#sorry it’s so brief but it’ll suffice i think

[guangchuans]

[Image description: a meme image of a person saluting and then screaming. End image description.]

[steviewashere]

This may be a bit out there request (also feel free to ignore) for a small oneshot, but can I request some pure steve angst? him and hop sharing a drink, no ships, just two dudes talking about shitty things that have happened to them over the past few years. My boy desperately needs a father figure.

Okay, I'm so sorry this took so long to answer. I literally started writing it, forgot about it, and then came back and couldn't think of anything. And I also didn't have Hopper share too much, but I hope this suffices some. This was a fun challenge. <3

Pairing: Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper CW: Discussion of Canon Traumatic Events, Brief Mention of Canon Violence Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

🫂—————🫂 He’d been sitting outside with his head between his knees for the better part of half an hour when the door creaked open behind him. Even as the footfalls, heavy and slow, made their way towards him, Steve didn’t dare drag his eyes up. Kept them securely at his feet. To the wooden step underneath him. On the off chance that whatever world existed around him was a mirage.

The person sits down next to him with an unceremonious grunt. Their breaths are as heavy as their steps. A swallow clicking in their throat, probably dry and overused. Something chilled is pressed against his denim clad thigh. And that’s when Steve finally draws enough effort to look up.

Hopper sits hunched, head pointed at the trees beyond his cabin, eyes darting between them. In his right hand is an offered, cold bottle of beer. A firm outstretched bridge. And Steve tentatively takes it. He’s not quite old enough to be partaking in this, Hopper should know that, but also—he’s not the chief anymore, is he? So, why should he care?

His beer is already uncapped when he raises it to his face. Knocking it back and taking it in with a deep swallow. The foam churning on his tongue, sugary between his teeth, and moist on his lips. He heaves a sigh. Mutters, “Thanks.”

Another bottle is drank from. The slosh against the sides of the glass an easy sound. Hopper smacks his lips together. “Looked like you needed one,” he states gruffly. A swig. “God knows I did with all that damn commotion in there.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs back, “it’s too loud for me.” He takes a small sip at his drink. Shifts the bottle back and forth between his palms, relishing in the crisp condensation on his skin. Begins to pick at the label where it looks like it’ll peel away easily, if he just gave it his full effort. “I don’t even know why I came over. I can’t stand noisy shit.”

“Feel like the old Steve Harrington that I’ve met would say otherwise,” Hopper muses. Instead of dignifying it with a response, Steve just nods his head in silent agreement. Because yeah, pre-November, 1983 Steve would be doing keg stands and chanting at the top of his lungs. Not moping around on the front porch of the ex-chief of police. Sharing beer of all things.

The noise inside the house floats out from under the crooked front door. A mixture of birdsong and laughter. The subtle soft chirps of crickets beginning to wake up. It’s good outside, the air cold on Steve’s face and the sun nearly set. He takes a deep breath and just absorbs.

“Sometimes,” Hop starts softly when their shared silence stretches too long, “sometimes I look at you and see myself.”

Steve swallows around nothing. “That a good thing?” He asks just as quiet.

“No,” Hopper answers honestly. “You look like you’d rather be under the dirt than be anywhere. There’s…you’re a lonely lookin’ nineteen year old.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well—“ Steve sighs. “—maybe I’d rather that. All things considered, Hopper.” There are eyes on him, he can sense them through the aching joint of his left shoulder. They burn him. It hurts to have attention like this on him, after so much time alone. And he knows that he’s got Robin and the party members—he’ll maybe have Eddie if he pulls through in the hospital. But that doesn’t make his house any less silent, or his parents’ room any less dusty, or his bed any less cold.

“You got anybody you can talk to, kid? Outside of Robin?”

Steve sniffs. Picks at the label on his beer bottle. Tries not to notice his shaking hands. “Who ‘m I gonna talk to?” He asks lowly. “A shrink is gonna think I’m crazy, put me away. And y’know how my parents are. They aren’t going to believe me, let alone listen.”

Hopper’s leg bumps his. Beer bottle clinking against the porch as he sets it down. He ducks down, enough to make direct eye contact with Steve. His eyes are fierce, yet inviting and soft. Steve’s stomach churns. “Talk to me, then. You need an adult who will understand you? I’m right here.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. Something, Steve.” A hand lands gently on his shoulder. The warmth a lull, a sweet thing. And something inside of him begins to melt. But he doesn’t say anything, still. Hopper sighs long and winded. And the touch dissipates, leaving Steve drifted and yearning.

Behind them, Hopper’s cabin swells with noise. That raspy laugh of Robin’s. And Mike’s honk snorting. Even Jonathan is adding something, a few loud comments here and there. “I can’t believe we won!” Dustin crows and the others join in intense agreement. And Steve wonders why he can’t celebrate like they can. What happened to him. Where his joy lays in all this.

Hopper sips his beer again, looking out at the trees once more. Smacks his lips together. “I don’t know how to celebrate this shit,” he admits quietly. “I’m…Part of me is excited to not see my girl use those powers of hers again. To hopefully see her hair grow out. But another part of me is—I just remember all the bad shit that happened before we got to this point.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. He gulps a good third of his beer in one go. The sour bitterness of the drink burning his throat alive. When he pulls the bottle away, he absentmindedly rubs at the dark red demobat scar on his neck. “Especially when my body remembers and is covered in my failures,” he mutters.

Beside him, Hopper makes a noise of agreement. A hum. A grunt sort of thing. “I used to be a fat guy.” He half-heartedly chuckles. “Now I’m just this skinny dude with real short hair and the eyes of a World War Two soldier.”

Steve snorts. “And I used to have plain, blemish free skin. Now look at me, Hop.” He gestures loosely at his own face and neck when Hopper does turn and look over. “No amount of coconut oil—or whatever—is going to get rid of this shit. Like my mom keeps insisting on. I mean…She doesn’t know all the shit I’ve been through. The—The plate I took to the crown of my head or the needle to my neck or those Russian shitheads that knocked me senseless.”

Hopper’s breath hitches. Steve curses at himself internally. Remembers the haunted body that pulled him in close when they reconvened. Remembers the frantic calls from Jonathan, of all people, asking what to do when it comes to nightmares—“Not mine,” Jonathan had said, “Hop’s. He just…He just yells.” And even remembers the faint hints Hop gave: the relief in finding a jar of peanut butter, the biting cold, the labor, and the cells. The separation from who he used to be. The loneliness within what he’d gone through, which Steve knows all too well. “Russians?” Hopper softly implores anyway.

And part of Steve knows what he’s doing. The crack to his shell deepening, stretching. But he answers despite it all. Keeps his voice leveled, careful as to not be heard from inside the cabin. “Yeah,” he whispers, the syllables cracking. “Robs and Dustin and I, we all decoded this tape, right? There was Russian speech on it or whatever and I ended up finding the source of the intermission. It was coming from underneath Starcourt. So, y’know how stupid we all are, we went ahead and found these assholes and…Well I—“ He rubs the lip of his beer bottle to his own bottom lip. Eyes glossing over, remembering. “They were going to hurt Robin,” he states, his own voice like gravel, “and Dustin. And little Erica. So I did the stupid thing. Answered their interrogation. They didn’t like the answers; I earned a few punches. Went unconscious. Got hit with some truth serum drug bullshit. Threw up my guts, ended up with a concussion, saw a guy die in front of me, went home and threw up again in the shower, and then I went to bed.”

All at once, the world narrows to just them. Hopper’s completely silent though and Steve doesn’t want to glance over. See the pity written on his sullen, aged face. So he shrugs, takes another swig of his beer, and burps lightly when the carbonation comes up. Nonchalance. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Right, Hop?” Steve pokes quietly. “Throw myself in danger for the people around me. Try to keep them on my good side. Show them I’m worth giving a shit about. Save ‘em. Love ‘em for a bit. Wait until they turn on me or whatever.

“I know you do it, too. So don’t try to lecture me,” Steve mutters, “At least we don’t have to do it again.”

He’s not sure what to really expect to any of that. But he doesn’t think he’d ever expect a firm, heavy arm to wrap around his shoulders. To tug him in close and warm. To hold him gently.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper murmurs.

Steve tries to pull away, but the hand on his opposite bicep squeezes him back. “It’s not your fault, Hop. It’s—“

“You’re a kid, Steve,” he emphasizes. “A kid with a long fucking life ahead of you. And you’ve already seen enough for, well, for lifetimes. You should’a never been in any of this shit, none of you teens should’a. Not just those Russians, Steve. But for everything.”

He doesn’t feel like a kid. Doesn’t really feel like anything, but Hopper doesn’t need to know that right now. Sure, he’d understand. That liminal space after losing his daughter, right after war, before his world quite literally turned upside down—Hopper lived that nothingness for a long while. Maybe he lives it again, Steve isn’t sure.

But he just sighs. “You shouldn’t have been there, either,” Steve murmurs. His face is warm and his eyes sting. And before he really knows what’s happening, he’s crying. Hot tears that sear all the way down to the underside of his jaw. That don’t really produce much noise from him, but he supposes the terrible stuttering in and out is something.

“C’mere, kid,” Hopper mutters.

His beer gets set aside somewhere. Pulled even further in. Head nestled on Hopper’s shoulder, the fresh shave of his beard burning on Steve’s forehead. A hand between his shoulder blades and the other on the back of his head. Steve’s arms sit limp at his sides. But within Hop’s warmth, the musk of aftershave and Irish Spring soap, and his firm and careful hold—Steve finally breaks.

It’s not a catastrophic thing, like he had expected. It’s not all that quiet either.

Shoulders shaking, eyes heavy, and nose burning—Steve cries. Cries with the force of a sudden summer downpour. Heaves giant breaths as if he’s just come up from drowning. And he sobs against the bare skin of Hopper’s neck. Open mouthed. Wet exhales. Big globs of spit sticky between his lips.

When he can finally catch his breath, feel the exhaustion into his bones, he pulls back.

Hopper lays his hands on either side of Steve’s face. His own cheeks wet with tears. Sniffling. “I know, okay? I know, kid,” he says quietly. “You need a home to run to? A shoulder to cry on? You just need a good dad hug? Come over, okay? Steve, you just gotta come over.”

And with that, all Steve can do, is give in.

He cries again into Hopper’s shoulder.

Later, he’ll listen to Hopper in turn. Hug him just as fiercely. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. But this is nice. Just this for a little while longer.

For the first time in his life, though, he feels like he’s got a home to return to. An ear to hear him. And a heart to care about him.

🫂—————🫂 Thank you for the ask, this was an interesting one!

[clefairymuke]

oiiii i have a request for a oneshot or maybe something fun to add to your regrets fic (whatever you find better) I think it would be funny a reader x the scouts drunk and levi finding them and being all cute taking care of reader :3

thank you for this request!! sorry for how long it took, but it managed to pull me out of some writers block that’s been kicking my ass lately. thank you for suggesting it and reading!

as always, much love! <3

-----------------------------------------------------------

Red Wine | Levi x Reader

pairing: levi x reader

themes: fluff

tw: swearing, alcohol use

word count: 2511

True fun and relaxation is not something you typically experience.

