leaving enough cheer for Bucky to catch as it spilled over. He was grateful to be allowed by her side, to be granted the bits of sunshine that beamed from her like a disco ball.

He felt a tug on his hand before he was pulled to the side of the path. A gesture that had happened way too often by now.

“Look!” Y/N pointed to the trees on the lawn, racing him to them. When Bucky caught up to her, she was already pulling him down to the ground.

“I feel like I’m having a deja-vu.” He muttered as he looked at her profile and tried to balance on his feet in the position he was in. She was focused on the ground, where a purple arrangement of crocuses had bloomed through the wet soil. How the heck did she see that from there? Bucky realized that the flowers did represent the only pop of color amongst the faded green of the winter-toned grass.

“Winter’s finally over.” She beamed at him, hauling him into the happiness that radiated off of her. Bucky never minded winter. Everything was plain and dreary and that meant that people questioned his usual attitude a little less. But now that he knew how much Y/N had been waiting on the next season to start, he realized that he, too, felt joy spreading through his veins at the sight of the purple messengers in the grass.

“Aren’t they beautiful? Oh, I’m so excited!” She pulled him from his thoughts and squeezed the hand that was still latched between hers. Goosebumps rose over his arm at that and Bucky wished for it to never stop. Her smile became even wider than before when she looked around and spotted another patch of flowers around the trunk of the next tree.

Bucky could have watched her jump from one flower to the other for hours. She seemed carefree and lively with the way she danced through the raindrops. He would make dang sure that she would have flowers every day of his life if that meant seeing her like that forever. Heck, not even the future seemed scary when Y/N was around. How did she do that all the time? Somehow, she created a new version of Bucky that he actually liked to get to know better. What was happening? The warm feeling Bucky got to experiment with more frequently lately, made its way through his body again. Was this Love? No, It couldn’t be, right? That would be insane. That would be too…perfect. Shit. He was in deep. But what was so bad about it? Nothing. To be completely honest, Bucky just wanted to find something opposing his feelings because embracing them was scary. Scary as hell. And he didn’t know how to tell Y/N that he needed help welcoming them into his heart. But not when he wasn’t ready. He wanted to love her. But he had to trust himself enough to set the sensation free on his own. Maybe she could help him a little bit. By just being there, holding his hand and cuddling him during late movie nights in the dorm. Yeah, that’s how she helped.

Bucky stood up and walked over to her. Ignoring the few raindrops nestling in his hair on his way over to the swaying figure. “Dance with me, Bucky!” She took his hands and spun him around leaning her head back to feel the wind from the momentum. She looked beautiful. Bucky couldn’t hide his smile any longer and proceeded to spin her in the muddy grass. Not caring for their shoes to get dirty, the pair laughed through the movie-esque moment they shared. When he was sure that Y/N would be dizzy by all the twirling, Bucky stopped her, grabbing her by the waist and stilling her movement in the process.

He smoothed a strand of wet hair behind her ear. “You’re crazy, you know that?” Her hand settled over his wrist, caressing it intently.

“Everything’s better than boring.” Y/N looked up through her lashes, appearing almost flustered. She pulled her lip between her teeth, chewing on the cushion carefully. Bucky’s hand hat settled on the side of her neck. His thumb stroked feather-light patterns over her cheek as he gazed into her eyes. He was lost in the beautiful color.

“You’re better than everything.” It was just a whisper and Bucky wasn’t sure Y/N had picked it up over the rain that had grown a little heavier. Not that she was meant to hear it anyway. It was just a thought that had escaped his lips as he was chained under the ban of her presence.

“You really have a way with words. Don’t you, Mr. Philosophy major?” She laughed and her eyes crinkled a little. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

Now, Bucky was the one biting his lips as he contemplated the move he had been thinking about for quite some time now. “Here, I’ll show you…”

Curious eyes followed his other hand before it settled on her second cheek. Bucky leaned forward and closed his eyes, bumping his nose with hers gently. He remained in this position for a second or two. Breathe in - breathe out. He concentrated on the sound of the rain hitting the leaves above them and settled in the calmness that the white noise washed over him - not that it would do anything about the nerves he endured thinking of what he planned to do next. And then, he leaned in. Soft lips grazed his slightly chapped ones and pushed over a vase of feelings that now spilled all over his insides. It felt like shock waves pulsing through his nerves when Y/N started to slowly move her mouth on his, inviting him to follow her movement. Her free hand found its way around his torso and settled under his shoulder blade. She was warmth and calmness wrapped up in one and Bucky finally got to feel everything he wanted from her. His grip on her face tightened, careful not to hurt her, as he dipped her head back to be able to straighten his back a little. Their bodies now pushed press against each other to feel all of the heat radiating off the other, ultimately sharing the energy it created. The air was getting scarce but Bucky couldn’t get enough of the taste from her lips. She didn’t want to stop either, but there was no way - they had to come up for air eventually.

A rumbling thunder ripped through the sky, causing her to jerk a little from the sudden bang. Y/N pulled back less than an inch from Bucky’s face, finally able to take in a much-needed breath. That’s probably when realization set in. Bucky could see her eyes changing in shock for a split second before they softened, focusing on him again.

“Holy Shit,” Y/N whispered against his lips before pulling a little further away and hovering her fingers above her mouth. Bucky wanted to add a similar reply but stopped when he notices what his ears had just picked up on.

“Did you just curse?” Bucky asked amused.

“I- I guess I did.” Her eyes brightened at that and she softly slapped his chest. “Look at the bad influence you have on me. Cursing is your thing! And I’ve been trying to make you stop that.”

“Seems we’re a lot more alike than we thought. Huh, sweetheart?”

“Oh, shut it.” She laughed loudly, throwing her head back. She looked fucking - no, freaking - gorgeous and Bucky couldn’t help but pull her in for another kiss.

“Does that mean, I get permission to occasionally swear?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Y/N cocked an eyebrow at him accompanied by pursed lips. “Do you feel the need to?”

No, he honestly didn’t. After about a week of trying to cut down on his swearing, he realized that it did in fact not always help him press more meaning into his sentences. So it became easier for him. He couldn’t entirely eliminate it, but he settled for the occasional alteration as a tribute to the way he used to express himself.

“Hm…” He tapped his chin, “only when the situation calls for it.”

“That, I can deal with.” Y/N laid her head on his chest breathing in the faint summerly rain smell that was approaching. “I have to admit that ‘holy shit’ captured my feelings quite well back there.”

Bucky chuckled, resting his head on top of hers as his hands found their way to her back, gently stroking the wet fabric of her shirt in a loving gesture. Damn right, it did.

—

Bucky would have never imagined a conversation like this with Sam and Sam’s expression told him that his friend was thinking the same thing. Sure, they talked about girls but Sam wasn’t exactly a settled man. Feelings were not the first thing he was looking for in girls. If they happened, he happily embraced them but he never actually talked to Bucky about great details. Which he was grateful for back then. But now he wished he would know at least a little bit about how to go at this.

The brunette had been giddy all day long. Ever since he had come back from his was-it-a-date with Y/N, he had been itching to tell somebody about it. But he had to get himself in order first. There was just so much he had experienced in the past 24 hours and he really had to tell someone that wasn’t Y/N for once.

Despite his initial shock, Sam was on the edge of his seat. He leaned over the sticky table of the food court corner they had picked out for lunch. His eyes wide, hands propped next to his sandwich to hold his body over the food.

“You kissed her?!” He yelled excitedly. The grin on his face was wider than thought possible. So, this was definitely not the subtle way.

“Go ahead and tell the whole Campus, will ya?” Bucky slumped in his seat. He didn’t know why he was so flustered. He wanted to tell the whole world himself, but something in the way Sam said it with that stupid grin on his face just made him feel like a child.

Sam pulled back a little and rested his chin on his head mockingly. “Tell me everything!”

Though Bucky wanted to slap the smug smirk off his friend's face, he couldn’t help the shy smile from spreading on his face. He did want to tell him everything - that’s what he had been trying to do for the past thirty minutes or so. He slowly sat up straighter, took a sip of his drink, and started talking.

He told Sam everything, getting lost in the moment again as he reminisced the cringingly cliche kiss-in-the-rain-situation that played out yesterday. With a couple of interruptions from Sam that teased him in a loving way, like 'In the rain? I didn’t know you were the romantic type, Buckaromeo,’ he finally made it to the end of his monologue. Pink tinting his cheeks that Sam didn’t fail to comment on, either - of course.

Sam leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest and a proud look on his face. “I gotta be honest, Buck. I never expected you to actually go for it.” He paused and sipped on his drink. “I mean you have been pining for this girl for what? Three months now?” It was definitely longer than that, but Sam didn’t need to know how bad he had it in for Y/N. So Bucky stayed silent as he sensed that Sam was not finished with his speech.

“And I never took you for the settling type. All those party hook-ups - they definitely gave me the wrong impression, man.”

“Okay enough with the sappy comments, I get it.” Bucky scolded him over the table.

Sam’s expression changed to an amused one and Bucky saw a little mischief light up in his eyes. “Also, now I don’t have to worry about you taking all the ladies anymore. I mean - don’t get me wrong - your flirting game is still weak as shit. Really, I don’t know how you got all these girls but now? I’m back on top. No competition, nothing.”

Bucky huffed, “Shut up.” But he couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping his lips.

“Needless to say, I'm happy for you. You truly seem lively. And if you’re happy so am I, my friend.” Sam’s smile made his eyes crinkle, showing his shiny white teeth. The mood shifted to a serious one again.

“I’m glad you see it that way. And I am happy.” Bucky smiled, too - more to himself than his friend. They shared a look that conveyed more than words could have. A small nod on Sam’s end said as much as ‘Look at us. I’m so proud of us.’

Sam crumbled the sandwich paper and threw it in the trashcan a few feet away before they stood up to leave the food court. The friends were strolling towards the exit.

“I don’t know what this girl did to you, but I like it.” Sam patted Bucky’s shoulder.

I do, too. Bucky thought in silence as he smiled contently. He wasn’t going to admit it to Sam just yet. Eventually, maybe. But not yet. For now, he would just ravel in his newfound emotions by himself - and with Y/N. Enjoy the way she slowly inched him closer to experiencing them to full extent. But until then, he would just imagine what it would feel like to be fully in tune with them. To just be able to enjoy them when they hit him and not be startled by their effects like it happened now. For now, that was. He was okay and for the first time in a while, he was excited to see what the future would bring.

—

Bucky had to get used to letting his feelings show around Y/N. It’s not that he didn’t want to. Sometimes there were situations where he would have loved to just scream them out at the top of his lungs. There was just one problem: he didn’t know how. So he did his best in showing her through affectionate hugs and gentle strokes on her shoulder. He would say it with a kiss on her temple or by squeezing her hand in the middle of a crowded room. But his favorite way was in form of words that weren’t his. There was a weird intrigue in taking a quote that had been produced hundreds of years ago for an entirely different purpose and making it part of their beautiful relationship. It had been a game from the start and every time she hit him with another, Bucky felt a little tug on his heart that made him feel appreciated and heard through the things that interested him. Y/N put that effort into it for him and it felt amazing to know.

It had been a couple weeks since his conversation with Sam, now, and Bucky had been playing it over and over in his head again. They were currently in Central Park, taking a stroll through the slowly waking greenery of spring when Y/N had stopped the both of them to look over the pond, hosting a bunch of ducks on its surface. She did that a lot. Making Bucky notice his environment and not walk around with his head low, eyes trained on the ground. Y/N pulled on his sleeve, leading him further to the railing of the bridge that provided a great view over the small body of water. The sun was shining, reflecting on the water and making it shimmer white in the process. The air around them was pleasantly tempered, but the places in the shade were still a little too cold to reside in for too long. The park was littered with vibrant colors found in flower buds and leaves in all shapes and sizes. Bucky never realized how refreshing all those colors were after a long and cold winter. Always too focused on other things that seemed absolutely trivial now. He looked around once more, taking in the scenery. There was a guy a few feet away, playing a familiar song on his guitar, and an old lady feeding pigeons on the bench next to him.

Bucky slung his arms around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her closer to him and pressing a loving kiss to her forehead.

“I guess Leibniz was right.” He mumbled against her temple, letting his breath warm the skin beneath his lips.

Y/N pulled away slightly, searching his eyes for the rest of his sentence.

Bucky brushed the thumb of his free hand over her cheek before he elaborated. “We live in the best of all possible worlds.” He said and turned back to look over the pond. His eyes following a family of ducks that swam on the water.

Y/N copied his gaze, smiling as she spotted the little ducklings swimming behind their mother through the water lilies. “Yes, we sure do.”

“I gotta be honest. Before I met you, that quote always seemed a little…” He turned his head back to her, gently moving her face to his with his fingers on her chin. “…naive.” His smile was sheepish.

She led her hand to his cheek, pressing her forehead against his and closing her eyes, smiling. “I’m happy you chose to be naive for me.” She whispered.

“And I will always try to be.” It was a promise. A promise that Bucky did not only make to her but also to himself and the world around him. He wanted to experience it just as she did, but he also knew that he wasn’t quite there yet. There was a little more to go and Bucky was willing to take those steps if it meant having her by his side for the journey.

“I’m so proud of you, Bucky.” Y/N opened her eyes again, searching his to assure him how truly honest her statement was. She was met with a flashing smile that was accompanied by crinkling eyes. True and pure happiness was etched over his features and Bucky wished to hold on to the tingling feelings her words awoke within him forever. He let his hands slide down to her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“This place is ready for us to explore its beauty.” She continued and Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he searched his head for the occasion he could have heard that quote before. But after a couple of seconds, he came up empty.

Watching the girl in his arms with soft eyes, he crinkled his nose and shook his head faintly. “I don’t know that one. Who’s it from?”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, hiding a smile from exploding on her features. “Y/N Y/L/N.” She announced proudly, searching Bucky’s reaction with anticipation.

“Oh, she’s my favorite!” He exclaimed, squeezing her waist as her smile finally broke free.

