#some way to hold it? i could have been spared the lifetime of aching ive lived since you left?

[universesinoureyes]

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[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Life After Snowpiercer: Still Alive

Summery- Curtis (hints of You) makes his way through the cars, and reaches the end to find a surprise waiting for him. Violence. 

If you want to read the story Curtis told Nam, read it here- Past Horrors

Word Count- 2967

Chapter 3 / Masterlist

“OPEN IT, OPEN THE FUCKING GATE!”

Curtis stood at the final gate, the final mother fucking gate, his palms slapping at it, his boots ramming into it, and his rage, all that rage from the past 17 years, and more recently the two days it took him to fight his way here, so many lives, gone. His revolution had become a blood bath, Gilliam executed, Grey stabbed, Tonya shot, You… well he couldnt even let himself go there, not yet. Edgar, well fuck Edgar he betrayed, having left him laying among the rest, setting out right after the battle of the tunnel, leaving the majority of people behind to care for the dead and wounded. There was no time to stall.  

Hours before in horror he watched the front enders slaughter his people in the television screen,among a car full of children singing praises to the almighty Wilford, the saviour. The armed men entered the gate and were lost from sight. Curtis just felt that all of you were gunned down without a care. No…. He almost broke right then and there, he could see them entering the last car, the one where he supposedly had you kept safe. His breathing picked up, his chest tightened and black stars swarmed in his vision. Then the tv crackled the noises of gunshots and flares of white could be seen coming out of the darkest gateway, all of it so grainy on the screen, but it was picture clear for him. No bodies could be seen, but the way his whole being just shattered into a million biting glass edges, slicing unseen wounds through his mind, he lost you, he couldnt keep you safe after all. Tonya smacked his face. “Curtis snap out of it, you have to lead us”

How can I? Shes gone, they shot her. His mind pieced together an image of your body crumbled in the middle of the aisle, bright red blossoming around you like a opening flower across your back, your hand outreaching for the darkness that might have hid you. Your eyes, the ones hes seen laughing, crying and loving, glassed over sightless, that part that was a persons soul, the spark that brought them life in there eyes, gone. Gone, could it really be? Curtis, she was doomed the day she chose you, and you kept her anyways. Monster. You killed her.

Suddenly Tonya came into his vision again, and beyond her, Minister Mason crumbled on her knees, her rat like face, with those beady eyes and oversized false teeth saying his name “Curtis, I can help you!” The heavy weight of the gun in his palm had a purpose, and it felt FUCKING GOOD just then. Without even a moment in between her words and him registering what the fuck she was pleading for, he marched over and right to her forehead the muzzle settled, her eyes rolling up to look at it in fear, the yellowish whites of her eyes brimming with tears, pupils focused on the muzzle indenting against her forehead. “Curtis pleeease, I beg you!”

His expression, was that of a man who no longer gave a shit what happened to him, his finger squeezed and that bullet, with a little satisfaction for him, drilled through her brain, a splatter of red grazing the entire area. A wipe of his hand across his face, he turned back towards the gate, Nam already working on it. Switching to a new cartridge, he told those still remaining. “We go forward” And just as he came to the gate, Nam got it to swing open, and now this man became the darkest part of himself he could possibly be, the compassion he would show his fellow kind was simply gone. There was no hestitation in his actions. If anyone crossed his path, they were met with cold killing rage.

Now at the final gate, that god damn signature W holding him back from Wilford. Nam tried to stall Curtis, refusing to open that final one for reasons Curtis couldnt understand. His daughter Yona, moaned on a pile of coats, drugged and drunk beyond rational thought, the child was a pitiful sight indeed. “Open the gate Nam, now. Is this what you want?” Curtis emptied his pockets of the kronoles, flinging them at the ex security intel “Take it! Open the fucking gate now!” 

In a moment of weariness, Curtis stumbled to the floor, leaning back against the frame work staring at the door. Nam took some pity on the man and tossed him a smoke “Fucker better enjoy it, its the last one.” What the hell, Curtis thought, and he lit it, taking a stale drag of nicotine he hadnt experienced since he was 16 at a party. Finally he started talking, telling Nam all about how the beginning of his life on the train went. Inside his mind though, was a totally different conversation, his way of saying goodbye he supposed although numb at this point to everything, he could still sense the pain it was causing, vibrating in waves from him. 

“Hey handsome” Your hands would slide up his chest and circle around his neck. “Almost at the end of the line”

“Appears so Baby” Another drag of smoke escaping from him. 

“I guess were lucky we got this far right? I knew you would Curtis” Plucking his smoke from his lips and taking an inhale, washing the two of you in a billowing nicotine haze. 

“Leave it to you babygirl to find the bright side here.” He chuckled, seeing you now rise to the balls of your feet to kiss him, hell even imaginary your kisses could score a fire to settle in him. How he wished it was real. That you were here, fuck he missed you it was an ache in his chest.”I dont think Im going to be returning… “ His voice drifted off softly. 

“Oh handsome, you know I will find you again, another lifetime. You dont think this is truly the end of us?” 

“No? it seems like it” 

“Handsome, this is just one of many. I love you and we will see each other again. Now go do what you came to do.” you winked and returned the camel between his lips. Stepping away and leaving him alone once more.

Curtis lifted his gaze, asking one last final time. “Open the gate, please” Nam again shook his head, going off in how they MIGHT survive outside of the train, that the snow was melting, there was no need to stay. 

“What are you fucking nuts? go out there and freeze. Leave all these people here, no. Open the GOD DAMN MOTHER FUCKING DOOR” 

Then like the gate just knew, it clicked open and a flash of yellow stepped out, Nam shot backwards and in Claudes hand was a pistol. Composed as ever, she looked at Curtis. “Wilford will see you now.” 

He simply spared a glance at Nam, whom Yona was wailing and shaking to bring back to her, and he pushed up, and into the room, all cold steel metal and blue glows, along one wall was a kitchen gallery, all dark masculine looking wood work and at the table in the car, sat an older man with intense blue eyes, staring at Curtis while frying his steak, smirking. “Curtis! Lets take a look at you.” Wilford almost sounded joyful, impressed? “You did a mans work coming all the way up here, did you know its been years since anyones walked the entire length of this train. How about you sit down, lets chat.” Claude nudged him towards the seat. With contempt he obliged, sitting down. “Would you believe Ive never been to the tail section?”

Curtis spat out “why the hell not, we to dirty for you in the tail section?”

“You think the engine isnt without its own complications Curtis?” Wilford turned from frying his steak for half a second, fixing Curtis with a look of disappointment. “It gets awful noisy up here, and not many to talk to.” 

Who the fuck does he think he is? Noisy? Trying living with a thousand people in a iron box. “Right, you got steaks, room, and that whore will bring you whatever you want.”

“Curtis, everyone has there preordained position. And everyone is in there place…” Pointing at him with the greasy spatula, the steak starting to smoke and sizzle on the stove top. “Except you.” Turning back he flipped the steaks on a plate. 

“Yea, thats what people with the best place say to those in the worst place. There is not one soul who wouldnt willingly trade places with you.” Damn straight Baby, your voice encouraged him. 

“Would you?” Wilford questioned, seasoning his steak, how in the hell do seasons still exist? Perhaps you werent always the best voice of reasoning. 

“Fuck you” Curtis spat at him with hatred and disgust. 

Wilford sighed, as if exasperated with him. “Curtis, were all stuck on this train, and its a enclosed ecosystem with a fragile balance. Med rare?” Breaking his line of thought, Curtis ignored the question entirely, which Wilford paid no heed to. “population must be kept in balance, everything rigidly maintained. Now there are times… we have to take more drastic measures.” Wilford brought the steaks over, setting one perfectly cooked one in front of Curtis. “we simply dont have time to let natural selection take over, we all would be overcrowded on this train, starving. Remember starving Curtis? It took us a while to get the protein blocks going. I am truly sorry about that.” Wilford cut a bite of his steak and chewed between the rest of his words. “So we occasionally stir the pot to speak. Get things moving… The cast out of the seven, The McGregor Riots, and this one… My new favorite. The Great Curtis Revolution. Nice ring to it, right? The kids will love it” He winked one icy blue eye at Curtis as if it was a big joke between them. “I mean who was to expect you to come through with torches through the  Yekaterina tunnel? Pure genius, nothing like Gilliam or I expected” 

Curtis snapped his head a bit and confusion clouded his face He didnt just say that. “What?”

“Now come on, dont tell me you didnt know, Gilliam and I?” Giving an amused chuckle at Curtis confusion. “Front end and Tail end, we work together Curtis, he was more then a partner, he was my friend.”

“Bullshit, I dont believe you” Curtis stated, there was no way Gilliam was friends with Wilford, the hours the two of them had spent together discussing how to get here. 

A grin crossed Wilfords face “well our plan was that the rebellion was to end at the tunnel. Kill off most of you, send the rest back. Curtis, why do you think Gilliam conditioned you to be the leader after McGregor? Sadly, it was supposed to be your hurrah. Your going out like in that old movie…. Braveheart? Going out in a fight. Your name was to give the remaining tail enders hope. So Gilliam gave you everything you could want back there. No one messed with you, got to keep the pretty girl, no one shamed you for keeping both your hands. Wasnt it nice, be able to hold her with both.” Dont you dare listen to him baby, we chose each other, Your voice echoed and stressed.  A sickness washed over Curtis as these words, Wilford seemed none the wiser over what his words were doing, or he simply didnt care. “Gilliam said you were smart, but he could control you. Sadly he didnt.” Wilford wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin down, not even eating half the steak. “And why he had to pay the price. Im going to miss my friend, our long nightly chats.”

Still in disbelief over the news, Gilliam had been a mentor to him, a father when he needed advice. All those years, and he just fueled Curtis rage for this moment. No one knew that the traitorous snake was the man they all pledged there allegiance to. 

“But your little stunt, well it took out more of the front end then I had hoped, but what fun, right? Its okay, you tail enders throw off brats pretty quickly, we will recover. Theres really just one last thing to do.” Picking up a phone, he pressed a button and waited for an answer. “How many you got left back there?” He listened and looked at Claude “We still at 75 percent?” she gave a nod and he returned to whomever was on the phone “Kill off 75 percent…. actually you know what? In celebration of our 18th year, keep 18 extra alive. Thank you” 

Before he hung up, the barely there sound of gunfire blasted from the phone, and Curtis sprang to his feet. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Claude gave off one warning shot, which ricochet the bullet around the room, causing them all to duck momentarily. “God damn it Claude! Mind the engine.” Turning to Curtis who was straightening himself out and at this point ready to get this fucken over with. “God damn high strung woman, cant do nothing with them when they get to that point.” Wilford muttered to himself, going up the steps to check on the cylinders circling. Curtis followed him up, preparing to end this now. Wilford pulling out his own pistol from his robes, he cocked it at Curtis.”Mind your next move son. I got a proposition for ya, you might want to consider.” 