Of course, when you signed up for this whole Scout Regiment thing, you weren’t expecting nights out in bars and plush queen-sized beds with wool blankets. You expected exactly what you got: exhausting days and mostly sleepless nights, demanding grief and waking nightmares. One thing you hadn’t expected, however, was how stale it would get. These thoughts are why you ended up where you are now: propped lazily against a wall surrounded by your friends, loud laughs bubbling freely from your ever-smiling mouth, and a bottle of wine in hand.

While the “why” is clear to you, the “how” is a bit more cloudy. Around the complete euphoria in your head stands a thick fog blocking your memory — that, or the fact that your drunkenly dwindling attention span can no longer support a thought lasting more than a second or two. All you know is that you’re here now, and you’re having the time of your life. Your eyes and ears skirt past Eren and Jean arguing without stopping to listen in as you pass the bottle to Mikasa.

For once, you aren’t thinking about how Levi could make this experience better. Although you love being in the company of your boyfriend, you can’t help but imagine his disdain if he were to witness your situation. You can almost feel the ferocity of his razor sharp-glare creeping up your spine as you picture it within your mind.

You lay your head back on the concrete wall that keeps you upright and close your eyes. Although you had shown to be quite social when the bottle first began to be passed, you now wanted nothing more than to take a nice nap — or to go vomit just to ease yourself of the queasy feeling that was overtaking your stomach. Either would suffice. You listen to your friends chatting mindlessly around you, their care to be inconspicuous slipping away with the wine. You watch Connie drain what was left in the bottle, leaving you to curse at the fact that you would be stuck in the uncomfortable kind of drunk that left you a bit nauseous while still conscious enough to be prone to anxiety.

You sit there in a dizzy oblivion for what could have been five minutes or fifty, tuning out the antics of the rest of the people in the room as they laugh and roughhouse. Your stomach stirs and turns, but your mind begins to clear: you notice Connie and Sasha choreographing a dance routine to music only they could hear; Mikasa and Armin sit quietly chatting behind Eren as he and Jean argue over who is more adept at fighting; Ymir and Christa are making googly eyes at each other over their giggles.

“Hey, guys?” you say, your brain lagging behind your mouth by at least a few seconds. “I’m probably about to throw up.” You quickly discover that you’re right, as your gut begins to bubble and your mouth begins to water.

“Oh, fuck,” Connie mumbles as he looks around the room desperately. Sasha looks disappointed as he stops dancing and approaches where you sit against the wall, gripping your wrists in his hands and helping you to your feet; with both of you being drunk enough to show it, stumbles are surely present. Time skips, and you’re kneeled in front of the toilet, Connie leaving to give you privacy — you’re decidedly much drunker than you thought you were.

Just as you start to vomit, you hear Eren defeatedly say, “Oh, fuck me.” That can’t be good.

The space goes silent save your groans. The most imaginative depths of your brain think that perhaps a titan is looking in the window, waiting to bring you all to your doom. How convenient for half of the newest scout recruits to be intoxicated and defenseless. When you hear Levi’s voice say, “Stupid fucking brats. Where is she?” you wish it were a titan instead.

A chorus of voices answer, “Bathroom.” What a bunch of fucking sellouts, you think to yourself. Your heartbeat begins to pound in your throat again as you hear his footsteps grow near; when he taps at the door a few times, you let it all out — out of fear or simple drunkenness you are unsure. “God damn it,” you hear him mumble before the door handle turns and his hands find your hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail.

He rubs your back in a manner you can only describe as passive-aggressive. You can tell he wants to scold you — and you’re definitely in for it once you get to feeling better — but you can also tell that he wants to care for you. That’s why you try to pretend not to hear his curses as he lectures you on responsibility.

“Why the hell are you drinking with these idiots? I wouldn’t be mad if it was a glass or two, but there are three empty bottles on the floor in there. Three. No wonder you’re puking your fucking guts up,” he mutters, voice low enough for only you to hear despite his angry tone.

You feel your eyes watering as your stomach settles for another brief moment. “Levi,” you say, your breathing labored, “now is not the time.” You hear him scoff before you begin to dry heave, his hand moving a bit more caring across your back as he holds onto your hair. Your gut starts to feel a bit better as your brain realizes there’s nothing left. He places his hands under your arms and lifts you gently to your feet before flushing the toilet. You stumble awkwardly to his lead as he escorts you to the sink.

He reaches around you to turn on the water, which is cold to the touch as he holds your hand beneath it. “Clean your mouth out,” he says, nudging his hand around yours until you form a cup. “It’s disgusting.” You oblige him, lifting it to your lips. You feel it drip down your chin as you swish it around between your teeth, looking up in the mirror to see your blushing cheeks and droopy eyes. Levi stands behind you, dressed in no more than a grey t-shirt and some comfortable-looking pants. His hair is neat and combed, which doesn’t quite match the rest of his attire, but you aren’t complaining. He looks as ethereal as always. After you spit, he grabs your shoulder and spins you around to face him.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing the tears that had formed on your face away with his thumbs. You shake your head at him, your eyes trailing down to the ground. Here comes the scolding.

He sweeps you off your feet, to your surprise, holding you bridal-style as he carries you out of the bathroom. You lay your head against his shoulder, seeing the walls of the room and the faces of your friends go blurrily by as he strides to the door; they all look terrified.

“Laps,” you hear Levi announce to your friends, his voice icy. “At dawn. I don’t give a shit if you’re hungover.”

A chorus of groans is the soundtrack for your exit as the door slams shut. The walk back to Levi’s suite is spotty at best; you’re unsure of exactly how long it’s taking. The scenery around you feels more dreamlike than anything — you find yourself hoping that you’re still propped against the wall with your friends, sleeping soundly and dreaming of Levi catching you red-handed. When time jumps and he’s laying you down on his couch, you’re pretty sure you’re awake.

You hear rustling around as you lay there, still half waiting for a scolding. He rejoins you rather quickly, setting some things down on the side table and gently lifting your head. He sits, letting you back down slowly to lay in his lap. “I brought you bread,” he says, taking it from the table and placing it in your hands. “It’ll soak up the alcohol. There’s water over here when you need it.” You inspect the bread lazily before nibbling on it. The very idea of chewing something and swallowing it is enough to make you nauseous, but you trust his judgement.

You feel his hand fall atop your forehead and his fingers draw circles in your hair. You don’t fight the grin threatening your lips. “Are you okay, my love?” he asks, his voice soft. This is the tenderness you had fallen in love with many months ago; the one thing your friends are blind to. He carries himself with such coldness for the public — he is rude, and blunt, and insufferable, and unobtainable. With you, however, he could be kind. He could be loving. The speed with which his gentle voice melts your heart never lessens. This is Levi at his most vulnerable.

“I’m just drunk,” you tell him, your words slurring into each other. “I’m not dying.”

You hear a chuckle barely pass over his lips like a spring breeze, the sparkle in his eyes reminiscent of the way the sun reflects off the surface of a pond. The peaceful nature of your position is a worthy opponent to how your insides wage war on one another: nausea, dizziness, and the beginnings of what will become an absolutely splitting headache all contained within one disoriented body. “I would’ve gone with you, you know,” he says suddenly after a serene moment of silence. “I would’ve known when you needed to stop drinking.” He combs his fingers against your cheek, silvery eyes softening into pools of undeniable adoration.

“You would’ve been a complete buzzkill,” you reply, half joking as you close your eyes and enjoy the rare affection.

You hear a cross between a scoff and a laugh come from above you. “Keeping those brats from getting you so wasted that you start puking isn’t being a buzzkill. It’s called taking care of you.”

“I think I’m not drunk enough,” you say honestly. “We ran out of wine right at that stage where you could go to sleep or start throwing up, but there’s absolutely no chance of having a good time.”

He taps the top of your head with two fingers, prompting you to let him up. You oblige him, using the opportunity to lay down your bread and take a sip from the glass of water that rests on the side table. You watch as he saunters back toward the kitchen, wondering what he was doing somewhat, but mostly just trying to get a grip on your senses. You sit up as you wait on his return, laying your head back against the plush upholstery and taking deep breaths.

He’s back as quickly as he left, both hands behind his back in a feeble attempt to hide the wine glasses as their stems poked around to your view. You feel a smile creep onto your face as he unveils his master plan: a bottle of red wine and a glass for each of you. “Don’t expect this often,” he announces as he sets it all on the table, pulling a wine key from his pocket. He joins you on the couch, scooting in close so that your knees brush before you hear the satisfying pop of the cork and the relaxing swish of liquid on glass.

“You’re expecting me to believe that Captain Levi is offering to get drunk with me?” you giggle, almost nervous to reach for the wine in front of you. He laughs off your comment, reaching in front of him and lifting the glass to his lips; he takes only a sip before looking at you in expectation. You take yours as well, holding it up to his jokingly before you both bring them to your mouths.

After your first gulp, time begins to melt away. A movie-esque montage begins in front of your eyes: the sight of the man you love, once so stoic and so stiff, loosening and laughing the night away at your side; the feeling of typically isolated and scarce hands trailing carelessly along the length of your arms, warm against the sensitive skin of your wrists and your thighs; the smell of red wine spilled innocently on hardwood and upholstery without complaints or uprooting to clean it; the sound of his velvet and brass voice with his uncensored expressions of love, whispered and melodic; the taste of mint and jasmine tea on his unusually wandering lips.

What might be thirty minutes or three hours passes in a flash, leaving you sprawled across the couch with the drunken mess that is your typically reserved lover, legs utterly entangled so that you were unsure where you ended and he began. He’s whispering to you — that much you know — but his words are slurred, and you’re unbelievably distracted by the feeling of wet kisses being peppered along your jaw and ear. He grasps at your back, massaging and caressing and leaving no inch uncovered by his calloused hands as his touch reminds you why you breathe and laugh and plainly exist.

“Levi,” you whisper, your mind a tangled ball of twine save for the feeling of his breath on your cheek.

He hums in response, not bothering to look up at you. You can feel his grin against your jaw.

“We should get to bed, love.”

You’d be left to wonder how the two of you made it into the next room when morning came; rest assured there would be a trail from the couch to the bedroom door made from clumsily knocked-over knick knacks and your discarded clothes from the day to clue you in. If you were sober, you’d care enough about Levi’s wrath tomorrow to clean up behind the two of you; however, you aren’t sober, and you don’t care enough.

The two of you fall into the bed you share, intertwining your limbs like the threads of a tapestry, laying out plainly and beautifully the comfort you find in him. Your head finds his chest and his hands find your lower back, pulling you flush against him as his eyelids begin their threats to close before he is quite ready. He murmurs out your name, his hold on you growing more snug when it passes his lips. “I love you, s—” he falters, nuzzling his face in the top of your head. “So much.”