A loud giggle escaped her lips and Bucky closed his eyes, appreciating the way this had all turned out for him. It was truly strange how fate brought people together. Y/N and him were polar opposites - the perfect characters for a comedy movie. She was the last thing he thought he needed back in October, but now, he wouldn’t change that night for the world. Y/N was the first good thing that had happened to Bucky in a while. A person determined to show him the beauty of life, and who he just happened to fall for in the process. He was willing to do anything to hold onto her for as long as possible.

—

Being with her was like walking through a fucking field of flowers. It almost stung with the way her sweetness invaded his senses with every touch she offered him. Clouding his mind with an unbelievable force that managed to ban all the bad from his usually stone-cold heart. It was infuriating, really, that not even that aggravating voice in his head managed to form a despondent thought, find anything wrong, whenever he was with her. She made his conscious puny and insignificant. At first, Bucky didn’t want to embrace the happiness Y/N surrounded him with. He tried to push it away, even - wishing to ban it from entering his brain and coating the gooey black pessimism with her floral bliss, making him think of hand-holding and sharing cotton candy on top of a Ferris wheel. Yuck. But after a while, he found himself longing for the feelings blooming in his chest whenever he got to be near her, spend time with her, or even just hear her voice over the phone. It took a while, but eventually, Y/N made the world seem worthy of his attention again. She didn’t do it purposely; that was probably the reason why it sneaked onto Bucky so stealthily and crashed into him with full force one day.

He was on a walk through the college courtyard and saw a butterfly rest on the daffodils by the path. And he thought, maybe if Y/N would be here right now, she would stop and admire its beauty; pull on his sleeve to crouch down beside her and make him be all quiet and watch it slowly move its wings. She would make him appreciate the environment he found himself in and she would do it with the brightest, warmest smile on her face.

So that was what he did. He paused in his tracks, crouched down, and stayed real quiet. Careful not to disturb nature in its purest form. After a while of silence, he noticed more animals searching for some rest and pollen in the flowers. Bees and bugs, ants, and even a snail slugging its way through the green grass. He exhaled then - closed his eyes and slowly fell back to sit on the ground. He heard buzzing and chirping, rustling, and a faint breeze sweeping its way through Bucky’s hair. He got to experience his surroundings - a path which he had walked at least a hundred times - in an entirely different way because of Y/N. She wasn’t even here with him and he still managed to feel her all around him. Most prominently, though, in his chest. In form of a comforting warmth that took over his senses and enabled him to appreciate the moment and push the distant traffic noises even further away from him. He must have looked like an idiot sitting in the grass like that, burying his hands in the soft green. At least that was what the dull voice in his head struggled to convey. But he drew in another deep breath and managed to ignore it all on his own. A strange emotion spread through his body then, and Bucky was taken back when he realized what it was: pride. Pride and contentment - which he rarely felt in combination with each other, let alone all at once. But not today. Today, he felt proud of being able to calm his roaring head all by himself. Lacking any guilt he usually felt when he tried to relax. And it was refreshing. He reveled in the feeling a little while longer, letting the sun warm his face with its bated spring force.

Y/N had made him fall in love with the world again; saved him from a dark abyss constructed by his own imagination. And this time, it didn’t bother him at all.

❁ Yayy! We made it. I hope you enjoyed this little piece. Thank you guys so much for the love and support this series has gotten over the past weeks. You are awesome!

taglist: @cjand10

[fireemblems24]

Dimitri's Supports

I have waited FOREVER for this. Let's go. And I decided to put my patience to the test, saving Dedue for last.

Since it's Dimitri and I love him, and like Dedue who I also love, he's the only one unlocking all his A-Supports, I'm going to blog all my reactions to them like I did with Dedue. Part of me wishes I thought of this for the other characters, but honestly it would've taken forever lol. Plus Dimitri and Dedue get special treatment because I said so.

Raphael

Starting off with something light hearted, I hope. I do wonder if I'm going to regret not saving this one for the inevitably heavy-handed stuff coming later.

I'm seriously betting this is a support you're supposed to get in part 1 lol. Dimitri sounds young (or maybe I'm just haven't heard non-growl part 2 Dimitri enough yet?)

Dimitri's training made Raphael think he was dying lol. Dimitri's strength is really meme tier.

I need fanart of Dimitri and Chrom co-miserating their mishandled strength breaking something. And Lucina.

Lamo, Raphael has never felt a cramp before. Lucky bastard.

Raphael is a sweetie, going to apologize to his muscles. I really wish they gave him something else to talk about other than muscles and food. Not everyone needs Dimitri tier development, but I think I'd like Raphael a lot more if he just got a smidge more depth.

Got to say, it's a bit jarring to go from "moments away from a suicide charge in the rain" to "lol, Raphael, it's muscle pain." As glad as I am that I got this support, I do think some should've been locked to part 1.

And this isn't just for Dimitri's development. I also saw Marianne and Raphael's B before this support and she reverted back to her part 1 self too.

Catherine

Maybe it's just me, but he does sound a bit older.

OMG - Dimitri's back. 😭😭😭

Sorry, it didn't really hit in that first one since that seemed like a part 1 support.

Oh, cool! I was wondering if anyone would bring up Catherine returning to Faerghus. My bets is she's too loyal to Rhea. (I guessed right)

Catherine be simpin. That's ok, I get it.

So it's not because Catherine dislikes Dimitri, or that she's absolutely needed to rule House Charon, so I think Dimitri just likes her. She's cool though. I get it.

Lamo, she told him he'd better get his sleep like he's a kid.

Curious how the A+ support will play out.

Mercedes

Team Mom's support!

Oh, no, this one's taking a serious turn isn't it? But their initial supports were so light and cute.

Mercedes just told Dimitri that he's kind to a fault. Somehow I know he's going to deny that.

Annnnnd I'm right 😭😭😭He's still calling himself a killer and disgusting monster 😭😭😭

OK - so THIS seems perfectly in tone with his recent character development. But it's so sad hearing him still talk about himself that way.

Mercedes is such a therapist. I can't. She's too pure. But savage. I saw that Lorenz support.

"I am scared . . . so scared that I will forget their faces." 😭😭😭😭😭😭 Dimitri why????

Mercedes telling Dimitri to live in the present. Her supports are always so good. I legit think she's easily a top 10 favorite in this game.

Wow, Dimitri saying if someone told him that 5 years ago, he'd be different. DID NO ONE EVER GIVE HIM ANY HELP AT ALL???

I love how she's talking to him as a classmate, and equal, and not talking up to him. He's always wanted that.

Dimitri's never given his own dreams any thought 😭😭😭He really was just 100% living for other people most of the time. 😭😭😭

Awww MERCEDES, I can't. She says she just wants to keep being his friend. This is so damn sweet. And heavy. But still sweet.

It just hits super hard knowing how badly Dimitri just wanted friends in part 1. And looking back, Mercedes and Sylvain were really the only two who were pretty casual with him.

Aww, yeah, Mercedes not putting up with the bullshit, Dimitri. Telling him to quit the self-deprecation! God, I love her.

Oh, God, they both said the old FE code for "we're married" i.e. I want to "stay by your side."

Ok, @garlandgerard, I totally get why you ship this. Mercedes loves to nurture people, and Dimitri's emotionally needy, so they match pretty well. She also didn't put up with the constant self-put-downs, but stayed gentle about it. And they talked like equals too, like friends, which is what Dimitri always wanted. It's all very sweet.

Annette

Yeah, see, this one starts off with "your highness," but Mercedes it was just Dimitri. No hate for Annette. She's my girl.

These two always give me sibling vibes.

Haha, Annette "I thought I already knew you, but I'm not sure I really do." Hmmmm wonder what Dimitri did that made her think that maybe there's parts of him she didn't know. No. idea.

Hey, Annette, no one blames you for not knowing what to say to Dimitri when they reunited lol.

Annette too pure too, wanting to cheer Dimitri up with his favorite food.

Her not knowing what he likes to eat is 100% that moment when you realize you don't know someone's favorite color.

HOW can Dimitri have no strong feelings about food. I'm having pizza right now. Let me tell you, I have strong feelings about some food.

I love how easily Dimitri deflected from talking about himself lol.

Awwww, Annette wants to live with her family again. I'll make that happen, Annette. Don't worry.

Haha, they're conspiring together behind Gilbert's back.

They still have an A+ support, which is weird, because that seemed pretty well ended? Like I see why Catherine's needed more, but not this one. Still, not going to say no. I like their dynamic.

Ingrid

OCF they're training. God I love all the Faerghus childhood group though.

Oh, fuck, here comes Glenn again. My heart's not ready for this with Rodrigue dead. Poor Felix.

Ingrid being Dimitri's knight 😊😊😊 as it should be.

Haha, Dimitri asks her for an interpretation. Just make her your knight.

Glad he hasn't started saying "I'm not worthy!" Because right now it's about Ingrid's feelings.

Wow, there, Ingrid. "However you please, Your Highness." That . . . that sounds like an invitation. To "staying by your side."

Dimitri laughed. 😊😊😊

Oh, God, this is so cute. His pause asking her to support and defend him as his knight. 😊😊😊 OMG. I'm not sure that's all she had in mind though, good Sir, have you LOOKED in the mirror?

Seriously though, Ingrid's just surrounded by studs, isn't she?

Oh, God, I'm right. She didn't just mean knight. But Dimitri's too dense in that area to notice. She crushing hard. Girl, I get you.

She blushing, saying "for the Kingdom," naw, she just like him. Me too, Ingrid. Me too.

Dimitri always makes people promise not to die on him. It's so sad considering . . .

Flayn

With Flayn it's always a toss up. Sometimes things are super light hearted, and other times it's way heavy.

On a random note, does no one wonder why Flayn hasn't aged a day in 5 years?

Flayn having nightmares. Not allowed. I bet it's fucking Jeritza's fault. I'm glad you get to rip him a new one so many times in this game.

Why is Flayn apologizing?? She's never done a thing wrong in her life.

Right, Flayn's other support with Dimitri was pretty heavy. And it started so funny with him stomaching her food.

Oh, good grief, what's he apologizing for? Ok - so Dimitri did do some things wrong. But not to Flayn.

He lied. Let me guess. Her food actually sucks.

Aw, got it. He went right to the meal. Is he really going to come out and say, well it actually sucked 😂

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

WHAT ABOUT ALL THOSE MEALS???? AND THE TEA an embarrassing amount of tea.

Wait. He can't taste ANYTHING??? Like. How? Did he hide that????

Ok - I need to look at his team and dining dialogue.

OMG. He really never says a word about how anything tastes? He always just talks about smells????

OMG. How did I NOT NOTICE. I've taken Dimitri to dinner a million times. And tea timed him too many times to admit too.

AND I NEVER NOTICED HE NEVER ONCE SAID HOW ANYTHING TASTED. HOW.

OMG that support with Annette hits different now 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

OMG and Dedue's support with Flayn hits different now. Since he wanted to badly to find food Dimitri loves 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Does Dedue know? Is that why he's so dedicated to cooking??

Can I headcannon that?

OMG, I feel so awful about that jab about pizza. Dimitri CAN'T TASTE pizza or anything 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Please someone tell me there isn't any more "this awful thing also happened to Dimitri and he's failed to tell you" like learning he almost fucking died at Duscur. And now this. Dimitri needs to learn how to fucking complain.

The writers are so fucking mean to Dimitri. OMG. OMG, how am I supposed to take him to dinner and tea now, knowing this?

Why does everything hit so differently now? And so many Blue Lions supports are about food - but Dimitri can't relate

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

This game needs to stop bullying Dimitri.

But like, God, can you imagine? Not tasting anything? I'd starve. I'd actually starve. I never really get hungry. I really would starve.

On the flip side, he's good for Flayn then, since someone can eat her cooking I guess.

"I was just saying what I thought you would want to hear . . ." Dimitri - a summary.

Naw, that's a kind lie. That kind of lie doesn't really hurt anyone.

Oh - dear God. Flayn. Stop. No sampling pungent food.

Oh, she blushing. Dimitri got her blushing

Please tell me in their paired ending Dimitri gets his taste back.

Oh, there's an A+, does he taste something. Please tell me he tastes something.

This support though. It wasn't really one on my radar but

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Gilbert

Oh, man, this one right after Flayn's. God, I'm going to need the Alois one after this. Gilbert and Dimitri are two of the most somber characters in the franchise.

And I haven't forgotten that heartbreaking B support.

Haha Lambert sucked at lying too. Dimitri too pure. Weirdly, despite everything, it's still pretty true.

Oh, shit, oh shit, we're back to Dimitri's demand that Gilbert kill him. I'm betting you usually get that in part 2.

God, imagine seeing Dimitri recover only to see him beg for death again 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I need alcohol.

I need the Alois support.

OMG, shit, Dimitri. No. Don't. Stop.

Like, I know Gilbert won't really kill him, but damn. This support is heavy.

No, Dimitri, no Gilbert is not cruel for not killing you. God.

Oh, not sure about this. I get what Gilbert's going at here, but telling Dimitri that he's not allowed to die because he's got a duty is . . . I think Rodrigue's and Mercedes' live for what you want/the present is a LOT healthier.

At the same time, this is a pretty effective way to make sure Dimitri won't go and try this again, because he really takes duty seriously.

Dimitri doesn't wish to die? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Oh, thank God.

"Many times I have felt that I cannot afford to die . . . But this was the first time I truly feared the prospect." 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"Is it really right for me to live?" Oh, dear God. I'm so soft for Dimitri. I can't.

Gilbert answered that one right. 100%.

Damn, these supports.

Alois

OK. I need this one. I really need this one.

I really hope Alois' inspiration is bad puns. I need bad puns right now.

Pretty sure this is a part 1 support though. I love how Alois, not Dimitri, is leading this. And that the person the Kingdom NEEDS is running around and getting attacked by monsters lol

Ok, bad puns. Bring them.

There we go. Thank you, thank you, Alois.

OMG no one's laughing 😂😂😂

Dimitri's laughing 😭😭😭😭😭😭

That's it. This is always getting saved for part 2. I need to hear part 2 Dimitri laugh.

I'm also so glad someone finds Alois funny. Dimitri and Petra need to start a club.