Curtis merely paused cause of the gun pointing at his chest, basic human instinct still riding out his anger. Clenching his jaw, the twitch ticking in tandem, Wilford motioned him forward. “Listen, I like you, you got spunk, You get the job done. I already have a predecessor, but I need someone who can take over Minister Masons place since you disposed of her. About time someone did, I couldnt stand that woman. At the time, she was my finest choice though. You carry out what I need done, I know you have it in you.” Sliding the gun back into his robe when it seemed Curtis was no longer about to attack him. “Once in a while you dispose of some unnecessary lives we no longer have use for, do some intimidation to out of control groups. I will let you stay up front, even bring your girl up here.”

“Shes still alive?” Curtis croaked, the haze of your name clouding his senses, could it be true, was there actually hope?

“What? Of course shes still alive Curtis. First shes a woman, I wouldnt have my men kill off any women her age unless she was unfit to bear children. Even if you werent in the picture I would have her brought up here, resupply the front end. Shes a pretty thing, make someone a good wife. We need to continue the supply after all. Second, shes yours and Gilliam made it clear she was necessary to keep you compliant. Why do you think we allowed you two to play house with those orphans? Her little pet project. Why we never collected those kids, yes I knew all about them all along.” Wilford spoke as if he was doing You and Curtis a major favor. The fucken ass. Curtis could just see you now, the roll of your eyes and arms folding over your chest, Child Bearing Wife? Go Fuck Yourself Wilford.

All this information sunk in, Still alive, You were still alive. He could have you back, it was as simple as saying yes at this point. Sinking to his knees, his hands came to his face, relief watering his eyes and a soft sob broke. Wilford circled the man, whispering to him “Imagine it Curtis, life of luxury up here, have your girl back. You wouldnt ever have to live in a cage per say again. Just follow my orders like a good little soldier. Its really that easy. Minister Everett, sounds fitting right? The tail ender who actually made something of himself. Gilliam would want that for you.” Then he walked away, leaving Curtis all alone, choking on another sob, his hand came to his head and brushed his signature beanie off, rubbing his head.  No Curtis, you are here for a reason, echoes of your voice shouted at him.  “And if I say no?” Wilford snorted with disdain at Curtis, rolling his eyes with exasperation. 

“Im giving you the deal of a life time and you dont want to take it? Fine, I guess I will have her killed Curtis, marched right up here and you can watch her die, or bring her up here and give her away to someone else? You can watch another man have her. Is that a better option. Its either you do this or you die and shes mine.” He gave a shrug. “The choice of your fates is in your hands.” Wilford was no fool, he knew how to work Curtis, already he could see the mans shoulders sink in a sign of defeat. Claude was perched near the gate entrance when it opened, a glance over her shoulder widened her smile, and she stepped aside. “Ahhh, I was wondering where my predecessor had gone off to, its about time you arrived. I was just telling Curtis all about what we set up for him.”

Curtis looked over his shoulder and the familiarity of the man struck him hard, it was like looking at you, your features in this young man was so prominent, he croaked out in disbelief. 

“Matt?!” 

Yes, your brother was still alive, healthy and alive. Dressed in a fine suit, well groomed, the young man smirked at Curtis. “Long time Curtis, good to see you again.”

@what-is-your-plan-today​ @jtargaryen18​ @curtisbbq​ @p8tn0lish​

[havenoffandoms]

Running With The Wolves - Part IV

Part I; Part II; Part III

Jaskier could not remember a time in his life when his muscles had ached that much.

Lambert and Eskel were riding on either side of Jaskier, while Ciri and the silver wolf known as Geralt lead the way, keeping a fair distance ahead of the riders and their closely guarded prisoner. A pity, for Ciri seemed the friendliest of the lot and unlike Eskel and Lambert, she did not treat him like a criminal. Jaskier managed to distract himself from the muscular cramps in his legs and lower back by examining his captors’ features more closely in the dim light of the torches. Eskel and Lambert looked similar which had Jaskier wondering whether they were related. Where Eskel wore his dark brown hair at shoulder length and gathered at the nape of his neck in a low ponytail, Lambert kept his short and well-trimmed. Both sported impressive scars on the right sides of their faces. Eskel’s face was marred with several sinuous scars running parallel to each other from his right brow all the way down his chin, while Lambert bore a single scar beginning just under his hairline and disappearing in his full beard somewhere halfway up his cheek. However, it was the identical pair of amber-coloured eyes that captivated Jaskier’s attention the most. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps all witchers were related by blood, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Ciri looked nothing like them, and Jaskier was still not sure what the silver wolf looked like in his human form either.

“How long until we finally reach your home?” Jaskier asked, trying to sound as pleasant as possible considering the aggravating circumstances. Neither Eskel nor Lambert answered him, which on top of being infuriating felt incredibly rude considering Jaskier had done nothing to deserve being treated with such disrespect. If anything, he had acted like the perfect gentleman from the start. There was truly no need for the witchers’ sour attitude.

“Could I at least ride on one of your horses? I am tired from all this travelling I did before you found me, and I’m afraid all this walking and exploring has left me really light-headed. I could collapse at any time now.”

“Shut up,” Lambert snapped at him, “before I give you a reason to complain.”

“Lambert, ease off,” Eskel admonished without taking his eyes off the path ahead. Jaskier felt like sticking his tongue out at Lambert, but he did not want to risk attracting the ill-tempered witcher’s wrath. Eskel was a lot more level-headed than Lambert, which filled Jaskier with hope for his fate. Perhaps Eskel would be able to convince this Vesemir character to let Jaskier leave with his life intact. Jaskier let the possibility comfort him as he soldiered on despite the sudden dizziness that took a hold of him.

“Could I maybe trouble you for some water?” he requested weakly. Lambert was about to cut in with a snarky comment when Eskel pulled a water pouch out of his satchel attached to the horse’s saddle, which he wordlessly handed to Jaskier. The bard gratefully accepted the offering and drank greedily, ignoring Lambert glaring at him from his raised position. Jaskier felt slightly guilty for emptying the pouch of its contents.

“Thank you,” he said as he handed the empty pouch back to Eskel, who never verbally acknowledged Jaskier’s gratitude but his eyes held that spark of recognition. This was going to be a long trip back to Kaer Morhen if every member of this small group was unwilling to converse. To say that Jaskier was out of his element was an understatement. He entertained crowds with his singing and his storytelling for a living. He was a bard, a free spirit, a poet, a composer… being urged to keep his mouth shut for longer than ten minutes was harder than Jaskier could have ever imagined. Thankfully, the silence was broken by Ciri’s voice calling Eskel and Lambert’s names urgently as she ran towards them. Jaskier noticed both witchers tense as they brought their mounts to an abrupt halt.

“What is it, Ciri?”

“Geralt, he just took off. I think he’s shifting back into his human form,” Ciri informed them. Although she tried to hide how alarmed she felt, Jaskier could discern the slight tremor in her voice.

“He’ll be alright, little one. Don’t worry,” Lambert reassured her in a soft tone that Jaskier did not know the witcher was capable of. Clearly Ciri was deserving of his affections.

“We need to wait for him,” said Ciri in a tone that left no room for any arguments, “He would not have left our sides if any of us had been in the same situation.”

Jaskier found himself smiling at the girl’s fierce sense of loyalty. He wondered if Ciri was related to Geralt in some way, perhaps a daughter or niece? Even a sister, potentially? Jaskier had so many unanswered questions that he dared not voice out loud. Although Eskel seemed more civilised, Jaskier was not ready to face Lambert’s snarky attitude. Jaskier was tired, hungry and sore. A cranky Jaskier was an unpleasant Jaskier, which would not serve him at all if he were to make a good impression on the witchers and this Vesemir he yet had to meet. He would do anything to convince them to spare his life; a bad attitude would not go down well during negotiations.  

“Ciri, we have to make haste before the first snow,” Eskel reasoned with her, “Geralt can take care of himself, trust me on this.”

“Please, Eskel, we can’t leave him here. We need to stick together, that’s what Vesemir always tells us!”

Jaskier observed Lambert’s and Eskel’s reactions closely. Both averted Ciri’s eyes while the young girl stared at them sternly, her arms crossed before her chest. All that was missing from the picture was Ciri tapping her foot impatiently on the ground to complete the impression of a scolding mother. Her words had clearly made an impression on both witchers. Their reaction reinforced Jaskier’s theory that Vesemir was presumably the patriarchal figure of the group.

“Alright. We’ll wait for Geralt to come back. Shouldn’t take him long,” Eskel decreed as he dismounted his horse and relieved the beast of its bridles and metal mouthpiece. Lambert swiftly followed with a resigned sigh. Meanwhile Ciri could not looked more pleased with herself if she tried. She flashed Jaskier a friendly smile as she made her way to him. Surprisingly, neither Lambert nor Eskel objected.

“Sometimes you need to be firm with those two,” Ciri told him, clearly not worried about keeping her voice down, “but they have their hearts in the right place.” Jaskier heard Eskel and Lambert mumble under their breaths, but they did not correct Ciri. Jaskier directed a tense smile at the young woman. She saw right through him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“I… I’m just tired from all my adventures. I had enough excitement for a lifetime,” Jaskier joked, suddenly feeling nauseous. Out of nowhere, his throat felt dry and scratchy, his hands were moist. His heartrate picked up dramatically, making Jaskier feel lightheaded all over again. Jaskier’s legs suddenly gave out, causing the bard to tumble to the ground. He could vaguely make out Ciri’s voice calling out his name, but she sounded distant and hazy. The world started spinning around Jaskier. Something – or perhaps someone – grabbed his shoulder and shook him resolutely, which only worsened Jaskier’s nausea. He tried to find the strength to tell his captors that he was fine, that he just needed to lay down for a while, but his voice died in his throat as Jaskier’s body suddenly contorted in agony. The feeling came as unexpectedly as the nausea and dizziness, a shooting pain which started in his lower back and travelled through his nervous system like lightening. Jaskier’s blood felt like it was boiling in his veins and he feared that he would never again get enough air in his lungs. Panic merely added to his breathlessness as the intense pain pulled an ear-piercing howl from Jaskier. He had never felt such intense agony in his life. In his delirium, Jaskier brought a hand up to his chest and felt the heat emanating from the area through his thin shirt damp with his own sweat. It was like someone was marking him with a branding iron. The new sensation only heightened his panic.

