#sorry I have no idea if this makes sense I’m on some weird allergy meds right now

[4lph4kidz]

when Jake wins the worst alpha kid poll

[thebookreader12345]

Transference

Pairing: Blake Gallo x reader

Summary: Y/N and Blake have only been dating for a few months, and when someone Y/N saved begins to constantly flirt with her, Blake begins to get a little jealous

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: mentions of an allergic reaction and a slightly heavy makeout session

Word Count: 1,398 Words

“Blake,” I breathe out as he cornered me against the front of the washing machine, his lips dancing across my neck.

“Hmm,” Blake hummed against my skin, a sensation that sent shivers down my spine.

“What if someone sees us? This is the laundry room. It’s not exactly the most concealed place,” I point out.

“Everyone knows we’re together, so I don’t see the problem,” Blake said and untucked my shirt from my pants to run his hands up and down the skin on my sides.

“I know, but I’d prefer to do these things in private, like at your place after shift,” I suggest. Just then, the alarm bell rang throughout the firehouse, and the dispatcher came over the speakers.

“Ambulance 61, person down at 625 South Wood Street,” the dispatcher announced.

Blake groaned. “Oh come on!”

“We will finish this later,” I tell him and peck his lips before running towards the apparatus floor. I met up with Sylvie near the ambulance as I was tucking in my shirt, and together we climbed into our assigned seats. Sylvie always took the driver’s seat, and I always took the seat next to her.

“So uh, what was all that?” Sylvie asked.

“What was all what?” I question.

“Your shirt was untucked,” Sylvie noted. “What happened there?”

“N-nothing,” I stutter, my face turning a deep shade of red. “I was just using the bathroom.”

“Uh-huh,” Sylvie murmured. While everyone knew that Blake and I were together, I didn’t like talking about our relationship to our friends and co-workers. I liked keeping everything between the two of us. That included PDA and whatever else the two of us decided to do in private. So, I was not going to mention the little event that had happened minutes prior. In a few minutes, we pulled up to the correct address and grabbed our things from the back of the ambo. Upon entering the house, I heard no noise at all.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I shout into the house.

“Over here!” a man called out. Sylvie and I followed the voice into the dining room in the back of the house where there were two men, both of whom were on the floor. The one who talked to us looked fine. His friend, on the other hand, did not. His face was swelling up, and his breath was coming out in wheezes.

“Sir, my name is Sylvie. This is Y/N. What’s your name? What happened?” Sylvie quizzed as the two of us bent down.

“M-my name’s Andre. I-I don’t k-know what happened,” Andre stammered out. “Noah asked if I wanted to come over for dinner so we could watch the football game together, and after taking a few bites of food, this happened.” I glanced up at the table to see what Noah had eaten, and once I saw that it was shellfish, an idea popped into my head.

“Andre, has Noah ever eaten shellfish before today?” I ask.

Andre shook his head. “Neither of us have. We wanted to finally try it.”

“Well, shellfish is the most common allergy in the world, but very few people actually know they have it,” I inform Andre and grab the epinephrine from my bag. Seconds after injecting the epi into Noah’s arm, the swelling on his face started to go down, and it became easier for him to breathe.

“Oh my god. Noah! Don’t ever scare me like that again!” Andre lectured his friend.

Noah chuckled weakly. “Sorry.”

“We’re going to take him to Chicago Med just so that the doctors can examine him and make sure everything is okay. You’re free to follow us if you’d like,” Sylvie told Andre. After dropping Noah off at the hospital, Sylvie and I made our way back to Firehouse 51, and I thought I would never see either Noah or Andre again. Little did I know I’d be wrong.

......................................

Next shift had been pretty relaxing so far. We hadn’t had any calls, so everyone was just lounging around in either the break room or on the apparatus floor. I was hanging out with Blake by Truck 81, and as we were talking, a familiar face walked into the firehouse.

“Noah, hey,” I greet the man and make my way over to him.

“It’s Y/N, right?” Noah questioned.

I nodded. “That’s me. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Noah replied. “The doctors confirmed my allergy of shellfish, so now I know to never touch it again. They also told me that if you hadn’t gotten to me when you did, I might’ve died. I guess I just wanted to come say thank you.” Noah then produced a beautiful bouquet of lilies from behind his back and handed them to me. “Here. These are for you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I tell him and take the flowers from his hand, inhaling the pleasant aroma that emitted from the lilies.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Noah confessed. “It’s the least I can do for you saving me. I uh, I actually have to go, but I hope I see you around sometime.” And with that, Noah turned around and left the firehouse. I smiled as I made my way back to Blake, my gaze still trained on the flowers in my hand.

“Who was that?” Blake asked and glanced between the flowers and the exit.

“Just some guy Sylvie and I saved last call,” I respond.

“He brought you flowers,” Blake pointed out.

“Like I said, we saved his life,” I reiterate. Blake frowned, and I sighed, taking a step towards him to place my hand on his shoulder. “He’s nobody special, Blake. I’ve still only got eyes for you.” That made my boyfriend perk up a little bit. “I’m gonna go put these in the break room. I’ll be right back.” For the second time, I believed that I would never see Noah again. But like before, I would be wrong.”

Time-skip to Next Week

Seeing Noah again was kind of weird. I mean, I had former patients stop by to thank me, but usually once they say their thank yous, I never see them again. For Noah to come back, I was getting the sense that something was up.

“Hey, Noah. What are you doing here?” I question.

“I came to see you,” Noah answered.

“Oh. What for?” I quiz.

“I feel like we’ve had a connection ever since we first met, and I can’t stop thinking about you. So I came down to see if you wanted to go on a date with me,” Noah proposed. I sighed, finally understanding what was happening here. I had heard about this a lot since I worked in a firehouse, and I guess it was finally my turn to deal with it.

“Noah, there’s this idea called transference. It basically means that someone falls for the person that saved them. I think you’ve gone over what happened to you so many times, and you’ve attached yourself to me because I’m someone who made you feel safe. But you don’t have actual feelings for me. What you’re feeling, it’ll go away sometime soon. And I actually have a boyfriend,” I add and rock back and forth on the balls of my feet.

“Oh,” Noah murmured. “I feel so embarrassed now.”

“Don’t be,” I counter. “Multiple people have been in your shoes.”

“Well, I guess I should go. Thank you though, for everything,” Noah told me before leaving the firehouse. As soon as he left, I was joined by Blake.

“What’d he want?” Blake asked me.

“He asked me out on a date,” I reply.

“He did what? What’d you say?” Blake questioned.

“I told him no, obviously. I have you, remember? He had the classic transference thing. You know, where someone falls for the person who saved them,” I explain. “Now, after this crazy week, all I want to do is make out with my amazing boyfriend, and I believe the laundry room is empty right now.”

“I thought you didn’t like kissing in there because someone could see us,” Blake exclaimed.

“Right, but I’m feeling a little risky today,” I claim. “So, you in?”

Blake smiled. “I’m so in.”

“Then lets go,” I say and grab onto his hand to drag him to the laundry room, where my crazy week would only get better.

__________________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarlettsoldier @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13​ @anotherfan07

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

TLC

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi Toyotomi x Naiya (female OC) x Masamune Date

Word count: 4,507

Warning: Pampering, Fluff and sprinkle of spice.

Written by: darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts

Tagging @umbralaperture​ for this commissioned piece.

Masterlist 

---

TLC

This was getting beyond a joke. Every breath was agony, something clawing at her throat and pulling on her lungs like they were a set of bagpipes. Lack of oxygen meant every minor ache and pain suddenly sparked throughout her body a thousand times worse.

She tried to move only to be hit with a blinding pressure pain buried somewhere behind her eyes making her wonder who planted an axe there. Sleep was desired and never came. Endless exhaustion added to the melee of things that now just made up a list as long as she was tall for what was wrong.

Duvets, blankets and pillows clung around her like a nest. Somehow, she had managed to crawl into bed. Medication hadn’t worked the way it should, it hadn’t worked at all. She groaned against the faint light creeping into the bedroom from the curtains and became aware of something loud enough to shake the gates of Hell.

“Ugh… not now.” She grumbled and tried to bunch the pillows up around her ears but the hammering didn’t stop. “Fine, not like I can sleep anyway.”

She peeled back the layers of comfort and dragged her body as close to vertical as she could muster. Using the wall to steady herself, as well as any furniture along the way, she slowly made it to the front door. Her fingers fumbled against the lock. The bolt slid back and the door cracked open.

“This had better be good. I put off dying to be here.” Before she could even focus on who had come to call on her, the door was pushed wide. A set of strong arms wrapped her up in a bone-crushing hug driving what little air she had in her body out along with her ability to stand under her own strength. “Oof!”

“Naiya! Thank god you answered I was this close to kicking in the door.” The familiar comforting voice of one of her usually level-headed boyfriends sounded muffled from her position against his broad chest.

“Yoshi mate, you might want to ease up on the whole bear hug before you really have a need to worry.” Masa reached out with one hand ruffling her hair as he reminded Hideyoshi of a human’s requirement to breathe. “Sorry Lass. I brought food.”

Masa held up two bags he had in his free hand giving them a light shake before brushing past her and Hideyoshi to get into the house.

“I can see that. I thought you guys had a key for here anyway?” She couldn’t really focus on what was happening but was really trying to follow along.

“We do but someone left it in the bowl back at ours.” Masa called out from the kitchen. She could hear the bags being emptied along with the thud and clink of produce being laid out on the counter.

“If you hadn't distracted me before we left, I wouldn’t have forgotten to grab it from the bowl in the first place.” Hideyoshi grumbled his arms releasing their tight hold as he chided Masa.

“How was I distracting you? I was trying to think of things to get from the store on the way over. It was your idea to get the key bowl anyway.” Masa appeared again a teasing grin on his face before changing his voice to give his best impersonation of Hideyoshi. “Can’t just have keys hanging around we need some order in the place.”

“You kept asking if I thought today was a cheat day or not. And I do not sound like that!” Hideyoshi sounded exasperated and a little embarrassed. He was normally the reliable one so forgetting something like the key to their girlfriend’s house proved he was worried.

“Well, it makes a difference to Kitten.” Masa chirped back.

“Hey guys as much as I enjoy the Saturday night live experience, I’m just gonna let you do your things and crawl back into my pit.” She tried to remove herself from the loud, all be it amusing, interaction. It was taking a lot more strength than first imagined to remain upright and she didn’t want to worry them anymore.

“Hold up.” Hideyoshi reached out and grabbed her as she swayed on her feet. Apparently urging herself to try to move forward had failed. His attention left Masa and was now completely focused on her. One of his large hands swept back her bangs as he inspected her. “I knew it, you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. I am perfectly healthy for a bag of infested, cursed… you know what? I can’t even be bothered finishing that.” Hideyoshi’s hand felt cool against her face which was enough to tell her she was probably running a slight temperature. Great if there was one thing I don’t need right now; it’s my whole system shutting down with some weird bug.

Naiya silently hoped that whatever was happening was just a result of her failed meds. A nasty side effect from inhalers or something not clearing her airways.

“You really look pale, Lass.” Masa came to join them. His piercing blue eye peered out from under his hair and began to rove over every inch of exposed skin she had.

Hideyoshi’s inspection was one thing. It made you feel like you were being wrapped up as he softly moved over you. Masa’s inspection was just as caring but wilder in its execution. If one man was good at making her feel bound, the other was good at making her feel exposed. Between one kind of smothering and the other, it was impossible to hide anything from these two.

“You haven’t been looking after yourself, have you? I told you not to work too hard.” Hideyoshi huffed, the furrow of his brow becoming deeper as if he were the one suffering a splitting headache and not her.

Sensing the start of one of the dreaded lectures on observing better self-care Naiya wriggled in Hideyoshi’s grip freeing herself. She then attempted to sidestep Masa who had moved in a pincer movement to keep her in place without touching.

“It’s not a question of working too hard Yoshi. Its allergy season and my damn meds are useless. With everything going on I can’t go into work, I got told to rest.” In her flurry of explanations designed to defend herself, she could feel whatever little energy she had failing her with every word.

The room felt like it was spinning and she ended up finding herself steadied with a strong arm from Masa as he wrapped it around her waist.

“So naturally you didn’t.” Masamune was still smiling but she could tell by his tone even he was concerned. His gaze really was stripping away at her masks. As fast as she put one in place, he was there to remove it piece by piece.

“Hey what is this gang up on the sick person?” She batted at Masa’s chest that was ever so slightly visible under his black shirt. In a moment of clearer breathing, the smell of his own natural scent mixed with the spices and soap he used at work hit her stronger than they normally would.

“You just said you weren’t sick.” Hideyoshi pointed out the flaw in her exasperated argument.

“I’m changing my mind if it means I got two fussing mother types crowding me.” She didn’t so much manage to break free of Masa’s grip as he backed her up against the sofa and allowed gravity to work its magic. Her legs gave out with very little effort and she bounced on the cushioned seating feeling the lurch of her body reacting in a sickening wake up call.