OMG I love the two other confused soldiers. I needed this 😂😂😂

Marianne

These two were so sweet in their C and B supports.

I swear I'm going to end up shipping Dimitri with everyone. Except maybe Annette, no hate, they just seem so much like brother and sister to me.

And Felix x Annette 100%

Survivor's Guilt - the pairing. Both wondering why they survived 😭😭😭

"There are so many others who are much more deserving of life . . ." - who said it? Marianne or Dimitri?

These two just understand how each other feels so well. It hits so different compared to Marianne's other romantic possible supports where they just try to make her smile.

Instead these two take comfort in finding someone who understands how they feel so well and feel relieved they can share that with someone.

Haha - "I must go on living. I cannot give in to death so readily." This coming right after his support with Gilbert. Good job, Gilbert.

They've both had it so rough 😭😭😭😭😭😭

"There is no need to force yourself to smile as your soul bleeds." Dimitri always gives such good advice that he never follows.

Aww, now at least it's getting cute instead of just heavy. Marianne laughed too 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Yesss, Girl, preach. I got a little sick of her other supports all being "cheer up!" Like I know it's all in good faith, but I'm so glad this chain exists. It just hits different.

Dimitri doesn't think he's strong enough to live his life. 😭😭😭 this game. I swear.

ohhhh - ohhh, Dimitri blushing now. And all she needed to say was they've been brought closer together. Congrats Marianne!

OHHHH tables have been turned. Now someone's making Dimitri promise he needs to live!

"I don't know what I'd do with myself if we lost you . . ."

"I promise to the goddess of Fodlan that I will never give you cause for despair."

OMG these two are being so sweet, I can't. 😭😭😭😊😊😊

Felix

Oh, boy, here we go. This should be . . . interesting.

Oh, we're starting off good I see. Felix telling Dimitri he needs to answer quickly or get cut in half 😔Felix. No.

Dimitri sounds so somber 😭

Dimitri admitting both are him - the vengeful "boar" and the friendly good person. And this is why I love him.

Dimitri feels the need to shoulder all the regret the dead feel, please don't. They wouldn't want that 😭😭😭😭😭

"The dead won't acknowledge your loyalty, they don't care." - Felix not wrong there.

I partly agree with the idea Dimitri is "serving his own ego" by claiming he's acting for the dead. I think it's a bit more complicated than that, but I think that's part of it.

Felix saying some good stuff here about the dead being dead and the living being living.

"If you keep stringing gravestones around your neck, you'll snap." - Felix, I don't know if you noticed but . . . uh . . . he sort of did.

Felix telling Dimitri to become a grave keeper is a bit funny. Not going to lie.

"I'm not immune to emotion you know." - just tsunderes things

Aw, Felix is upset his father died 😭😭 after all that shit-talking about Rodrigue 😭😭

Wish Felix didn't cut Dimitri off when he said "more than anyone you-" (care about other people, unless he joins CF and just kills everyone)

Oh, God, Felix is such a tsundere. "I couldn't stand the pathetic look on your face. That's all." Sure, Felix.

Kinda wish these two had an A+ though. Seems like there's more to do than the A+ with Annette and Flayn.

Really curious to see what their paired ending is like after that. Seems they're still learning to learn about each other. Well, Felix is. Dimitri didn't seem too upset lol.

Dedue

Ok guys. Here we go. I can't believe I managed to wait for this for last. Everyone hyped this one, so let's hope.

Really? We open with Dimitri having scars on his back? 😭

From 9 years ago? So scars from Duscur then?

Images of shirtless Dimitri now. though Not bad images.

He got scars protecting Dedue?

"It makes me think that is was worthwhile that someone like me survived." 😭😭😭 he's talking about protecting Dedue? 😭😭😭

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"But I saved someone - saved you. That and that alone has been my crutch." 😭😭😭😭😭

I always knew these two were co-dependent.

Dimitri really out here saying that saving Dedue helped him "justify" surviving. 😭😭😭😊😊😊

OMG THAT'S THEIR STORY

OMG, poor Dedue. And Dimitri 😭😭😭did he literally "take a bullet" to save Dedue 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 and still has scars? No wonder Dedue's so loyal. Some kid he didn't know did that. That's one hell of an introduction.

And picturing little Dedue just resigned and angry and waiting to die and just 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Oh, Dedue, you've repaid that debt ten-fold I'm sure.

Ahaha, Dimitri's doing the "you'd better accept your worth!" discussion this time lol.

Dear God these two. Now Dimitri's bringing up that Dedue busted him out of the jail.

I swear, these two have more of a plot off screen than some routes do on screen.

And now picturing Dimitri resigned and just ready to die. And then Dedue busts in. 😭😭😭

"That was nothing more than my duty as your vassal." Stop that Dedue. Dimitri doesn't want you to be his vassal. He wants more.

Holy shit.

"You are irreplaceable. Cherished." 😭😭😭😊😊😊😭😭😭😊😊😊😭😭😭😊😊😊😭😭😭😊😊😊

Not to be that person - but I tell all my "friends" that.

Yes, Dedue, stop saying insisting you're just a "vassal" - that's a worse joke than Alois' puns from earlier.

"Please . . . do not look at me that way." What way, like you're about to make Dimitri cry, or like . . .

"You promised me you would build a Kingdom that is proud to boast of Duscur blood." - shit, man, these two. I just . . .

OMG so much emotion from Dedue. The only time I ever heard that before was in VW when he learned Dimitri died. But let's not remember that right now 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Oh shit. He called him "Dimitri." 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊

And it made him blush.

OMG.

Guys, these two.

Aww, Dimitri looks so surprised. 😊😊😊😊😊😊

Oh, these two are so soft for each other. I can't. I just can't.

"To be your friend . . . is what I have always wanted." You're going to get it.

Man, I feel almost guilty S-Supporting Dimitri. He needs to pair up with Dedue pronto.

Dimitri sounds chocked up. OMG.

"So please call upon me when you walk alone at night." Ok. Dedue. Ok. Yes. Guys. This is all very straight.

I'm not saying it's - you know - cannon, but there's some big feels here.

Oh, Dimitri, stop it. You like Dedue's overprotectiveness. Don't lie.

Man, you guys were so right. Dimitri really just came out and said Dedue was "cherished" and "irreplaceable." Like, I'm not making this stuff up. And Dedue blushing hardcore just saying Dimitri's name.

They're both just so soft. I can't. I literally cannot. This support was gold. It was worth all they hype.

And learning more about how they meant. Dimitri really taking a bullet for Dedue there. I just . . .

I just want all the happiness for both of them. They're really something special towards each other. Like I legitimately think this is one of the most two-way loyal relationships in the whole franchise, and definitely the tightest bond in this game.

Like in past games you had Seth for Ephraim and Erikia and Soren for Ike and it's not like Ike, Ephraim and Erikia and etc don't care, but it wasn't the same level, you know? But this is such a two way street.

And I'm so weak for bodyguard with a crush. Like Seth/Eirika? Yes. Geoffrey/Elincia? 100%. Riza/Roy (Fullmetal Alchemist) there again. I'm sure there's more, but those are my top ones. Even Merlin/Arthur sort of counts even if Arthur doesn't know Merlin's his bodyguard lol.

I need to read fanfic for these two. I really don't want to spoil anything, but I'm dying. They're both just so sweet, and I just really love their dynamic. I really want to do a write up on it once I get to the end of the game.

[haloud]

an overture bold and beyond

for the Roswell New Mexico Big Bang (@rnmbb)

[AO3 link]

Jesse is dead, and Alex is left standing in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions left behind by the events of Crashdown and the days leading up to it. With the dust settled, Alex and Michael pick through the debris--they've argued many times before, but the last one, in Michael's workshop, lingers over them, demanding...something, demanding to be seen, to be spoken, to be soothed. Through three conversations, they search for an understanding they've never found before, one that brings them closer together. (An episode 2x10 fix-it fic)

with art by @bisexualalienblast!

1.

The shed is as it always was and at the same time something else entirely. Small and dusty, smelling of wood, at night it would throw weird, spiked shadows from the tools and trophies adorning the walls, but during the day the light is pale yellow and pleasant against the pine. Ten years of light and absence have faded the posters that still shroud the walls. The floor is clean and swept and no amount of scalded memory could make Alex recall exactly where the blood used to be.

Dad is dead, and that means there is a life’s worth of unloading and sorting and dispersing to do of the things he possessed and left a mark on, and Greg has done enough, which means it falls to Alex. And it’s only fitting that the shed go first.

Still, where to begin? Should he get a dumpster for the antlers or a box to collect the tools for donation? Should he be cold and unfeeling, or should he pore over the cracks of his soul and salvage some sentimentality, some silver lining for the toolbox that built his treehouse, or the low bench that served as his bed on the safe and hidden nights, or.

For so long, this tiny, old, unused building loomed so large in his mind it blotted out any light that could shine on anything else. And then, through sheer stubbornness, he told himself it was just a building with such intensity that now, here, with the boogeyman six feet deep for good, it’s shocking all over again to find out that he was right.

It’s just a building. There are cobwebs so thick one corner is entirely grayish-white. The windows are grimy; the floorboards creak. Alex stands in the middle with his hands in his pockets. Somehow, he always thought there would be more screaming, like the soft and sweet-smelling pine might have captured the echo. It’s almost as unsettling as seeing a ghost, to stand at the center of his nightmares and not be haunted at all.

Greg would have come out here with him if he’d asked—but he didn’t ask. Greg would have hovered, looked at him all full of concern, like he thought Alex was being some sort of martyr for tackling this alone. Hell, maybe Alex thought that too, just a bit. Maybe that’s why it’s so bizarre to stand here and be...fine.

He’s fine. He’s too fine. He’s so weirdly, blissfully, mind-numbingly fine. 

No grief. No celebration. Just a fineness so complete and immaculate it could be mistaken for emptiness if his head were a little clearer. 

Alex takes in a deep, woodsy breath and blows it out slowly, making dust motes scatter and dance.

He left the door open intentionally, to hear if Greg shouted for him, for a quick escape, just in case, for a breath of fresh air. When a shadow falls across it Alex freezes, braces for impact, until he jerks his head up and sees the reason.

“Hey,” Michael says. A smile flickers across his face and then it’s gone, and Alex breathes through the blow of it.

“Hey.”

A beat passes. Alex chews on the inside of his cheek. They’ve been alone together once since their fight, and that was a hostage situation.

“Maria made me bring food over. I gave it to Gregory. Seems to be holding up okay.”

Was that true? That Maria made him? Or was it a cover, a thin, defensive veneer protecting him from—well, if he was really just here on an errand of respectability at the behest of someone more respectable, he could have—it would have been easy, the easiest thing in the world, to leave the food and slip back out without Alex ever having even known he was there.

Yet here he is, having sought Alex out. Should Alex let himself hope that this means something, that everything they were building, all closeness and understanding, wasn’t set aflame and burned to ashes in a furious, impulsive whirlwind?

He’s here. It’s something.

Alex has been practicing, since that last night they were alone together, since the bunker. He had a lot of time to think and could only hum the melody he found for his song so many times. So he’s been practicing what he’d say next time he saw Michael, what he’d say to make it right. To stretch out an open hand and not snatch it back, to allow himself to be reached for and not snap at it, all teeth. It all feels like a ridiculous fantasy now, looking at Michael’s quiet, expressionless face. He’s never known what to say. Maybe he never will.

Clearing his throat, Alex says, “Yeah, he’s, uh, made his peace, I guess. Still, we’re keeping each other company for now. How’s Maria doing?”

“Hanging in there. If it wasn’t for Liz…” Michael swallows and glances away.

“Yeah,” Alex replies hoarsely. Yeah. If it wasn’t for Liz, Flint’s body count would be up by one, and it would be Alex’s fault. Should have secured him better. Should have made sure there wasn’t a second key. Should have warned Charlie instead of going out the back. Shouldn’t have been distracted by his father. Should do something to stop him from acting again. Disaster struck. Justice done. Should…

“Hey. Alex,” Michael says, and Alex snaps out of his head to see him hovering closer, concern all over his face.

“Just,” Alex waves his hand, waves him off. “Just thinking about where we’d be without Liz. Not a pretty picture.”

“Yeah.”

Michael retreats just a pace or two back to the door. For a moment, Alex jolts like he could stop him from leaving, but then Michael turns to talk again.

“And…how are you?”

“What?”

“I mean. I’m not sad the bastard’s dead, but.” Michael leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “I’m not gonna break out the champagne until I know it’s cool with you, I guess.”

“Ha. I…I think the feeling’s a little more ‘lazy Sunday’ than ‘wild party.’”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like…I can breathe easier now. I’m not ready to celebrate, I just want to drink it in, you know?”

“Sure. We can make it mimosas instead.”

At that, Alex laughs, a short and underused thing. He runs out of stamina quickly. Part of him aches to invite Michael in, to sit beside him on the bench and talk about all the things they aren’t saying. But how would Michael take that? Here, now? Alex needs more time to consider all the pieces on the board.

“And physically?” Michael steps back toward him, nearly pacing for the number of times he’s walked those three feet of floor. He touches his own forehead where Alex is cut in two jerky movements, one forward, one up. “No concussion or anything?”

Alex shakes his head. “Clean bill of health.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The awkwardness dances between them like the dust does, and Alex measures his breaths to keep calm. The light should make things easier; it couldn’t be more different from the dark underground of Michael’s workshop, but the tension between them is the same.

“You were right,” Alex blurts.

“I should go,” Michael blurts at the same time, and then the two of them are frozen again until Alex breaks the ice.

“No, don’t. Please. I didn’t get a chance to really say this when you found me, but I need to.”

Michael hesitates. Alex holds his breath. But then Michael sighs, shoulders lifting and falling, and nods.

Bracing himself, Alex continues.

“You were right.”

Michael makes another aborted noise of protest, but Alex barrels on.

“My father was lying and manipulating the way he always has, and I was so ready to think that he was defeated that I stopped trying to see through him. I wanted to be right so badly that I convinced myself I was, and I hurt you, and I could have hurt so many more people if Liz hadn’t been able to—if Isobel wasn’t there to hold off the fire—”

His voice falters and he closes his eyes, then forces them open. No hiding.