It’s short — and a pretty common thing for someone to say to the person they love — but it means everything coming from him. “I love you, Levi,” you tell him, praying to whatever is up there that you’ll remember this in the morning.

Soon, the two of you stop stirring and whispering. As you breathe him in, you try to hear his words in your mind as many times as you can before you slip out of consciousness. You begin to drift off to sleep, peaceful and content in his arms as you’ve ever been.

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Two: Where the Heart Is

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the love you have shown to part one! I’m so glad to see that you’re enjoying YBMH so far, the story is just getting started. I hope you’ll stick around for the full thing, so without further ado, here’s chapter two! As always, my inbox is open so feel free to come chat with me when you have finished this part :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug use

Word Count: 5.1k

read part one here

The phone screen flickers to life at the touch of Harry’s finger, flashing the exact same time that it had the last time he checked, though it feels like hours have passed since then. He sighs at the disappointing revelation and turns his phone over so that the screen meets the aged wood of the piano where it rests. In all honesty, Harry has no idea why he agreed to the interview in the first place. He had skillfully dodged the hundreds of requests for an exclusive tell-all following the untimely split of One Direction and successfully avoided the prying eyes of the general public for several months. So why had he indulged the first request from a girl he hardly knew without so much as a blink? The answer seemed a frustrating mystery to him, but to anyone else, the fluttering in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of her yellow Ford Bronco pulling up to the studio and the way he instinctively raked a hand through his hair gave the answer away.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry!” Alani apologizes, emerging from the car with a notebook nestled under her arm and a smoothie in each hand. She closes the door with her hip before making a beeline to the studio entrance where Harry stands, his right shoulder leaning against the doorframe with the same stoic expression Alani recognizes as his signature look.

“I had to get my sister to cover for me at the café and then I got lost because Google sent me to a Napua restaurant instead of the recording studio,” she rambles in an attempted continuation of her apology. “But anyway, this is for you. A peace offering and a thank you for doing this.”

Harry gingerly takes the green smoothie from her outstretched hand and offers a curt nod in response before ushering her inside.Alani pushes her sunglasses up and settles them into her windswept waves, trailing behind Harry and taking in the space. In one corner across the room, she notices a couple of brightly colored tapestries thumbtacked to the wall with a microphone stand perched in the center, all encased behind a screen of plexiglass. The adjacent wall is lined with guitars all standing at attention and glimmering, despite the dim lighting. Harry stops at the doorway of another room with a couch and a coffee table, the floor littered with wires and pieces of crumpled paper. He motions Alani to step inside and then clears his throat, which catches the attention of two other long-haired men chatting with amused expressions on their faces.

“Sorry lads,” Harry crosses his arms with eyes glued to the floor to avoid their questioning stares. “‘Fraid I have to intrude. Can we have this room?” 

One of the men grins behind a full beard,  popping a peanut M&M into his mouth before standing. “Sure thing, boss man. Let’s bounce, Rowland.”

The other man, also bearded but smaller in stature with a thin, pointed nose nods silently. He continues twirling two drumsticks between his fingers and points one of them at Harry in passing. Alani offers polite smiles at the both of them, and a quiet “thank you” falls from her lips as they exit without another word. Harry closes the door behind them and gestures to the couch, which she takes as her cue to sit.

“I like the uniform,” Alani smiles, gesturing to her hair as a comment on the fact that the three men all share similar lengths and styles.

“Thanks,” is all Harry says, taking a seat across from hers and clearly dismissing her attempt at humor.

To pacify the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence, Alani sips her strawberry smoothie and steals a glance through her eyelashes at Harry who is doing the same. She clears her throat after a minute and sets the drink on the table in front of her; a notebook takes its place on her lap.

“Thank you again for doing this, I really appreciate it,” Alani offers while digging through her bag for her phone. “I’m gonna record this on voice notes, just for the sake of quoting you accurately.”

“Sure,” Harry replies, occupying his gaze with the condensation trickling from the cup onto his fading black jeans. 

Dry retorts from everyone else, especially customers, have little effect on the way Alani conducts herself.  But every short comment from Harry, or lack thereof, makes her feel like a bug under a microscope. She settles her phone onto the coffee table and takes a deep breath to calm the trembling that spreads from her chest into her fingers and toes.

“So first, I wanted to ask about your time in Hawai’i. Are you enjoying it so far?” Alani poses the question lightly, hoping to open him up just enough to extract the story that she’s really looking for.

“It’s nice,” Harry nods, finally meeting her expectant stare. When she doesn’t respond for a beat, he clears his throat and adds on to the statement. “Weather’s good,”

Alani musters a half-hearted smile and glances down at the questions on her page. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, she sighs.

“Is that what drew you here—vacation? Getting away?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,”

The row of guitars behind the singer catches her attention suddenly and guides the next question.

“And to write or.. record?”

Harry shifts in his seat, calculating his response carefully. “Both,”

“Solo stuff?”

Alani watches as he takes a slow sip of his smoothie and crosses his legs, an action which tells her that she’s struck a dead end. Or, at the very least, a door that she hasn’t gained his trust to open yet.

“You were with One Direction for half a decade,” She recovers. “Constantly releasing new music and touring. But now you’re here, doing neither, and haven’t done so for almost a year. What is that transition like?” Alani isn’t sure if Harry will answer when she poses the question, but to her surprise he meets her gaze and nods, as if to say that he accepts the inquiry.

“It’s different than anything I’ve ever done, for sure,” he starts slowly. It’d be a lie to say that he hasn’t given the breakup and, subsequently, his future outside of the band much thought. He thinks about it every day, especially his bandmates and their supportive fans. That much he has been able to unpack privately, but the rest of it—the sudden need to escape and write new music— is still something he can’t quite put into words, so he leans into the nostalgia and hopes it’ll suffice.

“Like you said, it’s been non-stop for the past five years, so I guess it is a bit jarring to come to a sudden halt after so much momentum. Obviously, it’s nice to have the time off, but I love putting out music and touring it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything,”

Alani is grateful to have more than a couple of words of material, despite the fact that it doesn’t really answer the question or tell her anything new about the man sitting crossed legged and closed off in front of her. Looking through her notes, Alani selects another question and embarks on a new angle.

“You were really young when all of that began,” she starts, thinking about how she could never have left her family and home at just 16. Hell, she was 22 and still figuring it out. Hopefully, if all things went well with this interview and Rolling Stone, she would finally find the opportunity to do it. “Do you ever think about where you would be if you hadn’t auditioned for X-Factor?”

Harry knows that she’s playing it safe, trying to feel him out and test the buttons she can push. He also knows that he’s being difficult, much more so than usual due to his nerves. So with an unfamiliar pang in his chest, he decides to relent the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’m starting to think maybe I could’ve been a professional surfer,” he offers matter-of-factly which makes Alani flash an amused grin. Harry’s sudden humor makes the room a bit less suffocating for the both of them and she’s grateful for it.

“Surfing, huh? This I have to see.” she  quips back, suddenly trying to picture him ditching the black skinny jeans for a wetsuit.

He nods with a faint smirk. “Maybe you will.” 

Alani meets his gaze with a shy smile of her own and her eyes fall to his lips for a brief second. The almost imperceptible action sends another foreign jolt through Harry’s chest. She opens her mouth to resume questioning when a loud bang startles them both and causes Harry to spin in his seat, looking through the glass window of the sound booth.

“Sorry!” A man with short, blonde hair and a fading tie dye shirt laughs while lifting the tipped over drum cymbals. “Don’t mind us!”

The two men from earlier straggle in behind and poorly conceal their own fits of laughter. Harry flashes his middle finger briefly, mouthing something that Alani can’t see but knows is undoubtedly rude. She suppresses a giggle and sneaks a glance at her phone, which indicates only a few minutes worth of dialogue. When she lifts her head, the door opens and the blonde man peeks his head in.

“Hello,” he greets with an extended hand before entering and taking a seat next to Alani on the couch. “Tom Hull, or Kid Harpoon...or just Tom, whatever you like best,” 

 She accepts his hand eagerly, not missing the way Harry pinches the bridge of his nose in her peripheral vision. “Mahealani Hale, or just Alani. Nice to meet you,”

“Wow, beautiful name,” Tom compliments. “Sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize you had company, H,”

“She was just—”

“I’m writing about-” The two speak at the same time, making brief eye contact before Harry turns his attention back to Tom.

“Did you need something?” He asks. Tom’s eyes dart between Harry and Alani before he clears his throat and reclines in his seat.

“Just dropping by to see if you wanted to go for lunch...” he trails off, which Alani takes as a cue to start gathering her belongings.

“Kind of busy here,” Harry offers with a glance back at the girl seated awkwardly across from him. “Another time,”

At this, Tom turns to Alani and ignores his friend’s protests. “Alani, do you eat lunch?”

Before responding, she casts an apprehensive glimpse at Harry who has suddenly become very intrigued by the drink in his lap, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“Uh.. well yeah, but I don’t-”

“Great! Have lunch with us,”

“Mate—” Harry speaks up.

Tom grins, shrugging. “What? You plan on starving the poor girl?”

“I really can’t, but thank you for the offer,” Alani explains with a sheepish smile, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you Tom. And thank you again, Harry, I’ll see you around.”

The musician watches her shuffle out of the sound booth quietly and turns his attention back at Tom, who sits with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asks, standing. “Go after her, dickhead!”

“It’s not like that she’s-”

“I really don’t give a fuck about your excuses, go!”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window as Alani slips through the front door.

She fishes her keys out of her bag and sighs when a familiar voice says her name.

“Alani!” Harry calls from the doorway, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He makes his way down the steps and over to the driver’s side where she  ghosts the key over the ignition. 

“Come have lunch...please?” 

“It’s okay,” she purses her lips together politely. “I don’t wanna get in the way,”

Harry catches his lower lip between his teeth and runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words thoughtfully. 

“No, you’re not—you won’t,” he starts. “I would really like it if you joined us for lunch, especially since our time got interrupted. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Alani can’t help the way her stomach flips at the words “our time” that fall from his lips and she finds herself nodding in agreement before her mind has had a chance to intervene. 

She makes her way to the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked behind the studio, which she learns is where all of Harry’s entourage keeps their vehicles. A variety of brightly colored vintage cars are neatly parked, and it amuses her that Harry skips all of them, instead going straight for the black SUV with darkly tinted windows. At least he’s consistent,  she smirks. As Alani climbs into the car, she is met by the warmth of Harry’s scent—something woodsy and vanilla— and the fact that she recognizes it makes her heart pound.

“You can connect your phone,” Harry nods to the stereo as he buckles his seatbelt. “To the Bluetooth, I mean, if you’d like.”

 “Really?” she asks, brow raised in mild disbelief.

“Only if you play something good,” he teases with a stony expression, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Alani takes that as a challenge, scrolling through various playlists as Harry peels away onto the main road. Over the speakers, the beginning of “Don’t Worry Baby” by The Beach Boys surrounds the two of them. 