Several more piercing screams filled the air as Jaskier thrashed against whoever was restraining him. Suddenly, Jaskier’s movement stilled as the pain subsided as quickly as it appeared. He lay motionless on the ground for a while, listening to Ciri’s voice gently coax him back to reality. He was leaning against someone else – either Lambert or Eskel, not that it mattered who it was. Jaskier was grateful for the support. The world was still spinning around him. Jaskier felt weaker than he did before, the aftermath of the experience leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

“What’s that on his chest?” Ciri asked after a prolonged silence.

“I… I don’t know,” Eskel admitted. Jaskier could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “It looks like…”

“What happened to him?” a third unfamiliar voice spoke unexpectantly, causing Jaskier to flinch in surprise at the sudden interruption. Jaskier forced his vision to focus on the newcomer, but his head hurt from straining his eyes so soon after his episode. A pained groan pushed past his lips as he pinched his eyes close in a desperate attempt to keep the migraine at bay. Jaskier tried to rise to a seated position, but his efforts were stalled by a large hand on his chest pressing him down.

“He suddenly collapsed and started screaming in pain. And there’s also this… mark on his chest. Not sure if it was there before.”

A mark? Jaskier could not recall ever having any marks anywhere on his body apart from the odd freckle or mole here and there. His hand instinctively reached up to rest on his chest. The area was not scalding hot any longer, but it did feel tender to the touch. Jaskier was not sure what could have occasioned such a sensation. A deafening silence filled the forest around them, disturbed only by the distant snorting of the horses. Eventually Jaskier managed to adjust his eyes to the dim light of the torches without feeling excruciating pain. He did not recognise the man crouching next to him, although he guessed from the colloquial tone that he belonged to the group of witchers. The familiar yellow eyes also indicated a potential affiliation.

“Who are you?” Jaskier asked, mustering courage he did not know he possessed to address the newcomer who, for all he knew, shared Lambert’s opinion and wanted any human trespassing to die a horrible death. Unsurprisingly, the stranger did not dignify Jaskier with an answer.

“He’s too weak to walk. He’ll have to ride on one of the horses,” the stranger said, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating deep in Jaskier’s stomach. The ‘mark’ on his chest suddenly came alive again as a pleasant warmth spread through his chest and all the way to his fingertips.  

“Jaskier, are you alright?” Ciri asked, her voice soft and kind. Jaskier was too dumbstruck to respond as his mind was too busy trying to make sense of what had just happened to him to string anything close to a coherent sentence.

“He’s in shock,” commented Eskel.

“He was fine when I left. When did it start?” the stranger enquired, causing Jaskier to pause. Could this be…?

“Shortly after you left, actually,” Lambert provided in a pensive tone, “one minute he was fine, and the next he was on the floor howling so loudly I was worried he would attract predators to our camp. Ciri insisted we wait for you.”

“That was not necessary. I can handle myself.”

“Try telling her that,” Eskel retorted, although Jaskier could hear the softness in his tone, “She used Vesemir’s words against us, Geralt. What were we supposed to do? The pup can play us like fiddles.”

So this was the mysterious Geralt in human form. Far from what Jaskier had initially envisioned. Broad-shouldered, grey-white hair reaching past his shoulders and loosely tied together at the back of the head, a shadow of a beard adorning the chiselled jawline and an angry red scar on the left side of his face. Facial scars seemed to be a witcher’s hallmark, Jaskier mused as he admired the man crouching over him. Geralt was heavily clad in thick leather armour which made him appear even larger and more intimidating. Were it not for the deep frown and palpable tension in the air, Jaskier was inclined to see Geralt as a handsome man. Had the circumstances of their meeting been any different, say if their paths had crossed in a tavern for instance, Jaskier would have definitely tried to sweet-talk his way into Geralt’s bed.

“You’re the wolf who pinned me down,” Jaskier mumbled almost as an afterthought. His brain still had not fully caught up with the situation. “You scared the living daylights out of me, you know?” Geralt ignored Jaskier’s comment in favour of placing a large hand on the bard’s forehead to check his body temperature.

“He’s feverish. Elevated heartbeat.”

“Maybe what triggered the aches in the first place,” Lambert suggested, but Geralt quickly dismissed the thought with a shake of the head.

“I could hear his screams from miles away. That kind of pain is not triggered by fever,” said Geralt. The witcher retracted his hand and rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving Jaskier. The bard suddenly felt self-conscious under the scrutiny and averted the intense yellow eyes carefully studying him.

“Maybe Vesemir will know,” Eskel offered.

“Maybe, but that’s not the reason we’re taking him to Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt’s tone indicated that the discussion was over. Jaskier felt a sharp pain in his chest comparable to having his chest hair plucked (which, of course, Jaskier had done many times before – some lovers appreciated smooth skin more than others) as Geralt moved away from him. He thought nothing of it as Eskel helped him rise to his feet and motioned for Jaskier to follow him to his chestnut mare.

“Easy there, Eimyr,” Eskel coaxed the horse gently as he adjusted her bridles and mouthpiece. Jaskier was unable to stifle his giggle in time, which earned him a questioning look from Eskel.

“Sorry, I… did you know that ‘Eimyr’ means hedgehog in Elder Speech?” Jaskier questioned Eskel as another involuntary giggle left him. “I’m sorry, I… I’m not mocking you, I just think it’s – well, sweet for a lack of better word,” he admitted, hoping that Eskel had not taken offence to his reaction. To Jaskier’s surprise, a small smile appeared on the witcher’s lips.

“The first thing I saw after buying her was a dead hedgehog on the side of the road. That’s where the name came from,” Eskel explained as he helped Jaskier into the saddle.

“Oh, well that’s… charming.”

“I like to think it’s original,” Eskel hopped into the saddle behind Jaskier and grabbed the reins tightly in his hand. Eimyr sighed at the added weight, but otherwise did not complain as her rider spurted her on by gently nudging her flanks with the heel of his boots. Jaskier’s back was pressed against Eskel’s firm chest, and although the close proximity to the witcher would have made anyone uncomfortable, Jaskier felt oddly safe. The bard’s gaze wandered to Geralt once more, but the grey haired witcher had his back turned on him as he listened to Ciri’s account of the events.  

“That’s one way to put it,” said Lambert as he tightened the strap of his horse’s saddle, “Eskel, the poet. You called your previous horse evall because you couldn’t think of a better name other than ‘horse’.”

“At least I don’t call all my horses Roach… is that right, Geralt?”

“Less talking, we need to reach the keep fast. The air is heavy with snow. I want to reach Kaer Morhen before the human freezes to death,” was all Geralt said in response to Lambert’s taunt.

“My name is Jaskier!” said human corrected through clenched teeth. Geralt’s eyes met Jaskier’s but this time, the bard held the witcher’s stare and refused to look away. When crouched over him, Geralt appeared far more imposing than he did now. Jaskier allowed his raised position and Eskel’s proximity to embolden him into defying Geralt’s stern glare. The bard had plenty of practice at appearing more confident than he truly felt. His father had taught him from a young age that fear was man’s greatest weakness. Admittedly, Jaskier was at a disadvantage and in no position to fight the witchers even if he knew how to, but that was certainly no reason to treat him like a criminal when Jaskier had done nothing to deserve such a treatment. If anything, they should all be grateful that Jaskier happened upon Ciri and Geralt when he did or they would presently be mourning the death of one of their own.

“My apologies. I want to reach Kaer Morhen before Jaskier freezes to death,” Geralt eventually rectified.

The way his name rolled off Geralt’s tongue made Jaskier feel unexpectedly weak in the knees.

OoO

“Are you good at what you do, bard?” Eskel asked him out of the blue.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Any good songs you can sing until we reach the keep?” Eskel reformulated his question patiently.

“Oh yes, please sing us a song, master Jaskier,” Ciri begged before Jaskier could respond to Eskel’s enquiry. The young girl looked so enthusiastic, her cerulean blues eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement as she flashed Jaskier a wide smile. How could he say no to that face?

“I haven’t composed anything new for a while, but I suppose you lot will not have heard any of my previous work. I’m afraid it won’t sound the same without a lute,” Jaskier lamented, wondering if someone had already sold his precious instrument for a hefty sum. He would probably never see his lute again. It had been the last gift his mother had given him before she passed away from the plague, just after Jaskier had left the family home for Oxenfurt. He felt a pang in his chest as thoughts of his late mother flooded his mind.

“We’re not a fussy audience,” Ciri reassured him.

“If you must sing, at least spare us the love ballads,” Lambert piped up, earning himself a reprimanding look from Ciri.

“Why? Maybe I wanted to hear a love ballad!”

“Love ballads are nothing but frivolous fairy tales. There’s no such thing as true love or soulmates. What’s the point singing about things that don’t exist?”

Jaskier could not tell if this was Lambert winding Ciri up, or if the witcher genuinely felt that way. The bard hoped it was not the latter. Love was the only magic he had ever believed in until very recently. Love was a powerful and versatile thing. The romantic love between two people, a mother’s love for her children, a child’s love for their family pet, brotherly love, platonic love… all these variants were all valid and heart-moving in their own ways. Jaskier had always looked for the beauty in love, but he was well-aware that love could be painful, cruel and ugly. His parents had been trapped in a loveless marriage, and it was only his mother’s love for him that convinced her to stay, in spite of her husband’s hits and the insults he spat at her every day. Jaskier had of course been at the receiving end of a broken heart on several occasions, but he had never lost hope that one day he would find the right person. He was not sure whether he believed in soulmates or not, but the notion was romantic and Jaskier loved to incorporate this trope in his ballads.

However, Jaskier had also learned to always adapt to the crowd’s desires.

“Well, I want to listen to a love ballad,” Ciri argued back in a petulant tone.

“I’d rather throw myself off this cliff,” Lambert countered in similar fashion.

“Shut up, the both of you,” Geralt snapped, silencing both Ciri and Lambert. Jaskier watched the scene with amusement. He guessed, judging by their personalities, that Geralt and Eskel were the older members of the group. “We’re almost there, so you two spare me the bickering.”

“Surely you can come up with a new song for us now, bard,” Eskel swiftly changed the subject in an attempt to ease the tension.

“You mean right this instant?”

“It is your profession. I assume as a travelling bard you are no stranger to improvisation.”

Jaskier wished he were as talented at improvising as Eskel made him out to be. The truth was that Jaskier felt lost without his lute, paper and quill. He would spend most of his time on the road coming up with rhymes, jotting them down and plucking at the strings of his lute. Singing without being accompanied by the sound of his beloved instrument did not only feel wrong, but it was also completely out of Jaskier’s comfort zone. Unknown terrains, but nothing Jaskier could not overcome. All he needed was a suitable muse. He found that writing verses for someone had always come easiest to him. His eyes met Ciri’s expectant gaze as she cast a look over her shoulder. Sweet friendly Ciri who stuck out like a sore thumb among these hardened witchers.