Michael works his jaw for a minute or so like he might respond, might get angry, but he takes so long to start talking Alex almost continues his speech.

But then Michael says, “You don’t have to do this. You’ve got no obligation to make me feel better or whatever. We both had a hand in making bombs this weekend, and I’m the one who knew what he was doing.”

“For me. You made a bomb for me.”

Michael levels him with a golden look.

“Yeah. I did.”

“To save me. And maybe I didn’t know what my father would use that piece for, but it was never going to be anything good. I just wanted answers, it didn’t have to be life or death. I’m—sorry.”

Alex hates apologies. Always has. After growing up the way he did, they always felt like a test, a test of his own commitment to forgiveness, to the value he chose for himself, the value his father never would have tried to beat into him. Or like an exertion of that same pressure on someone else, a desperate, pathetic cry for acceptance, for absolution.

And apologies were always particularly difficult between the two of them. Like each one granted might rip the bandage off all the old wounds that were never treated at all. But it was time, long past time, however, that they began to face these things.

Michael sucks in a breath and blows it back out in a huge sigh.

“Look,” he says. “It doesn’t make me feel any better to listen to you beat yourself up, okay? It’s not like you were entirely wrong; it’s not like I was making any strong effort to see things from your perspective. I…”

Michael flexes his left hand, then shoves it in his pocket, and another wave of guilt drags at Alex like quicksand. He can’t look away from that pocket even as Michael starts talking again.

“I still don’t understand. Why you would want him to change, why you would want anything from him after all this time and…everything. But there’s a lot I don’t get about family. And I probably would have told you giving up the piece was a bad idea no matter what, but I shouldn’t have to understand everything perfectly to listen when you’re telling me something’s important to you. I’ve been talking to Maria…” He pauses.

“It’s okay,” Alex prompts. It’s been months; there’s no point in pretending like what’s happening isn’t happening.

It would be easier if any of their endings felt like the end. If he could shake off the certainty of old habit that time would pass and gravity would bring them back together. Michael and Maria have a good thing. Alex is taking steps, trying new things. And yet…

Neither of them would ever say it. They’ll both push it to the back of their minds, paper over longing with something new.

Yet.

Michael says, “Maria isn’t sure if suppressing her powers her entire life is what she wants. And I feel like an asshole because we both know that I’m asking her to do something I might not be able to do myself in her shoes. So I’m trying to understand where she’s coming from, no matter how much it hurts. I’m putting in the work. In every part of my life, okay?”

Alex nods, not knowing what to say.

And Michael carries on, like he’s trying to lighten the mood.  “Anyway, I figure I might at least try and earn those second chances you keep giving me, right?”

His tone is light and weightless, but it sends Alex’s heart plummeting into his stomach.

“What does that mean?” He asks, even though he already knows.

Michael shrugs. “Look, I should really get back to the hospital. Text me if anything comes up, okay?”

“Michael!”

“What, Alex?”

His voice spikes, then his lips press together in a harsh line, but Alex doesn’t wait for any attempt at an apology. No amount of yelling ever made him scared of Michael.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “And it may be out of line for me to say this outright. But. You’re nothing like my father. Never have been. Giving you second chances—I mean, letting anyone make mistakes and work past them—it’s nothing you have to earn any more than, I mean, I have to earn them, which isn’t to say I don’t know I have things to work on—”

“Alex, stop.”

Michael mercy-kills his rambling, and Alex inhales deeply and bobs his head once in a nod, and Michael drops his eyes to the floor.

“Gonna tell you something I’ve never said to someone who wasn’t comatose, so, uh. Be honored, or something.”

Alex nods to tell him to go on, even if Michael can’t see it.

“Look, I know you know what it’s like to grow up under shitty circumstances, so I won’t waste your time getting into it, but. Growin’ up, and then even when I was older, in high school and after, all my relationships had always been…transactional. Except you never saw the price tag and you just had to guess.”

A soft noise escapes Alex’s mouth, and Michael glances up then lets his eyes slide away again. Alex doesn’t say a word to interrupt him. Alex is tense with a strange mix, gratitude and regret at how little he knew, how little he still knows, about how Michael the boy makes up Michael the man, and how little Michael knows in return. How much he still has to learn. 

All he wants is for them to be in each other’s lives to keep that learning going. But how to say that in a way that isn’t begging Michael to be pinned down by him? 

Michael continues, “That’s why I didn’t believe you at first when you said people could just be nice for no reason. You were the first person who showed me there was another way, and then after you, I…stopped believing in it again. Partially ‘cause I knew I’d fucked up with you, so I didn’t deserve you anymore. That’s a kid’s way of thinking at it, but yeah. With Max and Iz, with Sanders, with Maria, and yeah, with you, trading favors is what I default to, and I’m trying to stop thinkin’ of it like that. I am. But trying to earn things, people, second chances...it’s the kind of habit that’s stubborn to break.”

“I’m trying, too.” Alex measures his breath again and wonders if Michael can tell he’s doing it, how obvious he is. Does he owe Michael at least as much vulnerability and courage as that took, or is that transactional thinking too? “I’m trying to remember that my morality isn’t always universal. I thought I was doing what was right, and in some ways I was, but I was acting in a world where everyone thinks exactly like myself, and that’s just not the real one.”

Michael stands up a little, then. His eyes sharpen. Alex doesn’t know what he’s going to say, so he keeps talking.

“I subsumed my moral compass in work, in mission for so long, that the second I started recapturing it…I lost sight of so many other things.”

“No. No, Alex,” Michael says firmly. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, the light deepening, the blurriness of early dusk. It smudges Michael’s edges; it softens him. It’s reminiscent of how he looks at dawn, a sight Alex may never see again, and his chest aches. And he aches for the fine, furious tremble, the certainty in that fixed jaw.

“Yes,” Alex disagrees. “Your faith in me is…” So many words are so loaded. Unearned? Undeserved? “It’s, um, an honor. But…I think I know who I am now. And I’m learning more every day.”

He winces as his own cheesiness, but Michael just softens, slouching back against the door, a flicker of a smile on his face.

The light is truly dying, now, and Alex looks around the shed. He didn’t get anything done he intended to tonight, but it can wait for another day.

He looks back at Michael and asks, “Is it hard for you? Being here again. I should have asked earlier, I…”

His voice dies off as Michael takes a step inside, looking all around himself before his eyes settle on Alex again. He’d stayed so close to the doorway and the open air the whole time they were talking. Inside, with the broad shoulders and strong hands that had been budding and awkward on his seventeen year old self, he takes up so much room there’s none left for the last of the ghosts.

“I’m okay,” Michael says. “He’s gone. Never gonna hurt me again. Never gonna hurt you again.”

“I know it’s just a building, but it seems like it should be more. It was the only place I felt safe, and then in one moment he tore that away. It’s hard to process that someone like that is just…gone. You know he used to tell us all about how his grandfather built this place with his own two hands? I just…”

Michael looks at him, then, and it’s the same like the shed is the same. Ten years of safety, ten years of hiding and neglect. He looks at him like he always has, the careful, creative study of men who named constellations.

He has a hammer in his hands. He holds it out to Alex handle-first.

“Yeah. This place sucks.”

2

Michael looks like shit. His eyes are ringed with purple shadows, both from sitting by Maria’s bed and from the sleepless nights present and future, his hair rough from where he’s been running his hands through it. Isobel rests a hand in the crook of his arm, close enough to him that he can physically feel her comfort. If it were Alex, he’d chafe at the pity, but at the same time he’d do anything to be in Isobel’s place, to be allowed that closeness, to be that part of Michael’s life where he knew how to provide any comfort but silent presence.

Isobel, however, doesn’t stick around long after they read Tripp’s journal, leaving them with a tousle of Michael’s hair. They’re left to the bustle of a busy diner, but the world seems to shrink all the same. Alex fiddles with the loose vinyl strings at the edge of the booth and searches for the right thing to say.

“So do you think they were? Cosmic?” He asks, watching the cover of the journal like it could tell him anything more than it already has.

“Does it matter? They’re both dead.”

“I. Yeah. They are,” Alex says, then leans back in the booth and lets out a carefully measured sigh, working his fingertips into the muscle of his right thigh, hoping to ease the persistent ache.

His head hurts, too, and he closes his eyes to give himself a break from the pressure and strain behind them. It blots out the journal in front of him. It blots out Michael’s weary, troubled face; it blots out his strong, whole hands folded on the table.

Tripp must have closed his eyes too. For decades, as the woman he loved was tortured and imprisoned and experimented on and left to die, to die in front of her son’s screaming eyes as Alex held him back from joining her.

When he opens his eyes again, he almost expects Michael to be gone, but he isn’t.

“How are you holding up?” Alex asks, tentatively. His hand inches across the tabletop like he might take Michael’s, soothe him where he’s begun picking at the skin around his nails, but he forces it back before Michael even notices his approach.

“Fine. I’m…ha.” Michael shakes his head. “Gotta be fine, right? Been here before.”

“Michael…”

“It’s true.”

“I know.”

Alex doesn’t apologize. It wouldn’t mean anything anyway, not here and now with all that’s gone between them. Michael’s eyes flicker up to him as if checking his reaction; his shoulders curl inward, making himself small.

“Don’t know why I thought this time would be different. But now I know, I guess. Common denominator. Should’ve already known, but I’m a dumbass like that.”

“No, you’re not, you’re—”

Michael ruthlessly cuts him off. “Shouldn’t you be asking how Maria is, anyway? I thought you were her friend.”

Alex blinks at him, cocks his head. But it doesn’t take a genius, or an expert in Michael Guerin, to see that for the deflection that it is.

He has been to the hospital to see Maria, plenty of times. It’s basically only hospitalization that’s kept him from bringing it up, from asking what she’s thinking. Michael and he are here, now, only feet between them once again like the feet between them in the tiny shed as they tore it down around them. No closer. Alex wants to get closer, but denial is the reliable companion comfort is not. So Alex focuses on his body and filling it, staying within it, staying present, while Michael bleeds the love of two people and ten years and one into the space between them, walking wounded.

“I am, but I’m your friend too. And to hear her tell it, she’s the one who broke up with you. So I think my priorities are okay for now.”

“Oh, we’re friends now, are we?”

That one hurts, but Alex just shrugs. It’s true that friends might not be the right word for what they are to each other. What they are has to be a word that doesn’t quite exist, at least not in the only language either of them knows how to speak. If Alex lingers too long on the potential of the languages either of them could know if it weren’t for the confluence of violence and neglect, he would be lost.

Michael flattens his palms and leans over. “Nothing to say? Really?”

Alex replies, “I don’t want to fight again.”

“Why?” Michael snaps. “Because you don’t want anything from me right now?”

At that, Alex can’t help but flinch, muscles locked up and frozen like a wolf inches from the teeth of a trap, and Michael flinches as well.

“I—I didn’t mean that. I—” Michael shakes his head. His face twists into something awful, something grieving, something inward. He rocks back, muted colors all but disappearing against the bright vinyl cushion behind him. God, Alex just wants to touch him. A hand on his shoulder, a hand on his hand. It’s the only way they’ve ever been able to communicate. But just because it’s familiar doesn’t mean it’s enough.

“No, you’re right,” Alex reassures. “You’re right. In your lab, I was wrong to come at you like that, and not just that, I was completely out of line not taking no for an answer—”

“No, Alex, no. You might have been wrong about your father changing, but we already talked about this, and I should—I should be able to control myself by now.”

A prickle of unease trickles cold across the back of Alex’s neck. He lowers his voice, though it’s probably too late to prevent any eavesdropping. “What do you mean? Control yourself? Michael, you’re one of the most controlled people I know. I hate that you’ve had to be, but from what you’ve said, the control you have over your powers is amazing. Admirable.”

Michael barks out a dry laugh. “My powers. But it’s more than that, it’s always been. You know that better than anyone; you said it yourself, and you were right. Fucking wasting my life, right? And now here I am, wasting this chance to be there for you because I can’t just get over some hurt feelings.”

There for him. Michael is the one with the freshly broken heart, and he’s coming down on himself for not comforting Alex about the death of a great-uncle he never met, a great-uncle who abandoned his mother when she needed him. A great-uncle who should have died somewhere his brother never could have buried him on family land, should have died where he stood, like Alex would, like Alex would if it was Michael, if it was his—

Alex shakes his head frantically at that, at Michael’s cold shutting down of his own pain as just hurt feelings. What a screw-up. Michael isn’t perfect either, but Alex was never taught to pull punches, neither with fists nor with words.

“Michael, do you want to know why I said those things to you last time we fought?” 

“Because I wasn’t listening! ‘Cause you were pissed at me, I don’t know—”

“Because the change in my father had me confused and scared, and I was floundering for control.”

Michael opens his mouth, eyebrows scrunching together like he’s ready to argue, but Alex barrels on, staring straight into Michael’s eyes, knowing in his core that Michael isn’t going to look away from him.

“I thought that piece could be leveraged against him, and I didn’t care how you felt about it. I was hurting, and I took it out on you because you were an easy target. A safe target. I know in every part of my being that you would never hurt me.”

“No!” Michael protests.

“So when I tell you some garbage about you not deserving my faith in you, it’s gospel, but when I tell you I was wrong, it’s too much?” Alex demands.

To that, Michael has no answer. His mouth falls open, but nothing comes out, so it snaps shut again and he shakes his head.

“I’m the last person who’s gonna get on your case for not watching your mouth when you’re pissed,” he says with a casual shrug.

The ache in Alex’s thigh has radiated all the way up into his hips and lower back. In the kitchen, something clatters to the ground, the sound bringing the setting back in harsh relief, the very public diner loud and living all around them. Michael takes notice too, leaning back self-consciously, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

Alex doesn’t know how to argue anymore; he knows he doesn’t want to. He can’t undo a lifetime of evidence built up inside Michael that he’s worthless with a few pretty words, no more than Michael could do for him over ten years. Trying is how they got here, at least in part. A good strategist knows when to retreat and try again another day.