“Is this to your liking, my liege?” Alani poses in an exaggerated British accent that makes Harry cringe, though the small grin on his face gives away his endearment.

“Yes, but please don’t do that accent ever again,” 

“So you admit it, you’re the one with the accent,” she wiggles her brows, eyes peeling away  from the view out her window to Harry in the driver’s seat.

“If it’ll get you to never do that one again, sure,” “Dunno, love,” she continues, watching the coast shimmer under the afternoon sun. “Think  it kinda suits me,”

Harry shakes his head and checks the rearview mirror to make sure that he hasn’t lost Tom, Mitch, and Jeff in the car trailing behind.

“What’s it like?” Alani questions, studying the perfect slope of his pointed nose and strawberry pout.

“What’s what like?”

“England,”

Harry thinks for a second, recalling his London flat, lunches with his mum and sister, the streets of Trafalgar Square, and Abbey Road. 

“Rainy,” is all he says.

Alani scoffs, which draws  his attention over to where she lounges in his passenger seat, sitting comfortably as if it was exactly where she belonged. “That’s all?”

“What?” He questions, though he knows exactly what she means and is perfectly aware of his own stubbornness.

“Just seems like... I don’t know, such a generic description for a place you consider home,”

Harry mulls her response over, the word “home” especially catching his interest. It’s a strange concept in his mind because while, yes, England is where he has spent the majority of his life and where the people he loves most reside, he has never truly felt connected to just one place. And after spending his formative years traveling the world, who could blame him?

“It’s... safe,” he tries again, attempting to verbalize what he’s feeling. “When I’m there, I mean, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to be anyone or do anything specific, I can just... be. No expectations,”

Alani lets Harry’s words sit between them for a moment, sensing that there is still more he wants to say. When she doesn’t respond after a minute,  he continues in an effort to clarify and fill the lull in the conversation.

“I used to think that London was just a starting point and that if I could make it to LA, it would mean that I had really made it, and I would feel more at home there,” he continues, slow and calculated. “But I dunno... when I’m there it still feels like an extended holiday,  like I’m just buying time until I leave for the next place. London doesn’t feel like that, feels much more constant... so yeah, I guess it is home,” 

As if she had read his mind earlier, Alani adds on. “Not to mention that’s where your family is, I’m assuming,” 

Harry nods, once again thinking of his mum and sister. The image of their beaming faces  brings the shadow of a dimple to his cheek.  “Yeah,”

“What’s your family like?” She continues, truly interested and forgetting for a moment about the article she still has to write.

“Kind of small, I guess. S’really just my sister and my mum, but they’re,” Harry pauses, searching for the right words, “They’re the best. My mum’s probably the kindest woman I’ve ever met. Feel pretty lucky with that one, considering what a pest I was as a child,” he chuckles lightly and it’s a sound that Alani hadn’t heard up to this point, but one she knows she’ll replay in her mind over and over again.

“Gem’s pretty patient too—and brilliant, always the studious one,” he adds finally, a dreamy look on his face that Alani much prefers to the stoic one he always dons. .

“Ah yes, there’s always one,” she nods, catching the quirked brow he offers in response.

“Oh yeah? Are you the one in your family?” 

“I guess so. School just seemed to come easily to me,”

“And what made you want to study journalism?” He questions, stopping to let a woman and her toddler cross.

Alani thinks about it for a moment while twirling a strand of fabric from the hem of her ripped shorts around her finger. 

“I’ve always loved to write, ever since I was really little— like short stories and stuff. And I don’t know, I guess I like the idea of traveling and seeking out a story, too.”

Harry nods understandingly, pulling up to a curb across the street from a restaurant that Alani has frequented. It’s relatively empty at Pineapples for a summer afternoon, though most tourists don’t stray too far from the beaches, so Hilo maintains a healthy local population at all times. The pair climb out of the car and Alani makes her way to the rear where the rest of the group has parked. One of the men from earlier greets her with an outstretched hand while Harry chats with the other two that emerge.

“Hi I’m Jeff, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles warmly,  pushing his sunglasses into his hair. 

“Alani. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff,”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude by not saying hi it’s just-”

Alani dismisses his concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh don’t worry about it! I was kind of nervous then, too. I don’t know if he told you, but I’m interviewing Harry,”

“Oh, right! Yeah, he did mention that I think,” Jeff recalls, “Which magazine are you with?”

“None.” Yet, Alani thinks, her mind wandering to the Rolling Stone rejection letter. “It’s for a class, I’m a journalism major. Harry was just being nice and agreed to let me write about his music,”

Jeff nods. “Got it. You know, he’s not normally this serious. Just got a lot on his mind but he’ll loosen up,” he explains quietly just as Alani and Harry’s eyes meet. She quickly averts her gaze back to the kind, bearded man standing before her.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” she smiles appreciatively.

“Where’s Jeffrey?” Harry speaks up, catching her attention. She looks back to Jeff, confused, before he shakes his head.

“Other Jeff, his manager.” He explains.

“Probably already inside, he said he’d meet us here.” Mitch pipes up.

With that, the rest of the crew head into the restaurant while Alani stays a few steps behind to follow their lead.

“Y’okay?” Harry asks, shuffling along beside her.

Alani startles slightly at his unexpected presence, but relaxes as their strides fall into sync.

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for the invite, too.” She offers, the corners of her mouth upturned softly.  Harry responds with a tight-lipped smile of his own and clears his throat before holding the door open for her.

In the far corner of the restaurant near the open balcony, Harry’s manager Jeff waves the group over to the table he saved. Everyone exchanges greetings and settles into their seats, the two at the end facing each other remain open for Alani and Harry.

“Jeff, this is..Mahealani, did I get that right?” Tom gestures to Alani for approval.

She nods and waves. “Yes, but you can just call me Alani,”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff calls from the other end of the table, glancing over to Harry in search of  an explanation for her presence.

“I’m writing a piece about Harry and his music,” Alani offers. “But I’d love to talk to all of you, if you have a chance.”

Jeff nods, still shooting Harry a knowing look. “Yeah, sure thing.” 

The two Jeffs, Tom, and Mitch engage in their own conversations, mostly inside jokes that go over Alani’s head. Harry watches, silent for most of the interaction and barely engaging the girl seated across from him, though he is overwhelmingly aware of her presence. When the server comes to take their order, warmth floods to Alani’s cheeks.

“Alani, hey!” the tall server greets, flashing a handsome, pearly-white smile. “Long time, no see. You’re looking good as always,”

“Mahalo, David. You look good, as well,” She smiles politely, catching onto the way that Harry sits a little straighter in her peripheral vision. David still pays no regard to the rest of the table, but his gaze momentarily flickers over Harry and sizes him up before returning to Alani.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were on a date,” he apologizes, which makes Alani’s eyes bulge  and Mitch snicker beside her. 

“Oh no, we’re not—“

“He’s just—” Alani and Harry speak at the same time, eyes darting to one another before she explains.

“I’m... working on something—an article,” she says, and David nods understandingly.

“Oh...right. Big-shot reporter, I almost forgot,” David teases in a snide way that makes Harry’s blood boil with annoyance. “Anyways, what can I get you all? The usual for you, right Alani?”

She nods curtly while the rest of the group take turns ordering. After the server has gone,  Harry notices a shift in her easy-going demeanor and decides that it’s his turn to break the ice.

“Come here often then?” He poses gently, taking a sip of his lemonade.

Her lips press into a tight line as her eyes wander to the other patrons. “Yeah, kinda,”

“Asshole ex-boyfriend ruined that, I’m guessing?”

Alani lets out an amused breath and shakes her head.

“He’s not my ex. I mean we went out, like, once in high school... and maybe a handful of times in college but that’s it, really,” 

Harry studies the uneasiness in her expression trying, and failing, to understand what she’s holding back.

“Seems like you dodged a bullet,” he confides, leaning in. Alani’s eyes meet his and her pursed lips ease into a small grin, which Harry mirrors with a simper of his own. As he rests his smooth chin in his palm, she notices a large, healing scab along the underside of his forearm, and her brows furrow.

“How’d that happen?” Alani asks.

“He jumped out a window,” Mitch intervenes. “Though to be fair, he was high,”

Harry shoots a deathly glare at Mitch and turns back to Alani. “It was a one-time thing.”

“It was shrooms,” Mitch replies with an amused smirk.

“Hardcore,” Alani giggles lightly. 

Mitch swirls the straw in his mimosa with his index finger while extending a pinky at Alani. “You do drugs?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “Smoked weed a few times, though not enough to consider myself a pothead, I guess,”

Mitch snorts and steals a glance at Harry. “Pot makes our boy sleepy, and hungry. Alcohol makes him giggly. Shrooms get him buzzed just right,”

Harry’s cheeks flush and he averts his gaze past Alani where families and visitors roam the streets outside. 

“Jumping out a window’s  ‘just right’? I’d hate to see what going overboard looks like.” she teases, watching the blush of embarrassment creep across the bridge of Harry’s nose and cheeks.

“Keeps things interesting.” Mitch shrugs, turning back to Jeff to join his previous conversation.

 Alani feels a strange sense of endearment wash over her at the thought of a giggly Harry, dimples replacing a deeply furrowed brow. In the short time she’d known and served him at the café, she’d only ever seen him reserved—polite, at best. Alani had hoped that interviewing Harry would provide some insight into his mysterious background, but she didn’t imagine that she would want to know more than what could be penned in her article. In the few minutes spent mingling with him and his friends, she began to think that maybe there was something worth getting to know, not just professionally, but before she can give it a second thought, David returns with their food.

“Thanks, Derek.” Harry says, flashing a facetious grin at David who stands confused for a second before sauntering back to the kitchen. Alani laughs, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth, and Harry’s stomach flips at the sound. He immediately wishes he knew what else he could do to hear it again.

Alani scrapes the last bits of potato off her plate and leans back in her seat, patting her growing food baby. 

“I’m thinking of naming mine Oliver, you?” She sighs contentedly. 

“Anne, after my mum,” he quips back, pulling out his wallet.

Alani reaches into her bag for her own, but Harry shakes his head and speaks up. “Don’t worry about it, ‘s on me,”

“Oh, no Harry you really don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, slipping his card onto the small clipboard attached to their receipts.

“Thank you,” Alani smiles, feeling warmth spread through her limbs, but she assumes that it’s mostly due to the rum in her system.

Harry pushes a lock of hair behind his ear and returns the wallet to his back pocket without another word. While there is no alcohol coursing through his blood, he refuses to believe that the burning in his cheeks has anything to do with the girl seated before him.

Alani climbs back into the passenger’s seat of the SUV while Harry settles behind the wheel. He braces his right hand behind the headrest of her seat and skillfully reverses, only becoming aware of their proximity when he turns back to switch gears. Alani peels her eyes from his and focuses on finding a playlist for their journey back to the studio, her mind racing as she clicks shuffle. Harry’s arm retreats, much to Alani’s disappointment, and his ears perk up when he hears the familiar chimes at the beginning of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere”.