“Alright then, here goes… you think you’re safe, without a care, but here in these lands you’d be wise to beware. The pike with the spike that lurks in your drawers, or the flying drake that will fill you with horror. Need old Nan the Hag to stir up a potion so that your lady may get an abortion.”

“For the love of… we have innocent ears here!” Lambert cried out loud, earning himself a glare from Ciri.

“Is that truly the best you can do?” Eskel enquired, his tone barely concealing his disappointment. Jaskier did his best not to flinch.

“I have lacked inspiration recently,” Jaskier defended himself, forcing a smile on his lips, “but no doubt when you let me go I will sing of the chivalry of witchers who spare the lives of innocent humans who dare wander too closely to their keep. I could perhaps be your barker, maybe even improve your image. People won’t see you as heartless brutes, but as virtuous knights when I’m done telling your heroic tale!”

“Spare us, bard,” Lambert groaned, “you would probably do more bad than good with your poor skills.”

“What about you, Geralt?” Jaskier found himself asking, “what have you got to say about my singing? Come on, what’s your review, three words or less.”

Geralt did not reply straight away, and Jaskier considered it a win that the witcher had yet to tell him to fuck off.

“They don’t exist,” Geralt finally provided after long minutes of silence. Jaskier frowned in confusion.

“What don’t exist?”

“The creatures in your song.”

Well, that was unexpected to say the least. Jaskier had anticipated everything from insults to dismissal, but this comment had not featured on the list of possible responses the bard had expected Geralt to provide. It only perplexed Jaskier further.

“Alright, other than the content, how was my singing?” Jaskier prodded further.

“It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”

Jaskier scoffed indignantly at those words, momentarily at loss for what to say. He had never ever been so plainly insulted by anyone. Somehow, the fact that Geralt had been the one to utter these words made the pill ever so hard to swallow. Jaskier had expected that kind of remark from Lambert. The bard could not explain why it bothered him so much that Geralt seemed to abhor his singing with such passion.

“You need a nap.”

Perhaps Jaskier was still hallucinating, but he thought he heard Geralt chuckle under his breath. Dick. Jaskier was silent for the remaining of the journey. He found himself dosing off until Eskel’s mare broke into a sudden gallop as they finally came closer to their destination. Kaer Morhen, the witchers’ keep. Jaskier never thought he would ever live to see the day where he of all people got to lay eyes on the fabled fortress. He merely wished the circumstances for his visit were different. Jaskier dared a look over his shoulder, noticing the pink and purple hues that tinted the sky.

The sun was rising over Kaer Morhen, bringing with it a new day and new hopes. Jaskier’s heart dropped in his chest. He truly hoped this would not be the last sunrise he ever saw.

TBC.

Taglist: @wintekit-1221​ @littleredhotsridinghood​. If you wish to be added to the taglist, leave a PM, comment or drop me an ask and I’ll add you. 

[jackbabewang]

Chapter 1 — Intro: All about him

Word count ‧ 7,194

Chapter summary ‧ Just how did you got yourself into this with Jung Yoonoh?

Masterlist

At the age of twenty-four years, already a married woman, while your husband, who was your bitterest enemy since young—Jung Yoonoh. 

“Weren’t you two had always been going at each other like cats and dogs? Why are you married to him?”

Regarding this query, whoever knew you, or him, the question had been asked numerous times and for which your answer was always the same: “Harsh words or deeds can demonstrate one’s love. Couples who fight the most, love each other most. What you saw was our distinctive way of bonding.” 

However, coming face to face with your confidante and most intimate friend, Jennie, you could not help but burst open and spewed up all the pent-up misery you had kept inside. She was in a state of shock still with the news of your marriage, especially with the man, that she was yet to have a proper rest after being newly returned from New Zealand. 

“It’s a long story.” 

“Keep it short then.”

“It was a dark and dismal night, a whip of lightning streaked across the sky and then came the rain…”

Jennie’s face numb and all, “Forget about the scene and cut straight to the point!”

“Here’s where the point begins, be patient, you…”

“Stop. My bad. Keep going!”

That night, your parents had not returned home. Because you were starving so you simply cooked yourself a bowl of ramen. Right when you were about to dig in, the front door was suddenly flung open. It was unlocked. And quickly afterward, witnessed a completely drenched figure barged into your house uninvited. Dripping water on the living room floor and dirty footprints as he stalked towards you with his face darkened similar to that of the Grim Reaper. 

You stared at him, stunned and had not realized that the noodles slipped from your chopsticks and created a messy pile on the table. 

“____, let’s get married.” Yoonoh uttered no unnecessary words and directly confronted you on the subject of marriage. 

You staggered for a moment or two before going to the bathroom and fetched a large soft white bath towel and tossed it over his head. 

“The rain must have seeped into your brain. Talk to me again after you regain your consciousness.”

He did not reach for it, nor ward it off, letting the towel collided with his face and fell to the floor after. “My mom had a sudden heart attack, the doctor said she couldn’t sustain any longer.”

Although speaking of a matter so horrifying and yet no matter how terrifying, there was no expression or emotion on his face at all. But you could see the underlying dejection and fear in his eyes. 

People always say, those who understand you the most, in fact is not your loved ones but your enemy. You and Yoonoh were indeed destined to be natural enemies, therefore you could pronounce that you grasped him mentally. 

So…

You agreed to him, because you knew, the last thing his mother wished for was to see him getting married, and hoping for her only son to be blessed with consummate happiness.

On the day of your wedding, his mother was seated in a wheelchair. She was both pale and thin, but on her white sick face there was no pain or torment instead of a blissful smile. 

The next morning, his mother was then left the earth. Unlike a newly wedded couple, your first night was not spent in the bridal chamber. Rather guarded through the night by her sick-bed, yet still unable to reclaim her lost life. 

Upon the day of his mother’s burial, relatives and friends had long dissipated though Yoonoh stood before her tomb, unmoving for a long time. In the faint drizzle, his lone figure appeared intensely glum and dispirited. 

As you moved to hold the umbrella above him, astoundingly, stream on stream of tears rolled down his face. It was ever since you were little to witness the cold, arrogant and wicked man crumbling in distress for the first time. In this lifetime, perhaps even only once, you did not have the courage to look, not wanting to look, nor bear to see. 

From now on, he no longer had a family in this world. What kind of sorrow could it be?

Albeit unintentionally, the reminiscences had been going on for an indefinitely long period of time. If it was not for Jennie who snapped you out of your trance, you were afraid that the events for the past three months would be recalled vividly to your recollection.

Jennie’s return from New Zealand was unbeknownst to her parents, in case they would show up early in the morning at the airport waiting for her. By the time she gone back home, the Kim’s were genuinely surprised, overly excited, and ended up preparing a feast. You were, undoubtedly, coaxed to stay over and had a sumptuous dinner with them.

With your belly filled, you left the Kim’s and returned home as well. Inside this large house spread over two levels, it was quiet as always and almost deserted. Besides you, there was no other. 

Yoonoh was always busy with work that it was close to inhumane, he returned home late at night when you were asleep, and when you woke up in the morning, he was ready to leave for work. You could only catch a glimpse of him and neither of you exchanged a word. 

After taking a warm bath and tossing and turning restlessly in your bed, you went down to the kitchen and made yourself some supper, deciding to treat Yoonoh as well. 

When you finished eating, you retired to the living room and sat back to watch TV while resignedly cushioning your small body into the soft pillows of the couch. Not realizing the time, you fell asleep just like that. 

Awakened the next morning however, every joint in your body hurt and your nape felt stiff as if bruised or sprained, your legs were numb and you did not dare to move a muscle. Your body felt as though it was not yours anymore.

*Click* 

It was at that very moment, there was the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. You bore the ache and twisted your neck to the direction of the entrance. Yoonoh was finally back.

Seeing as he approached, you immediately looked up at him through tear-filled eyes and sent out SOS. He did not spare you a glance instead his eyes swept over the table of a plateful and an empty dishes, coldy he said, “Why didn’t you clean it up?”

“……” Whatever.

“My legs are numb, lend me a hand and carry me to my bed.”

Hazel eyes slanted ever so slightly beneath ebony dark brows, narrowed and judging. “Can you be more decent? Do you not have a bed to sleep?”

Last of all, he was not willing to provide help anyway. He went to get a document in the study and headed out once again. 

You had to endure the discomfort and led yourself hobbling back to your room. Then you felt your head spinning and began sweating profusely although the weather gave you no reason to. 

The next thing you knew was you woke up in a hospital bed, sitting beside you was Yoonoh flipping through document or magazine of some sort. 

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position and immediately felt the trickle of something wet from your nose. You jolted, thinking that it was blood and when you tilted your head down to expect redness on the white sheets, it only left a damp spot. You felt the dripping once more so you lifted your head in panic. A hand that was not yours, happened to be one step ahead and tossed a box of tissues to your side.

Pulling out sheets of them you wiped off the snot and then turning to him pitifully, pitiably. “How did I even catch a cold?”

His brows scrunched together and warned, “If you ever sleep on the couch again then don’t sleep on the bed anymore. I’ll move the couch into your room.”

“……”

The dramas, the novels; when a woman made supper for her man and fell asleep on the couch while waiting, even catching a cold because of it, in that case would not the man feel touched and guilty, and even showed pity and care for her?

But why was it when it came to you and Yoonoh, resulted in a plot twist? Sigh. It was the reality after all.

“I’m hungry.” You gave up any attempt to explain further and changed the topic instead.

He tossed his phone over, “Order it yourself.”

Then, utterly indifferent, you took his phone, brushing off any fat hopes you had for him. At least you were kind enough to order his portion as well.

Of course, he paid for the food. 

Catching of common cold was not such a big deal other than infusing drips of IV into your vein, but it did consume quite some time therefore when you were discharged from the hospital and returned home with Yoonoh, it was about 10pm at night.

Two plates that was once left on the table were already gone. Yoonoh chucked the package of prescription cold medicine over the couch and went upstairs to run a bath, while you were sitting on the couch watching TV. You were kicked back to your room the moment he came out after he had had a shower. 

Yes, you and him slept in separate rooms. The two of you had never been under the same blanket ever since your wedding day because your marriage meant nothing more than a show. 

You both had clearly understood that this marriage existed in name only. Even though his mother had passed away, you still had to keep up the pretense before others and could not get a divorce just yet. 

That was because your family and relatives did not know about the truth. When Yoonoh said he wanted to marry you, your parents agreed unhesitantly. 

As for the reason that you readily accepted him, besides being voluntary, it was also for the reason that…

Yoonoh had always been the pride of the neighbourhood, came through with flying colours in his studies and had received numerous awards. Looking all handsome and picturesque, he was an exceptionally well-behaved child in every way.

After graduating from university, he started a business and became the CEO of his own company. Whoever’s parents from a decent family background would not want to marry off their daughter to an outstanding son-in-law as him?