Michael hasn’t said anything more, hasn’t probed farther for a fight, so sensing they’re done here, Alex takes the journal from the table to put it in his jacket pocket. But when his fingers touch leather something about the sensation makes him stop.

“Do…do you want to take it? I mean, he wrote about your mom, I…” He swallows, and continues, “I can’t give any part of her back to you, but if it gives you any comfort at all to read about her…”

“He was your ancestor. A Manes man. One who wasn’t a bloodthirsty bag of dicks. You should give it back to Maria or keep it if she doesn’t want it,” Michael says gruffly.

Not bloodthirsty, perhaps, but Alex is less sure that he was any sort of hero or any sort of comfort to Alex now. Tripp’s dog tags hang around his neck, warmed to the temperature of his skin but still palpably there, the feeling strange in a way his own never were. A reminder of what can happen if you believe in something but fail to act upon it.

“Yeah, it belongs to the Delucas. I wish Patricia had gotten to read it. I don’t know why Tripp didn’t...”

“And we never will. I’ll leave returning it to you. Can’t imagine Maria’s eager to see me at the moment.”

“You might be surprised.”

Michael just shrugs again and slides out of the booth, shoving his hands in his pockets when he stands.

Alex does a calculus at this point grown familiar, of whether he should nurse his drink for a little while longer so Michael doesn’t see how hard it is for him to stand, how painful to walk. So Michael doesn’t see him as weak. So they don’t have to have the awkward moment where Michael drives off while Alex calls an Uber or something because he walked here from the coffeeshop when Michael and Isobel texted him and now he can’t make the return trip. So—

“I got street parking,” Michael says.

“What?”

“My car’s right outside. Let me give you a lift home? We can stop by and grab whatever you need from your car and I’ll come back and get it, give it a tow or something.”

His eyes flick to Alex’s, briefly, then dance away. He doesn’t say it out loud, that he’s been able to notice that Alex is hurting.

“Or you can call Greg or Forrest or Kyle or something and I’ll get out of your hair,” he continues. “I know you don’t need my help—”

Alex grabs his wrist. He gets half cuff, half skin.

“Michael. I’d appreciate it, actually.”

The smile he gets is a half-bitten thing, brighter than the sun itself.

The sun sets in their eyes as they turn onto Alex’s street, and after ten minutes of silence, Michael speaks.

“I was out of line, spoiling for a fight with you back there. I won’t do it again.”

Alex doesn’t need to look at him to know that he’s golden, pure gold.

“We’re both on the remedial track for emotions and handling conflict. I understand, Michael.” He curls his fingers around the truck’s bench seat like he did when he was seventeen and they couldn’t hold hands in public. He can almost imagine there are grooves there that fit just him. “It isn’t second chances, or third, or fourth. It’s proof we’re learning how to make mistakes without ending the whole world over it.”

If he stole some of that from his therapist, so be it. 

Michael’s voice is a little thick when he replies.

“That...that sounds pretty good to me.”

When they pull up to Alex’s driveway, he doesn’t get out right away, though he picks up his crutch and settles it over his lap, partially for a quick escape if he loses his nerve, partially for something to do with his hands.

Alex watches the lavender-gold sky and says, “It’s okay, you know. To be angry. I know I said the opposite, before, but…” he swallows harshly. “But it was hypocritical, and I regret it, and.” Horribly, tears prick at his eyes, but he has to get through this. “You deserve to feel safe. I don’t want to make you feel unsafe, ever. I walk around saying I’m doing the opposite like I deserve some kind of medal, but then I attack you, and I put you in danger—”

He chances a glance Michael’s way, only for the crack in his heart to widen at his hunched, defensive posture, curled around the steering wheel like it’s a shield to protect him where he’s most vulnerable.

Michael says, “You were the first person. The only person. Who ever made me feel safe. Who ever cared enough to make sure I had a place to go even if I didn’t trust you or if I pushed back on it. Who didn’t ask anything in return. We share a lot of the same pain from those days. But I don’t know if you know what that meant to me. I don’t know if you know how fucking hard it is for me to hear you talk like this now. I don’t know what you want from me.”

Horror creeps in at the edges of Alex’s vision. His lips are numb, but they still form, “Michael, you...you haven’t thought that you owe me for that for all these years, right? Please, please tell me you haven’t…”

“No! God, no.”

Michael looks at him, the sunlight turning his eyes to honey. His mouth is chapped, but it just makes Alex want to feel that roughness with his thumb, cup his jaw and feel the stubble against his fingertips. 

Those instincts may never go away, but that doesn’t mean they have to suffer, even if they can never make being in love good for the both of them. A life where their jagged edges align in the way only they can for each other, where they find that perfect angle where nothing, nothing hurts at all when they sit beside each other...that’s all they need. 

Michael turns away before he says anything more. The sun doesn’t turn, though, just limns his eyelashes in gold, casts his cheekbones in dramatic shadow, and Alex lets out a soft sigh from somewhere deep in his soul that Michael can be, from every angle, this unchanged.

“I don’t want to owe anyone anything. I’m tired of it,” Michael says, voice low and rough. “And I found out recently that some people in my life I thought I was racking up debt to I’d die without repaying had wiped my slate clean long ago. I can be wrong about stuff sometimes. I’m pretty smart, but I’m a big boy.” 

He flashes a quick morning-mist smile, eyes quirking sideways to look at Alex as he does it, and Alex smiles back, shoulders dropping as some tension leaves him. Michael’s eyes flick down and away before he speaks again.

“But where do we go from here? You and me, I mean. We keep tripping over ourselves to make up for the last fight out of too many to count in our lives, but there’s gonna be an after, too. What’s that look like for us?”

Alex rests his hand on the bench seat between them, just so it’s there, in case Michael wants to take it. And Michael glances down, and the apple of his throat bobs, but his hand doesn’t inch any closer.

That’s okay.

“Do you want to come inside?” Alex asks.

“Huh?”

“Friends hang out, right? No starting over. Let’s start from right here. Still got a guitar you can use, if you’re into that. Or we can crack open some beers and watch Netflix or something. Anything you want.”

Michael faces him for real for the first time, his generous mouth parted in shock, but then his face goes soft.

“Sure, yeah. I’d like that.”

 3

Alex meets Michael’s eyes from across a crowded room. His cultural knowledge suffered significantly while he was active duty, but throughout his life he’s watched enough rom-coms curled up on the carpet with Liz, Rosa, and Maria to know how that’s supposed to feel, and to know now that the movies never did the feeling justice. Michael slowly removes his hat, and Alex’s heart swells so much he can hardly stand it.

And then Michael is gone, somewhere and sometime before Alex has lanced himself of all the words that have built up inside his skull, pounding against his temples, spilling out his eyes and ears and mouth. Only Isobel remains, and she gives him a sympathetic look and two thumbs up, whatever that means.

Well, not just Isobel. Greg is here, and Forrest, and some coworkers Alex turned Maria’s way to keep traffic up at the bar. But the space Michael left is vast and empty, and for all Alex didn’t ask him to come, it hurts a little like rejection would have hurt if he had asked and Michael told him no or hated the song.

At least he can hope that Michael heard something of what he’s trying to say and will carry that with him, whatever happens next.

The song ends. His fingers stutter and linger over the keys; the spell shatters around him and the world rushes back in with applause. Forrest beams at him from the front row, and he smiles back a little awkwardly. Being so vulnerable so publicly…not really his thing. But maybe not all bad, not when it brings tears to his brother’s eyes and he kisses a man in the open, his father’s voice drowned out by ivories and drunkards and his own heartbeat echoing off his bones.

Forrest squeezes his hips and smiles up at him as the next person takes the stage and the night goes on around them. “I’m proud of you,” he says, just for the two of them to hear. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…good.”

He does. He does feel good, in a way that’s refreshingly distinct from the haze of okay he’s been drifting in for weeks.

“Buy you a drink?” Forrest offers, raising his eyebrows, hooking his thumb back at the bar. Maria is still at home resting, so she isn’t there to support and/or lightly judge him.

“Uh…”

Say yes. He probably should, right? Just see what it’s like dating someone in the open. But would it be fair to use Forrest like that, as an experiment?

“…Can I take a rain check? This,” he gestures back at the stage, “Was kind of a lot for me, believe it or not, so I’m not in a chatty mood. Is that okay?”

Forrest’s smile doesn’t budge. “Okay, man, sure. See ya around.” And he heads to the bar alone.

Alex’s shoulders drop, feeling a little disappointed, feeling a little like he isn’t as disappointed as he should be. Hands in his pockets, he makes his way over to the door, only to stop short when he sees Kyle at a table in the back. Sheepishly, Kyle lifts his beer at him in a salute—but that isn’t an explanation, so Alex beelines for him anyway.

“I thought you hated this shit,” he says mildly, without preamble.

“Oh, I do. The second someone starts in on some amateur poetry, I’m out. But I was just being a dick earlier, and that’s not what I do these days so…”

“Apology accepted.” 

Alex glances around before sliding in across from Kyle. It’ll get awkward if Forrest sees him, but oh well.

“Hell of a performance,” Kyle says, going to flag down a waiter until Alex stops him.

“I’m not sticking around for long. But, uh, thanks.”

Kyle takes another long pull of his beer, and Alex raises an eyebrow at him.

He says, “You know, if I was so bad you have to drink to forget, you can just say so. My delicate feelings have been through worse, actually.”

“Ha! No, it’s…” Kyle trails off, staring at his beer instead of anywhere near Alex. “Eh. It’s part of the deal, but sometimes it still sucks to get slapped with reality. No matter how much you change, the people you’ve hurt don’t have to forgive you.”

“I…”

“No, don’t apologize. I get it. I was a big part of the reason you never would have sung that song in this town without the people that support you now. It’s okay that you still hesitate sometimes about me. Just, you know,” he shrugs with a small smile. “Sometimes I’m gonna drink about it.”

Alex leans across the table. “Kyle. You’re a good man. And my friend. Okay?”

Kyle’s shoulders drop an inch or so, and his face shifts with a more genuine, soft smile. “Okay.” Then he turns serious again, and continues, “But you know it’s going to be the same for Flint, right? First, that you can’t redeem someone who has no remorse—I had to make my own choice to be a better guy, to live by a better code, and no one could have done that for me. Second, that even if he does make that choice, the people he’s hurt have no obligation to forgive him. Michael has no obligation to forgive him, and you can’t force him to. You have to make peace with that now, before you start down this road.”

“I know. But thank you, for the reminder.” Alex lets out a long breath. “I don’t know if I can forgive Flint. But he’s a part of my father’s legacy, too. I can’t undo all the harm, but if I can reduce any harm in the future, if I can even do that much…”

“I wish you luck. But, man, just...don’t try and bear too many other people’s sins, okay? You’re not responsible for what Flint does. You gotta look out for yourself, too, you know.”

“Thanks,” Alex says. What else is there to say? He might disagree with Kyle both on what makes someone responsible and also the degree to which he’s already acting in his own self-interest. A truly selfless person would focus on what’s already within control in order to do the most good, not on trying to control everything they could. But if Alex doesn’t know how to live with himself and his choices at this point, he’s already lost. There’s a certain comfort and strength in that.

“Any time,” Kyle replies, saluting him again.

Alex leaves the table and leaves Kyle to it, making for the door and for fresh air. He’ll go home and have a beer there, maybe. Look at his keyboard and think of other songs to write, now that he’s gotten Michael’s song out of his skull.

Like all songs won’t be about Michael, somehow, always. 

That thought might have been depressing six months ago, six years ago, in the middle of all the missing they’ve done. But now Alex lets the nostalgia wash over him, welcomes it as an old friend. As a part of him, natural, not something that needs to be fixed or cut away. Every song is about Michael because Michael is a part of him. Nothing wrong with that, no matter how their relationship keeps changing, even if Alex never gets what he wants. He can live with that.

He steps out onto the Pony’s empty patio. Most likely everyone is either still inside watching other performers go on or has already left in disgust at the whole affair. The glow of the string bulbs softens the night, turns the bar into a welcoming place, an oasis of light, makes it hard to take that last step off the porch and into the parking lot. That’s probably the idea. Maria’s savvy like that. 

According to Max, Michael helped her hang these a few years back, and somehow he always comes up with replacement bulbs when they’re needed, always knows just what the fix is. It’s so easy to imagine him up on a ladder, deft hands weaving the cords around the wooden lattice, winding a perfect web, not too bright or harsh, just right. Alex sighs, and if it’s overly wistful, well, that’s a secret between him and the night.

“Everything okay?”

Alex jerks around at that voice. He’s heard it from nowhere before, but this probably isn’t one of those times, and sure enough, Michael lifts his head to give Alex a look of concern, head tilted to the side. That dramatic black hat, along with his dark clothes and curled-in posture, it makes him blend into the background, no matter how large he looms in Alex’s eye. He’s always been good at diminishing, at blending. Alex wishes he’d never had to learn to do that.

Alex forces his shoulders to lower, forces a smile to his face. “Yeah, you just startled me. Didn’t think anyone was out here, and, um, I thought you left. During the song.”

The silence stretches too long, too awkward as Michael rolls his shoulders in a shrug, does a familiar old nervous gesture of taking off his hat, running his hand through his hair, and settling his hat back down. Alex spent two weeks trying to find the chords right for that memory, the quiet yearning it awakes in him.

“Yeah, I—I don’t know,” Michael says. 

He doesn’t lean against the wall; he doesn’t fold his arms in front of him. He has nothing in his hands. Alex can’t remember the last time he saw him so without a shield, and it takes his breath away. 

Michael continues, “I know I wasn’t invited. I mean, uh, I think you didn’t mind seeing me too much, if I can read your face half as well now as I used to, but I wanted to respect that.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t mind.”

Silence falls again. Alex should say something more, should explain himself, shouldn’t let Michael walk away from this thinking he wasn’t wanted.

He blurts, “I thought about inviting you, but I—well, you heard the song, and with things with Maria still so recent and up in the air, I didn’t want to put you in a tough spot. I understand.”