“‘S a good one,” Harry breaks the silence, tapping on the steering wheel. “Christine always says it’s her favorite,”

“Christine...McVie?” Alani questions with an eyebrow quirked. “You know Christine McVie?”

“Kind of,” he shrugs, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Do you know Stevie Nicks?”

“Yeah. She lives in London,”

“Holy shit!” Alani marvels, covering her mouth in excitement.

Harry chuckles lightly, stealing a glance over at Alani still processing the news. “Big fan?” 

She whips her head away from the window and scoffs. “Massive. Named my car Stevie, actually,”

“Hardcore,” Harry teases, echoing her own comment about his psychedelic escapades.

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man. In my own right, I suppose it is hardcore,” Alani retorts.

“I thought  Spider-Man climbed buildings. Don’t think he jumped out of them.”

“I’m sure he’s done his fair share of both.”

The two drive down the coast for a while without a word, Harry drumming against the steering wheel as the song dies out while Alani soaks in the view outside her window. Suddenly, she reaches over and taps him on the arm, drawing him out of his reverie. 

“Turn right up there!”

“Why?” Harry asks, already putting his blinker on. 

Alani doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Harry saw it just seconds after turning into the lookout and it left him breathless. The car comes to a stop and Alani wastes no time unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping into the humid air, Harry close behind. Before them, the biggest rainbow either of them had ever seen shimmers in the high afternoon sun like a wall of unbelievable vibrant hues. Harry had never seen one this close, he felt as though he could reach out and feel each color slip through his fingers. 

“Are you making a wish?” Alani asks reverently, as if raising her voice too loud will spook it away. 

“I thought that was for shooting stars,”

“We’re literally staring face to face with a rainbow and you’re gonna argue with me about the logistics of a wish?”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, grinning to himself as his eyes flutter close. 

Harry takes a deep breath and searches his brain for something, anything, but there is only one word pounding in his mind. He doesn’t know why it stood out to him when Alani first said it, but it struck a chord within him that hasn’t stopped reverberating, so it must mean something. Harry swallows the lump forming at the back of his throat and releases the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. When his eyes flutter open again, he steals a peek through the corner of his eye at the girl beside him and then fixes his gaze back on the rainbow. 

“S’quite big, innit?” He remarks, breaking the reverent silence. 

Alani snorts and shakes her head, turning on her heel back to the car. 

“You’re so eloquent. Can’t wait to hear what lyrical gems are hiding in your new album,”

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts, climbing behind the wheel. “Who said anything about an album?” 

As they peel away from the lookout, Harry can sense something has shifted in the atmosphere, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He opts to ignore it and poses a lighthearted question instead. 

“What’d you wish for?”

Alani narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true.”

Harry hums, trying to imagine what she could possibly wish for that would require such secrecy, but his thoughts wander back to the singular word that has haunted his mind since it left her lips. 

Home.

Next Chapter

[thedreammweaver]

That Would Suffice to Make a Formidable Monster Chapter 4 (Burton-Schumacherverse Sci-Fi Horror au, riddlebird, sea monster/alien!Oswald)

(A/N: I was supposed to be taking a break from this since I actually have thalassophobia and ‘research’ for this chapter was taking a physical toll but this has now become a hyperfixation and separation was making me depressed so...my break was brief. I’m feeling a bit better now and it was definitely worth it.)

Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Warnings: thalassophobia tw, animal death, blood tw, panic attack

Ed was still engrossed in the book by breakfast, hardly noticing the idle chatter between his crew mates. “Doin’ a little homework there Ed?” Harvey asked, referring to the book in Ed’s hands, patting him hard on the back as he passed by. Ed shook his head and ignored the other man. Bruce came into the kitchen looking a bit frustrated “I heard thumping outside, it could be nothing but something may have come loose. Who wants to go check?”

Ed grumbled as he walked the length of the sub looking for anything missing or damaged, he’d definitely drawn the short straw. He felt chills go up his spine as he noticed bubbles coming from part of his suit helmet. “Hey, Bruce?” He asked. Bruce was inside watching scanners and whatnot and by the radio.

“Yeah?”

“There’s bubbles coming out of my hose here, am I okay?”

“Oh- yeah, I think you’re just dealing with a faulty valve. I’ll fix it once you’re inside, your air is fine don’t worry. Just don’t breathe too hard, it’ll fog your mask up.” Reassured by the knowledge he wasn’t going to drown Ed reached the front of the sub, he scanned around looking for something off but couldn’t find anything. He rolled his eyes and started back. The sub was about 360 feet long with a few doors placed on the outside, the closest one was seventy feet from him. As he slowly made progress back towards the opening he’d come out through he found his mind drifting to the impenetrable darkness all around him.

“Ed, I have your vitals pulled up, what’s going on with your heart rate?” Bruce asked.

“I’m just freaking out a little here.” Ed chuckled nervously “Could you stay on for a bit and talk to me so I can’t...think.”

“Sure.”

“How are things with you and Selina?”

Bruce got a little flustered but obliged “Good- They’re um- they’re good, we’re getting to spend more time together than we have in months, that’s for sure. Not a lot of good dating spots down here though.” He laughed. Ed felt a little calmer, now just fifty eight feet from the door.

“Did she ever tell you how I proposed that was a very hectic-“ Bruce suddenly fell silent “Ed, stop for a second.” His tone had switched to dead serious so Ed did as he asked. “Not to sound cryptic but you’re not alone out there. Something big just came into the scanner, about forty feet long. It should be above you.” The scanner picked up everything within 200 feet so Ed could guess that was roughly how far away it was “Just keep your head down and take your time, I’d be willing to bet it’s only a sperm whale or something like that.”

“Kinda deep for a sperm whale...” Pamela mumbled, she wasn’t close enough to the radio for Ed to hear.

Ed felt nervous but kept moving as Bruce suggested. If he’d been on land he could’ve easily sprinted but of course humans were so terribly adapted for the water and he could only go so fast. Harvey came over having heard the scanner beeping since something large was in range. Bruce’s brow furrowed as the longer the animal stayed in one place the clearer the shape on the scanner became, it went from a a forty foot blob to a shape more triangular, the end of it splitting up and forking out in many directions, Bruce’s heart dropped as he and Harvey reached the same realization simultaneously “Jesus Christ, is that a fucking squid??” Unfortunately Harvey was close enough for Ed to hear him loud and clear. Ed immediately remembered the comment about his book at breakfast “Oh, that’s really hilarious, Harvey.” Ed shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up in annoyance “Has anyone told you you’d make a great comedian? I’d guess not since you’re really not that-“ Ed out of reflex had looked up, the light on his helmet at full brightness since he’d been looking for damaged or possibly fallen equipment, expecting to see nothing or at the least the underbelly of a whale but instead he faintly saw suckers as big as frisbees about 160 feet above him “...funny..” he absently completely his sentence, most parts of his mind now on autopilot. He quickly put his head down and dimmed his light, hoping the thing didn’t see him. Without realizing he had come to a stop at fifty two feet from the door back into the sub. “Forget everything I said about taking your time, get back in here now.” Bruce said. Ed felt himself beginning to panic, trying to keep his breathing calm as he couldn’t afford to loose visibility now. He went as fast as he could despite everything in him wanting to curl into a ball. “It’s coming towards the ship now,” Bruce said “It’s eighty feet and closing, get the hell out of there.”

If Ed had the presence of mind he would snap at Bruce for assuming he was trying to do anything but get back to the door.

“Sixty feet-“

Ed felt himself freezing up “Bruce, I can’t do this.”

“Don’t say that. Forty feet-“

“It’s closer to the door than I am! I ca-“ Ed was cut off by something huge swooping by the ship very fast causing a current that made the ship move and sent Ed flying. He was relieved as he remembered he’d tethered himself to the ship earlier, Harvey chiding him for being paranoid, but the relief was short lived as he felt the tether snap and himself continue to spin away from the sub. He tried desperately to reorient himself or grab onto something but it was of course no use and so commenced the desperate clawing and pathetic wiggling of a human quite literally far out of their depth. When he finally came to an almost stop he noticed at some point during his spinning his glasses had come off and he couldn’t get them back on without taking his helmet off which wasn’t an option. Realizing he was stranded and unable to see made him panic, unable to keep from fully hyperventilating now and clouding his mask, obscuring his vision further. Not that he’d be able to see with the pitch black around him on all sides. Just as he’d begun to imagine what drowning would be like for him he felt something brush against his back and then start pushing against him. That’s it, he thought, he was dead, he was about to be eaten. But the thing behind him just kept pushing, he could only assume it was taking him somewhere to be eaten. Though soon he could make out the lights of the ship and felt himself being pushed onto it, then he wasn’t being touched anymore. After gathering himself for a moment he started feeling around for the door. The lights kept catching something red in the water around him which he couldn’t make out. As he felt around he jumped back a bit when his hand landed on a tentacle against the ship in front of him. There was more red around it. As he cautiously inspected further he discovered the tentacle....wasn’t attached to anything. He shakily stepped over it and felt like he’d gone from the deepest layer of hell to paradise as he finally felt the door of the sub.

“Just leave him alone for a while, Dent.” Bruce ordered, barring Harvey from entering Ed’s small sleeping quarters.

“He has to tell me what happened out there.” Harvey insisted.

“He’s in shock. He shouldn’t be made to recount anything too soon.” Victor insisted.

“Oh what are you now, a psychologist? Whatever, I’ll ask him later...” Harvey huffed before walking away. Ed was curled up in bed, having not spoken for the last hour. Bruce walked away as well but Victor came in “Try to get some rest, Ed. You’re okay now.” He said softly before leaving. Somehow Ed managed to sleep.

About forty five minutes later Ed stirred awake to vibrations shaking the ship a bit, he was going to brush it off and return to sleep but he soon recognized it as the same vibrations they’d felt when Oswald was first trying to make contact. He yawned as he crawled out of bed and grabbed his glasses before making his way to the main room of the sub.

Victor was at the computers once more and everyone else was sort of hovering around him. “Did I miss anything?” Ed asked.

“No,” Victor assured “It is just greeting us again.”

Harvey wanted to take control of the conversation this time “I need to know about it’s species, where are the rest of them, are they aquatic, that kind of stuff.”

‘Are there others like you?’ Victor typed.

‘Nothing is like me.’

‘Where is your species?’

‘I do not know. They left me.’

Pam frowned, feeling sorry for the creature again.

‘Does your species usually inhabit water?’

There was a delay, like a pause someone would take if they were being flooded with painful memories.

‘I evolved.’

“So basically it’s a freak.” Harvey said flatly, that was met with glares from the rest. “Oh, don’t be so sensitive. What I want to know is if it has met humans before how do we have no record of an enormous monster?”

Victor rolled his eyes, as he typed, Harvey was definitely dampening the wonder of this experience.

‘You have met entities like us before?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re quite big, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Entities like to keep record of big things, why is there no record of you?’