“Right here’s how its gonna work Kitten.” Masa said as he crouched down at her side and held her hand. Making sure she was focused on what he was about to say before continuing. “I’m gonna go in the kitchen and cook dinner for three. You are gonna eat however much of it you can and I’ll turn the leftovers into meals you can eat over the next few days. I’ll even make a big pot of chicken soup for you.”

“With dumplings?” She knew she sounded like a child right now but dammit if someone else cooking meals for her and preparing them so she just had to reheat them later didn’t sound like a slice of Heaven.

“Sure, with dumplings if that’s what you want.” Masamune chuckled and began to ruffle up her hair. She hated to think how bad it looked but it felt nice to feel his touch.

“While that is happening. I’m going to run you a nice refreshing bath and you will soak in there while I tidy up a bit.” Hideyoshi said as he bent down to pick something up off the floor and she could already tell from the way he was looking around the room that he was silently appraising the lack of housekeeping.

“Hey just so you know I haven’t been home much and—”

“You said you weren’t going into work!” Hideyoshi pivoted on the spot, discarded magazines and papers in hand making him look like he had begun to sprout wings.

“Oops.” She became defensive and inadvertently put her foot right in it.

“Don’t ‘Oops’ me, Madam. I was right to be worried about you. When we hadn’t heard from you in the last couple of days I just knew --.”

“Hahaha, you tell her Bud.” Masa applauded with a slow clap as he laughed.

Masa had been practically vibrating attempting to hold back the laughter while watching Hideyoshi as he flapped around. It didn’t take a genius to work out why. The papers in his arms really did look like feathers when he moved.

“Masa you are not helpful.” Naiya was struggling to hold back a fit of giggles as well. His laughter was contagious and it didn’t help that Hideyoshi seemed to have transformed into the mother hen he was always teased of being.

“Little kittens that are as weak as you at the minute can’t complain. Now go along with Yoshi and his mothering while I go sort out food. I’ll even help with the housework while it's heating up.” Masa dragged her forward on the sofa so he could plant a loud kiss on her forehead before leaving the room again to vanish into the kitchen.

“Fine.”

*

It took the entire time the bath was running for Hideyoshi to finally calm down enough to take in what had been happening without butting in with ‘I told you so’ or ‘Why didn’t you call me?’. He checked the meds she had taken and called someone who sounded grumpy enough to be Ieyasu.

Steam, taking time out and sleep. That was what he ordered alongside the bath to get cleaned up and generally try to relax in. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already heard from others and sleep was harder to come by than they all made it sound. Logically she knew they were right, if she could sleep some of what she felt would clear but her lungs we against it.

The water was just the right temperature with clusters of candles lit around the bathroom and fragrant bubbles popping against her skin. Too bad her nose was so blocked in the humid atmosphere she couldn’t really enjoy the whole sensory experience.

Laying there submerged in the hot water she heard the two men moving around her home. She wasn’t worried they were both so good at domestic stuff it put her to shame more often than not. She was only feeling guilty that she had caused them to worry so much.

As she breathed in and out, she willed her lungs to stop that rasping rattle she had come to associate with trying to live. Asthma, allergies… what were you supposed to do if most of the environment you lived it was hell-bent on killing you?

After about 10 minutes soaking it felt like some humanity had started to return to her. She wasn’t magically fixed but the warmth of the water had managed to regulate her own internal thermostat and she was at least a normal temperature again.

She slipped down so her shoulders went under the waterline and tilted her head back to get her hair wet. While her head was under the water, her ears picked up a muffled noise and pulled herself up just in time to see a panicked Hideyoshi rushing to her side from the now open bathroom door.

“Naiya, are you alright? I knew I shouldn’t have left you for so long in the bath when you are not well.” His hands brushed back her wet hair from her face and she was thankful for the bubbles in the tub giving her a veil of decency.

“I’m fine. I was just getting my hair wet.”

As she scrambled to grab the bottle of shampoo it was plucked from her wet grip.

“I’ll wash it for you.” Hideyoshi didn’t sound as if he were treating this like a chore. Still, it felt a little strange to have this happening and she found herself naturally trying to decline the offer.

“You don’t have too I’m fine.”

“You just gave me a mini heart attack. Let me.”

The cap popping open felt like it was echoing in the room. She watched the viscous liquid pour from the bottle and coat his hands.  His hands softly covered the crown of her head and she closed her eyes against the heavenly sensation of his fingers working in circles and patterns over her scalp. The sound of foam squelched near her ears sending a tingle up her spine.

Callused fingers, softened by the warm water, brushed softly over the shell of her ears. Following her hairline to her nape and then returning back up to the crown again. He lightly rinsed his hands in the water before easing her lower, carefully supporting her head on one arm as he rinsed her hair free of the soap with a small jug.

Naiya’s eyes opened to see her dreamy, blissed-out expression reflected in his soft caramel gaze.

“There now all better?” He asked while kneeling at the side of the bath. The last of the suds from her hair ran freely over his bare arms highlighting the lines of toned muscle.

“Y-yes.” She stuttered. She had been sure her temperature had returned to normal until her overactive imagination began to take over. Drawing lines and connections in a game of dot to dot with little encouragement that only served to fuel a fire in her cheeks.

“That’s my girl. I left your towels here but if you want, I can help you get out?” He got up and paused at the door waiting for her reply.

“No, I should be fine.” The bubbles in the bath were nearly depleted as they fought against the soap of the shampoo. She was becoming aware again of her own vulnerability.

“Ok. I’ll just be the other side of the door so don’t struggle if you can’t manage.” He was still worrying.

“I’m feeling a bit better I can…” She trailed off. Acting tough was not going to work when he had already seen her looking rough as hell. She forced herself to meet his eyes and nod. “Fine, I’ll call if I need you.”

“Good girl. Take your time.” Hideyoshi either didn’t notice the budding embarrassment or he was being too much of a gentleman to call her on it.

She was thankful to the bath for giving her skin an all-over flush, masking a lot of her give away blushing response to him. The door shut and she could hear Masamune shout up the stairs.

“Grubs up!”

*

She pushed herself a little too much to get dressed quickly so as not to keep them both waiting. When she returned downstairs. She was wheezing and trying to hide the fact she was once more in pain with her lungs rattling in her ears.

“Here Lass sit down before you fall down.” Masa joked but he was clearly trying to care for her without making it into a big thing.

Her back sunk into the sofa cushions as her eyes fell on the spread of food that was laid out on the coffee table. She hated her nose right now because if looks were anything to go by the food would have smelt divine.

“What is all this?”

“Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner… Supper.” Masa indicated all the different dishes like he was on a game show before giving a shrug as if to say it was all no big deal.

“If you were gonna cook all this why bother asking if today was a cheat day or not?” Hideyoshi came in carrying a big jug of water, slices of orange and lemon floating under a layer of ice. Placing it on a side table where some glasses were and took a seat next to her on the sofa.

“Hey, Cheat days are Cheat days only when you are healthy enough to be on a diet. When you are sick you should eat whatever you can and whatever you feel like so you can get strong again and continue to fight those pesky calorie demons.” Masa defended his cooking taking a seat on the other side of her.

“Haha, I like your logic there, Master Chef.” She giggled even more at Masa’s comments because of the huffy look that was now gracing Hideyoshi’s face. She shouldn’t take joy in him being put out but she didn’t have the energy to tell herself that.

“Why thank you.” Masa bumped shoulders with her grinning.

She once more found her mind wandering in a fog of fantasy as she registered the fact, she was the filling to this comforting boyfriend sandwich. As distractions from ill-health went it could have been a lot worse.

“However flawed it may be.” A tall tumbler of iced water appeared like a cold wedge between them as Hideyoshi passed out drinks.

“Yeah well, I’m sure the whole idea of wrapping Kitten up in bubble wrap thing is also a flawless plan.” Masa accepted the glass giving a teasing side-eye to the sandy-haired worrywart.

“Alright enough of that. Let’s eat before all this good stuff goes to waste eh?” Aware that something was about to kick off Naiya raised her voice to prevent Hideyoshi snapping back with what was no doubt going to be the start of something very witty that meant the friendly disagreement would continue till all the food was stone cold.

She regretted her words quickly as now both men had shut up and started a silent war. They pressed closer to her than necessary the feeling of being in a comfortable sandwich was becoming a distant memory. She wasn’t allowed to plate anything for herself and found her own dish filling up with bits of everything as the silent battle of caregiving continued.

Her body objected to the sudden influx of food and her stomach lurched. Eyes should not be allowed to pass judgement on what you put in your belly. As hungry as she had been it was also a while since she had eaten anything in this volume. She wanted to curse her upbringing for conditioning her to the fact that it was both rude to the cook and a waste of food to call it quits in the middle of a meal.

Sensing something was wrong with her both men stopped serving more of the dishes. Their intonations of ‘if you eat that you have to have this with it’ and ‘a balanced meal is important if you wish to get healthy’ died as they both exchanged glances over her.

“You alright Kitten?” Masa quietly asked his hand touching hers.

“Yeah.” Naiya nodded and regretted moving her head at all. She slipped her hand from Masa’s and without sparing the men a glance she left the room headed straight for the bathroom.

*

Naiya returned to the living room after freshening up. The harshness of the mint in the toothpaste felt a little sharp against her tongue but it was better than leaving things as they were.

The room had been completely cleared of any signs of the meal. Candles had been lit which meant the bright light from any lightbulbs was not going to cause her any issues. The DVD player had also been set up to play a movie.

All of the cushions had been dragged from the sofa to the floor making it look like a mattress had landed on the rug.  The coffee table was missing but it did look like all her blankets and duvet had been artfully arranged so her previous nest now looked like a luxurious retreat.

“You’re back.” Hideyoshi came in carrying two cups with Masa trailing close at his heels with a third cup of steaming liquid and a plate of something sweet.

“Here Lass try sipping this it will help.” The warmth of ginger spread through her mouth rounded out by calming honey. “Sorry kinda went a little far before.”

He didn’t avoid her eyes but the sincerity in his voice warmed her more than the drink.

“It’s fine I should have said no but I just couldn’t when everything was so good.”

“Careful there Kitten, you’re gonna start giving a fella ideas talking all seductive like.” Masa’s voice was a low purr against her ear, his wild chestnut brown hair brushed against her cheek igniting her blush further.

He brought one of the sweet treats from the plate to her mouth the softness of the dough melted against her tongue replacing the mint and ginger with a buttery sugar spice.

“Churros?”

“Masa we agreed.” Hideyoshi reprimanded.

Masa pulled back with a playful smile as he licked his own lips. He had a way of looking like a hungry predator ready to pounce and nothing seemed to trigger that more than watching her enjoying his food.  

“Yeah, Yeah. C’mere Kitten we got something special for you.” He took her by the hand leading her to the spread of cushions carefully taking her cup from her while she settled into position and then handed it back.

“You have a way of making things sound dirty even if they aren’t. I do wonder if you haven’t been hanging around a certain white-haired friend too long.” She smirked taking another sip of her drink.

Her spirited tease had a thrill that was short-lived. She could feel Hideyoshi move in behind her and sit on the frame of the cushionless sofa.  Her shoulders became encased in the space between his legs as he planted a foot either side of her.

Before she could ask what he was doing, his hands wrapped over her shoulders his fingers moving in circles. The flexing pressure of his grip as the heel of his hand came into play smoothing out the knots, he found almost had her drop her cup.

“Oops! Careful there Kitten, you are already sick you don’t want to get burnt on top of all that.”

The cup was once more liberated from her failing grip while soft sighs and little moans crept out of her mouth. Masa positioned himself at her feet taking one in his hands and began copying Hideyoshi’s movements as he focused on massaging her feet.

Every now and then her leg was raised just enough to let Masa’s fingers travel past the point of her ankle and find the tension trapped in her legs. Every time she felt the release of the stressful tension, he brought his lips to the spot and trailed kisses along it.

She gasped each time he did this. His upturned blue eye was dilated to the point of stormy and his chuckle left vibrations against her skin. The pressure on her shoulders and neck tightened in her response. Hideyoshi was not to be outdone or ignored at times like this. His gentleness could be torture when used correctly and this man was a master at that.

Hideyoshi’s hands slipped to her arms before moving back to her neck and travelling down her spine until they found that sweet spot in her lower back. The one that caused her to arch against his palm as her body reacted instinctively to the pleasure of his touch.

Attacked from two sides at once the little moans became louder as she felt her body begin to hum with affection being lavished on her. Tension, aches, pains they all seemed to melt right out of her as her body temperature rose to a comfortable heat.

They only stopped when she looked as if she were on the verge of breathlessness. It felt like she had just been the victim of a huge tease but it was clear that this was the line neither men were going to cross until she was stronger.

Her body became the filling once more in a boyfriend sandwich. Masa’s arm draped around her shoulders his hand landing on Hideyoshi’s shoulder where it began to play with the gap between his shirt and bare flesh. Hideyoshi cast a glance his way but said nothing to put an end to it.