Michael smiles at him, a look so soft Alex can hardly stand it. He licks his lips as if to check if he can still feel, still taste Forrest there, like that might be some sort of reminder that there are other things in life than Michael. He feels nothing, tastes nothing—but how much of the way Michael has always lingered on his skin and on his senses has been psychosomatic all along, because of how much he wished Michael would stay? No one could ever compare. It’s wrong of him to even try.

“You could have asked,” Michael says. “Let me know what it was about. I would have been here. I would have come. I’m happy—proud of you. For doing that, in there. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be. The moment you needed.”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I want to say I was doing it for me, but...it’s hard to tell. Something else I’m working on.” Alex shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets just for something to do with them. “It...it definitely meant something, though. I’m happy.”

“Then I’m happy, too.” 

Alex shakes his head. “You don’t have to say that. You wanted so badly to be open with me, but I was never ready, and now that I am, it’s…” Too late. But he doesn’t say it, like filling the air with it might make it even more real than it already is.

“Alex. I lived in this town with your father for ten years. I got it. It hurt, and that hurt might have been screaming louder than the fear we both shared, but I did feel it too.”

The silence that follows has a hole in it where another apology might fit, but if they get started they’ll be here all night.

“Look, um,” Michael says, “Were you looking to get out of here or do you want to sit for a while? It’s a pretty nice night.”

What had previously been the truth—that the show had him feeling good but wanting privacy after willingly divesting it so dramatically—goes right up in smoke, and in its place is just the clean, simple desire to be in Michael’s company, close enough for their knees to brush under the small table, under the fairy lights, under the sky.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says. Alex sucks in a sharp breath.

He hadn’t expected the apology to actually reach the air. Hadn’t even wanted it to.

Alex has never liked apologies. What good is an apology? Greg used to apologize, sometimes, in hushed words when their father wasn’t listening. Flint and Clay never bothered, and Alex preferred it to empty words. Greg’s apology is easier to accept now, with the advantage of hindsight, coupled with action, but Alex doesn’t know how to react to Michael’s sorry.

Jesse Manes never apologized. Not for anything. And now he’s dead. Alex sits across from Michael. The slam of the Pony’s door as someone leaves, the slam of a car door as someone arrives, it all just sounds like hammers falling one after another.

How long did it take for Alex to stop flinching at the sound of military-issue boots approaching? At the shape a man’s shoulders made in uniform towering over him? At the snap and bark of a sergeant’s voice?

Michael’s shoulders are rounded. He always slouches so much.

Alex misses flinching, sometimes. He misses simple, unconditioned, weak prey instincts, universal signals of the vulnerable, of the frightened, so someone capable of comforting him might know how badly he’s in need of comforting—

“Alex?”

Michael’s hand rests in the middle of the small table, bare, his palm upturned like it’s just waiting for the weight of Alex’s hand to settle on top of it. It’s his left hand. Over ten years and one hundred hoarded golden hours, Alex loved the way that hand touched him, like it was all of Michael contained in one small limb. Hurt and hopeful, with a necessary tender lightness, with a shape that sometimes made his throat ache to look at it. Some days he couldn’t use it at all. But he never hid, never tried to cover that part of himself to make Alex comfortable. Maybe that’s why Alex reacted so poorly to the bandana he wore these past months. He made the mistake for so long of thinking that a baring of scars was the same as a baring of souls, and then he learned he was wrong. And then Michael’s scars were gone…

But the hurt still lingered.

Alex puts his hand in Michael’s.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Hearing you sing in there…you’ve got me thinking about how much time we missed. The part I played in all that, pushing you away time and again. Not trusting you, not talking to you.”

“We were just kids.”

“I know. Still. Kids hurt each other all the time, and worse than adults do, most of it. And I’ve done my fair share of that, too.”

Oh, Michael. 

“The hurt kids do to each other, it’s not the same,” Alex says softly, as gently as he can muster. “I’m thirty years old. If I can’t look back and forgive the kids we were over the past ten years, what hope is there for me now?”

Michael shakes his head stubbornly. “I was old enough to know better. To be better. To use my words instead of just lashing out when I was hurt. Maybe you don’t remember some of the shit I said, when we used to fight over you leaving, but I do. If we’re turning over a new leaf now, sayin’ sorry just feels like the right thing to do.”

He makes himself look so small. The table forces the barest necessary space between them, but not so little Alex can gracefully lean across it to press their foreheads together, or to rest his hand against Michael’s heart, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how tightly he presses their hands together to make up for it. He wants to feel that heartbeat, let Michael feel his own, match themselves to the same vital rhythm.

But this is about new leaves, like Michael said. So Alex takes a deep breath and lets the words stretch and burn and breathe between them, strengthening the muscles that he let grow so weak for so long.

“Michael. Listen to me. When you were seventeen, homeless, and vulnerable in ways I couldn’t even comprehend, you threw yourself onto my rich, homophobic, military father to protect me. That takes more courage and goodness than it takes to throw yourself on a grenade. Trust me, I know.”

“But—”

Alex leans in, the table biting into his stomach, close enough now to feel Michael’s breath on his cheek and smell rain off the collar of his shirt. “I refuse to blame us—to blame you—for the way it broke us afterward. Okay? No more keeping score. We have the pieces—we can, maybe we can work together to put them back together. No matter what the final picture turns out to look like, even if it’s something completely different than we thought it would be at seventeen. Is that—would that be okay?”

Michael’s thumb passes over the back of Alex’s hand, a simple gesture that makes the hair stand up on his arms. All static, all electric. Alex aches, but it’s a good one.

“I don’t know if it’s too late for us. And you weren’t wrong when you said that things are still rough with Maria. It doesn’t even feel real that things could be over between me and her. And I saw the way Forrest Long looked at you.” Michael’s voice goes so soft Alex can hardly stand it. “If that’s something, you should let it be something.”

“I don’t know if it’s something. I don’t know if I want it to be.”

Alex’s words are distant even to his own ears.

Michael says, “That’s okay too. I’m just tired of pushing, tired of pulling. I want us both to be free, to, to just follow our hearts and see where we end up. I guess that’s my version of not keeping score. ‘Cause I know that you’re in here,” he puts his other hand over his heart, “No matter what our relationship is like. Fighting that just hurts us worse.”

Hope is such a painful thing. Michael told him that for years and years and Alex never quite believed him. But now that he’s asked to hold true to his own beliefs—that hope is necessary, that hope is a tool against yesterday, a compass pointed firmly in the direction of tomorrow—he wavers.

“It shouldn’t have had to be a fight,” he says. “You tried to tell me that you just needed space months ago, and I didn’t—couldn’t—didn’t want to listen. I wanted us to be okay; I thought if I atoned or whatever, we would be okay. But I wasn’t doing it for you. Digging for information, turning over every rock to find the ugliness underneath, that’s what I needed, not you.”

“But you were trying. I recognize that now, I do.”

“I—” Inches from arguing, Alex stops himself short. Patterns, it’s all patterns. They both have to get better at recognizing them, and that means Alex can’t do the same thing he’s told Michael is wrong, where he believes Michael’s assessment of him only when it suits the ugliest voices in his head.

So he says, “Yes. I was. I wanted to empower you the way I feel empowered when I have all the information at my fingertips, but I didn’t ask you what you needed.”

Michael leans forward. “And I should have told you outright that I needed space instead of trying to make you leave so it would make sense when you did—or just trying to hurt you for staying this time and not any other time when I really needed you to.”

Alex swallows hard and nods. He leans forward too. Michael’s hand is so, so warm in his. The two of them walk the same tightrope toward solid ground.

“I’m glad,” Michael says. “I’m glad that you stayed this time. You deserve to know that. I’ve been fighting to get free of the past; I know it’s unchangeable, but it’s always there, telling me all the ways I should have been better, and. Right now, in the present. Thank you. For being there this year.”

Michael smiles at him, a real smile, the kind of look Alex thought he might have imagined from across the bar, with music in his lungs. His eyes crinkle up, sparkling, face utterly transformed with what can only be utterly consuming fondness.

I love you. I love you. I love you. How could he not? How could he have ever convinced himself he was capable of stopping? Michael’s laughter is the joy of knowing someone. Alex hasn’t felt so seen and so unafraid since he was seventeen years old.

Maria and Michael just broke up a few days ago, and it wasn’t mutual. There are so many leaps Alex wants to take now that he’s taken this one, to see how they feel, to reshape and reaffirm his comfort zone now that some of his ghosts have been put to rest. There are so many reasons to wait, to make sure that this time they can get this right.

But what if Michael doesn’t know? Even at this stage down the long road of getting to know the man he loves, Alex knows how easily he doubts his own worth

He and Maria understand each other, as ever. He would give up his brain to see the future, too.

Michael’s face has gone soft and concerned the longer Alex hasn’t responded. Tingling spreads up Alex’s arm when Michael’s warm, rough hand tightens around his own, and the softness he feels helps unloosen his chest and let the words come out. 

“No, thank you,” he says, fitting his other hand around Michael’s knuckles so Michael’s healed hand is cradled between his.

That touch lingers for a long moment. For most of their lives, Alex hasn’t been able to read Michael’s face, has second-guessed what he thought each little flicker meant, has held back from acting on what he thought Michael was telling him, no matter how achingly open Michael’s face was. Now, though, Alex just has no idea what is going through Michael’s head as he watches their joined hands, Alex’s fingers against Michael’s bare skin, the bandana abandoned somewhere before Michael even came to the Pony tonight.

“Should we...should we talk about this?” Alex asks, letting his finger draw gently against Michael’s middle knuckle. Michael’s fingers flex in his grip.

“Don’t know what there is to talk about.”

“I don’t know.” Alex shifts and clears his throat. “Just...anything you want to say. Anything you’re feeling. Anything you want to say to me specifically.”

Michael glances around. They’re alone on the patio, but Alex understands. The silence of the night and the muffled clamor of the bar on the other side of the wall give the illusion the whole world is listening.

Then, bluntly, he says, “It hurt. What you said. That you so obviously didn’t understand I might have a hard time looking at it for personal reasons, since I never asked for it to be healed. I thought if anyone understood that, you would.”

Alex’s knee twinges in concert. He itches to rub it, but his hands stay still wrapped around Michael’s. 

Michael continues, “Hiding the healing had nothing to do with you, and if I was still pissed at your dad for causing it or at Max for healing it, that wasn’t really any of your business, either. That’s all.”

Deep breaths. Having all that out in the open is a clean thing, a necessary thing. Alex nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Michael nods back and lets his shoulders drop. “But Max is the person I need to get into it with, not you. Then he was dead when I really needed to, so it got all twisted up and stuck inside of me, and I didn’t say anything to anyone. I don’t blame you for not being a mind reader and coming to some wrong conclusions.”

It’s that—it’s that that leaves Alex floundering for a moment, that instant of Michael seeing his guilt and cutting through it with a few words. He leaves a vacuum in its place and all of Alex’s other feelings, so carefully compartmentalized, have to rush to fill it in. Michael lets the silence linger, but Alex can feel the quickness of his heartbeat in the small of his wrist.

“What about you? Anything you want to say to me?” Michael says. “‘Cause we’ve fought before, but for some reason we keep coming back to the bunker. Feels like maybe there’s something there.”

“I…”

That...yeah. He was right. So many times, they’d fought. When they were kids and everything was falling apart. Over ten years, among the pieces. The argument they had in the bunker was practically a level-headed disagreement compared to the fight they had before Alex’s last deployment, the worst one, the one that cut them apart for almost two years without a word to each other. Even that one had scattered like mist under the morning sun when they were in each other’s arms again. 

And maybe that’s part of it. That their physical relationship has changed, that without the language of touch everything feels harsher and harder to forget. But the other reason lurks behind the walls in his mind.

He’s supposed to be better now. More peaceful, more understanding, more balanced. To preach forgiveness then lash out at Michael, the one person it’s always been safe to be angry with—it’s an ugly thing. Alex doesn’t want to hold it. Doesn’t want to be that. He’s supposed to be better now. It doesn’t matter how often a therapist tells him progress isn’t a straight line. It shouldn’t matter. 

If he can fix this, make it like it never happened, maybe he can fix them.

Alex doesn’t want to look that feeling in the eyes. Has avoided it, so far. And how to say it? He doesn’t even know if Michael wants them fixed. Not the same way Alex does. And now’s not the time to ask that question. 

“I just want us to be okay,” he says. Simple. Weak. He hates the sound of pleading inside his own skull. He isn’t used to it. It’s just Michael. Michael won’t use it against him, won’t hurt him, he knows this, but inside something turns and hides and covers its head with its arms waiting for the blow. To buy it time, he babbles, “Not talking about it feels like hiding. All the times we let arguments go in the past—I want to do things differently, to actually say I know what I did wrong and say that I know we, I, can do better, I don’t know, I just want things to be different, to change for good—”

“Okay.”

Michael’s voice is soft. So soft Alex wants to whimper.

“Okay, Alex,” he repeats. Now his other hand, hesitating just slightly, comes up to rest against Alex’s, so they’re holding onto each other as fast as they can with the distance and objects between them. 

That’s it? Just okay? 

Michael shifts their hands, slides their fingers together slowly, and gives them a squeeze.

Oh.

Okay.

“Were you wanting to get out of here?” Michael asks suddenly, dipping his head slightly so his hat hides his eyes.

“No, um. Actually, I think I’ll stay a while. It’s a nice night.”

He’s exhausted, but nothing could tear him away. Not now. And it is a nice night, clear and cool, the sky wide and velvet above them, in their little bubble of light.

“Cool,” Michael says. He leans back in his chair, though he leaves their hands connected, and he looks up at Alex again, eyes glimmering with a smile. “‘Cause I want to hear more about how you got into songwriting for real. You didn’t tell me about it when we hung out the other day.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Alex replies, but his heart sings at the interest.

“Ok, sure, uh-huh. Well I’m going to go get us drinks, and when I get back maybe you can distract me and pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

“Between the two of us, you’re the one with the magic hands,” Alex says, only for his mouth to drop open when he realizes what he’s just said.