‘Wasn’t big then. Had only witnessed five turns of this rock and one equivalent off of it.’

Ed puzzled “Five turns...I think it means years.”

“So it was left here when it was only one?” Pam had a very sad tone to her voice as she absently pulled at the slightly too long sleeves of the green sweater she was in.

‘No more askings from entities.’

That made Harvey start fuming “Yeah, right, ask it-“

“Chill out,” Bruce ordered “You already have more information than you did a few minutes ago, give it a break.”

“Who are you to interfere with my operation?”

“Your operation which is being facilitated by my ship...” Bruce reminded. Harvey glared at him before storming out, knowing he couldn’t really argue.

Another message appeared on the screen that floored Ed.

‘Lost entity is safe now? I brought it back.’

“It saved me on purpose...” Ed mumbled, he’d though maybe the squid had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and gotten eaten by something and...he had been blocking out the part where a mysterious force pushed him back.

‘Yes, entity is safe now. Thank you.’ Victor typed, marveling at the care and apparent gentleness Oswald possessed. There was another delay.

‘You help me now?’

‘What is the matter?’

‘Hurts.’

The medical doctor in Victor was now seeing Oswald as a potential patient which was surreal. Pamela cleared her throat “It might’ve been injured while attacking the oil rig or by another predator, I doubt they appreciate suddenly being demoted and their whole ecosystem changing. Some of them might be trying to fight back. I’d be willing to bet a lot of wild life has been out of sorts since the cave opened.” She said, going to look out the front window.

‘How were you hurt?’

‘Sharp whale.’

“What the hell is a sharp whale?” Selina muttered.

“Shark.” Pam said.

“Yeah, it probably means a shark.” Bruce nodded.

“...Shark...” Pamela squeaked once more.

“Yes, Pam, we heard y-“ Bruce stopped as he turned to look at Pamela and in turn followed her gaze out the window. Barreling towards them was a shark that had to be at least a hundred feet long, jaws open. “Oh..” was all Bruce could say before there were teeth colliding with the ship.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Do you take sad/heartbroken requests? If so, can you write one of fem!Reader taking care of dying Arthur? (He miraculously survived the fight against Micah while having TB but he only has a month left to live and he and reader spend his last days together happily. She takes him to the spot where he dies in game after he says he wanted to see the sunrise one last time and dies in her arms? Knowing that at least someone loved and appreciated him.)

Oh man, this one was tough! I haven’t written one that went with the cannon ending of him dying, so prepare yourself for tears because I totally cried! 

“I want you to not look back,” Arthur says. You watch him, tears cascading down your cheeks, as Arthur grabs John by the shoulder. “It would mean a lot to me, please. There ain’t no more time for talk. Go on, get out of here.” 

“Arthur,” John starts. 

“Get the hell out of here and be a goddamn man! Y/N and I will hold ‘em off.” 

He starts walking up the hill as you start turning back towards the approaching Pinkertons. As you do, you hear John. “You’re my brother.” 

“I know,” Arthur huffs to him. His voice is growing so weak and hoarse. He’s been showing signs the last couple of weeks of some kind of illness, but you’re not quite sure yet what it is. He doesn’t either, otherwise he’d surely have told you. John runs off and you see people advancing towards you from the bottom of the mountain. 

As you begin shooting, you hear Arthur call out in pain. You look and see him and Micah falling from the top of the mountain to the ledge below. You gasp and start running towards them. As Micah starts to get up, you kick him in the gut as hard as you can. This is all his fault, the reason the gang’s collapsed and Dutch has gone mad. How dare he attack Arthur now?!

Just as you go to kick him again, Micah grabs your foot and starts to twist, making the muscles around your ankle and knee scream out. As you holler, Arthur grabs Micah from behind, throwing him off of you. 

The two men start to slam into each other, punching and roaring. You do what you can to help, hitting Micah when you can. He responds by turning around and punching you so hard that starts glitter in your eyes. You fall back and hear the men collide together again. 

“You goddamn rat!” Arthur roars. 

“I’m a survivor! I told you, blacklung! A survivor!” 

As you’re sitting up, your vision clearing, you see a gun fly out of Micah’s hand as Arthur slaps him. Micah retorts by slamming his head into the wall. You get up and start going for the gun. This’ll only end with someone dying and you’re not going to let it be Arthur. 

Just as you grab the gun, someone grabs you from behind and throws you over their shoulder. Micah slams you into the ground and you get a brief glimpse of Arthur lying on the ground, his face heavily bruised and bleeding. Micah begins pummeling you. You try fighting him off, but you’re quickly losing strength. 

Micah looks over his shoulder and sees Arthur crawling towards the gun, which forces him to lose interest in breaking your face open. 

“You’re not gonna get that gun, blacklung.” 

“Despite your best efforts, Micah,” he wheezes, “you’ll find I’m full of surprises.” 

Through your blurred vision, you see someone walking towards him and then stop. Arthur yells out in pain. You blink the blood from your eyes and Dutch comes into view. 

“It’s over, Arthur.” 

You start coughing, your body wracked in pain from Micah beating you. As you calm down, you hear Arthur beg Dutch. 

“I gave you all I had. I did.” 

“I…” Dutch says softly. 

“Come on, Dutch,” Micah says. “We’ve made it. We won!” 

“John made it,” Arthur says. “He’s the only one. The rest of us, no. But I tried. In the end, I did.” 

“Come on, Dutch. He’s dying. Let’s go. Dutch. Dutch! Gah!” Micah suddenly runs off and Dutch walks away. The sun’s beginning to rise. You take a moment to collect yourself and then heave yourself to your feet. 

“Arthur. Arthur!” you yell. He opens his puffy eyes and reaches a hand up to stroke your cheek. 

“You’re not dead,” you say, breathing out in relief. You take the last of your strength and pull him to his feet. Agonizingly, slowly, you help him walk down the mountain. You know from wandering this area in the past, there’s an abandoned cabin not too far away in the forest. You help Arthur hobble there, despite your own pain, and then push the door to the cabin open. 

It needs cleaning, but it’s furnished and it’ll at least provide shelter for a few days so you and Arthur can rest. You both collapse onto the bed, not caring about the dust and the strong smell of stale air. Arthur rolls onto his back and you curl up on his chest, exhausted. Just as you’re drifting off, you hear the sputtering in his lungs.

*********************************

It’s been a week since the confrontation with Micah and Dutch. Neither of you have heard from them, nor do you want to. Your wounds are finally healing, but Arthur’s condition is worrying you. The fight with Micah has triggered something. You see him cough a lot, and occasionally he spits and there’s blood. 

He gets tired much more quickly. You both decide to stay in this cabin, mostly because you’re worried Arthur might be getting sick. He needs to rest and now that he has the opportunity to, you’re determined to make him. 

A few days after you came down from the mountain, you and Arthur started to clean the cabin. That was when you noticed how quickly he was tiring out. And then, the first night you made love in the cabin, Arthur went into a fierce coughing fit and was too exhausted to finish. 

“Arthur, I’m growing worried about you. I think we need to see a doctor,” you say to him. He’s sitting in a chair in the cabin, his face pale and sweaty. He’d been outside, helping you pick wild herbs when he’d gotten another coughing fit and collapsed. You’d dragged him into the cabin where it’s cool. 

“I’m… fine, darlin’,” Arthur pants, his head tilting back. 

“No, you’re not. Arthur, please. Let me take you to the doctor.”

He just chuckles. “And how do you propose that? We… we ain’t got horses.” 

He’s right, of course. Both your horses were shot by the Pinkertons. You also can’t leave him like this, not in good conscience anyways. 

“Hang on, I’ll be back,” you say. You kiss his head and then dart outside. It doesn’t take long to find the main trail and, luckily, a man in a wagon driven by a single horse comes down the way. 

“Sir!” you say. “I need some help!” 

The man stops his wagon and glares at you suspiciously. “What is it?” 

“It’s my husband,” you say, ignoring the fact that technically you and Arthur aren’t married. You’ve been together so long though you’ve considered him as such for some time though. “He’s very sick and we’ve no horses. Sir, can you help me take him to town, see a doctor?” 

“You got money?” he barks.

“What? Sir, he’s very sick. Please, I just need help.” 

“How do I know you ain’t trying to rob me? Pay me and I’ll help.” 

You growl. “Fine. Here’s $15, that suffice?” 

He counts the bills and then nods. “Alright, but I’m gonna warn ya: I’m armed and if you’re pulling my leg, I won’t hesitate to use it.” 

“Thank you, sir. Can you pull your wagon down the path? Our cabin isn’t far.” 

He drives his horse down the path and then the cabin comes into view. You go inside and find Arthur hasn’t moved. You pull him up, draping his arm over your shoulder and then help him walk outside. 

When the man sees you struggling with Arthur’s weight, his mouth drops open in surprise. He clearly thought you’d been trying to rob him. He hops off the wagon and helps you heave Arthur to the wagon. He lifts him into it and then you climb in after. 

The man drives to Valentine, since that’s where he’s going anyways. You’re grateful as you’re not sure Annesburg is safe to go to yet. Once there, the man helps you guide Arthur into the doctor’s office. 

The doctor looks up when you enter, but when he sees Arthur’s condition, he immediately stops pouring some pink powder into a tiny vial and leads you to the examination room. You plop Arthur into the seat and then step back, waiting. 

The doctor looks up. “Ma’am, gonna have to ask you to leave. Privacy and all.” 

“Sir, he’s my husband. We don’t hide anything from each other.” 

Arthur grabs your hand. “Stay with me, darlin’.” 

He’s scared, you can tell. You are, too. The doctor sighs and relents. He listens to Arthur’s chest. Even from your position, you can hear the rattling from his lungs. The doctor examines his mouth and asks him a few questions.

The doctor sighs and puts down his tools. “I’m real sorry, son, but it ain’t good news.” 

“Well I guessed that,” Arthur croaks. 

“You’ve gotten consumption. I’m real sorry, son, looks like it might be progressing fairly quickly.” 

The doctor explains that some people can live the majority of their lives with TB as long as they stay in hot, dry places. But then he hits you with another punch to the gut. 

“Unfortunately, your disease has gotten to the point I’m afraid there ain’t much that can be done. Like I said, I’m real sorry.” 

You swallow a wave of tears. “What can we do, doctor?” 

He sighs and pats Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Best thing is rest. Also a mixture of ginseng and yarrow will help.” 

The doctor also explains on what to expect, but in the end, he basically tells you and Arthur that nothing can be done to save his life. 

“I’m real sorry,” he says for a third time. 

Your lower lip trembles, but you pay the man. He gives Arthur a shot of something to help give him some strength in order to get back home. Arthur looks beyond devastated as he walks out with you, but he just grabs your hand and heads out into the street. He suddenly pulls you out from behind a building and pulls you into a hug, burying his face into your neck. You hold him tight, choking back tears. 

When he’s recollected himself, you suggest going to the stables and buying some horses to get back. He agrees, but then he tells you to buy only one. 