Dropping her head onto Hideyoshi’s chest Naiya could hear his heartbeat pattering out a private salsa in his body. She smiled knowing that the two guys had made up after their silly little spat.

“Ready for the movie now Princess?” Hideyoshi clicked play on the remote and the opening sequence for Nightmare Before Christmas started.

“Oh my—you got me another copy!?” Naiya snapped back up between the two men eyes sparkling as she watched the screen.

Whether she knew it or not she was moving her body ever so slightly in time with the music which only made her boyfriends chuckle behind her.

“Couldn’t have you without your beloved movie, now could we?” Masa smiled as his hand was removed from Hideyoshi’s neck.

“If we couldn’t do at least this much we aren’t really living up to the title of your men, now are we?” Hideyoshi laced his fingers with Masa's, planting a biting kiss to the back of his hand before releasing it.

The teasing going on behind her did little to break her concentration on the movie. Each man reached out with one hand to drag her back down into the space between them.

Hideyoshi’s long legs stretched out on the cushions, his feet wrapping with Masamune’s while her shorter legs balanced over the top of both of them.

It wasn’t a miraculous cure and she knew that all she had been feeling would at some point find her again. Right now though she was content. Wrapped up in the arms of two of her greatest loves, Naiya’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth from both men seeping into her with the music on the DVD acting as a lullaby. That was when the sleep she craved finally took her.

---

[purplesurveys]

666

hi i’m a little drunk/hungover lmao so just a disclaimer if some of the answers sound a lil too out-there

What is your middle name? ‘Middle name’ is always a tricky term given the different naming customs in the Philippines. My second given name is Isabelle, but what means middle name here is basically my mom’s original surname before getting married, and I’m not giving that away haha. What was your first job? I haven’t had my first job but my first legit internship was at a PR firm. What is your favorite pizza topping? It’s not the most popular opinion out there, but barbecue chicken. I tried BBQ pizza once and never looked back. What was the name of your first imaginary friend? Katrina was the name of my first and only imaginary friend. I was annoyed it wouldn’t talk back to me, so I ditched her after like seven minutes. What was the name of the first pet that you loved? Tobi, my rabbit. He was a sweet one.

How tall are you? Somewhere between 5′1′ and 5′2″ but definitely not 5′2″. List three celebrities that are your height. Lady Gaga and AJ Lee are sort of my height, but I can’t think of a third one. What was your first CD? Pretty sure it was the Camp Rock soundtrack. If not, it would be Beyoncé’s I Am... Sasha Fierce. Idk, they came out the same year. Does your zodiac sign fit your personality? I’m a Taurus, and I’d say most of the descriptions/habits attributed to Tauruses apply to me, but then again so do the descriptions for all the other signs. What is your zodiac sign? ^ What is your Chinese zodiac sign? Year of the tiger. Does your Chinese zodiac sign fit your personalIty? I never cared for Chinese beliefs, so I don’t know how Tiger babies are supposed to be like. What is your favorite color? Right now it’s pastel pink but I also like black, sky blue, and mustard yellow. What was your first favorite color? Purple, because it was my great-grandma’s favorite and all her stuff used to be purple. Which travel destination is top on your bucket list? Right now, it’s Thailand because of all the museums, temples, and street food. Plus I want to conquer Southeast Asia first before I head out to other continents, haha. Have you ever been on a missions trip? Never. Back in my old school they used to give out envelopes to each of us once a year so those who were willing could donate to fund the people going on such trips, but that’s pretty much my only experience with the whole thing. What's your shoe size? My feet can fit in either size 6.5 or 7 shoes. What grade were you in when you had your first crush? My first legit non-celebrity crush was embarrassingly my Grade 5 science teacher. But if we counted reality in the picture, it was Andi, in Grade 6. What color hair did your first crush have? Black. Does anyone know who your first crush was? Not really. It was a small crush and she’s since migrated and is hella straight, so it would be weird to bring up a crush I had ten years ago. It probably wouldn’t be as weird if we stayed close, but we have definitely drifted apart since then. Who was your first celebrity crush? Ashley Tisdale. And that crush was also the reason Ashley was my favorite girl’s name throughout my childhood and tween years haha. Do you keep a diary or journal and write in it frequently? This is essentially my diary. I wouldn’t say I post frequently, especially when I’m busy with school. I usually post during weekends when I have some free time. What was/were the best years of your life so far? The latter half of high school was great, and so was the second half of my time in college. The thing with me is that my adjustment periods in new experiences usually initially go down messily and miserably for me and it takes a while for me to warm up to the environment and the people. But once I do, I end up having the good time I had been envisioning and wishing for. Do you have regrets? I have one big one, but that’s it. I don’t like storing regrets in my head. What do you regret the most? I’ve always felt sorry for myself for having a hard time adjusting in new places. It something I could never help; my first years in high school were marred by failing marks and having no friends, and my first years in college were also spent having no friends, no place to stay in but my car during my breaks, and a lot of self-pity crying and self-harming in said car. I know it was something I felt and couldn’t get out of during the time, but I wish someone told me to just not be afraid and start doing stuff much earlier. There’s been a number of opportunities that I let fly by me just because I was depressed and moped around all day. While I’m grateful for the experiences I have now, I just regret the fact that I could have had more if I didn’t adjust so badly. Are you double-jointed? Nope. What are you allergic to? No allergies. Have you ever owned a designer purse? A couple, but tbh they are hand-me-downs from my mom. Do you wear contacts or glasses? Glasses. I can’t imagine wearing contacts, I hate the idea of putting, dropping, or inserting anything in my eyes :/ Have you ever had to use an epi pen? I have not. Do you prefer online shopping or in-store shopping? In-store for clothes so I get to try them on or see their actual size; online shopping for literally everything else. Have you ever questioned your sexuality? Like I said in a previous survey, I still question it to this day. I’ve been in one relationship so I don’t really have a grasp of what I want, but it’s never bothered me... it’s not something I feel pressured to know or discover. Demisexual seems to fit me best, so that’s what I go by most days. Did you ever dream of running away from home? I did, as most disgruntled, emo, puberty-stricken teenagers do. What color was your first phone? I think the phone itself was gray? but I got it with a red Winnie the Pooh case. Who do you know who is colorblind? I may know someone, but I’m probably not aware that they are. Do you know anyone with Down's syndrome? Yesssss, one of my aunt’s has Down’s and she is the sweetest, most adorable person. How much do you weigh (only answer if comfortable)? The only time this question has been asked politely lmao. I’m a little under 100 lbs. Have you ever been overweight? Never. I’ve always been either underweight or just...healthy weight lol. Name one friend you miss. [continued from yesterday, so I’m definitely not hungover anymore haha] Sofie. She used to be a best friend, so I miss her the most out of all my past friends. Have you ever made a huge mistake? I’d be surprised if anyone also aged 21 hasn’t made a big mistake in their lives. What pharmacy do you use? My family never really needs to go to pharmacies. Our go-to drugstore is Mercury Drug, if anything. Do you take a lot of prescription meds? Nope.

Do you take vitamins? I used to, but my mom stopped buying when I was like 15 or 16. How many pairs of Lularoe leggings do you own? Zero. Do you prefer skinny jeans or jeggings? Both sound uncomfortable, but I’d wear skinny jeans between the two. What color is your Christmas tree? Green. What color Christmas tree do you want to have in your hosuse someday? Just plain old traditional green would be fine. It makes everything feel Christmassy the most. What color house did you grow up in? It’s white with a red roof and a maroon gate. Have you ever been baptized? If so, how and where? Yep. I got a Catholic baptism and if I’m not mistaken it was in a church in Makati. Do you ever feel embarrased and think to yourself, "I'm so stupid"? Duh. Do you think you look better with long or short haIr? Short hair. I actually just got a haircut (my first in nearly two years) and finally got bangs like half an hour ago lmao. What type of wedding do you want? I don’t know about ‘types’ of weddings... but my dream wedding would be big but still traditional, held in a huge venue with lots of flowers with either an all-white or pastel motif (or a bit of both) and 200-300 guests with delicious food and an open bar and a great live band. Who is someone you wanted to be able to trust but just couldn't? An old friend back in Grade 5 who ultimately taught me how much trust is supposed to mean, Marielle. Do you read a devotional? No. What's your favorite devotional? Where did you go on your first plane ride? My family and I went to Boracay. Who is your favorite Disney princess? Rapunzel from Tangled. Are you taller or shorter or the same height as your mom? I’m a bit shorter. Do you wish you could afford expensive make-up? Nah, I never wear makeup so it wouldn’t make sense for me to buy them to begin with. Do you make some of the stupidest decisions? I make at least one every day. What country would you most like to visit? Morocco! Or Turkey. What is your heritage? Filipino. What was your first job? I haven’t had a job. Did you like your first job? What are all the jobs you've had? What are jobs you'd like to have? These days I look for money more than fulfillment, so I think I’d be happy with any job that makes me loaded at the end of the day lmao. Have you ever experienced something supernatural? I have not, but I’ve endlessly heard stories from family and friends who have. Do you believe in God? Absolutely not. Do you love God with all your heart? Who is your best friend? Gabie. Do you make your bed every day? Yeah I do. My mom requires me to and besides, it feels so much better coming home to a neat bed. How do you most commonly wear your hair? I usually wear it down. Which family member did you get your hair color from? All Filipinos have black hair. What is your natural hair color? ^

[timeisacephalopod]

Pest Control

A random IronPanther AU (with a side dish of Sam/Rhodey and Pepper/Natasha) in which T’Challa gets a sphynx and Tony becomes an expert advice giver in how to deal with your partner’s pets that you dislike.

Rhodey looks concerned probably because Tony looks overly serious. “T’Challa... has gotten a sphynx,” he says.

Rhodey squints. “A sphynx?” he asks and Tony nods. “That’s a cat, right?” he asks and Tony briefly reconsiders their friendship. They’ve been friends a long time but he has Pepper and she knows what a sphynx is so maybe he should stick with her.

“Its a hairless cat, yeah,” he says and Rhodey wrinkles his nose.

“Oh, ew, he got a goblin,” he says and Tony nods vigorously.

“You understand my pain!” T’Challa thinks this is an acceptable pet. A fucking bald cat. If he wanted to pet a bald mammal he’d pet T’Challa. Actually, he does that already. Its not really petting, but it kind of counts but that’s as close as Tony will get to petting a bald anything. Unless he somehow ends up in a situation in which he has to pet Okoye for some reason, she’s got less hair than T’Challa but she’d murder him if she even knew he’d considered such a thing to no because he values his life.

“Tell him cats in America either have hair or they’re bust,” he says, wrinkling his nose again.

“He’s going to tell me he’s not American and he’s right, which is why I have devised a plan to rid myself of this sphynx in a way that will work out for everyone, goblin cat included.” Just because he thinks the animal is an abomination doesn’t mean he wants to see the cat hurt. Just not in T’Challa’s lap where he might be forced to pet the damn thing.

“You’re going to contact whatever Erdrich horror put those things on this earth and tell it to take the cat back to the underworld?” Rhodey asks and Tony laughs.

Alright, this is why he’s friends with Rhodey. Dude is hilarious even if he’s apparently uneducated about what a sphinx is. “No. The cat hates cold hands on account of being bald, and if I spend enough time in the lab at a certain temperature my hands get cold. I use a lot of stuff that generates heat, makes sense that I wouldn’t have the heat up. Plausible deniability in case T’Challa catches me out.  Anyway, then I go to pet the cat. Cat hates cold hands, will not react well. Then it’ll look like the cat hates me and T’Challa will take his ugly goblin cat back to Wakanda and we can get a proper cat with hair,” he says, waving his hands around a little.

Rhodey nods, “that’s genius. Got any tips on how to get Sam get rid of his budgies? Because the birds hate me and they squawk all night but Sam loves them for some reason. I can’t stand the birds but I think releasing them into the wild might be bad for them,” he says. “And I don’t like the birds, but I don’t want to hurt the birds. Unless its three in the morning and they won’t shut up, then I kind of want to strangle the birds, but I wouldn’t actually strangle the birds.”

“Have you watched Hitchock’s The Birds with him?” Tony asks and Rhodey’s eyes grow wide.

“You’re a genius! This is why we’re friends. Those damn budgies are going to get the boot!” he says excitedly.

*

Tony sits beside T’Challa, who is petting his horrible creature of a cat. The cat gives him a lazy look with its creepy goblin eyes and Tony reaches out, letting the cat sniff him for a moment before he pets the cat. As expected the cat doesn’t like his cold hands and reacts negatively, recoiling and giving Tony a dirty look. “Okay then, sorry,” he tells the cat even though he’s not sorry at all. This thing can go hang out in Shuri’s lab because she’s a freak who likes these things too. And Okoye. She loves these cats, has like seven of them. Tony doesn’t understand why Wakandans like these cats so much but they do.