After taking two tablets of your medication and putting away your mug in the kitchen, it started raining heavily outside. Immediately you made your way upstairs to shut the windows. But, as you walked down the stairs, you remembered that Yoonoh had no umbrella when he left in the morning so you ran upstairs again, changed your clothes and picked up an umbrella as you headed out.

Once you reached his building, you called but he had not picked up so you waited outside instead. As autumn weather set in it commenced the approach of cool weather, even though it was just drizzle, it was cold. That was probably because you had not fully recovered, you sneezed only at the touch of a little breeze.

At a few minutes past five o’clock, most of the employees had left for the day however there was yet a sign of him.

You called his cell phone. Again, nothing.

Around five-thirty, you were contemplating whether or not you should go inside when he finally showed up. However tagged along next to him was a woman dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her. 

Certainly you knew the woman, and needless to say, she was Yoonoh’s sweetheart—Park Sooyoung.

When did she come back from overseas? Judging her stance, she must have darted to his company as soon as she got off the plane. 

No, perchance, Yoonoh could have picked her up from the airport and brought her to his company straightaway. 

He saw you, and his brows scrunched slightly in what you could not comprehend the perplexed expression in his eyes. You considered for a moment the gaze that would give you an inkling. 

You walked towards him, arm outstretched, “Mr. Jung, here’s the umbrella you’ve ordered, thank you for supporting Gmarket. It’s our pleasure serving you and we certainly look forward to doing that in the future.”

The furrow cleaving his brows deepen, the gloominess in his eyes suggested the forecast of his outburst. 

You kept the customary smile fixed on your face, indisputably shoving the umbrella into his hand. “Please give us a five stars rating if you’re satisfied with our service. Your support is our motivation. I’ve orders to be delivered so I’ll leave you two alone then.”

With that being said, you scampered off. Yet merely a few steps away, your nose tickled and worked up a loud sneeze. 

You were of a weak physique which had to do with your menstrual periods. It was winter when you first had it. You did not know any better and forewent appropriate preventive and protective measures which resulted in having a cold womb, consequently a poor body condition. You were more tended to commitment than anyone else in the aspect of taking medicines or injections. 

You changed your clothes on the return and laid in bed for a few minutes then, Yoonoh was back as well.

You listened for any stray noises downstairs and wondered why did he even come home so early? Shouldn’t he be catching up with his old flame? Suddenly the door pushed open and Yoonoh stepped inside with a glass of water which he sat on the nightstand next to your bed. 

“Take your medicine,” he said in a commanding tone. 

“I did.”

“Really?”

You fumbled with the aluminium strip and explained as you pointed the hollows, “It’s taken three times a day, two pills at the same time. I took once last night before I went to bed, once this morning, and once this afternoon. It’s evening now so I took another. Look, there are eight little holes, just about the four times I took them.” 

He went silent for some time, “Drink the water then.” 

“I’m not taking any pills, why should I?”

His face went a shade darker than it already was, registering annoyance and impatience, “Drink more warm water to recover quickly.”

He couldn’t possibly cared about me, could he? But his face said otherwise. 

You lifted the glass and blew across it before taking a sip. As a token of appreciation.

For a few minutes, there was silence. No one spoke a word. 

The warmth of the glass radiated through your hands as you clutched it. You hesitated to say anything. But then, you asked a question that you should not have asked. “She probably didn’t know about our marriage, did she?”

Whether he may be feigning ignorance or not, he questioned back, “Who?”

“Sooyoung!” As soon as it left your mouth you regretted them. 

Beyond doubt, his facial expression changed to that you could not tell if he was shocked or grew alarmed. 

“You know her?”

You mentally rolled your eyes, how could you not? You and him were both from the same high school and it was not all that rare you saw him sending her back home, ate together in the canteen and also tutored her in the library.

“Oh, she was our high school’s beauty queen, how could I not know her?” You were faking it.

It was as if he had a flash of remembrance of the fact that you were, indeed, from the same high school as him. He nodded and hummed. 

Tch, tch! Sooyoung was not even our high school’s beauty queen, it was Jieun!

It had been a year since Jennie left Korea, afterall she was born and raised as a legit Korean, eventually her lifestyle still bore traces of her origin. At those times she was in New Zealand, she was skinnier than she once was and spent less money on clothes than she once did. Which pretty much gave her the reason to go all crazy shopping and challenging the possibilities in an unlimited credit card. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just take it as a wedding gift.” And she did not miss the chance to pamper you as well. It was not like you could object her intention anyway, but it would be better if she stuffed your pockets with cash than buying you that overpriced piece of denim skirt. Just saying.

At some point in time, you underestimated her energy after all the walking and shopping, she was livelier than you were, who was already flopping on her king-sized bed like a dead fish. She pulled at your arm, practically dragging you up to a standing position and forced you into slipping on the newly bought skirt. Then she began dolling yourselves up for her #mirrorselfie and uploading it to KakaoStory with the caption: Couple look with Wifey! It’s been awhile! ♡

You could not help but giggled lightly. It was like you were back to college years once again, where in the dormitory reenacting roles in historical dramas and addressing each other by Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness and My Lady. So you left a comment: Thanks Hubby for the gift!

No longer after the post was reacted by your old classmates and friends. You scrolled through the chains of comments until you reached the bottom, where you surprisingly saw a comment from the one and only Jung Yoonoh. 

What? That lad even comments on social media now? Is he out of his mind?

That replied though, he was definitely out of his mind. It was only a single word, and the word that women hated the most: Ugly.

You contemplated for a moment, had you wanted to fire back at him. However just when it was about to send through, a surge of brilliance stopped you and reminded that all your basic needs were benefited from the saint, you had to mind your words and not to offend the lad. 

Another day of scrounging dinner at the Kim’s, it was only eight when you returned home. The first thing that greeted you was the sight of Jung Yoonoh sitting on the couch with a towel wrapped around his waist and a laptop perched on his lap. 

“Oh? You’re early today!” You said to him while switching into your pair of fluffy room shoes.

His long, lean fingers walked and leaped across the keyboard and he did not lift his head to look at you. “This is my house, do I have to report it to you when I come back anytime?”

You rolled your eyes but wisely held your tongue. You were about to make your way upstairs to freshen up when he called after you, in which you turn to him as you tried to keep the annoyance off your face, “What?”

“Make dinner.”

“No, I already ate.”

“I haven’t.”

“Go make it yourself then!”

Finally, he lifted his head and the look of impatience painted over his face. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“What does that have to do with me?”

He barked, “That’s what women supposed to do!”

You roared back, “Ask Sooyoung to make it for you then!”

After you spoke the hasty words, you regretted them. 

You both instantly went silent. A fraction of a minute later, Yoonoh closed his laptop with a loud *smack* and turned to go upstairs. 

You stayed rooted to the spot, feeling a strange, distressing internal conflict. In saying so, didn’t you just indirectly tell him that you knew there was something going on between him and Sooyoung?

You took a shower and sat in your room, towel drying your hair while listening for any sound of movement from downstairs. Assumably he would make dinner for himself since you refused to, however, there was no sound at all.

Your hair was half-dried, and in the end you were not able to continue being hard-hearted so you pretended to go downstairs to fetch a glass of water and, in coincidence, walked past the kitchen. But there was no silhouette of Yoonoh.

Your mind immediately relived the time where his mother held onto your hands so dearly and exhorted you to take good care of Yoonoh, words about handing over her only son to you and some sort as he could not take care of himself well. For the sake of his mother, you made him a hearty meal. 

It was nothing fancy, just basic home cooking of the most you could do. Then you went upstairs and knocked on his door. There was no answer. You knocked again. No answer. With your patience wearing thin, you scolded behind wooden door, but even so there was no response. 

Is he seriously being ridiculous right now? How old is he? Five?

You took the spare key to his room, opened the door and switched on the lights, but there was no one inside. So you went to his bathroom. Saw none. Rounded his study, still nobody in sight. 

This jerk, he couldn’t possibly went out when I was in the shower?

A sudden unanticipated disappointment filled you, then it slowly grew into grievance. Without a second thought you dashed downstairs and dumped platefuls of hot food into the bin. 

While washing the dishes, a slippery plate slid from your hands from harsh scrubbing and dropped to the floor where it shattered into pieces. 

You felt worse than before and your intelligence plummeted as your mood did that you picked up the wreckage of the plate with your bare hands and in the process you accidentally cut yourself.

You had no idea if it was because of the excruciating pain or the oppression you had gone through, tears streamed down your face at such an intensity that you thought you were walking in the storm. 

Next day when you woke up, inside the kitchen sink there still remained unwashed dishes, glass shards still littered the floor, there were still blood stains, and Yoonoh still had not come home. 

He probably had a feast last night, right? A man like him that wouldn’t have to trouble himself, how would he be left to starve, right? Moreover, he would’ve spent on Sooyoung as well, a fancy candlelight dinner even! Pft. 

Whether Yoonoh was throwing a tantrum, or had he already became fed up with wherever you were, ever since that night of bickering, he had not been back for three days. And there was not even a call from him. Though he got on your nerves all the time and you disliked every bit of him, you worried about him. It was inevitable.

In the end, you could not hide your concern and went to his company in search of him. Found out that he had went on a business trip and would be back by a week. 

Right when you reached home, you were informed that your parents flew over from Ulsan. When you went to pick them up at the airport, the two oldies kept glancing over behind your back, you knew what they were up to but much to their regret you had to tell them, “Stop looking. Your dearest son-in-law went on a business trip. He couldn’t make it.”

It was only then they held back their bulging eyes which almost popped out of their sockets. 

Wheeling their suitcases and walking a few steps behind your parents, you breathed a silent sigh…

You and Yoonoh had grown up in the same neighbourhood where your doors faced each other, and eventually developed a strong bond between both households. You were always at each other’s houses when little, Yoonoh was an only child and his mother had always wanted a daughter, but his father had passed on at an early age and his mother refused to remarry as well. And because you had always scrounge for free meals at the Jung’s, his mother then claimed you as her own child. 

Even if Yoonoh was discontented with your regular visits, he could not utter a single word of complaint before his mother. However behind that, he called you shameless for doing so. 

But you, avoided all costs of verbal dispute and resumed chomping down the cookie that his mother gave you where he had none, was enough to drown him in suffocating anger. 

It was as if he was putting on a revenge on you that he showed up at your house as well for good food. Though he had a better understanding than you in pleasing the adults. He would wash his dishes and put it back in the cabinet, while the kids in your family would just throw everything aside and skipped away for cartoons. Which explained why your mother adored him more than her own seedlings. 

He needed not to munch on cookies, merely the way your mother compared you all to him was enough to trigger your bunch of siblings. 