But Michael is already cackling, and the sound is so soothing to Alex’s soul he can’t interrupt, and he’s standing up to go inside, and it’s impossible not to notice how he doesn’t let their hands drop until the last possible moment, and then he’s sweeping his hat off his head with a dramatic bow and a cheeky smirk, and Alex can’t help but smile back at him.

He turns to head back into the Pony, and as Alex watches and mirrors the motion, he flexes his hands, rubs them together, then slides them into his pockets as if to hide the lingering feeling of touch for safekeeping.

And then Alex is alone, still smiling, knowing Michael will be back soon. 

[decembercamiecherries]

Graffiti- Chapter 4

Ao3 link

Chapter word count: 5,374 -> Total story word count: 15,635

Chapter summary:

“I pulled you out here because…” Gon’s voice trailed off and Killua glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The other teen’s expression was clouded over now, brown brows pulled down anxiously.

Killua frowned. “Because?” he prompted.

Gon let out a long breath. “Because, back at your apartment I promised I would tell you why I’m in Masadora. So I’m going to fulfill that promise.”

Killua’s step faltered. Gon was actually keeping his promise?

“R-Really?”

Gon nodded.

This chapter is actually the reason why I wanted to make a multi-chapter mafia/gang au in the first place! There’s a specific scene in it that I always wanted to write ^-^ this was also the first chapter I ever wrote for Graffiti, even before chapters 1-3...

Thank you as always to @softkillua and @godspeedcomplex for beta’ing this ages ago, AND THANKYOU @sketchxhunter FOR THE BEAUTIFUL CHAPTER ART YOU ARE INCREDIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter title: What Do You Want?

(Chapter art)

“Hey,” a too-loud voice whispered in his ear. Killua stiffened as a warm hand curled over his shoulder, fighting down the instinct to grab the arm belonging to the hand and flip its owner over onto his back. It was a natural reaction, especially after everything that had happened in the past few hours, but….

“Killua,” the familiar voice whispered loudly again. Killua turned away from Alluka’s sleeping form and found himself staring directly into dark, honey brown eyes.

His pulse stuttered and Killua gritted his teeth, silently cursing himself. It was bad enough he had put Alluka in danger by moving in with Gon and his friends, did his treacherous heart really need to react this way every time Gon got close? It was like his heart didn’t even care that Gon could destroy the fragile security Killua had built up for him and Alluka over the past two years.

Gon smiled widely, as if sensing Killua’s inner turmoil. He jerked his head towards the door—an invitation.

Killua’s eyes darted from Gon back to Alluka. He couldn’t leave her here. It wasn’t an option. What if—

But the warm hand had moved from his shoulder down to wrap around his wrist, insistently tugging him to his feet and away from Alluka’s bed before Killua could even think of putting up a fight.

A flare of anger rose up inside him and Killua dug his heels into the ground. He hissed into the darkness, “Gon—!”

“She’ll be fine!” the other teen insisted as they passed through the doorway to Alluka and Killua’s room. “Everyone will watch her, I promise. But right now—” his grip on Killua tightened and Killua sucked in a breath, “—we need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?!” Killua asked, exasperated.

“No. It has to be now.”

He pushed open the exit door and Killua was momentarily blinded. It was an unusually clear night—not a single cloud marred the ocean of stars spread out in the sky above them—and the moonlight alone was bright enough to make him cringe.

Gon, on the other hand, wasn’t affected at all. He wasted no time in yanking Killua off towards their right, then left, then right again. Killua only stumbled a few times, swallowing down every question that rose to his lips. If Gon hadn’t said where they were headed already, he probably wouldn’t tell Killua now.

He would just have to wait and trust that Gon knew where he was going.

Abruptly, Gon slowed. Killua matched his pace, then blinked at the familiar smell of fresh water and wet wood. He suddenly had a very good idea of where Gon was taking him, and wasn’t surprised when they passed a final row of buildings and saw the boardwalk just a few feet ahead.

They came to a stop as their sneakers touched the long planks of wood and for a few moments, the pair just breathed. Killua gazed out at the river laid before them as his heart rate started to slow. Moonlight glistened off the water’s gentle current, a faint breeze rustling the distant tree leaves. The only other sound was their own heavy panting, and the silence only made the obvious more noticable: he and Gon were totally alone here.

Killua recognized this place, of course. He and Alluka came here to the Boardwalk a lot on the weekends to skateboard between crowds and buy melting ice cream cones. They’d even taken shelter under one of the bridges after initially escaping from their family. The bridge had provided protection from the rain for the two homeless siblings and Killua had been grateful for that if nothing else.

But he could have never imagined that he would be standing here now, two years later and in the middle of the night, with a gang leader clinging to his arm.

Speaking of which.

“Okay.” Killua shook his wrist to throw Gon’s hand off. “That’s enough, let go.”

Gon grinned. “What, are you scared of holding my hand, Killua?”

“No,” he said shortly and pried Gon’s sweaty fingers off one by one. “I just don’t want to hold your hand. There’s a difference.”

“Aw, Killua.” Gon placed his now free hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. “I’m hurt. I thought we had something special!”

Killua scowled. He couldn’t believe Gon was real, sometimes.

“If you don’t shut up, the only thing you’re gonna have is my foot shoved up your ass,” he snapped.

Gon’s expression of mock pain dropped away instantly. Then his mouth curved into a smile and he was laughing so hard the sound echoed and bounced off the nearby buildings.

Killua stared at him. What the heck, he hadn’t said anything even remotely funny! If anything, he’d been threatening Gon and yet here he was, cackling like Killua had just told the greatest joke in the planet.

“You’re so loud, jeez,” he grumbled as Gon broke into a fit of giggles. “Seriously, I’m gonna push you into the river if you don’t stop it.”

Gon gasped, “I’m—sorry! I can’t—ahaha—help it!”

He wheezed and covered his mouth with his fist, clearly trying to stop himself from laughing even more. Killua just continued watching in utter bafflement.

“How did you get so weird?” he asked. “Did your mom drop you on your head or something when you were a baby?!”

“I—” Gon took a huge gulp of air and wobbled upright into a standing position, “—wouldn’t know! I don’t think so, at least.”

Killua raised an eyebrow. Okay. Because that made so much sense.

“I was adopted by my aunt!” Gon explained, catching Killua’s confusion. “She’s the one who raised me. I don’t know anything about my birth mom.”

Killua inwardly groaned. The last thing in the world he wanted was to learn more about Gon. That would just make everything so much harder than it already was—

“What about your mom?”

The question caught him off guard. Killua blinked owlishly, then narrowed his eyes at the freckled teen. Gon just looked back at him innocently.

“Oh no,” Killua growled. He shook his head and turned his back on Gon completely. “No way. We are not playing that game right now—”

“Why not?” Gon chased after Killua as he stomped down the boardwalk. “C'mon, Killua, it’s just a question!”

“You know why! I’m not telling you anything about me and Alluka’s past, or how I knew Leorio, or what the rest of my family’s like! You’re not getting anything from me. At all. Got it?!”

Gon stuck out his tongue. “You’re really no fun, Killua. It was just a question!”

“Yeah, well, go ask your questions to someone else.”

“Mm, nah. There’s no point if it’s not you, you know?”

Killua looked at him blankly. “Uh, no?”

Gon hummed, skipping slightly as he sang out, “You will! Maybe not right now, but one day!”

Killua resisted the urge to drag his nails down the side of his face. He didn’t get Gon. He might as well be speaking gibberish for all Killua got out of him. His motives and goals were total mysteries to Killua.

“Hey,” Killua said, suddenly remembering where they were. “What do you want, Gon?”

Gon tilted his head and the tips of his green spikes fell into honey colored eyes. “What do you mean?”

Something fluttered Killua’s chest. He crushed the feeling without hesitation or remorse.

A loud, he said, “I mean, why did you drag me all the way out here? You said you wanted to talk.”

“Oh.” Gon’s expression was one of surprise, like he’d forgotten the reason why the two of them were on the Boardwalk in the first place. “Yeah. I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. Now tell me why you pulled me away from my sister or else I’m walking away. And if that happens, there’s no way I’m letting you drag me back here.”

Gon scrunched up his nose. “Eh? But I said Alluka would be fine! You need to trust me a little more, Ki—”

“No way,” Killua cut him off. “That’s never going to happen. Just tell me what you wanted to say so we can go back already. Unlike you, I have no desire to be out here.”

Gon huffed, looking genuinely put out for once, and Killua felt a small twinge of guilt. That kicked-puppy expression was wrong on Gon’s face, like it didn’t belong. It made Killua feel weirdly bad knowing that he was the cause of it, even though Gon had caused him more than enough grief the past day.

“I pulled you out here because…” Gon’s voice trailed off and Killua glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The other teen’s expression was clouded over now, brown brows pulled down anxiously.

Killua frowned. “Because?” he prompted.

Gon let out a long breath. “Because, back at your apartment I promised I would tell you why I’m in Masadora. So I’m going to fulfill that promise.”

Killua’s step faltered. Gon was actually keeping his promise?

“R-Really?”

Gon nodded.

He was serious, Killua realized. He’d never seen Gon this—this solemn before. There wasn’t a hint of light in those round eyes, no smile gracing that usually-happy mouth.

It made something unpleasant and heavy settle in Killua’s stomach.

“Are…are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah.” Gon lifted his face to the starry sky. “It’s better just to get some things over with.”

Huh. Interesting.

“Okay,” Killua said and tucked his hands behind his head. “Tell me, then.”

Gon kicked a stray pebble. It skittered along the boardwalk, skipping twice before tumbling off the edge and into the river below. Killua followed its path, listening attentively to Gon’s voice as he began by saying, “You remember when we first met, right? A little over a year ago?”

“Yes,” Killua said. “We established this already at the diner, Gon.”

“I know! I’m just making sure, that’s all. I was telling the truth back then that I got hurt because of a fight, but, um, it wasn’t just any fight. I mean, gangs fight all the time but this...wasn’t like that.”

“What do you mean?” Killua asked, heart weighing down with something close to dread.

“I mean,” Gon said slowly. “I got hurt chasing after someone who had kidnapped my gang leader, Kite.”

Killua’s brow puckered. “Wait, aren’t you the gang leader?”

Gon shook his head, eyes distant. “Not back then, I wasn’t. Kite was the leader for years and years before the ants showed up.”

Killua’s blood ran cold.

The ants, Gon had said. As in: Atypical Neutrality Trajectory Soldiers. ANTS.

“You’re a Hunter,” he breathed, eyes growing large, and Gon nodded.

Killua curled his hands into fists, pulse starting to race through his veins. Hunters weren’t like normal gangs, if anyone could even call them that. Hunters were based in Swaldani City but they spread all around the world without care or regard for other countries’ boundaries. They were specialized, had a unique set of interests that grouped them together; they were more like cults or guilds from the Middle Ages than any kind of modern day gangs Killua knew about.

They were also far more deadly than your average delinquent. Hunters were highly trained in their specialty, driven to do anything to pursue it as well as protect the people in their gang with that same level of passion.

Killua remembered his father's words echoing from years old memories:

“Stay away from Hunters, Killua. They don’t play by the rules, or bend them as we do. To Hunters, there are no rules. The only way to deal with a Hunter is to kill them. And that’s what you should do if you ever come across one of them. Understand?”

Killua swallowed thickly, mouth cotton dry. Shit. This was worse than he could’ve ever imagined.

“I became a Hunter when I was twelve,” Gon stated casually and Killua nearly tripped.

“T-Twelve?! But—aren’t you supposed to pass some ridiculous test before you can call yourself a Hunter?!”

Gon brightened. “Yeah! And it was really hard, but kind of fun, too! I made some friends. They’re nice, even if I don’t see them too often anymore. But…Killua, how do you know that?”

Killua’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Well, it’s just—” Gon looked at him, and this time there was a new kind of scrutiny to his gaze, “—only Hunters know about the Hunter Exam. It’s not widespread information or anything.”

Fuck. Killua’s throat constricted. He’d messed up. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Killua?” Gon repeated and Killua stilled.

Focus, Killua. Gon didn’t know anything and he had to do everything he could to keep it that way.

“It doesn’t matter how I know it,” he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets so Gon couldn’t see them shaking. “This is about you, not me. Just keep talking, I’m starting to get cold.”

“It’s the beginning of summer, Killua.”

“Does it look like I care?!” Killua retorted, practically bristling now. “Stop questioning me and get on with your stupid explanation already!”

Gon grinned. The light in his eyes danced in the moonlight and Killua had the feeling Gon was inwardly laughing at him. “But you’re the one who interrupted. Remember?”

“Gon,” Killua said, voice dropping low in a warning. “If you don’t shut up—”

“Okay, okay! I get it.” Gon held up his hands in surrender. “But, um, yeah! I’m a Hunter. And I was with Kite and his gang for about two years when…”

His cheeky expression faltered, his bright smile giving away to something much, much darker.

“When the ANTS came,” Killua said quietly.

Killua remembered the day the ANTS invaded Swaldani City. It had been around the time he was preparing to run away with Alluka; he had passed a news station during a trip with Illumi and his father when he read—

GOVERNMENT SENDS IN ANTS: HUNTER EXTERMINATION STARTS NOW

Distantly, Killua heard Gon admit, “Yeah. The ANTS. They were sent in by the government to ‘control’ the Hunter population. Apparently we were getting too rowdy and powerful in our numbers even though we only exist in one city.”

But you branch out, Killua resisted the urge to say. You form in Swaldani City but you travel everywhere, even to other countries. You take what you want and leave. And our government couldn’t stand for that anymore.

It was different in the Mafia; they played the rules and danced behind them to further their power and standing. They were bound by old alliances and older traditions. But Hunters didn’t care about that. They took what they wanted without regard for anyone but themselves. And that made them dangerous, especially if there was a lot of them.

So the Hunters had to go.

“The ANTS,” Killua started and Gon zeroed in on his face with an intensity that made Killua’s skin tingle. “They took your leader? What were you guys even Hunting, anyway? Gangs like yours don’t bother with the kind of stupid shit that regular gangs pull, like graffiti or something.”