T’Challa carefully calms the cat again and it settles back into his lap. “She doesn’t seem to like you much,” he says. “Which is strange because I don’t think I’ve seen any other cat dislike you. They seem to flock to you normally.”

Good luck in Wakanda, cats liking you. Probably has something to do with their cat gods but Tony is so many layers out of the loop there that he just takes the good luck and runs with it. “No idea, I’ve never met a cat that didn’t like me,” he says honestly. This one doesn’t either, if his hands aren’t cold but Tony refuses to pet it. Its weird and he doesn’t like it.

He reaches out again and lets the cat sniff him and because the cat does like him she lets him pet her again. His hands are still chilly so the cat recoils again, giving him another dirty look before jumping from T’Challa’s lap and running off. T’Challa looks surprised to see her go. “I don’t understand why she keeps doing that,” he says.

Oh Tony does, and he’s hoping T’Challa’s hairless venture will be in another country by the end of the week.

*

The cat stares at Tony, gross little goblin feet on the counter despite also spending time in the litter box, and he glares at it. “Mark my words, you weirdly bloated little beast, you will be out of this house soon,” he tells the cat.

Obviously the cat has little to say about this and when Tony walks by the cat trots along beside the counter because the damn thing loves him. Tony ignores the cat, coming to a stop in front of the cupboard with the mugs in it and he reaches up to get one. The cat, taking advantage of his vulnerability, rubs along his stomach, purring lightly. He wrinkles his nose and pulls a mug from the cupboard. “Get off the counter, you know you’re not supposed to be up here,” he tells the cat. She jumps down, thankfully, but instead of trotting off she rubs herself along his pant leg.

This cat has got to go back to a country of people that will appreciate its weird hairless nature.

*

Tony has successfully cold handed the cat out of T’Challa’s lap for the fifth time this week and he frowns. “I think I may take her back to Wakanda. She seemed to like it better there,” he says, skirting around the fact that the cat doesn’t like him.

He’s fine with that. “Sounds great, when do you leave with her?” he asks, trying and mostly failing to temper the excitement in his tone.

T’Challa frowns, but doesn’t respond to his excitement. “Sunday. She likes the sun there and its cold this time of year,” he says, giving the nearest window a dirty look. Yeah, T’Challa likes the cold a lot less than his cat does.

“Do you have to put sun screen on her to avoid sun burns?” he asks, thinking on his feet. The cat’s bald, right? Wouldn’t its skin burn in the sun? Is that a thing?

“Yes, they are particularly susceptible to sunburns. Its why she’s kept inside and mostly away from sun spots even if she likes them.” Yeah, T’Challa has built little warm cat spots all over the house. Which would be fine if the cat had hair.

“Hm. Well, hope she likes Wakanda,” he says in a chipper tone.

*

Tony likes to think he’s subtle but he isn’t. He doesn’t like the sphynx and T’Challa had no idea why until he happened to be checking over security cameras to see if the cat had gotten into the garbage again when he discovers something else instead.

As it turns out the cat quite likes Tony, which makes her behavior odd given that she tends to dislike being pet by him. That had him confused him at first, why that would be, until he exits the lab and goes to pet the cat for himself only to have her recoil. It takes a minute to figure out his hands are chilly and the cat didn’t like it, but he figures it out nonetheless.

*

T’Challa is holding his ugly hairless skin sack- cats were meant to have hair damnit- looking upset. “What? Did the cat get into the garbage again? Because I’m telling you, that garbage could trick a raccoon and if it can trick a raccoon the cat is fucked,” he says. Those bandit eyes bastards can get into anything. Tony’s got this one that keeps coming around, he’s named it Rocket, and that little fucker is the smartest animal he’s ever met. He’s managed to make Tony work to keep the raccoons out and once Rocket gets in a whole damn hoard shows up ready to eat his trash.

There’s raccoon unfriendly things in there though so they need to go find regular household trash instead of his surprisingly high tech but not quite raccoon proof dumpsters. But his latest design is keeping them out so far and if Rocket can’t get in the cat can’t get in.

“You’ve been intentionally alienating the cat,” T’Challa says, offended and Tony frowns.

“Have not, cat’s just like that.” Plausible deniability, there’s no way he knows about the cold hand thing.

T’Challa, because he’s obviously intent on proving his point walks over and pushes the cat into his arms. Tony awkwardly handles the cat, who immediately starts purring like a little traitor. T’Challa watches him intently and he’s certain he hasn’t kept the disgust off his face given that T’Challa narrows his eyes. “Why don’t you like the sphynx?” he asks and Tony hands the cat back, wrinkling his nose and shaking himself out.

“Okay, I am sorry but that thing looks like a mutated scrotum and I don’t like its texture! Cats were meant to have hair T’Challa!” He gives the cat a look and T’Challa gives him a look.

“This cat is a perfectly wonderful and loving pet! There is nothing wrong with her because she has no hair! And your friends have allergies, I thought a hairless cat was a good compromise,” he says.

Tony wrinkles his nose, “if there’s even the thought of pet dander in the air Steve is sneezing, he takes allergy meds to go out in public because he runs into people with pets everywhere. Just get a real cat with hair, please,” he almost begs.

T’Challa gives him another offended look, holding his abomination of a cat close. “Maybe I will get myself a new significant other!” he says, upset.

“I like cats, I love cats, just not that one. Send it back to Wakanda- it’ll get plenty of love and we can have a normal cat here. One with hair, maybe lots of hair. I have an eye on this big fluffy cat the size of a butterball turkey named Jake at the shelter a couple blocks away,” he says. “He’s cute, and he’s old so he’s less likely to get adopted, and he’s really sweet and he might be fat but I think he’s just like that.”

The cat is adorable, a real sweet fluff ball. Much better than T’Challa’s current idea of a pet. “You would get a cat from a shelter?” T’Challa asks, touched.

Tony rolls his eyes, “I only get cats from shelters, they need adopting. Please send that particular cat to Wakanda and we can get a lovely rescue cat.”

*

Tony is pissed. The cat is sitting in his lap with T’Challa’s version of a compromise on it. “You skinned another animal to stick on this cat so it has hair?” he asks, looking down at the furry vest the cat is wearing.

T’Challa looks offended, “the fur isn’t real, Tony. That’s barbaric. But now the cat has hair so you can’t whine,” he says, petting the cat’s still hairless head.

“All this does is make the cat look like a scrotum but extra hairy and demented,” he says.

“I worry for the scrotums of America if they look like this cat. Yours certainly doesn’t look like this and if it does by chance end up looking like the cat please seek medical assistance,” he tells Tony.

He sighs, looking off into the distance because T’Challa is being deliberately obtuse and this isn’t what he wanted. A normal cat with normal hair, is it too much to ask for?

*

Rhodey looks annoyed. “Sam got two more budgies,” he mumbles and Tony sighs.

“T’Challa thinks a fur vest solves the hairless cat problem,” he says.

“Tony,” a new voice says and they turn to face Pepper, who’s all but running over to them. Impressive, considering she’s in heels.

She comes to a stop looking quite like she’s at her wits end. “I love Natasha, you know I do, but I can’t take her creepy black widows anymore!” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Tell me how to get rid of them.”

“My plan to get rid of that sphynx and Sam’s budgies have both failed, what makes you think I’ll succeed now?” Tony asks.

“Nothing, but doing something about the spiders is the best I can ask for right now. How do I get rid of them?” she asks.

Tony shrugs and Pepper rolls her eyes. “You’re useless,” she mumbles. “Do you think sticking them in the freezer will kill them off?” she asks.

“Oh that’s mean to the spiders,” Tony says. They can’t help looking like that but Rhodey clearly has no sympathy.

“Bugs are a scourge on this planet, they need to go,” he says.

Tony sighs. “You’re moving in together, right? Claim the building has some pet rule that includes spiders and get her to leave them at Clint’s so he and Coulson can suffer with them,” he says.

Pepper considers this for a moment before nodding, “I can absolutely fake the paperwork for that. Thanks, you’re a genius,” she tells him before running off.

Rhodey frowns, “she’s going to make a fake lease for this? Man, I should have tried that on Sam.”

“He would have made you move to an apartment that allowed the birds,” Tony reminds him and Rhodey sighs.

“Four budgies are worse than two. They have conversations, its creepy. Creepier post watching The Birds. Now the stupid things are nightmare fuel,” he says, shaking his head. “And Sam loves the little bastards.”

“At least the birds aren’t featherless,” Tony mumbles.

“Behold, a man!” Rhodey says in a deep voice and they both start laughing.

*

Sam walks up to Tony looking extra suave in aviators he knows he stole off Rhodey, who stole them off Carol, who stole them off Hope. The glasses get around almost as much as his friends do within their friend group. “I’ve heard you’re an expert on pest control,” he says vaguely and Tony frowns.

“Uh, I’m definitely not.” Unless its calling pest control. That he can do.

“I will get rid of one budgie if you help me rid this friend group of the worst human to ever exist Bucky god damn Barnes. I know Rhodey hates them,” he says, using a good leverage point but Tony can’t just get rid of Bucky.

“Short of dying Steve won't let him go anywhere,” he points out.

“I’m not strictly opposed to murder,” Sam says even though Tony knows he absolutely is.

He sighs, “T’Challa honey, come here,” he calls. He’s rewarded with T’Challa appearing somewhat quick and lucky him he has his hideous pet in tow.

Sam doesn’t even need Tony’s hint to do what he wants, he wrinkles his nose immediately. “Why is that oversized nut sack wearing an orangutan pelt?” he asks and Tony gives T’Challa a look.

“I was going to get you that cat you liked from the shelter but since you and your ignorant friends have insulted this poor animal, who has done nothing wrong, I will not,” he says, walking off with the cat.

Tony turns to Sam. “I think I may have a job for Bucky in Romania, but you need to get rid of two budgies and learn how to keep the remaining two quiet at night.”

Sam nods, “yeah, alright. I was only bird sitting the other two budgies anyway,” he says, walking off and Tony has been played.

To add insult to injury Pepper sends him a thank you text because his spider plan panned out. He couldn’t save himself from T’Challa’s hairless cat but Pepper gets saved from the spiders? There’s something wrong with this planet.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 22-24 (Rating, Slice of Life, Post-Canon)

Summary: Vacations are about sleep. And, when Garrus comes to visit Alistair on Earth... he gets told when he can come. It’s a weird life, post reaper... but it’s his.

(Yes there’s badly written smut it’s just the end bits. Maybe one day I’ll write more kink with these two.)

Shit... he was gonna...

“Not yet.”

The pressure on his cock lightened; Garrus felt his erection throb as he glanced up, wide eyed. The clock on the wall said he had been this close for almost five minutes. Before that, he had lost track of time. So damn close... but yet so far.

He was on his back, naked as the day he was born. On top of him, grip iron, was his fiance. Alistair was smirking a little as he sat back, just away from Garrus' cock. One of his slender fingers traced the shaft, causing yet another shudder to run up the turian's entire body. Damn it all...

“What, you got something to say, Vakarian?”

He managed to grunt out a, “No, sir.” though his teeth. That only made the pressure worse as it built up in his stomach, begging for release. It must have been the look on his face, because Alistair's smirk only grew wider as he leaned forward, just so damn close to being able to relieve him. They were almost touching.

“I didn't hear that, Vakarian. Little louder this time.”

His thigh – the warm, flesh one, not the metal one - brushed ever so carefully against Garrus' lower body, lingered there for a second. Wasn't long enough for the turian to rub against it and relieve himself... had to have been on purpose.

The pressure was too much. He grimaced and finally uttered “permission to come aboard, sir.”

Alistair let out a light laugh as he leaned down to the side of Garrus' face, probably where he thought the turian's ear would be based on anatomy. “Permission granted.”

That was it- Garrus lost it, shuddering as he finally was able to release. His orgasm was a quick but powerful one, and he fell back with a sigh once it had finished coursing through his body. The drawn out night had taken it out of him – he was too tired to remove the condom. Bad idea, given turian anatomy and all.

“Need a hand?”

Alistair's voice was softer now, as was his touch. Garrus nodded, and the human carefully removed the condom and got up to dispose of it. They were both old hands at it now, but it was still good to see him being careful. Allergies could pop up at any time.

Once he was through, he slid back into bed next to his fiance. “You doing ok?”

“That Commander Shepard voice always gets me.” The turian reached out to pull the human close and listened as their mismatched heartbeats tried to match. Sometimes they got close, but it was just always a little off-rhythm. He had come to love that. “You good on your end?”

Alistair chuckled as he snuggled close. “Yeah, any more and I wouldn't be able to get up for class in the morning. Probably should take a shower...”

“Do it in the morning...” Garrus' eyes were heavy. “You don't have any turians in you class anyway.”

Really, he just didn't want to lose his source of warmth. After sex, he always felt a little cold – even blankets didn't help as much as cuddling close to his favorite human. If his fiance got up, then there went his warm place for up to ten minutes.