Yoonoh had already been a bad-tempered boy when he was born. Besides his mother, practically no one was in his line of sight. He frequently bruised the kids in your neighbourhood and even though those adults told their children to stay away from him yet you were not afraid of him at all. 

Though he did not like you any better, he would never hit you. Because you were not dumb like others to always get to his bottom line. Contrastingly, in a corner, you would throw pebbles to whoever he was fighting with. However every single time those wicked losers would come over his house with their parents seeking for justice, and it was unavoidable for Yoonoh to be punished by his mother. It be kneeling in repent and some spankings.

You had always wanted to tell his mother that it was never his fault, instead it was the others who had thrown awful insults at him. But often when you were about to speak up, his death glare immediately shut you up, as if he would pounce on you once a word left your mouth. 

Over time when one another grown a little, the kids in your regional neighbourhood were humorously defeated not only in terms of stature, but his personality, modesty, gentility, excellence in education, as well as his outstanding looks. Whereby the kids no longer had the guts to provoke him to anger, and would not want to pick a fight on him. He did not bother about those disgustingly dirty kids who played marbles on the ground either way. 

It was truly despondent that you were still unpleasant in his eyes. No matter what, as long as you were involved in even the tiny littlest thing that, unfortunately, he caught on to, he would mock and ridicule you about it. 

And of course, unlike the others in your neighbourhood, you would not change your perception towards him just because of his transformation, regardless his exceptional qualities, he was still the Jung Yoonoh who seeks revenge for the smallest grievance, the Jung Yoonoh who was short-tempered. 

The past was of such flash-like episodes, yet in your childhood was all about Yoonoh’s, his forbearance, his incisive wit, his irreconciliation, his courageousness, his senselessness, and many many more, even of the simplest recollection of the past, it was limitless. 

Apparently your parents were not here with the prime intent to see you, it was your nephew who recently got admitted to the hospital so they were here to pay a visit. And it was only then they remembered that you and Yoonoh were in Seoul as well so they decided to drop by along the way.

Even if they dropped round your house for awhile, it made you wary of the current situation where you and Yoonoh were seemingly in a cold war. Yet your parents chose the wrong timing. 

You tiptoed into the bathroom and made a call to Yoonoh while your parents were not looking, but you were left wondering what was the point of him getting a phone if he never answered. 

Just in case, you sent him a text, and to be honest you had no expectation of a reply. But as soon as it was transmitted, the lad called you back. The tone of his voice did not sound so good as he began. 

“What do you mean pretend?”

“Well… I…”

“I was on a business trip in the first place, don’t make it sound like I’m you.” He was making an oblique reference to your parasitic lifestyle. 

The contents of your message were:

So here, the current situation was that you had a request to make to him, so you passively accepted his humiliation and refrained from biting back. While he was still on the line, hurriedly you stepped out into the living room. 

“Hello? Jung… Yoonoh, you must be tired, aren’t you? Did you eat well and get enough sleep?” In order to have your parents believed that you both were truly and madly in love, you spoke in a voice so soft, so gentle. 

However the jerk he was saw it as a chance to poke fun of you, “You think that I’ll have the appetite with your voice sounding like that?” 

You had really wanted to scold him for it but your mother came to you and reached for the phone. As you handed it over, you did not miss the chance and indicatively cleared your throat and said, “Mom wants to talk to you.”

Then, you heard your mother murmured abstractly. Unsure of what Yoonoh said to her, just that she was glowing brighter than a rainbow trout if you had not noticed.

You dug in the refrigerator and pulled out ingredients for dinner when your mother barged in and snatched away the kitchen knife and shoved the phone back into your hands. “There’s nothing for you to do in here. Get out and have a nice talk with your husband.”

With the phone clutched in your hand as you stomped into the living room, your father was seated comfortably on the couch reading newspaper, while for that someone over the line, you were lost for words. 

To be frank, there was nothing you could talk about with him!

You did not say a word, he did not sound like he was going to, you both were quiet for a little more and lastly you were the one to break the silence. 

“Oh? You’re having a meeting? Alright, I’ll hang up now. Yes, yes. I’ll take care of mom and dad, don’t worry.” Without hesitation you ended the call. 

Ever since you got married to Yoonoh, it had been awhile since you had eaten your mother’s cooking, it was what you missed the most. As soon as you hung up the phone, you skipped into the kitchen to snatch a mouthful or two but once again your mother kicked you out.

There was some time before dinner was ready so you went upstairs to take a shower. However it was never to your expectation that, during the interval of having a complete shower, another being showed up downstairs in the living room. 

With surprise at what you saw, you stood atop the steps for a moment. Rubbing your eyes as to confirm the reality of his presence, you stumbled over and questioned him in disbelief, “How did— back— here?”

In normal times he would definitely be lifting his chin in an arrogant sneer, “This is my house, why do you even care?”

But thankfully he was humane as he spoke before your parents, “Mom and dad came to visit us once in a while, how could I not be back?”

Your father was undeniably moved and said, “Work is important, we’re here for a short while only. Don’t let it interfere with your job.”

A gentle, harmless smile was still on his face as he spoke, that for a second you almost forgotten his true nature. “Don’t worry, dad. I’ve arranged everything before I came back.” 

“That’s good.”

He sure was a great actor. 

Your mother used to be the head chef of a restaurant and therefore it had become a practice to prepare a table of food of a vast variety. 

Yoonoh courteously pulled out a chair for your mother and seated her at the table, then it was as if he was out of his mind, he went round to pull out a chair for you as well, acting like a complete gentleman. 

During dinner, your mother occasionally picked up a morsel of food and filled his bowl but never once for you. Right when you were stuffing rice in your mouth in nothing but insane jealousy and doubting if Yoonoh was her biological son instead, the man with the surname Jung picked up a piece of meat and put it in your bowl, then added, 

“Honey, eat a lot. You’re getting thinner!”

*Intense choking*

You were not expecting that and surely were taken aback by the intimate form of address. The grains were on their way down your throat as you started choking and coughing and sputtered on like a useless engine. With your tear-filled eyes, you went to fetch a glass of water. After a few sips and a bit more coughing you calmed down again. 

All the while you glared at him but he pretended as if nothing ever happened and continued his ministrations of apple-polishing your mother. 

It was kind of late when dinner was over. Your parents had been visiting at your aunt’s for the day before hopping to another stop at your house. You understood that it was beyond tiring for the elders of nearing fifty years of age so you made them stay for the night. 

You did not forget to evaluate any changes of expression on Yoonoh’s face, after all he was the homeowner. It was to your consideration that if he did show a slither of unwillingness, you would take it as an excuse that the guest room was yet to be organized and cleaned up and tagged along your parents to stay at the hotel. 

Though you never thought that he was sensible, there was no sign of disapproval, yet with greater fervour than you when he insisted your parents to stay for the night. Which he even said how the house was desolate and quiet with just the two of you and it was then finally the household was liven up. 

Your parents were easily persuaded in that case, there was a moment’s hesitation before agreeing. However you suddenly regret with the idea of their stay, because your mother broke into a wide grin as she eyed your belly, “You two should work hard while you’re still young. Very soon you’ll have a jolly time.”

Simultaneously you and Yoonoh were drowned into awkwardness and your eyes drifted towards one another for a second. 

That night, it was like your parents were truly heading for the goal of giving life to this dullsville, they strongly disagreed to your ‘aabb’ rooming system and insisted upon ‘abab’. There was no room for discussion even though they were supposedly the guests and then you and Yoonoh were forced into the same room. 

You looked back to the door that was slammed shut behind you in total despair, something within you was stirring. The heck, why does this feel so awkward?

To conceal your agitation, you ignored his presence and glanced around his room, scanning everywhere. Honestly, though you were three months married, on the fingers of one hand you could count the number of times you had entered his room. And those times were no longer than a minute. 

You did not expect his room to be this simple and… bare. Not in a way that the finishings were improperly done, his room was basically decoration-free. 

A desk was set directly before a large floor-to-ceiling windows, a nightstand by the bed, a book sitting on top of it, two wardrobes occupied the other end of the room. Other than that, there was not even a small-sized pot of air purification plant. 

It was monochromatic and painfully neat like a hotel suite. Was it to him that just a place to sleep?

On the east was the ensuite bathroom. Yoonoh was already disrobing himself as soon as he got in. You knew that he wanted to take a shower, which he clearly was not implying anything else, however…

“Can you— Can you go inside to change…” You could feel your face burning crimson. Even though you were cool with anything and brazen all along, it did not mean that you would not be shaken up when a man openly put up a strip show before your very eyes. 

Yoonoh cast a careless glance in your direction, his hands that were unbuttoning his dress shirt paused with the job half done, his face demonstrating the slightest bit of hesitation as if he too, realized that it was inappropriate to take off his clothes in front of a woman. 

Nonetheless, Jung Yoonoh who was haughty and high-minded in the extreme as ever would never yield to you either way. His moving hands that stopped for no more than ten seconds began undoing the buttons once again. 

“This is my room. I can take off my shirt wherever I want.” As soon as he finished pronouncing the last word, the garment slid off completely and showcased his milky skin, physical strength evident in the muscles of his forearms, lines that ran in to his waist and then down over the cut of his hips, thick ridges sculpted his abdomen. 

It was unbelievable he had such great physique. He must have gone to the gym often. 

Your body, your face burned still more when you heard the unmistakable metallic clinking of a belt being unbuckled. Immediately you whipped your head away from him. 

After all the scuffling of Yoonoh removing every article of clothing in existence, he stepped into the bathroom. Only when the door swung shut with a loud swoosh and clicked closed you dared to turn around. Subconsciously taking a peek over the pile of clothes on the floor, it was purely accidental you saw a pair of navy Calvins.

This pervert, how dare he stripped naked and not even be cautious that you might turn around without warning?

When Yoonoh was finished he emerged with a towel wrapped around his hips. Not even once he spared a glance in your direction as he headed to the nightstand while drying his hair with a smaller towel. He picked up the only book and took a seat on the chair by the large windows and began reading in leisure. 

You were still stood in the same spot, still contemplating whereto your feet should set upon. Truthfully you were already feeling drowsy. Yet, in spite of that, you had not had the nerve to climb onto his bed. There was only one bed in his room, other than that you could sleep on, you had no choice in the matter. 

He kept no extra blankets in his room and could not even make up a bed on the floor. You felt unsettled and perturbed inside, you riddled with anxiety over him fixing you up for the night. Well, you were definitely overthinking it. Thought the kind of person Yoonoh was would be aware of your existence? Dream on. Until his hair was dried, he climbed into the bed, giving absolutely no thought at all to where you were going to sleep. 