“Why?” you ask. 

He blinks and looks down. “Because I won’t need one in the near future, and you’ll be stuck with two.” 

“Arthur, please,” you whimper, tears sliding down your cheeks. “Just get one, please. I’ll… I’ll have something to remember you by.” 

**************************

You get back to the cabin, you on a black standardbred named Charlie and him on a long-legged dunn thoroughbred named Cassidy. Arthur’s been quiet the whole trip. When you get inside, he pulls you into another hug. 

“Darlin’, I… I know where I got this thing. That pathetic do-gooder, Thomas Downes. I remember he was real sick when I… when I beat him.” 

He pauses and wipes his face. “I think it’s best you go on, make a life for yourself. I ain’t got long left, I don’t think.” 

His words sink in and your chest clenches. “I am not leaving you, Arthur, you hear me? I am staying with you as long as I can. I’m gonna take care of you.” You kiss his head and then he presses his to yours.

“Thank you, darlin’. I wish you’d reconsider. You don’t deserve that kind of pain.” 

“I don’t care. I’d rather have you until the end instead of leaving you… alone to go through that.” 

*************************

The next few weeks are unimaginably painful. You do as the doctor suggested, picking wild ginseng and yarrow. The mixture helps ease the pain, but Arthur’s disease moves quickly. Every day, he seems to cough more and more, bringing up blood. Every once in a while, he passes out from the violence of his fits. 

You’ve learned there are certain foods that can either help or make things worse. You have to lower the amount of salt you put in his meals, but you make him eat a lot of fruits, particularly berries as they seem to help give him an energy boost. 

Arthur seems determined to try and help out around the cabin, but you’re also determined to make him rest. You’re resolved to help him live as long as he can, but after three weeks, you can see how much he’s struggling and how much weaker he’s gotten. Part of you wonders if it’s not just kinder to let him go quickly rather than struggle like this, but you want to show him how much you love him. 

You try hiding your tears as often as possible, not wanting him to see how much you’re going to be wrecked by his death. He can see right through you though. 

“Darlin’, promise me somethin’,” he says one night as he holds you. “Promise me that someday you’ll  find someone, someone worthy of your love.” 

You sniff and cup his cheek. “Arthur, I can’t promise that. I… I can’t love anyone else as much as I’ve loved you.” 

He sighs. “Well, you’d make me feel a lot better about everything if you did.” 

“But I also promised you I’d never lie. I’m not going to start now.” You reach up and kiss him, ignoring his groans of protest. He hasn’t wanted to kiss you since the doctor’s, afraid he might give you his illness. You don’t care though. “Arthur, I can’t even tell you how much I’m gonna… I’m gonna miss you.” 

You start to cry and he just holds you close, pressing your face to his chest. “I know, darlin’. I wish it was different, I do. But promise me this at least: promise me you won’t look back on any of this. You go where you’ll be as happy as you can be, build a good life for yourself, ya hear?” 

You nod. “I can promise that much, Arthur.” 

A few nights after this conversation, you’re woken up by Arthur having another hard coughing fit. He’s been getting more of these, and coughing up more blood with them. You pat his back, trying to sooth him through it. 

“I’ll make some medicine,” you say, about to get out of bed. He grabs your hand. 

“Darlin’, I… I don’t feel good. I.... Will you do somethin’?”

You squeeze his hand. “Anything.” 

“You remember where… Micah almost killed us?” He’s panting, trying to settle down from his coughing. You nod. “Take me there. I wanna watch the sun rise.” 

Something in your gut tells you that this is it: this is the end. You tell yourself that it’s just you being anxious. You nod again though, you just want him to be happy. Anything to prolong the inevitable.

You get up and dress, and then help him do the same. You then help him onto his horse Cassidy and take the relatively short trip to the mountain. The sky’s growing light and you help Arthur walk up to the ledge where he and Micah fought. You then take him around the bend where you can watch from the perfect angle to watch the sun. 

You stand there for a moment, but then Arthur got another fit. Afraid he might pass out, you help him lie down, wrapping him in your arms, praying he doesn’t pass out again. You hear him take in a sharp breath, but then his breathing starts to even out, getting deeper and slower. Too slow. 

“Arthur?” you whisper. The sun is just beginning to rise. It sure is beautiful, the sky turning a brilliant gold with streaks of periwinkle blue. Arthur hasn’t responded and you whisper his name again. Still he doesn’t respond, but he lets out a long, deep breath. 

You look down. He’s lying in your lap, facing the rising sun. His eyes are glassy. You put a hand on his chest, but it doesn’t move. Your own breath catches in your throat, and you put a finger to his throat, looking for a pulse. There isn't one. That’s when it hits you: he’s gone. 

You look up to the sun again, your cheeks streaked with hot tears. You’re struggling to breath as it all sinks in, and it builds, builds, builds until your chest can’t grow tighter and then you start to sob. 

“Arthur!” you cry out. “Come back! Come back!” 

Of course you know that he won’t though, there’s nothing that can bring him back. You brush your hands through his hair, bawling. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I promise I will see you again.” You kiss his head, ignoring that while he’s warm, there’s a chill to his skin. 

Time becomes insignificant, your body grows stiff and your legs fall asleep, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the pain in your heart. Your skin begins to burn under the fierce sun, but as it crawls into the middle of the sky, you hear a voice. It’s Arthur, but his body isn’t moving. 

“Promise me you won’t look back on any of this. You go where you’ll be as happy as you can be, build a good life for yourself, ya hear?”

You know what you have to do now. Arthur wouldn’t want you to just stay here like this, letting yourself sink into this pit of despair. He deserves to be put to rest properly. You get up and get the horses, hauling his body onto Cassidy. You ride down to a spot on a mountain that overlooks a river, the bridge he and John destroyed not far away. You bury him on an overlook where he can see the setting sun. 

When he’s buried and you’ve put up a headstone, you can’t move anymore. Your grief won’t let you. Weeks pass and you can’t leave the area. You can’t bring yourself to leave him, even though you know he’d want you to. You maintain his grave, making sure it stays perfect. You’re touched when you see buds of wild flowers beginning to grow out of the grave. He would have liked that. 

You sit now near his grave, just talking to Arthur, pretending he can hear you. So often when you come here, you can feel his arms around you. 

“I saw this buck this morning, reminded me of you.” You smile, thinking about how handsome the stag was. “I swear I can’t see one and not think of you.” 

As you reminisce on the life you and he lead, you cough a little but think nothing of it. The sun is setting now, and it’s Arthur’s favorite time of day. A warm breeze blows up from the river and as it reaches you, it feels like Arthur, brushing his fingers through your hair. Whatever happens, you won’t forget a moment you spent with him. All you want is to be by his side once more. 

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Surprised by a storm with Fuegoleon (Part 2/5)

Fuegoleon put his cape over your head and your heart fluttered at his gesture. “Sir, at this rate you’ll catch cold,” you gently scolded him and removed your cape to fling it over his head in return. He smiled at you. “I’m afraid it’ll take a lot more than a little rain, but thank you.” You could feel warmth radiating from him, and you realized how close you were to him. You felt small standing next to him as he towered over you, shielding you.

The rain stopped as soon as it had begun, but you were already drenched regardless of Fuegoleon’s attempts. He held your cape in his hand, pondering if he should place it on your shoulders or not. Normally he would have helped it on you without a question, but now it was heavy and damp. You placed your hands on it to take it back. “It seems we really should have returned right after we were ready,” gloom crept over your eyes and lips, “forgive me.” He helped the cape on your shoulders as you had indicated that you would be taking it in any case. ��Most likely we would have gotten caught in it all the same, so I’m afraid there’s nothing to forgive.” You placed your hands on his for a brief moment and squeezed them before he retrieved them from your shoulders.

“I wonder. I wonder if this is just your usual kindness or if this is something more. Before today, I would have said that it to be something more, but if one can’t be fully certain…” he thought while his hands left you. The formerly gentle breeze twirled around again, but this time it felt much crueler and colder. You shivered, which made him frown. “It’s a long way to the Capital so we should rest in one of the nearby villages for tonight,” he said as he summoned his lion back. “Understood,” you said almost as if you would have replied to a command, but more quietly and gently. He helped you on and you instantly felt the cold subside. He always did that, he made the cold, the dread and whatever fear you might have had, subside.

You flew into the air without a word. He was focused on navigating to one of the villages he had seen on your way here, and you were immersed in the depths of your own thoughts. “I guess he doesn’t see me like that, because if he did, he would have asked by now. Wouldn’t he?” You chuckled internally and clenched your teeth. “Guess I’m a bit like Charlotte. I want him to take my hand and hold it with the intention to keep it, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words to him myself. It’s quite pathetic, isn’t it? The only thing I’m scared of while I’m with him…” Your thoughts were interrupted as Fuegoleon spoke: “There.” His eyes were fixed on the small village, but his attention was on your form. He could feel your mana fluttering and the gloom still present on your complexion. Though he’d never admit it, he could feel the disappointment of not being able to comfort you nibbling at his pride. “If I can’t be there for her and comfort her when she needs me to, then how can she love me?” He, too, clenched his teeth as his back was to you.

He landed near a building that was large enough to be an inn and had a sign by it. Sure enough, he was right. “The Mill inn” red by the door. You stepped down as he held your hand even though he was sure you could handle yourself, he just wanted to feel your presence a bit longer. “Thank you,” you said and attempted to smile at him in the way you always did, but this time it was laced with the desperation that followed you. He in turn tried to smile at you with the warmth and appreciation he had for you, but was veiled by the longing he harboured. You both were discouraged as clouds hung over you, casting a shadow over you.

He held the door open for you as you entered the inn. The relatively small pub was filled with people, some seemed travellers and some seemed local, but all glanced at you and as soon as they did whispers filled the air. You smirked faintly to yourself as you knew that they weren’t expecting someone like Fuegoleon waltzing in, but as he did, of course they recognized him. Still you held your head high as he followed you in and took the lead. You both approached the counter, leaving a trail of water as you did. There was a relatively young man behind the counter, who must’ve not been over 25 years old. “Good afternoon Sir,” he said, “I see you were caught in the rain. Would you like a room?” Fuegoleon spoke calmly and respectively to the young innkeeper. “Two if you please.” The innkeeper’s confidence failed him and his hand found its way to the back of his head. His eyes shifted between the two of you, a bit questioningly, as if he wasn’t sure as to why two rooms. Or so you thought before his reply, and concluded that you had mistaken embarrassment for questioning. “I’m sorry Sir, but we only have one left for the night. You see many are in a similar predicament as you…”

Fuegoleon turned slightly to you as if to ask you a question. You nodded to him, this time smiling as you usually did. “He really is looking after me,” you thought as he turned back to the man and agreed to take the one room that was left. “Very good Sir,” the man said as he looked for a key. Upon finding it, he took a hesitant step as he was about to show you to your room, but stopped to look at you two. As you weren’t carrying any luggage he asked, clearly nervous: “Um, if I may, Sir. Are you- are you perhaps in need of spare clothes?” Fuegoleon raised an eyebrow and let the man continue. “I see that you’re not carrying anything and I- You see my sister is a seamstress and I thought that if you’d be in need of sleepwear then that could be made accessible. Of course, they’re not quite the quality you’re used to but… I was just thinking…” He looked hesitantly at Fuegoleon as his voice faded away.