Though when he came back he'd be warmer... decisions.

The bed shifted underneath him, causing Garrus to groan as Alistair slid out and made his way to the shower. He grabbed for the blanket freed by the defection, but it didn't help much. Even worse, it woke him up some.

“I'll be done in a few minutes.” Alistair's voice carried over the water as the shower started up. “You can sleep if you want. Nothing wakes you anymore, babe.”

It was true – ever since the war had ended years ago, Garrus slept like a rock. Well, he had picked up the habit after his fiance had woken up from the coma. Those two months he had barely slept at all. Maybe it was his body's way of making up for lost hours of sleep. He wouldn't have complained, but it made getting up a nightmare.

And he really wanted to be awake more than he slept during his trip to Baltimore. After all, it had been a while since he had last seen the human.

“I'm fine.” His voice was thick with sleep. “I can sleep while you're in class tomorrow.”

Sure – maybe sleeping during the day wasn't most people's idea of vacation, but he had been to and been shot at in plenty of other places to warrant the rest. So had the idiot in the shower who had decided med school was a fitting retirement. Ok, so maybe they were both idiots... it was why they worked so well together.

“Whatever you say, Archangel.” Alistair chuckled as he shut off the water a few moments later. “Just got to dry off, and I'll be back in.”

Garrus allowed one eye to open as he watched the man pad back from the bathroom and start to towel off. He was still pretty fit, despite being retired. The injections probably helped too – though they mostly improved the quality materials already there. The turian was more than happy to inspect the goods, though he wasn't exactly sneaky about it.

“What, like what you see?”

Alistair's voice was teasing as he toweled off his hair. He knew the answer – uh, fucking yeah – but still. Garrus would say it countless times, again and again. He had to make up for lost time in that category too.

“You know I do,  Al.” His voice was almost a purr as he reached out to tug at the towel his fiance was using. “Are you done yet?”

Humans – they took so much longer to dry, especially if they had long hair like one he would very much like to continue cuddling with. At least it only took a few more minutes for Alistair to slide back into bed next to him, smelling like his shampoo and still warm from the shower.

“Done enough. It's an 8 AM class, nobody looks ok in those anyway.” The human yawned as he snuggled close his shoulder bumping into the top of Garrus' carapace. “Night, babe.”

Garrus finally felt himself really drifting off at those words, and he felt himself smiling into the human's shoulder as he nudged close. “Night, Al. See you in the morning...”

The next time he had thoughts to think, pale dawn was filtering through the mostly closed window. The bed was colder now, causing him to shiver as his brain sought out warmth. He cracked open one eye, glancing around.

Damn it, it was 6:30 already.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Alistair was already dressed and pulling on his hoodie and sneakers. His bag sat next to him on the floor as he tugged at his laces. Garrus never really got shoe laces – they just seemed like a safety hazard to him.

Snaps were good. Snaps didn't unsnap and betray you.

“Your lack of body heat did.” He sat up, blanket still wrapped around him. “Should I come meet you later for lunch or are you coming back?”

The human leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, gently. “Might be better if you came up. Don't you need sunlight or something?”

“Like your weak earth sun is going to do anything.” It was a joke without any barb – they were past that. “Fine... I'll fine pants later and meet you outside the library?”

No doubt they would set tongues wagging, even if people didn't put the pieces together. But Garrus didn't mind that as he pressed his forehead sleepily to Alistair's briefly sharing in the warmth between them. And then the human pulled away to leave for class.

Damn 8 AM classes... they were on par with the Reapers.

“I'll see you later, babe. Try to get up before 11.”

“No promises, Al. Have a good morning.”

The door closed behind Alistair and the lock clicked. Garrus collapsed back into bed, wrapping the blanket even tighter around him. He was already mostly back to sleep, but had enough sense to check the alarm on his omni-tool: 10:58, set to the heaviest vibration pattern it could use.

What... it was before 11.

With that done, the turian drifted off to sleep for a few more hours. Had he more sense in him, perhaps he would have contemplated just how strange his life had become after the war. But he was tired, and vacations meant he could sleep as late as he wanted. So he was going to do just that, at least until he had to put pants on.

Damn pants... they were even worse than the Reapers.

[beaniegara]

trying to save you (from all of the things that I'll probably say or do)

ship: eugene/zach (zagene) rating: pg-13 warnings: alcohol mention and consumption, self-worth issues. tags: friends to lovers, angst, angst with a happy ending, sorta sickfic at first, introspection on eugene's part, eugene's pov show: the try guys. partner: @lilnyckyj​   prompt: allergies, for @thebuzzfeedchallenge​! 

summary: zach is sick so eugene makes sure he has everything he needs at home, including food. and that's when he realizes.

a/n: I’m super late and I’m so sorry! :c but here, have some zagene ♥

[ao3 link]

“Zach?”

Eugene closes the door behind him and toes out of his shoes. He’s not wearing socks. The cold under his feet is more than welcome after the frankly outrageous hot weather he experienced outside. The foam container he’s holding isn’t helping, warm to the touch. He knows that it smells good when Bowie comes out of Zach’s room, pawing happily towards Eugene.

“Hey, buddy,” Eugene says, crouching down to give him a good rub behind his ears and a kiss to his head. It’s almost a bad decision: Bowie tries to reach for the package and nearly topples Eugene over. “Hey, hey,” he laughs, standing up and keeping the food out of Bowie’s reach. “This is for your dad. Be nice.”

“Bowie, stop hogging my friend!” Zach’s whine comes down the hallway. Eugene laughs.

After laying the food carefully on top of the fridge, he goes to Zach’s room. He’s not surprised to find Zach in a nest of sorts. His friend lies amidst sheets, pillows, and what looks like half of his wardrobe. He looks small, sad, and quite honestly—

“Pathetic,” Eugene says, stopping for a second at the door, then walking inside to feel Zach’s forehead. “You can’t be that bad .”

“Oh yeah, and how can you know? Do you have a stuffy nose that won’t stop running like the goddamn Niagara Falls?”

It all comes out in a rush, very much through his red nose. He sounds a lot like Donald Duck.

“Stop acting like a baby and get up, I brought you food.”

“Food?” Zach looks hopeful, but that immediately turns into a scowl. “Food? I don’t know if I can eat today.”

“Too bad, because you will. Come on.”

Eugene offers a hand that Zach takes, letting Eugene help him out of bed.

“And what I mean by that is that it can’t be that bad that you need to cocoon yourself like this,” he motions to Zach’s mess of a bed as they head to the kitchen. “It’s not even, what, 80º outside?”

“It’s comfy, though,” Zach says, and Eugene can’t contain a smile – even a slightly amused one.

Bowie follows them happily into the kitchen, wagging his tail. Zach starts to pull out plates, but Eugene stops him, takes the plates from his hand, and indicates the table with his head, “Sit.”

“You know, I really am not that bad. I’m just being dramatic because I hate this.”

“I know. But you’re taking too many meds at once and I don’t like that,” Eugene says simply. “Your tiny body can only take so much.”

“Wow, thanks, man.”

“That was a compliment,” Eugene says as he finishes setting up the table and reaches for the food on top of the fridge. “You need carbs, but you also need meat to keep functioning like a human being, so I brought two dishes, actually.”

He makes sure to set everything nicely on the table, opening container after container until Zach can see all that he has brought with him.

“Oh my god, this looks so good.”

“It smells pretty nice, too.”

Zach just gestures dismissively at his stuffed nose, “I’ll have to take your word for it. How much was it? I can transfer what I owe you.”

“Shut up,” Eugene says, dropping a generous portion on Zach’s plate first before getting some himself. “I told you, this is on me. You owe me nothing more than a couple of nights babysitting my babies.”

“Eugene, that is hardly payment, I enjoy doing that. Besides, this is like the third time this week you’ve brought me food.”

It is. Eugene hesitates only for a second, because it hadn’t occurred to him that he has been here on Monday, Tuesday and today, Thursday, making it the third time that week alone. Zach has the week off, fighting an allergy-turned-mild-cold that comes and goes around this time of the year. And it’s not like Eugene has been the only one over – Keith has been keeping tabs on him, too, and even if Ned is trying to avoid Zach, not wanting to risk getting Ariel sick, he personally rearranged Zach’s schedule so that Zach wouldn’t have to miss anything important that week. Really, Eugene is not doing more than his part here.

Or so he tells himself.

“I don’t want your money,” he says. “Just, you know, get better so I don’t have to babysit you. And so I can go back to babysitting your dog.”

Speaking of which, Bowie is sat between them, eyeing one and then the other with the cutest eyes Eugene has ever seen. Zach laughs, “You’re just using me to get to Bowie.” He takes his first bite and closes his eyes, groaning. “Oh my god, Eugene, I love you. This is amazing.”

Eugene’s heart skips a beat. He does something with his hands that makes the piece of broccoli he had on his fork go flying through the room.

He’s not sure what just happened, but he can’t meet Zach’s eyes. He doesn’t have an answer either, so he stuffs his mouth with food instead. Something’s not right. He’s overwhelmed, surprised, and speechless, all at the same time.

It doesn’t make any sense; his mind is just a swirl of what the fuck’s and fuck me’ s. He doesn’t know to react, so he focus on gulping down mouthful after mouthful. Zach doesn’t seem to notice anything’s out of the ordinary. “I can barely taste anything but what I can taste is tasty as fuck and it made me realize I was starving, so thank you,” he says.

“Sure, no problem,” Eugene answers, risking a glance. Zach’s not looking at him, busy with his food. Eugene looks down again.

This. All of this. It feels too... intimate? Maybe. They are alone, having lunch together. Lunch Eugene has brought Zach, for the third time that week. It all feels too fucking cozy, too—

Too domestic.

Eugene loses his appetite all of a sudden. He manages a couple more bites, but he starts to feel anxious - his palms start to sweat, and he has the urge to get out of there. This is not a full-blown anxiety attack but it's close enough to make him stand up, cleaning out his plate and giving Zach some lame excuse about needing to be back early for a shot. He’s gone before Zach can say anything.

It’s not until he’s in his car, driving back to work, that he starts to put his thoughts together. First things first: the thing about coming over several times, well... It's not likes it's something new. He isn’t just worried now because Zach is sick – although, yeah, he has been extra worried this week –, he is always worried about him. Not in an overprotective way, just... Thinking about him. Wondering if he’s alright. If he needs anything. If he’s as happy as he should be.

That’s something a friend would do, of course, Eugene reasons with himself, but the panic building inside of him tells him otherwise. He is kinda, sorta, ridiculously attached to Zach. Everything he abhors, from spending the night watching films on a couch that’s too small for the both of them, to missing Zach’s texts when he doesn’t text him in the morning... That’s not something he does with everyone else.

That’s not something he does, period.

“Hey,” Kelsey puts a hand on his arm as Eugene walks into the office half an hour later, too dazzled to have even seen her. “You alright there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know,” she gives him a once-over, as if trying to find out what is wrong. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”

You could say that, he thinks to himself.

“Too much in my head,” he says, giving her a smile that he knows will convince her. It does. “Gotta go, but we’re still on Friday, right?”

“Of course!”

They part with a flying kiss from her, and Eugene goes to his desk. It’s still early for most people to have come back from lunch break, so he has at least an hour until the desks around him are busy again. Except for Zach’s, which has been empty all week; a post-it on his screen says, in Ned’s handwriting, “GONE TO HONOLULU! BYE BITCHESSS”.

The thing is, Eugene thinks as his login screen loads, he likes Zach. That much he can admit to himself. But where does friendly affection end and romantic interest begin? He hasn’t been in many relationships, always avoided them when he could. It just doesn’t work for him – that’s how he’s wired, and he doesn’t think there’s any point in trying to fight it.

But then he thinks back to Zach’s kitchen, about how he can easily find his way in his apartment. He thinks about Zach’s laugh, the dorkiest and yet most adorable thing Eugene can think of, especially when it's early in the morning and Zach can barely open his eyes. He thinks about all the times one of them was out of town, and about how it has become second nature to him to text Zach all day when that happens. He thinks about the times he’s entertained the idea of kissing Zach and blaming it on the alcohol – and the two times he actually went through with it.

Hiding his face behind his hands, Eugene sighs. This doesn’t sound good. At all. He wonders briefly if he should drop by Zach’s after work to check on him, to make sure he hasn’t left Zach with the wrong impression, but of course he hasn’t. Why is he so worried about what Zach is thinking? Why should he worry about that?

He tries the opposite of what he usually does. Instead of shutting himself off and ignoring whatever it is he is feeling, he lets his mind wander. He thinks about being with Zach – being here meaning more than just hanging out together. He wonders what it’d be like to kiss him, completely sober now, with no excuses. He wonders what it’d be like to be the one Zach texts first, and realizes with a jolt that he might as well already be. Suddenly the idea of maybe cozying up together on that tiny couch at Zach’s isn’t all that weird, which is weird in itself, because since when does Eugene think about cuddling?