The weather had been very cold for several days, had on your thin clothes, your skin broke out in goosebumps for being exposed to the chill air. There was no way you were going to stand there forever waiting for a miracle. On what basis you were to bear the freeze while he was sleeping so comfortably on the warm bed? Being therefore thick-skinned from the thought of injustice, you proceeded to climb into the other side of the bed, pulling the blanket over your shoulders until you were cocooned in its warmth. 

You were pretty sure that Yoonoh would pick on you and you had a ready comeback for that. With every second that passed, however, his eyes were fixed on the book as he flipped through the pages before he switched off the bedside lamp, slid under the covers and went to sleep with his back turned to you. 

You were faced with the floor-to-ceiling windows, the curtains were opened and the bright city lights of Seoul looked like fairy lights in a distance. You attempted to distract yourself with the view and trying to actively suppress the feelings of nervousness. The more you suppress, the more they erupted with volcanic force and your heartbeat increased threefold. 

For it was the first time in your entire life, to share a bed with a man. The man was Jung Yoonoh and most importantly… he was completely naked. 

Your face flared for the umpteenth time that night. You squeezed your eyes shut with all effort to keep your mind from wandering far and wide, across topics best ignored. The world fell to a blank, dead silence but it was strange, unusual. As if there was a significant heat radiating from his body had seeped through that you felt yourself heating up even more in response. You wiggled your way upward, getting ready to lift the thick covers—

“Move again, you’re getting off.” Yoonoh growled suddenly and you were too scared to stir around by then.

After a brief internal struggle, sleep finally claimed you without knowing yourself when or how, but it was not the peaceful sleep. You began tossing, turning and shuffling the covers trying to get in a comfortable position. Abruptly, you felt something warm and soft which gave you an illusion of your fluffy white throw pillow. You reached over and hugged it tight, nuzzling into the puff of cloud and blissful contentment permeated every cell of your body. 

However, it seemed like it was getting warmer and warmer, like an electric blanket on a cold December night. Your skin burned and stung. You wanted to lift off the covers, but strangely, you found yourself unable to move. 

At that moment, you were sure you were sleep paralyzed, which you had experienced a couple of times during your life so it was not new, but even so it felt unusual. You had only felt numbness throughout your entire body, you could not open your eyes. Or speak. The weight crushed on you this time radiated the heat of boiling mercury, and there was something unknown that tunneled beneath your shirt. 

[theseviolentdelightss]

Counting Paths XVII

Series Summary: After a lifetime on the run from the Empire, Reader makes a move that could have drastic impacts for both friend and foe. A Reader insert/fanfic. Gifs belong to their respective owners.

Word Count: 4386

Author’s Note: Sorry again for the wait.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI Part XII Part XIII Part XIV Part XV Part XVI

It was cold when you awoke. Eyes fluttering slowly as the memories came flooding back. The cantina, the code black, running yourself ragged which would explain why it felt as if someone had taken every muscle in your body and rung them out like a soaked cloth.

“Called it!” The sound of Roland's voice, while a small comfort, did nothing to stifle the pounding in your head nor the ringing in your ears. It rather enhanced it, earning an agitated groan from you as your eyes struggled to adjust. “Two hours and fourteen minutes, everybody pay up!”

All around you came the sound of grumbles. Money being dug out of pockets and wallets as Roland chuckled proudly. His paw out and ready for the taking.

“Did you seriously take bets on how long I would be passed out?” You asked coolly once the crowd had cleared. Narrowing your eyes as you stared down the older rebel, hands over flowing with newly acquired credits.

“No...” Roland stuttered. If you hadn't known better you would have sworn you saw guilt in his eyes as he adverted his gaze. Catching a glimpse of your reflection it was easy to see why.

Fainting from exhaustion and dehydration had done you no favors. The color in your cheeks had yet to return and your hands trembled as you ran them over your face. Apparently the first medic on site had struggled to find a vein, leaving the inside of your elbow an abstract mess off deep purple and sickly yellow skin. The bruise bloomed around the needle in your arm like a dying violet. Growing more gruesome by the moment.

When word first made it to Roland that you had ran out of the bunker with less than three minutes to spare he had assumed it was just another rumor. They seemed to have been following you as of late. Sprouting like weeds about your feet. It was only when Penny began to panic, pushing through the rows of bunks and cots towards the small infirmary area that he began to believe it. Nearly 30 flights of stairs and you had ran it three times in under five minutes. It was no wonder the exhaustion had gotten the better of you, not to mention the liquor. “Well maybe-”

“Give it!” You held your hand out, turning your attention away as you waited.

Dragging his feet Roland placed the pile of money into your palm. Licking your thumb you flipped through it before handing over a small percentage.

“Finders fee.” You smirked softly, feeling your head beginning to clear.

Following the IV in your arm you recognized the mixture hanging above you. A combination of saline and nutrients. Glancing around it was obvious that you weren't the only casualty of today's surprising great escape. A handful of cots sat occupied in the dimness. Strangers with swollen ankles and knees, a man with a thick piece of gauze wrapped about his head. Even from this distance you could spot where the blood had began to seep through. On the cot nearest you Penny lay dozing with no sign of visual injuries. Gently pushing aside her red curls you couldn't help but chuckle as the drool ran down her cheek. For now she would be fine, the hangover wouldn't hit her till she woke up.

“Where's Zara?”

“Off sleeping I think. Took some skinny kid half an hour to convince her you'd be fine.” Roland replied. “Want me to go tell her you're up?”

“No let her rest.”

“They need you.” Roland's eyes again shifted to the ground as he spoke. “In the control room.”

“Why?” You asked, unsure as to why the Rebellion saw need to punish you so quickly. Sure, you had disobeyed a direct order which in itself wasn't a first, but no one had gotten seriously hurt. Minus the guard you had punched but he had it coming. You still had the scar beneath your hairline from where he had struck you long ago. That was well worth a week of messhall duty. Still, that wasn't an urgent matter, not enough to warrant a trip to the control room in the middle of a code black no less.

“The hell if I know.” Roland spit bitterly. He was an amazing soldier yet for all his military prowess he hated authority more than a hormonal teenager.  “Captain Andor ordered me to stay here and fetch ya as soon as you woke up so hop to it.”

“You do see the IV in my arm right?”

Licking his thumb and forefinger Roland reached forward, snatched the plastic butterfly wings on either side of the thin needle and slid it out from under your skin like a warrior drawing a sword.

“For fucks sake Roland!” You hissed, reaching up to smack the curly haired man across the back of the head. What had only moments before been a dull ache now stung white hot. “There's a reason people don't actually do that you jackass!”

A half roll of gauze and a handful of curses later Roland was escorting you through the dark tunnels that lead to the lowest level. To keep the temperature from spiking most everyone had been spread out among the various floors. The bunker itself had seven and at its heart sat the war council. The most highly concentrated area of people and still it did nothing to stave off the cold. By the time you made it through the beehive of workers busy at various consoles and tablets you could faintly see your breath in front of your face. Wrapping your arms around yourself you tried to find some degree of warmth. Dragging the sleeves of your jacket over the palms of your hands as Roland motioned you forward.  

“Baby...” Roland muttered, side eyeing you as you began to shiver.

“Not all of us have been blessed with blubber to keep us warm.” You replied, eyeing Roland's protruding gut. Typically you weren't one to shame a person for their body but considering this was the same man who had only minutes before ripped an IV from your arm, you found it in yourself to make an exception. Thankfully it shut him up, allowing you a few moments of silence before coming to a stop outside a large set of wooden double doors. Unlike most on base these had been built in the old style that swung inwardly rather than sliding open or closed.

“From here on out your on your own kid.” Roland leaned against the wall as he spoke, retrieving a small knife from his pocket he began to pic the dried grease out from under his fingernails.

Sighing you knocked on the old wood nervously. The door opened with a low groan, kicking up a whirl of dust around your feet as you slipped inside. The space was noticeably cooler, the mood even more so.

“Sargent L/N please come forward.” Mon Mothma spoke calmly as always. She was a decent and honorable woman but that didn't mean her composed demeanor wasn't hiding an ugly truth.

Perhaps they had finally decided you were too much of a liability.

Maybe this most recent act of defiance truly was the last straw.

Stepping forward into the dim light your eyes scanned the various faces for anyone who might speak on your behalf. Cassian's dark eyes found you instantly, as if your gaze had been magnetically drawn to him. He stood with his arms crossed, jaw tense as if he were grinding his teeth. Draven sat at the large wooden table that stood in the center of the room. A massive piece carved with the same script and symbols as the door behind you. It had likely been there as long as the temple itself. Standing strong for hundreds of years. You couldn't help but drag your fingers across the surface as you made you way to your seat. 

“We have serious matters to discuss.”

The edge to the ginger haired woman's tone might have upset you if it weren't for a sickening realization, one that washed over you like an icy wave.

“Where is Theodren?” You asked instantly, trying hard to hide the fear growing inside you. The silence that followed was no help, seconds ticking by like hours as you waited. “Where is-”

“We don't know.” Mon Mothma replied, her tone gentler than before yet straight to the point. No time for curtsies. “Commander Theodren had departed for Bakura shortly before we were alerted of an Imperial patrol entering our atmosphere. Until the code black has been lifted any attempts to contact him are impossible.”

It felt as if the floor had been ripped out from beneath you. That weightless feeling of falling that jolts you awake. Surely you must be dreaming. Your luck may have been notoriously bad but this was nightmarish. Grabbing a hold of the table for support you allowed your body to slump into the chair nearest you. Mon Mothma continued to speak, for how long you can't be sure, it wasn't until General Draven snapped his fingers in front of your face that your mind cleared. Glazed eyes blinking for the first time in minutes.

“Sergant L/N?” Mothma spoke calmly, holding out a hand to hush Draven as she stepped closer. The room was dim but it may as well have been pitch black. Even with eyes open you looked but did not see. It was only Theodren you thought of and the space where he should have stood. “You're bleeding.”

The words had no sooner left the woman's mouth when you felt the first drop collide with the back of your hand. Closing your eyes tightly you allowed a second and third to fall before reaching for the source. A stream of blood trailed from your right nostril. Stickily coating your fingertips and leaving the taste of metal on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as Cassian moved forward. His face calm and composed as ever. Before he could step any further you were already standing. Hand held firmly against your nose trying in vain to stem the flow. It made sense, your tears had long ago been used up, only blood remained to spare.

“I apologize...” You muttered, pushing yourself away from the table and towards the large doors you had came in through. They sprawled open rather easily at your touch. The chill of the room a distant memory as the heat bloomed at the base of your neck and began to spread. The mix of worry and fear enveloping you as you searched for an exit, not caring where it went. It was solitude you yearned for. A space of your own where you could internalize the wars currently raging between your head and your heart.