“Bugs. Animals. Extinct or rare species. Kite liked to collect them, or at least see them if it was too dangerous to take them with us. Me, I just followed him around. Kite was my guardian.”

“What about your aunt?”

“She died,” Gon said a matter-of-factly. “Kite was the one who took me home after her funeral.”

Killua dropped his gaze to his dirt-covered sneakers, a numbness growing in his chest. He didn’t know what to say to that. Killua thought about death, and saw voidless eyes and a high pitched voice calling his name—

Killua bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from thinking any further. He didn’t need this right now. Gon’s aunt had nothing to do with Killua’s past and he couldn’t afford to lose himself in memories that weighed him down until he could no longer breathe.

That life was behind him. All he could do was keep moving forward with Alluka, to protect her where he had failed before.

“I’m sorry,” he offered at last, tone hollow. If Gon noticed anything was off with Killua, he didn’t show it; he simply gave Killua a tight smile, shadows lingering in the corners of his eyes.

“Thanks. She was great. And Kite—he was great too! I loved traveling and seeing the world with him!”

“Was?” Killua repeated and instantly regretted the question at the way Gon’s expression froze in place.

Of course. Was, because Kite wasn’t the leader of his gang anymore; Gon was the one who told the others what to do now. And that could only mean one thing.

“Yeah,” Gon said quietly. There was an edge in his voice—dark, full of rage and uncontrollable fury—that had Killua’s hair standing on end. “He…Kite’s gone. The ANTS took him and paraded his dead body in parts around Swaldani City, promising to do that to every single last one of us if we didn’t disband.”

Goosebumps broke across Killua’s skin. It wasn’t a pretty image, what Gon was telling him.

“Did you listen to them?” he asked, his tone calmer than he felt.

Gon shrugged but his face was still closed off, blank and emotionless in his stoic fury. “Some did, most didn’t. But it was just enough to satisfy the government. The ANTS left within a few months.”

Killua chewed the new information over silently. What Gon said made sense with what few news articles Killua had read at that time.

But it didn’t explain why Gon was here now.

“The ANTS Project ended a year ago,” Killua said slowly, not missing when Gon’s hands twitched at his words. “It ended after we met. Why did you come back to Masadora?”

“Mmm…lots of reasons. The buildings are pretty, the italian food here is really good—”

“Gon,” Killua growled, not to be fooled, and Gon smiled for a second, some of the light from earlier filtered back into his eyes.

“There was a rumor,” he finally confessed. “About Kite’s body being stored somewhere here, since this city was the first place the ANTS came after leaving Swaldani.”

He paused. Killua eyed the way Gon twiddled his thumbs awkwardly, how he chewed his soft, bottom lip. There was something else he wanted to say, clearly.

“And?” Killua urged. Then, to his complete and utter surprise, Gon’s cheeks darkened with a slight blush.

“And, well, you were here!” Gon chirped. “I wanted to see you again. So this was the perfect opportunity!”

Heat blossomed across Killua’s face. He scowled to hide the scarlet tinge of his skin, despising himself for how quickly and visibly his body reacted to Gon’s simple words.

“S-Stupid,” he bit out and turned away from Gon so he wouldn’t see Killua flush.

Gon laughed—a real laugh, without tension and anger, a sound beautiful in its free joy—

“If you say so, Killua,” Gon said and Killua didn’t need to turn back around to see the radiant smile on his face.

Killua bit the inside of his cheek. Fucking—gang member with his stupid gremlin hair and button nose and, and, and leather clothes! God, Killua wanted to punch that stupid grin right off Gon’s freckled face! That would probably just make Gon laugh even more, though, knowing him.

“You are an idiot,” he retorted as Gon continued to grin at him in obvious amusement. “Who in their right mind would come to Masadora, a city just ten minutes from the capital, based on a rumor?! That’s crazy, it doesn’t make sense!”

“Eh. Well.” Gon scratched his cheek. “My sources are pretty good. I trust them. Plus, like I said, you’re here so…”

Killua blinked. That sentence—it had a different meaning this time when Gon had said it. He could tell.

But, why? Why would Killua’s presence specifically make a difference? Sure, Killua had reached out to his own sources last year to help Gon when he was hurt, but that was—

Something clicked, like a puzzle piece falling into place.

Killua abruptly stopped walking. Understanding washed over him in a moment of pure clarity, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

Gon. He was...he was using Killua.

“Killua?” Gon had noticed Killua wasn’t walking anymore and had turned around. He cocked his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

Killua swallowed thickly. Hot, prickling anger raced through his veins and he had to make a conscious effort not to throw himself Gon in a fit of violent rage.

Was he okay?! Was Gon seriously asking him that after everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours?!

“You want my help finding Kite’s body,” he stated and his voice trembled with his fury. “Don’t you. That’s why you wanted to talk to me again.”

Gon must have sensed the change in the air between them; he stood up straighter, golden gaze quickly sweeping over Killua’s form and clouding over in confusion. He said hesitantly, “Um. Yes?”

Killua curled his hands into claws. “And why,” he growled out. “Did you think I would help you with something like that?!”

Honest surprise caused Gon’s eyes to widen. “Because you helped me before,” he said, like his insane reasoning was somehow obvious. “When I was hurt, you got Leorio to stitch me up and everything!”

“That was totally different!” Killua snapped. Back then, he wasn’t putting Alluka’s life in danger. Back then, the other Zoldycks weren’t so close to finding them.

Back then, he could drop Gon off with Leorio and wash his hands of him once and for all! But he couldn’t do that now, not with Illumi right on their tail!

Gon was still confused. “How? I just need to know what you know, maybe that could—”

Killua didn’t hesitate. He whipped out the gun in his back pocket and leveled it directly at Gon’s face.

Silence.

Tension hung heavy in the air between them. Killua’s chest heaved, skin tingling as if he’d been struck with lighting. Still, his hand on the gun was as steady as always. He’d been using guns since he was a child; it was an extension of him, as natural and easy as breathing. He had never missed a target more than a handful times.

And he knew Gon could tell that by the way he’d frozen in place, still as a bronze statue.

Killua watched Gon stare at the barrel with large, round eyes. They shone in the moonlight like molten gold, he thought and tightened his hold on the gun until his knuckles were paper-white. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now, no matter how mesmerizing the color and intensity of Gon’s eyes.

Those eyes trailed up the line of the midnight black gun to Killua’s arms, tracing along his neck before finally landing on Killua’s face. Killua waited, blood roaring in his ears, but Gon didn’t say anything. He just stared and stared and stared.

“You talk too much,” Killua finally breathed a few seconds later.

Gon opened his mouth, “Ki—”

Click.

The sound of the safety break being pulled out was like a thunderbolt compared to the low rumble of the river by their side. It echoed off the buildings and side alleys just as Gon’s laughter had done, ricocheted back onto their ears.

“Don’t,” Killua warned and Gon’s gaze darted to the gun before jumping back up to Killua’s face. “Don’t. Do you think I’m playing around with this? Because I’m not. I’ll shoot a bullet through your skull without blinking and toss your dead corpse into the water. Then I’ll go back to Alluka, and we’ll run. No one will figure out what happened here until your body washes ashore days from now.”

Gon listened to Killua’s speech quietly, his eyes never straying once from Killua’s. Killua didn’t know what Gon saw there—he couldn’t read the emotion behind that calculating gaze—and he did not care.

He was done. Done with being a means to someone else’s goals, done with living each day like it was his last, done with putting Alluka’s life in danger.

He wouldn’t do it. Especially for a some eccentric, adrenaline-junkie of a Hunter wanting to meddle with ANTS, of all things.

“You’re bad news, Gon,” he said calmly. “And I don’t care what you want from me or who exactly you are, I just want you out of my life.”

Gon’s face was blank as stone. “You mean that?”

Killua took a step forward and pressed the gun’s opening to Gon’s skin, right between his eyes.

“What do you think?” he asked softly.

A small breeze picked up, sounding like a low moan as it passed through the alleyways and twisted around building corners. It made Killua’s jacket whip around his waist and tousled his white locks. Still, he refused to move—blue eyes stayed locked on gold.

“I think,” Gon said quietly after the wind died away. “That you’re scared. You think I’m going to find out what your big secret is, that I’m going to ruin the peace you’ve built up here.”

The cold barrel pressed harder into Gon’s tanned skin. Killua said lowly, “Careful, Gon.”

“You asked me a question,” Gon retorted and Killua’s nostrils flared.

“Maybe. But I’m the one with the gun in my hands. You’d do well to remember that, don’t you think?”

Gon’s eyes bored into his. “You haven’t shot me yet.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“Oh, really? And what makes you so sure? I’ve shot a lot of people. Shooting you would be easy.”

“Because,” Gon said simply. “You’re Killua.”

Killua wanted to scream. Gon’s logic was pure insanity at best. At worst, it was absolute gibberish.

“What the hell does that mean?!” he barked. “You don’t know anything about me!”

“I know enough,” Gon said stubbornly.

“You—” Killua hissed and took a step closer, not missing the way Gon’s breathing hitched, “—are delusional. We had one dinner together. One. That doesn’t mean we’re suddenly best friends forever!”

“Maybe we could be!” Gon finally snapped back, mouth pulled down in a snarl that was so ferocious it made Killua freeze.

Gon took a deep breath. “We could be,” Gon repeated, softer this time. “I...Killua, listen, I’m not just here to use you and your resources, or to bother you and Alluka, even though you might not believe me…”

Killua’s throat tightened at the gentle, warm light that entered Gon’s eyes. He was looking at Killua like he had earlier, back in Killua’s bedroom—with a fondness that left Killua momentarily stunned and reeling.

“I was being honest earlier, when said I wanted to spend time with you,” Gon continued stubbornly. “I swear it. And you can yell at me all night until dawn that I’m lying, but that won’t prove anything. You know that, and I know that. So, why don’t you just...put down the gun, and we can talk about this face to face until we figure something out. Okay?”

Killua pressed his lips into a thin line. He hated how reasonable Gon sounded. He would much rather scream and rage at the freckled teen, release all his pent up frustration and anger until it was all spent.

But that was stupid. And Killua hadn’t survived this long by being stupid.

“You know what? I have a better idea,” Killua said and Gon’s eyebrows jumped up.

“Oh yeah?” he asked. “What kind of idea?”

“One where we both get what we want.”

A strange gleam entered into Gon’s eyes, the kind that made Killua’s heart lurch. He tightened his grip on the lever to keep his arm from shaking.

He couldn’t afford to show any weakness right now.

“And what is it that you want, Ki-llu-a?” Gon asked, voice dropping.

“I want you to disappear,” Killua stated bluntly. He didn’t react at all to the shock on Gon’s eyes, the way his entire body froze over like ice.

Killua continued calmly, “I want you to leave this city, get as far away from here as possible. I want you to never contact me, or my sister ever again. If I see you, or even hear your voice ever again after this, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

Gon stared at him, unblinkingly. There was no movement in his face, no flicker of his irises or twist of his lips. It was like he’d turned into stone. It was only because of Killua’s background that he was able to catch the smallest twitch of Gon’s hands, the strange pain in the depth of his golden irises.

Killua’s stomach flipped. Was Gon…upset with this deal? No, that couldn’t be it; they barely knew each other. The idea of never seeing each other after this was all over shouldn’t affect Gon that much. It certainly didn’t affect Killua.

But there was something else—something that caused a  pang in his chest at that slight sadness on Gon’s face—that almost made him think differently.

“So...if I leave you alone,” Gon began. “You’ll help me find Kite? That’s your grand idea?”

Killua scowled at the sarcasm. “Yes. It is. You can take it or leave it, but who knows if you’ll ever find your dear mentor without my help.”

Gon’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I will find Kite. No matter what. Nothing is going to stop me from saving him.”

He’s already dead, Killua thought bitterly. You’re not saving anyone by going through with this. Not even yourself.

“Sure you are,” Killua said out loud. “You’ll find him a lot faster with my help, though.”

Gon curled his hands into fists. “But if I do that, I won’t ever get to see you again. Or talk to you.”

Killua almost rolled his eyes. “Life’s rough, Gon. Make your choice. What’s worth more to you? Finding Kite, or talking to me. The answer should be obvious.”

The rest of this words died in the back of his throat. Goosebumps broke across his skin and he sucked in a quick breath; Gon was glaring at him venomously, a palpable and seething anger rolling off his body in waves.

Killua’s mouth went dry. Shit. Had he just pushed Gon too far? Maybe baiting him with Kite was a bad idea—

“Fine,” Gon bit out and slapped the gun away from his forehead. A sharp CRACK echoed around them, loud and shocking. “I’ll agree. You help me find Kite, and I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

“You or your little gang,” Killua retorted and Gon visibly gritted his teeth.

“And my gang.”

“And you can’t bother Alluka, either.”

Gon snorted, the sound was strangely bitter. “I think that’s a given, Killua.”

“Nothing is a given, Gon. And I refuse to take risks when it comes to—”

Gon blurred. Something warm grabbed Killua’s wrist, yanking him forward and straight into Gon chest.

And that was how Killua suddenly found himself nose-to-nose with very person he’d just been threatening to kill. He stiffened as one of Gon’s muscular arms wrapped securely around Killua’s waist, his other hand catching Killua’s in a bone-crushing grip. Gon’s freckled face hovered less than a centimeter away from Killua’s and, for a moment, Killua forgot to breathe.

All Killua could see were those eyes: burning and golden, so intense in their stare that they made Killua’s blood rush to his face and his heart start to pound. Gon’s eyes rendered Killua speechless. All he could do was gaze into their depths as every thought in his brain fizzled out into nothingness.

Gon opened his mouth to speak, and Killua’s already erratic heartbeat started to race like it was trying to fly right out of his chest—

“I won’t let anything happen to your sister,” Gon said, tone low and gravely as goosebumps rose across Killua’s skin. “I swear it. But, Killua. You should know, if that’s the deal you want…”

Gon leaned in, until his lips brushed the shell of Killua’s ear. Killua’s head swam as Gon whispered:

“We’re staying together until our promise is over. From now on, it’s you and me against the world. Do we have a deal?”

Killua swallowed thickly, mouth dry.

“Deal.”