Soon his coworkers start to come back from the break, and Eugene has to pretend he is incredibly focused on whatever is open on his screen. That forces him to actually pay attention to the work at hand, putting a stop to the storm inside his head.

Eugene doesn’t want to think.

Better yet: he doesn’t want to think about that. He needs to think. He needs to put his mind on work, because that’s where he should be putting his mind on, anyway. This is a crucial time, and they have a lot on their hands – Eugene has a lot on his hands already, without the added anxiety of having to think about his friend who he may or may not harbor feelings for.

It’s kinda ridiculous, he chides himself once, when he’s at the break room, getting a cup of coffee. His mind wanders to that Thursday, again, the nth time it has done so that week. He thinks about how easy it is to be around Zach; how comfortable he feels to open up cabinets in his kitchen and in his bathroom; how safe he feels when it’s just the two of them, no cameras, no nothing. He thinks about being around himon camera, and how much more fun and much more at ease he feels when Zach's there filming wih him, no matter how stupid the video they’re doing is.

Coffee spills over his cup and onto his hand. It burns - he hisses and dabs a bunch of napkins on his hand, cursing under his breath. This is not who he is. He’s not one to be getting distracted at work thinking about soft hands and easy smiles. This is not who Eugene has worked so hard to become.

So he starts avoiding Zach.

It’s for the best, he tells himself. And it’s nothing too on the nose, either. He makes sure that Zach still has everything he needs while he’s at home - and even when he’s back at work the next week - but he avoids being alone with him. Avoids being too close, or too intimate. Strict business, his demeanor says, and Zach starts to look at him a little odd, but doesn’t push it. He’s too nice for that. Besides, he has always respected Eugene’s space.

No one tries to ask if anything’s different, even though Eugene catches Keith watching him when the four of them are in a room together. No one ever does because Eugene has mastered the art of concealing his emotions, and so it doesn’t show that he feels, well, like crap. Inside and out, he feels like he’s trying too hard to just be. He pulls a muscle at the gym on a Monday, two weeks into this new Avoiding Zach routine. His skin is all sorts of wrong, and his products aren't helping. He keeps forgetting things, from his keys to the time of meetings, which is new to him.

Everything sucks, but no one notices it.

Maybe it’s for the best, he reasons with himself.

That’s until he’s had more than his fair share of cocktails at one of Buzzfeed's parties. It feels like the entire office is there, more so than in past years. It’s one master event, and the place is so big that people are spread out in clusters, a lot of them already occupying most couches and benches. He has been talking to Kelsey – Impicciche, not Darragh –, Annie, and two other people he’s sure he’s learned the name of, but can’t remember anymore, when someone touches his elbow.

He turns to find Zach, no glasses, holding a cup of something reddish in color.

“Eugene, can we talk?”

“Mmmmm,” Eugene pretends to think about it, then, “Nope.”

He pops the ‘p’, and Zach snickers, “Please? I know—I know this isn’t the best place but I can’t stop thinking that you’re mad at me and this has been eating me from inside out forever now, and I really, really wish you’d just talk to me—”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Eugene says, slurring a bit. He has had a lot to drink. A lot. He realizes that when he considers just walking away, both from Zach and from the group he has been standing with, and his legs take quite longer than usual to understand the command. “I don’t have anything to say,” he adds, raising both hands. He fails to notice he has spilled some of his own drink.

“Ok!” Zach says, rather defensively. His face is flushed, and if Eugene were a little less drunk off his ass, he’d see Zach’s had plenty to drink, too. “But I do have something to say. Or actually, to ask. I have things to ask. And I don’t know, man, I can’t just corner you at work, that would be a dick move, even if this is technically work but not really, because we’re not being paid to be here tonight... Sorry, I’m getting carried away, but seriously, can we—?”

He touches Eugene’s elbow again, using his head to indicate that they can step aside, closer to the bushes, away from the group. He is looking so good tonight, Eugene thinks – he almost looks like he’s glowing under the artificial lighting, the pale of his eyes more clear than ever, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol. Eugene looks down at his lips, and his stomach does something weird, like somersaults. Zach doesn't look nice, he looks gorgeous. His hand has left Eugene’s elbow, because he doesn’t force contact if Eugene doesn’t let him, he never does, and fuck, why does he need to be so nice all the time?

“Fine,” Eugene says, walking away with him. If only to hear more of his voice, which he hasn't been hearing a lot of lately – avoiding Zach comes at a great cost, he concludes.

Zach just walks them a little to the back of the crowd, so they can hear each other better, and maybe not be heard by anyone else. They’re outside, and it’s quiet beyond the perimeters of the party – they can’t hear anything else in the neighborhood, and it feels almost otherworldly to be there that night. It certainly feels weird to want to touch Zach’s arms, and his face, when Eugene is standing this close to him.

“So,” Zach starts, clearing his throat. “I just—I just, you know, I wanna know if I’ve done something wrong? If I’ve hurt you, or—I don’t know, if, if—You’ve been distant, Eugene” he says, looking up at Eugene.

And fuck, man. Fuck. Eugene can’t deal with Zach’s big, beautiful eyes, looking up at him like that – nervous, sad, hurt. It makes Eugene feel like the biggest jerk ever, and all he wants is to make Zach understand that nothing is his fault. Nothing about this is on him, it’s all on Eugene, and he shouldn’t be the one looking at him like that.

“It’s for the best,” Eugene says, repeating the words he has been saying to himself a lot lately.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s for the best’? Whose best? Why is that the best for anyone?”

“Because it is! You don’t want me fucking up your life, do you?”

“Eugene, what the fuck?” Zach looks confused. “Why would you fuck up my life? What’s going on?”

Eugene looks away, shaking his head. He feels embarrassed. He understands, deep in his core, that this is all his fault. For letting himself feel any of this, feel this way towards one of his closest friends. Just how dumb is he, really? It’s not like he doesn’t know what would happen. What is happening.

“Forget it,” Eugene says, but Zach is adamant.

“I can’t forget it, not when you’re trying to keep me away from you.”

“It’s—Jesus Christ, Zach, it’s the other way around. You got it all wrong.”

“Yeah? And how exactly did I get it wrong, Eugene?”

“I’m trying to keep myself away from you so I can stop feeling the way I feel about you.”

A pause. Zach stares at him.

“Which is...?”

“This,” Eugene gestures to himself, which in his mind makes perfect sense. He’s showing Zach the walking mistake, the man that can’t get attached, the man that’s bound to make a mess and hurt him and just— “I can’t hurt you. I just can’t. I don’t want to and I don’t think I can fucking handle it.”

“Well, that’s good,” Zach starts, but Eugene isn’t finished; he feels the words tumbling out of his mouth before he has processed them.

“Because that’s what would happen if I let myself have feelings for you, or if I let myself get too attached to the idea of being with you, because that’s who I am. I—I fuck up, I make messes, and I don’t—I don’t know how to be with anyone, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before,” he laughs, incredulous. “Fuck me, I’m in my thirties, it’s way too late to learn this shit. I just can’t.”

Zach doesn’t say anything at first, staring at him, wide-eyed. Eugene is trying to stop laughing, but he’s now giggling uncontrollably, looking at Zach.

“This is ridiculous. Isn't it? How a person can fall for a friend and ruin one of the best friendships, relat—work relationships he’s ever had? Of course I’d do that,” Eugene opens his arms wide, takes a couple steps back. He’s grinning from ear to ear. He says even louder this time, “Eugene Lee Yang, a fucking moron!”

“Stop that,” Zach says.

“I don’t care if they listen.”

“I don’t mean that,” Zach gets close again, tries to take the drink away from Eugene’s hand. “I mean, don’t call yourself that, don’t—You’re not a moron.”

Eugene bats away Zach’s hand, keeping the drink close to his chest. He doesn’t remember what’s in his glass, but it doesn’t matter, because he knows it’s alcohol. Just what he needs, and will always need. At least drunk he doesn’t need to worry about a thing, he doesn’t need to hide or calculate his words. Zach looks weird, now – his smile has dropped, and his eyes look shiny, and he’s not looking Eugene in the eye.

And that’s when Eugene understands what he has just done.

“No,” he says, heart starting to beat faster. “No, fuck, forget I said anything.”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I just did. Please, Zach—”

“You know, I think we should have this conversation some other time,” Zach looks at him, immediately winces, and looks away. “I—I should go.”

“Zach—” Eugene tries, but Zach steps around him and then away, not looking back.

Eugene’s heart tightens as he watches Zach’s hunched figure dart between the crowd before he vanishes from sight. It’s a stupid muscle, Eugene gathers, and he must’ve pulled it too because it hurts, now. Not something he has ever felt, but like his heart is a tiny bird flapping its wings very fast, trying to fly out of a cage that’s a size too small for him. It keeps throwing itself against the bars, hurting, hurting, hurting, and it never stops, it won’t stop. Eugene feels sick. He chugs the rest of his drink, trying to quell the awful feeling in his chest; the liquid burnshis throat on the way down.

It hurts, and it doesn’t stop hurting the next day. His head is exploding when he wakes up just after lunch, mouth dry and stomach lurching. He hasn’t thrown up in a long time, but if it continues like this, he might be bending over his toilet later. After he has taken care of his most basic needs – water, peeing, a toast to keep his blood pressure where it should be – he checks his phone.

One name stands out in his notifications, and it all comes back to him. His heart clenches again, thinking about the night before.

Zach.

Eugene regrets opening his mouth, but he doesn’t blame the alcohol. If anything, he blames himself. He should’ve known better – he does know better, and fuck, since when does he let any kind of feeling dictate how he should behave? Since when does he let his heart, hurt as it is, dumb as it is, take the reins?

The message simply says “can we meet?”. It was sent around 10 a.m., because of course. Zach probably has a headache, too. He always has when he drinks too much, even if his too much is miles away from Eugene’s too much. Eugene groans just thinking about it. He knows Zach so well, and he knows himself so well – why did he need to say anything?

He texts back with a “Sure”. He’s far from sure, but he owes Zach this. If he can at least explain it, explain why he didn’t say anything before and why he was such a jackass, then maybe... Maybe Zach will just leave it all behind.

Maybe.

After some more awkward, emoji-less texts, they settle for 4 p.m. at Eugene’s place. It gives him enough time to shower, order in some lunch, get onto some important emails. He calls his mom, too, when he’s sure she’s not at church. It’s a weird conversation; he doesn’t know how to explain why he sounds so tired, or why he’s giving one-word answers. He wants to tell her, even if just to let it out of his chest, but this is not something they talk about. They never have, and they’re not starting now. She wouldn’t be comfortable with the topic, and he probably wouldn’t either.

His apartment starts to feel very suffocating.

He does his best to clean up after he hangs up, opening the blinds, changing the towels in his bathroom, taking out the trash. It helps him keep focused, even if his head is still sore, and his thirst never ending. 

Zach is there at 4 p.m. sharp.

It’s a weird thing to have him there, in front of him. Eugene is scared when he opens the door, which is something he isn’t expecting to feel at that moment. Zach, wearing a cap, hands hidden inside the pockets of his hoodie, smiles.

Eugene tries to smile back, but his heart is doing that stupid thing again.

He doesn’t want to lose Zach. He doesn’t want to see that smile any less. He doesn’t want to walk on eggshells around him because he doesn’t know how to keep his emotions in check.

“Hey,” Zach says, walking inside. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, which is good, but he does hesitate, standing in Eugene’s living room before he crouches down to rub Pesto's belly. “Should we, uh… Should I sit down? Can we sit down?”

“Of course,” Eugene follows, but doesn’t sit next to him on the couch. He perches himself on the only armchair there is. Emma is taking the seat, so he opts for the arm.

They are in silence for a couple of seconds before Eugene says, “I think I have—No, nevermind, I don’t. Water?”

Zach chuckles, “No, thanks. I’m guessing all you have to offer is alcohol?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

They laugh; Eugene feels his shoulders tense and tries to relax, but it’s hard. He’s hugging himself, almost, arms crossed in front of him. Zach looks small on his couch, like he’s trying not to take too much space.

“About yesterday, I think I should—"

“Wait, Zach, no,” Eugene interrupts him, sighing. He lets his head hang low for a brief moment before he’s looking Zach in the eye again. “I need to apologize. That’s the first thing that’s happening here. I was… Well, I was a dick yesterday. And I…” He tries to find the right words for this, but nothing sounds right in his head. “I don’t know, I think I had some kind of breakdown. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Zach watches him, patiently. When he’s done, Zach looks down at his hands and nods.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t—You were drunk, we were bothreally drunk.”

“Yeah, well, that’s still no excuse,” Eugene says, mumbling the words. Zach smiles at him.

“You’re right, it’s not.”

There’s a moment of silence in which their eyes meet.

“Did you mean it?”