Sighing you spotted a door that led through yet another dark hallway. Pushing your way further down till the last door stood waiting. Without so much as a knock you let yourself in. The stale smell of dust and age rushing up to greet you as you stepped inside. Rows of empty shelves lined the walls. The pale light above flickering out as you settled to the floor.

You hadn't prayed in years. After everything you had done you doubted the anyone would pay you so much as a passing thought. Still, even as the cold seeped through your bones you found yourself murmuring the words. Blood stained hands held tightly together.

“I didn't know you prayed.”

“I don't-” You replied, red eyes adjusting to the small lantern the captain held in his hands. “not usually at least.”

“Neither do I.”

“Why not?”

“Because they were never answered.” Cassian's eyed you cautiously as he knelt in front of you. Noting that the bleeding that had provided you a perfect out had yet to stop. Sitting the lantern to the side Cassian dug his hands into his pocket, retrieving a clean rag he leaned forward to press it delicately around your nose.

“Mine were never answered either.” Your voice felt small as you reached forward, trying to take a hold of the rag yourself, expecting Cassian to let go yet he held on.

“What were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

There was no hiding the tone to your voice. It was one thing to question yourself. The last thing you needed right now was Cassian doing the same.

“I told you to stay where you were.” Cassian replied calmly, ignoring your weak attempt at an attitude.

“I never told you how my brother died, did I?” That caught him off guard. The frustration draining from his eyes as he gazed back at you. “Come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever mentioned him at all...”

Settling onto the floor with a thump Cassian let the rag slip from his grip. His expression gentler than before, clearly this new revelation was not what he had been expecting.

“His name was Willis I had just turned eight when he was born. I was so excited. I'd finally have a friend that I wouldn't have to say goodbye to after a few months...but mama died on the birthing bed so I had to step up. It wasn't easy, especially not at first. I was still just a kid myself, and a part of me hated him for taking my mother away, but that didn't last. He was too kind, too gentle to hate and he was so smart. He could be a real brat about it too, always correcting my spelling.” You chuckled lightly, losing yourself in a memory for one brief moment.

“He heard it first, woke me up. I thought he was just having another bad dream but then I heard it too. It all happened so fast, the chaos, the slaughter. It started in the outlying villages but it didn't take long to make its way into the city. All of the sudden they were in the streets, kicking down your door, coming through your front room window. That's when the exodus started. I had never seen anything like it. All around us the buildings were going up in flames. You could hear people screaming. I passed the body of the baker who had made my bread that morning lying in a gutter as we fled. His face was gone but I recognized his apron. It felt like we were at war.”

“Antar IV.” Cassian said quietly, turning his head to face you. “The massacre. You were there?”

Nodding you tried to steady your breathing. It had been years since you had spoken about that night and for good reason. Anytime it came up you felt your pulse quicken, the cold sweat forming on the back of your neck. As if some small part of you was forever trapped in the moment and just for a second it had pulled the rest of you under. Drowning you on dry land.

“I lost my father's hand in the crowd, my brother begged me to go back, but I had promised...so I didn't. I couldn't. I wanted to more than anything but I knew if I stopped, if I looked back we would both be lost. So I lied. I told him we would meet my father at the ship. The old man had been working on the same one for ages, kept it docked at this little hole in the wall station he worked at. I thought for sure by the time we got there all that would be left was ash and rubble but there it stood. No more than twenty yards away. I was moving so fast I didn't even see him until-”

You voice hitched in your throat with a weak shudder. The hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as you began to run your hands up and down your thighs.

“I begged him to let us go. We were just children. I swore to him we wouldn't tell anyone, not a soul, but he just put us in his sights.” Turning your eyes to the ceiling you were happy not to have to look at Cassian's face as he heard what came next. “I tried to move Willis out of the way, but he had twisted his ankle during the run and I was carrying him. All I could do was turn around, try to cover him with myself but it didn't make any difference. That fucker cut us down like we were nothing.”

“How did you survive?” Cassian asked softly.

“I drove a screw driver through his eye and out the back of his skull.” You replied coolly, the sadness in your voice replaced with an entirely different emotion. “The first life I ever took and it didn't even matter. Willis died anyways. He bleed out in my arms. One second he was crying and trying to say something and then he just...went still. I had never seen someone die before but I watched as the spark drained from my brothers eyes, and that pain...”

Again you had to stop, try to calm your thumping heart as it pounded away against your chest. There was a reason you avoided this subject. It was always painful to speak of, but now with Theodren's fate so uncertain it only served to frighten you more. To remind you of what it felt like to lose someone you love.

“I didn't think I'd ever get over it so I locked that part of me away. Stopped caring about everything and everyone.”

Across from you Cassian shifted, leaning his back against the wall as he took in all you had to say. Not entirely sure if he should be relieved that you were sharing so much with him or worried. Crossing his arms to stave off the chill he watched as you fidgeted with your hands, pulling at the edges of your sleeves, tucking those relentless loose curls behind your ears. His own hands itched to reach out, take a hold of your own and still them but he thought better of it. Now wasn't the time.  

“I didn't join the Rebellion because I wanted to be a hero Cassian. I didn't give a damn about glory. A quick death was all I wanted, but then I met Theodren, and he was alone too. He was the only one that ever...he was my one true friend. I lost him once already, I don't want to lose him again.”

“You won't.” Cassian said with a bit too much certainty, overcompensating in his hopes of comforting you. “Theodren is the smartest person I know. I'm sure once this code black has lifted you'll hear from him.”

“Why are you here Cassian?” You asked suddenly, the urge to be alone over powering your usual politeness.

“I was worried about you.” He replied, not defensive in the least. A welcome surprise given your own change in demeanor.  “Didn't want you to be alone.”

“I appreciate that Cassian, truly I do, but you don't have to worry about me.” You stated, maintaining your full attention on him. Noting the subtle change in the distance between the two of you. Typically the captain preferred to put added space between the both of you yet today seemed the expectation.

“Look, I worry.” He stated simply, laying his hand out flat in a gesture to simply accept that fact and let it go. “Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

“Cass I-” Chewing your bottom lip you considered lying, it would be easiest for everyone but Cassian deserved the truth. “It's Theodren, if there is even a small chance I have to try.”

“Are you in love with him?” Cassian asked, his eyes glued intensely to your own.

“Who?” You scoffed. “Theodren?”

The dark haired rebel nodded sheepishly and in that moment you could have kissed him because despite everything that had happened Cassian had managed to do the unthinkable. He made you laugh. No sweeter a gift could he have given you in that moment.

“What?” You half chuckled, the very idea of it still tickling your sides. Not that Theodren wasn't a catch, it was just so far removed from anything you could have imagined. The two of you had been best friends for years and not once had there been even an inkling of romance. “No! Of course I love him but Theodren is like family to me.”

“I understand.”

“Are you alright?” You asked, watching as Cassian began to draw in on himself. Scooting himself to sit with his back straight and flush against the wall. Hands swiftly shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“I'm fine.” He replied but you simply shook your head. How the hell was this guy a spy?

“You're a shitty liar you know that.” You nudged Cassian's knee with your foot as you spoke. Thankful that the tension had for a moment been lessened enough to catch your breath.

“Only with you.” His answer was short but it was enough to return the tension tenfold.

Whelp, that didn't last long...

“And that bothers you?”

“I'd be a fool if it didn't.” Cassian's brows knitted as he spoke, looking any where but at you.

“Why?” Leaning forward you grabbed a hold of Cassian's hand and squeezed it tightly. “What's so wrong with being honest with me?”

“You're always saving people.” Cassian said simply, at last turning his gaze to meet your own.

“What-”

“Just-just listen.” He insisted calmly and you couldn't blame him. You were well aware of your bad habit of interrupting people. It wasn't that you were rude, some people just spoke so slowly by comparison.

“You're always saving people. You saved Zara, you saved Roland, hell you saved me the night we met. Its who you are.” Sighing Cassian let his eyes drift to where your fingers sat wrapped around his own. Your knees inching closer, unwilling to give in to his poor attempt at gaining distance.  

“When I came down here I wanted to yell at you, to tell you that you were being foolish, convince you to stop...but I can't because that's not you.” Shaking his head Cassian smiled gently, his eyes warmer than before. Filled with an emotion you couldn't quite peg down but you were all too aware of how it made you feel.

“What's so wrong with that?” You half whispered.

“Nothing.” Cassian answered, turning your hand over in his own. Fingertips softly tracing along the lines of your palm. “Nothing, it just frightens me.”

“Cass I'm fine, seriously you don't have to worry-” You tried to put on your best smile as you spoke. If Cassian truly worried about you the least you could do was assure him you would try your best to stay alive. It was a bit of a priority anyways but if it mattered to someone else why not try harder?

Even if you weren't sure how to feel about it.

“And what if you weren't?” He asked sharply, turning the tables and instead interrupting you. “I know why you went back for Zara. I know why you want to go after Theodren. Because what if something happens and you could have done something but didn't? Then that's on you right? But if you go back and something happens to you then that's on me.”

“I'm not your responsibility anymore.” 

“It's not like that.”

“Then what is it?” You pushed, trying to hide the faintest hint of desperation in your voice. As if months of second guessing had inevitability lead you here. “What are you so afraid of Cassian?”

“You want to know what I'm afraid of?” Cassian eyes burned as he leaned closer, bursting the tiny bubble of personal space that existed between the two of you. “Losing you.”

And there it was. The truth you had been running from. It wasn't often that you felt vulnerable. It wasn't the sort of thing you were allowed, not if you wanted to stay alive.

“Your turn, no bullshit this time.” Cassian said, his mouth twitching as he spoke.

Taking a sharp breath through your nose you allowed yourself a moment of rational thought. To think of how very wrong this may all go. How much you could stand to lose, but that moment ended.

Unblinking you watched as Cassian's eyes flickered with longing. Something you only now realized had been there all along. They continued to follow your every move, watching as you inched closer until your knee dug into his thigh. Trembled and shifted. A pale hand snaking its way along the back of his neck. For a moment Cassian felt as if his brain had stalled, unable to process what was happening like a teenager second guessing themselves, but then you kissed him, putting those fears to rest in an instant. It was everything he had remembered from that night many months ago when he had first stolen a taste. 

Only now there was no limit. No hesitance.

It surprised you as well, how easily you melted into his grasp. Calloused hands swept along your sides until your shirt began to bunch between his fingers. The touch of his skin burning as it grazed your own. Feather light fingers threading through your hair as he pressed you against him.

Sometime later after you finally gave in to the need for oxygen did you allow the reality of what had just happened sink in. The terrifyingly true severity of it washing over you all at once. Still, it was impossible not to smile and lean into the palm of Cassian's hand as he held you close. Foreheads pressed against one another. So close you could feel his every exhale on your skin.

“That.” You finally admitted, knowing for certain that you were now well and truly fucked.