Zach’s voice is so low and soft, it’s barely a whisper. Eugene hesitates, mouth hanging open as he tries to think of a way to answer that at the same time that it dawns on him that Zach was most probably holding back tears the night before. The glasses he's wearing now catch his attention, reminding him of how at the party Zach's eyes were clear, shining with tears. He doesn't know how he missed that.

“I—” He stops, wets his lips. “Yeah. I did mean every word of it.”

“So you have feelings for me?”

Eugene nods. He’s proud of himself for not avoiding Zach’s eyes when he does.

“But you don’t… like anyone.”

A beat. “I don’t. Usually.”

“Wow,” Zach blinks, looking down at his fingers again. “A lot to process there.”

Eugene can’t help but chuckle a little, because yeah.

“Why did you act like that was a bad thing, though?”

“Because—” The words die on his throat. Because maybe this isn’t real and I’d only hurt you, he thinks. I’d ruin our friendship by starting something that’s not gonna last. He doesn’t have the courage to say any of this, not right now. Something inside of him is screaming for him to not say it. The part of him that thinks that this is different. That this is not just a fling that may be worth keeping around. He and Zach have known each other for so long now, they know each other so intimately well, it’s absurd. They have talked about everything under the sun, except maybe the things Eugene tends to keep for himself. But he realizes in that split second that he wouldn’t mind maybe - who knows - sharing those with Zach, too. Slowly, someday. The idea of sharing some of the things hidden in the corners of his mind with him isn’t so bad. Zach means all the good things Eugene can think of, including...

Home.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Eugene finally says. His voice cracks a bit.

Zach’s eyes on him are soft, understanding. “Neither do I. No one does, I think.”

“Ned does,” Eugene argues. “Keith does, too. Shane and Sara—”

“Well, maybe some people do,” Zach stops him right there, shifting forward so he’s on the edge of the couch. “But not everyone. I certainly don’t, you know I haven’t had a relationship in forever.”

Eugene shakes his head, both negating what he just said and also to shake off any tears or uncertainty from his voice. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“You’re—” Eugene gesticulates, trying to find the right way to say what he has only felt so far. “You’re open. You wear your feelings on your sleeve and you’re fine with it. That’s how people should be in a relationship. I—I’m guarded, closed off, I—I don’t know—Fuck,” he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, refusing to let himself get teary-eyed. “I’m not a good partner, ok? I just know that. And you don’t deserve it. Not that I know what you deserve, all I know is that you deserve someone better than me.”

There’s the rustling of fabric before Eugene sees Zach has walked over and is now kneeling in front of him, one hand on Eugene's knee. He’s looking up at him, the corners of his mouth curving up; he looks lovely. He islovely, and this is too much. Eugene wants to touch him, wants to caress his cheek, wants to just know how his skin feels like in a touch that lasts longer than a mere second.

“I disagree with everything you just said, and that’s fine, because you’re wrong,” Zach says, making Eugene laugh. “You’re so worried about not being good enough that you haven’t even asked me how I feel about this.”

Eugene doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks at him.

“I like you, Eugene. Like, as fuck. As in, I want to hug the hell out of you and also maybe have some crazy, hardcore sex, all in one. Or maybe we don’t hug all that much because I know you’re not crazy about hugs, and I completely understand that.”

“Wait, what?”

“I must say, though, that I’ve been pretty vanilla all my life so I pictured more of a slow buildup for our sex live. If we were to have one, of course. Not that I’ve been fantasizing about you but we’ve talked so much about sex, it just comes out like this, sorry.”

“You like me?”

Zach gives him the softest smile Eugene has ever seen, and yeah, Eugene’s heart has stopped throwing itself against its cage; it flies free now, everywhere, giving him the sensation of… fucking hell, butterflies in his stomach.

“Yes, I do. Very much so.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Look who’s talking!” Zach shoots back, laughing. “But nah, I didn’t think you’d reciprocate, you know? Like, even if you somehow looked at me that way despite all the gorgeous people you’re usually making out with, I figured you’d worry about making it weird between us.”

“Well, yeah. We work together.”

“All the better. Office sex,” Zach jokes, and Eugene almost chokes on his own spit, bursting into laughter. “No but seriously, we’re grownass men, we can handle a possible breakup. Although I don’t think we will have to.”

“We don’t even have anything to break—”

Eugene doesn’t get a chance to finish. Zach stands up to reach his face and kisses him, just a press of lips that shuts Eugene up instantly. It’s surreal. It’s what Eugene has been dreaming about doing for what? months now. It’s all Zach - Zach’s soft lips, Zach’s aftershave, Zach’s entire being and existence just in reach...

“Now we do,” Zach says as he parts, smile so big Eugene can’t help but open one of his own. “Please don’t breakup with me, though.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Because as much as Eugene wants this, and oh god, he wants it so much… As much as he wants this, he still fears what the future holds for them. He’s still unsure about his ability to give Zach all that he needs, all that he deserves, and he’s terrified that he’ll eventually hurt him. But Zach kisses him again, this time closer, harder, and Eugene finds himself holding him by the waist as Zach’s arms sneak around his neck.

“I’m sure,” Zach says against his lips. His voice is an octave lower, and Eugene is so terribly, ridiculously in love. “We’ll talk about this, but for now can you do me a favor and just kiss me until I can’t feel my lips? Thank you.”

Eugene grins, and kisses him again.

"Wait, wait, wait," Ned says, smirking. "I got this. The gift from Eugene was... a collar."

The room explodes in laughter as Ariel slaps his arm. 

"What? It's possible! They're two consenting adults..."

"That would be hilarious," offers Keith, red-faced from laughing too hard and from the wine he has been nursing.

"Jesus Christ, can we not talk about our sex lives this early in the evening?" Zach says, but he's laughing. Eugene has an arm around his waist, so he feels Zach shaking with laughter under his touch. "I'm gonna need way more beer for that."

"Good idea!" Eugene kisses his temple and walks out of the room, towards the kitchen. He runs into Becky coming back and asks her about the drinks; she directs him to the right fridge.

It's when he's bent down, piling beers on his arms, that he hears whistling. He turns around just as Zach says, "Damn, I'd so tap that."

Eugene laughs so hard he nearly drops a bottle. They manage to get six of them on the counter, and Zach uses the opportunity to say, "You think we should tell them?"

"Only if you want to. I mean, I think we'll enjoy Venice a lot more if Ned isn't texting us every ten minutes. But if you want to tell them, I don't mind. It's your present, so it's your call."

"Nah," Zach rests his chin on his hand, leaning on the counter. "They're having too much fun to trying to figure it out. But if we get stranded on a desert island on our way there and need them to find us we're so fucked."

"We're fucked either way if that ever happens, but I promise not to eat you."

Zach smiles, "Aw, baby! Thank you! I promise not to eat you too."

They laugh, and Zach leans forward to give Eugene a peck on the lips. "Happy anniversary," he says. 

It's been a year, but Zach's voice still sounds like music to Eugene's ears. He can't contain his smile when he replies, "Happy anniversary, Zach."

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 12

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.

Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have any notes on that or anything else, let me know.

                                                        ***

     Deandre had the extra money to buy a floor waxer at one of the hardware stores on Aurora - of course with the intention of returning it as soon as we were done using it.  We’d done the hard work, the sun had set.  The boys had taken over for me after my place and part of the hall were done, and I was in my apartment.  Everything had been pulled off the floors to make room for the waxing.  I hadn’t bothered putting my apartment back in a reasonable order.  Even the garbage pile from the pill job had just been swept into a bag and left on top of the bar.

     I took a long bath.  My room was still too wrecked to contemplate, so after the bath I lay on a couch in the living room, listening to tunes and playing Tetris on an original gameboy.  The battery in the cartridge was long dead, leaving it unable to store high scores, but I wasn’t into that shit anyways.

     There was a knock at the door and I knew it was Grime.  I moved like a fairly chill tree sloth as I went for the door.  I opened it wide enough for him to see me in my bathrobe.  “Hey, Sailor.  Notice anything different about the place?”

     “Yeah, I heard about what you guys did.  It looks like it’s settled down a lot.  I don’t even know what to make of the whole situation, but fuck it.  How are you, Courtney?”

     Could I love Grime?  I wondered whenever he was being a good boy, making a sensitive expression, smiling gently like that - every part of his face alive.  “Mm, It’s been difficult, but I’m feeling better now.  Have you seen Marcie and Richie?  Sweet Jesus.”

     “No.  Black eyes?”

     “He has two, she has one, and the rest of the bruises are pretty nasty too.”  I was slouching against the wall and it was getting awkward, so I just walked in, leaving the door open behind me.  He followed.

     “Damn, that’s rough.  The price of fighting the good fight, right?”

     “Makes me wonder what the shithead looks like.”  I sat on one end of the couch, he sat on the other.

     He smiled, but with a hint of pain in the expression.  “Ouch.  I know he’s shit as far as we’re concerned, but y’know, clearly he has mental health issues, probably needs therapy that doesn’t involve brutality.”

     I glared.  “Nuh.  Society gave him a pass.  He was getting away with some fucked up shit, just because he’s a brutish overgrown baby, and nobody gives a fuck what people like that do to other poor people.”

     “...Yeah, you’re right.”

     “I know I am.”  I put my nose in the air.  The moment lingered, and I rolled my head to give the neck a stretch.  It was a hard couple of days.  My chin came to rest near my collarbone and I was looking down. With the lights in my living room turned up, my chest was too clear to me.  My sternum was bony, my skin scarred with the ghosts of acne.  I was getting skinnier than usual and I knew the more visible muscles were unfeminine looking.  I pursed my lips and pulled the robe more fully closed.

     When I looked up, I noticed Grime was looking shifty.

     “What’s up, dude?”

     “Oh, sorry.  I shouldn’t be eyeballing my cordial associate.”

     “You were?”

     “I thought you covered up and crossed my arms because you saw my eyes slip, or something?”

     “Huh.  I should keep one out for you.”

     “Excuse me?”

     “An eye.  What did you think I meant?  A titty?”

     He squeezed his eyes.  “This conversation isn’t very cordial.  I’m gonna just, get out of here.”  He stood up to leave.

     I stood up as well, and put an arm on his shoulder.  “You think you’re bad but I think I’m worse.”

     He froze, then turned to me slowly.  “I don’t think I’m bad, just because sometimes I slip up.  Intent has to matter for something.”

     “Does it?”  I pressed my body against his, let the robe fall open a little.  I rested my head on his shoulder.

     “If we do something here, that isn’t a little slip.  That’s just a fuckup.  The way you’ve been?  It can’t be a good idea for you to get with anyone until you calm down.”  He held my shoulders with both hands.

     I stared right into his eyes.  “Maybe true.  But I had an idea the other day and I’m having it again.”

     His grip loosened and his hands hung lower on my arms.  “What idea was that, Courtney?”

     “I think it’s called cowgirl position?”  I let my robe slide down, exposing my chest to him.

     “Mmmm,” he rolled his eyes in thought, clearly having a hard time thinking.  “I guess you seemed like you were doing OK before the police business yesterday…  Is this chill, Courtney?”  His hands latched onto my robe and held me by tugging on it.

     I rubbed his sides.  “Yeah, get on the couch, Graeme.  I’ll get the stuff.  Move it.”  I slapped his ass and went toward my bathroom, leaving him in the living room.

     As I passed through my room, I saw a candle with the Virgin Mary flush against the baseboard - a kitschy bit of decor left behind in the big sneeze.  I didn’t think anything of it, but in the bathroom looking for condoms and lube, I caught myself in the mirror there.  My makeup was a real shitshow, my violet lipstick smeared, my hair just twisted bedhead from hell.

     Something came to me.  I realized something about myself, and as I realized it, I felt like the knowledge could liberate me.

     I pulled my robe shut as I came into the living room, and found Graeme taking off his shoes.  “Put ‘em back on, man!”

     “What’s up?  Don’t you think that’ll look kinda weird?”

     “Not having sex.  I figured something out, Graeme!  I figured something out!  I finally understand.  You understand?”  I waved my hands.

     “No.  Ya lost me, but that’s fine.  Putting ‘em back on.”  He smiled wearily and started putting himself back together.

     “You’re my whore, Graeme!”

     “Uhh… I what?”

     “I have a Madonna-whore complex!  You’re my whore.”

     “Oh god, what does this even mean?  Do I wanna know?”  He finished putting his shoes on and scooted back to the far end of the couch.

     I came a little closer, then jumped back into my end of the couch.  I was still talking with my hands.  This was important, god damn it.  “Right, have you heard of it?”

     “Yeah, I think I understand what it means, but what do you mean?”

     “I was starting to feel really romantic about someone, and then that first night with you, I was in a position to be sexy, and you were there, and like - I was acting the ho, but I put that on you.  You were an outlet for lust, you were my dirty place to be, so the romantic side could stay pure, holy, right?”

     “Aww, this is just… Well, I guess it’s more of the same.  I’m just gonna give you a cordial good night.”

     “Lemme finish, dude!”  I grabbed his t-shirt.

     He didn’t love that.  “OK.”  He stood up, walked behind the couch, and leaned on the back, looking expectant.

     “So I fucked up my romantic situation because I was putting my lust in the wrong place, but I don’t have to, do I?  It’s like, the end of the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, when the shrinks figure out the main guy’s delusion is, and they say, ‘Now we can cure him.’  I’m curable, right?”

     He nodded, but was telegraphing his frustration.

     I kept on.  “What do you do, to make it so your love and lust line up?”

     “I guess you have to love the person you’re lusting after, or lust for the person you’re loving after.”

     “Yes!”

     “I thought you said you’d messed up that situation.  Also, you said you couldn’t love me.  If this is a lesson to help you fly right in the future, cool.  If you think this can fix where you are now, are you so sure?”

     I was shut down.  He had my number.  I sank into the couch, just looking at my knees making little tents in the bathrobe.  “Uh, yeah… I guess you’re right.  Man, I’m sorry, but… good night.  Go play a video game or something.”

     “You too, Courtney.  Really, I hope you figure your stuff out.”

     “Thanks.”  Fuck off, I thought.

                                                        ***

     The window in my living room almost completely sealed shut again, but a sliver of a crack was all it took to create howling whistles and uncanny drafts.  The wind seemed to pass through anything I jammed in the opening, like everything I owned was as much of a ghost as I was.

     Despite the lack of a door on my bedroom, the wall did slightly muffle the sound in there.  To replace the lost bed, I dragged a couch in that room.  It was a depressing scene of carnage I couldn’t bring myself to repair.  The furniture was mostly toppled, tatters of posters and clothing and more were strewn about the place.  The hours I spent in my bedroom (couchroom?) were of the head-buried-in-pillow and music-blasting nature.

     I didn’t have to think about the neighbors much where noise was concerned because the construction of the building included concrete between every floor and every unit.  Sometimes when you touch a wall, walk across a floor, look around yourself with unfocused eyes, you can sense the underlying structure of a place - the bones of the building.  The Myrmidon Apartments reminded me of a wall of cinderblocks, the way they are shaped like open concrete boxes beams between the compartments.  People’s lives were tucked into each hole in the cinderblock like filed memos, waiting to get bumped to the shredder or the abyss of permanent storage.

     In a building with that solid construction, we should never have felt tremors.  Maybe on a higher floor, where the great length of the building reduced the strength of the materials, where the power of artifice was put to shame by the power of nature, of atmospheric pressures that dwarfed everything.

     We shouldn’t have felt anything down on the twelfth floor, but the building was allergic to us, and the medicine was not completely effective.  Deandre ended up having to keep the floor waxer, we all had to take every opportunity to snake more meds to grind into our floors.

     In all of that, we only tended to the places we lived in or traveled.  Room 1207 was left to fester.  With no one in it, would it have lesser allergies anyway, as I had supposed?  Or would the allergies suppressed through medicine seek an outlet there, warping it more than the rest of the floor combined?  I didn’t have the courage to check it out, no longer going in there to chill.  I spent my time with neighbors or smashing my head in a pillow and listening to music.

     Despite the fact we were still catching little tremor and troubles, we could live in the building without fear of getting tossed in the night.  We’d beaten the allergy thing, and it made us feel a bit more confident.  Confident we could keep this scam going.  There were other aspects of life that kept us down.  Patrick and Grime has issues at work, Patrick had to worry about Perry.

     And I couldn’t stop thinking about Leimomi.  It made me feel like a creep.  But then, I knew something then I hadn’t known before.  I felt like I had Grime-proofed my brains.  I could do right by her, if I could get a chance.  I went over the pitch in my head at least fifty thousand times.

     But I also tried to devote equal time to creep-proofing myself.  What would a creep do?  Don’t do that, Courtney.  A creep would stare at her all sad in the rear view mirror.  OK, too late to not do that.  A creep would keep trying to message her, talk to her, be around her, past the welcome point.  In all my twisting, I did my best to avoid being around her more than an incidental pass in the hall, or at Marcie’s apartment.  Good job.

     I was succeeding at non-creeping, but I was going out of my mind.  I threw myself into focusing on other people’s lives whenever possible.  One day, I was at Deandre’s place, cleaning it up.  He insisted he didn’t need that, and I insisted that I needed something to do.

     After I finished sweeping up the place (soft broom to avoid stripping the medicine wax), I sprawled on one of his couches, across from him.

     He reached across the coffee table to pass me a beer and then leaned back with his own.  “Good job, mom.  You mind if I ask something?”

     “Uh,” I sipped the beer, “Depends on what you’re asking?”

     “Nothing personal.  But why do you do this to yourself?  This place is a flophouse.  It could look like shit, it doesn’t matter.”

     “Aww!  It shouldn’t have to be a flophouse.  Can’t it feel like home, at least a little?”

     “Nuh.  If I let myself think of it like that, you know they’d bust us out like the next fuckin’ day.”

     I sighed.  “True.”

     “So that’s all there is to it?  Trying to feel like you ain’t homeless?”

     I gave him an acid look.  “You know there’s more, but I’m not dumping that on you today.  You made me feel like a loser last time I used you for that.”

     He sighed and put his feet up.  “Yeah, sorry about that.  How ‘bout if I dump for a minute?  Even up.”

     “Dump away, Deandre.”  I drank more beer.

     “You ever wonder about other people’s romantic shit, when you’re stuck in your own?”

     “I guess I don’t.  You think we all have something going on?  Or are you stuck in your own too?”

     “Stuck.  You ever think about if you’re somebody else’s romantic shit?”

     “Oh god, I don’t want to think about that.”

     “Haha, sorry.  It goes around though.  I think that Olivia baby might be hot for me.  I hate it when kids get it for adults.  There are too many of us that are down, and I don’t wanna think about that.”

     “Sorry, man.  You have to set her straight?”

     “Naw, she ain’t sayin’ nothin’.  I could just tell though.”

     “And if you said something first, hell embarrassment.”

     “Right.  Anyhow, that ain’t what I wanna talk about.  I got a dude out there.”  He casually gestured to the window.  A dude in the sky?  No, in the city.

     “Oh?  But there’s trouble in paradise?”

     “Yeah.  He’s hot, we out there living like two kings.  Just lookin’ cool as shit.  So even those homophobic niggas respect us.  And at the end of the day, we get to fuck too.  Win win, right?”

     “I don’t wanna say it.”

     “Yeah, you know it though.  They think of me as a woman - as his woman.  And maybe he does too.”

     “Oh god that’s toxic.  What are you gonna do, man?”

     “Blow my brains out?  Fuck if I know.”

     “Oh, that hurts.  That hurts.  I care about you, dude.”

     “I’m sorry.  I’m just talkin’ shit.  I ain’t gonna do that.  But it feels bad.”

     “I can only imagine.”

     “Did it help you feel a little better though, thinkin’ about somebody else’s problems?”

     “Yeah.  Yeah, and that’s why I’m cleaning here, isn’t it?  Sorry.  I don’t wanna be greedy.”

     “It’s OK, but now it’s my turn to get a taste of that distraction.  What’s going on with you and that girl?”

     I buried my head in a pillow, but knew he wouldn’t be able to hear me, so I twisted my mouth into view.  “Nothing.  I’m stupid in love and we haven’t done anything since the blow up.”

     “That ain’t all there is to it, is it?”

     I looked at him timidly.  “Yeah.  I’ve been thinkin’ about it all day long, all the time.  I know what I want to say.  I’m done with that whole Grime thing now, for real.  All I want is her.”

     “I seem to remember you had some reservations before, but they’re all gone now?”

     “What?  Reservations?”

     “Like, maybe she’s too inexperienced ’n’ shit?”

     “Oh.”  I hadn’t thought about that in a while.  “I guess all it took for me to get clarity on my feelings is losing her.  How important is it to be all prudent and careful and make sure you do everything right all the time?  Yeah, it’s important for some reasons sometimes, but I let that get in the way of something great.”

     “Did you though?  You gotta lose it to enjoy yourself, but at the end of the day you gotta be real.  You gotta realize all that romantic shit is a dream.  We’re all alone in this life, no matter what we got.”

     I smashed a pillow into my face and cried a moment.

     His voice softened.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean shit by that.  It’s OK.”

     I wiped my face on the pillow and calmed down.  “Ugh, it’s not you.  No, that was good advice.  Gotta be cool.  This is me being cool.”  I sat up, grabbed the can off the table and finished drinking it.

     “So cool.  You wanna go to lunch, mom?  I got a few bucks.  Hurricane’s got chicken strips.”

     “Yeah, that would be great.  Maybe we can talk about sports instead.”

     He laughed.  “Yeah, fuckin’ sports.”

     On the way through the lobby, we ran into Sharon.  She reminded me my name was Maria last time I talked to her, which had me worried she was going to follow through with the getting to know people game.  But then she got distracted and let slip just how much work the property company was putting on her.  It left us feeling safe.  She was never going to have the time to find us out.

     There we were, a couple of trans nogoodniks, in gay love with heartache-inducing people.  I was in a pride baby doll tee and crappy around-the-house clothes, but did have my makeup and jewelry on.  He was in dapper pinstripe pants, jordans, and a greenish silver collared shirt with the sleeves rolled.  It was overcast but warm, with only a few random drops of rain.  Not worth an umbrella.

     I liked Deandre.  If I was a mom, he was a good son.  Not the son that makes six figures and buys mom a mansion.  He was the son that would probably do prison time, but never for anything truly evil.  At least, not that I’d be able to see through my pride and affection.

     We walked less than ten blocks to the diner.  It wasn’t great, but it was an institution, provided a service at a price that was headed for extinction in the neighborhood.  It was a place to sit down and get served food for less than your whole paycheck, without the glossed over prison cafeteria feel of a fast food place.

     We came in from the daylight and a dispassionate youth saw us to a table.  I put my elbows on the table.  He put an arm over the back of his seat and stretched.  We waited for our drinks in relative quiet. I tore up a napkin, making sure the pieces fell in a neat pile so I could cover it up with my hands when the youth got back.  She arrived and we ordered - Deandre with the chicken strips and fries, me with a BLT.  I knew I couldn’t eat the whole thing but it’s what I felt like tasting.

     When we were alone, I remembered what we were supposed to be talking about.  “Fucking sports.  You dress sporty sometimes.  You into that?”

     He laughed.  “No.  I know enough to hold a conversation, but only ’cause I have to.  How about you?  Any interest in kickin’ balls?”

     “Oh god.  Bad memories.”  I waved my fingers to dispel them.  “No, I don’t know anything about sports.  What else do people talk about?”

     “The weather, but that just turns into that butt-ass joke, ‘don’t like the weather?’”

     “...‘Wait five minutes.’  It is to laugh.”

     “Yeah.”  He glanced to the side, contemplated.

     “Oh, usually when I’m at a place to eat, I’ll get to talking about the place itself, other times I’ve eaten there, how it compares to other spots, that kinda shit.  What do you think?”

     “Oh yeah.  Why not?  This place sucks.  It’s funny though, that makes it like, everyone has stories about coming here when you fucked up or having a shit time.”

     “Haha, funny you should mention that...”

     We spoke on it for a time.

     After he learned about every time I’d crash landed at the Hurricane - and I’d learned about his - we talked about food in general.  Deandre felt like he hadn’t eaten anything truly good in years, like eating out was an quest for an experience that might never be had.  I also revealed that I was rather particular about food, but didn’t have anything so grandiose or amusing to say about it.

     I finished my food and put the remainder in a box to go.  Deandre finished eating all of his food around the same time.  He leaned back and I leaned back.  Time to chill for another hour of bullshitting.  It’s tradition, when the restaurant is not super crowded.  I didn’t know that with just a few little words, things were about to get fucked up.

     “Where’d you get your name from?”

     I still didn’t know, just took it as intended - a casual curiosity.  “Favorite musician when I was younger.”

     “Kourtney Kardashian?  Courteney Cox?  Courtney B. Vance?”

     “What’s their music like?”

     “The KCV Trio?  Pimpin’.  What’s yours sound like?”

     “Courtney Love.  She’s more than just Kurt’s wife.  She’s kinda messed up so I don’t like to follow the news on her, but her music means a lot to me.  I hope she’s doing well.”

     “Oh.  Yeah.  Huh.”  He turned it over in his head.  “The racism makes it hard to like her, doesn’t it?”

     “Oh no.”  I said it casual, but this was the first hint of alarm in the conversation.

     “Yeah, I heard it was pretty bad.  I try to look too close at the people I like either.”

     I felt like my eyes were shrinking, my head swimming.  Why did I feel like that?  “I shouldn’t even ask, should I?”

     “You didn’t ..?  Yeah, you don’t wanna hear about that.  Forget I said anything.”

     “Haha, yeah...”

     I didn’t forget though.  I claimed I felt ill - true - and got myself home in a hurry.  I needed to be alone.

                                                        ***

     Read the next chapter here.