On the surface, Fuegoleon’s expression stayed as it was, but inside felt a dull thump in his chest. It was only as the innkeeper asked such a thing, did he realize that you indeed didn’t have any spare clothes, and would he not take this offer, then you’d be sleeping in the same room, naked. He could feel a turmoil of emotions climbing up, but by sheer determination he suffocated them. “That would be much appreciated,” he said and laid a pouch full of money on the counter. “Would that suffice?” He questioned, but the man could only frantically nod as a reply.

He placed the pouch behind the counter and ushered you further into the inn. “This way please,” he said with a trembling voice. You figured that the innkeeper was hit hard with the realization that he was in the presence of royalty. While you hoped that he wouldn’t be quite so nervous, you understood.  

[Part 3]

[punkscowardschampions]

Ava & James

Ava: [Picture of this invite]

Ava: That was unexpected?

James: Yes, it is rather

Ava: Did you give her my address?

Ava: Not intending to sound accusatory there, it would be relatively easy for her to find

James: she definitely didn’t get it from me, that would have given us both some warning that she was planning to invite you, which was clearly not her intent

Ava: I didn’t think you would just give it and then no warning, so yeah

Ava: Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice that she thought of me though

James: I’m not sure it is nice, but perhaps I’m being paranoid

Ava: It did come as a surprise mostly due to how well our interactions went at Mattie’s party

Ava: She’s your sister, you’d know better than I would either way

James: unfortunately I do, but the RSVP is your decision either way

Ava: Well I don’t want to make things awkward for you by doing what I’m not meant to

Ava: Do you think she expects me to turn up?

James: she’s counting on you feeling obligated to, if only for my sake

Ava: Is there something you’d rather I do?

Ava: Or shall I just think about it, from what I would want to do without factoring in you or her and the rest of your family?

James: in all honesty, I’m equally as tempted to suggest you suffer through it so she has nothing to complain about as I am to trust my judgement that there’s no feasible benefit for you in attending

Ava: Hmm

Ava: I don’t mind going

Ava: There’s no logic in spoiling her own baby shower for my benefit

Ava: I can handle being the odd one out or however awkward it may be if it means not having something to hold against you at a later date

James: I suppose if our suspicions are proved in any way correct you can just leave & you’d have definite allies in awkwardness & feeling left out in both Allegra & Cressida, I have a feeling they won’t handle their invites half as well given neither has any choice but to be there

Ava: I can’t imagine suddenly having a step mum who was only a decade ish older than me

Ava: That must be an adjustment

James: they have my sympathies, Diana won’t have eased the transition as much as she could have

Ava: I’m sure it was strange for her too, at first

Ava: but it’s not as if it’s been a total whirlwind

Ava: I better start looking for appropriate blue attire

Ava: and a gift that’ll pass muster

James: she’s the adult allegedly, who stepped into this new role in their lives willingly, they haven’t had any say in the matter, the least she could do is behave according to said role instead of expecting them to adore & respect her immediately with no effort on her part

James: it’s the beginning of a rant I’m aware it’s too late to have, even if she were a receptive listener

James: but if you would like a shopping partner, I’ll check my calendar under no duress whatsoever

Ava: I agree, and would be happy to listen if it’s a rant you ever want to have in full

Ava: despite me not being the desired/required audience really

Ava: I mean, we’ve all seen the set-up before

Ava: They’ll either drive her mad first or he’ll get a new new model, that’s the cynical approach we’ve been taught to adopt, anyway

Ava: Thanks 🙃 I’ll let you know if anything in my wardrobe is working

James: it’s an approach her husband has been happy to follow through with

James: I’d be much happier, however, to discuss the set-up of the photoshoot that’ll be necessary as you investigate the suitability of your wardrobe as well as my desire to be the intended audience

Ava: I’d be happiest if you could be photographer but I’ll do my best to fulfil that desire solo

Ava: Serious question, are the guests going to be like, mostly your sister’s age, or her husband’s age

Ava: Because that changes everything

James: maybe I could be

James: hers, without question, there are no women her husband’s age allowed in either of their circles, they cease to be socially relevant after 35, my mother aside

Ava: Really? 😗

Ava: Duh, I should’ve known that

Ava: as long as I keep the faux pas between us it’ll be fine

James: I wouldn’t call it a faux pas that your mind doesn’t work in the same manner as theirs

Ava: Maybe the attempt is to show me how out of my depth I am?

James: I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess at what she is trying to attempt here, because as you’ve already said, her baby shower hardly seems the appropriate place to do so & yet

Ava: Sorry, I’m not going to say I’ll go, then worry about it the whole time

Ava: Whatever her potential intentions, I’ve decided mine

Ava: and I’m more interested in potentially seeing you today?

James: as you quite rightly should be

James: [tell her when you are and aren’t free today sir]

Ava: Okay, so I’ll save all my best outfits for [a time] then

James: if you’ve decided your intentions with regards to me & then

Ava: Mini Stepford wife isn’t very sexy

Ava: safe to say my intentions for then are

Ava: and if you don’t know my intentions with you by now, I probably need to pick up a pen or typewriter too

James: I need to pick you up as soon as possible is what I know

Ava: Please do

Ava: I need your discerning eye to help me, obviously

James: of course

Ava: I love you

James: I love you too, so much

James: the second everything with the house is finalised & I don’t have to be in constant contact with the owners I intend to take you somewhere far away from my entire family, I promise

Ava: Where do you want to go?

Ava: If we could go anywhere

James: as long as there are several feet of snow, I’ll be inspired & content

Ava: You are the cutest

Ava: but you picked the right time of year for it

Ava: now I’m not looking for listings I can look at Cabins and Ski Lodges 😍

James: blushing being your thing isn’t the only reason I’d prefer the possibility of shivering but it’s a very important factor nonetheless

Ava: Your cheeks will have the chance to get rosy in plenty of other ways and I won’t be mad at all

Ava: I haven’t been skiing in a long while

James: me either, on both counts

Ava: Not to mention so many of the trips people planned never involved much skiing anyway 🙄

Ava: It’ll be more fun with you

James: I recognise that experience & that I’ll have a much better one with you

Ava: Right answer 😋

James: any other answer would be a lie & not even one which spares your feelings

Ava: I trust you

Ava: [a hilariously inappropriate outfit choice]

Ava: You trust me too, yeah?

James: I’m pleased to hear it, because despite the pen being mightier, I’m not sure it would suffice if you don’t trust me by now

James: your sense of humour does have me wishing I was currently sat at a typewriter though

Ava: There’s no more you need to say, or write, you’ve shown why I can over and over

Ava: We can take one and make it a real retreat

James: right answer

Ava: [Wanna skip to the day of this shitshow baby?]

James: [why not, we know that’s why we’re really here, I like to think he dropped her off even though there’s no need because a nice throwback to when they literally had to spend whatever moments they could together in cars, but obvs that’s before Chlo got there]

Ava: [That’s cute, and you can drop your presents off to this snake sister]

James: [literally your last chance to tell him you invited his ex missus but okay babe don’t bother yet again]

Ava: [seriously, you must’ve thought she weren’t showing by now, think again]

James: [fashionably late but looking a state actually]

Ava: [you’ve had months to slay this lmao, gurl]

James: [who in the hell is this new bloke and what’s his damage tbh]

Ava: [I vibe that for it to last he has to be as crazy as she is, which bodes well for their kids, hence it’ll probably be interesting for Mattie to go find them]

James: [yeah I definitely think that should be one of her storylines]

Ava: [anyway, let me do this]

Ava: Okay

Ava: I don’t want to just do this like this

Ava: but I don’t think a call will make it any better, really

Ava: plus why am I going outside or whatever, right

Ava: but Chloe just walked in

Ava: not a poor attempt at humour, or some kind of early sign of a fever, she really did

James: Oh

James: you did the right thing, I’d rather that Jay didn’t overhear even one side of that hypothetical phone call

Ava: Exactly, I know you’re all out right now, I would never want to do that

Ava: I don’t want to, at all

Ava: If telling you after, once I left, seemed like a good idea, I would have gone for that

Ava: but the fact you didn’t know to tell me, that you didn’t know, full stop

Ava: It felt unfair for me to also keep up the secrecy, not something I wanted a part in

Ava: Your sister seems… Surprised. But not, ‘it’s been half a year and you’ve shown up totally unannounced’, surprised

Ava: Your mum couldn’t contain her actual shock though, that I am sure of, from the brief look she gave Diana alone

James: I'm sorry, Ava

James: are you leaving now?

Ava: Do you need me to?

Ava: I could come find you, if you want

James: I need her to, but it’s unlikely I’ll get my own way

Ava: She’s

Ava: I can’t believe she’s done this

Ava: Doing this

James: I can believe she’d show up, but not that my own sister would invite her to do so

Ava: I don’t understand, either

Ava: I’d love to ask

Ava: among other questions for Chloe

Ava: but I won’t

James: you’d be perfectly entitled to, under the circumstances

Ava: I’m not letting her suggest I’m speaking for you

James: I know, you’re the one reliable certainty in all this

Ava: It’s clear she already came here to lie

Ava: even she couldn’t show up and admit she’s made 0 attempts to contact the girls, or even ask about them

James: my mother must be holding her tongue valiantly to avoid pointing any of those discrepancies out

Ava: She shouldn’t

Ava: and I won’t if she plans to do it within earshot

Ava: there’s not confronting her and then there’s letting her spread a false narrative unchecked and unopposed

Ava: defence isn’t attack, whatever she claims

James: my family’s love of a false narrative has been well documented within the earshot of the entire postcode, any necessary private confrontation will, of course, be left down to me, like it or not

Ava: She knows this isn’t true though

Ava: Diana bloody knows

James: yes, but she concerns herself with honesty even less than Diana does, or anyone else I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting

Ava: I’m so sorry, that she’s doing this

James: it’s not your apology, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that my sister invited you there to witness everything my ex wife is going to do

Ava: Try to do

Ava: She isn’t going to get away with it, I swear

James: you don't have to promise me anything

Ava: The truth always comes out

Ava: and you have the call and text history to prove it if anyone actually believed her

Ava: She’s just bringing entertainment, and that’s all people who have no real stake in any of this care about, and they’ll be bored and onto the next before she achieves anything

Ava: If you were even half as bad as she says, why would a decent mother leave her kids with you?

Ava: They wouldn’t and she isn’t, even her fake story has her in a bad light

Ava: Just not as bad as what she really did and what really happened to you and the girls, now and for all the years before

James: whether or not the actual truth comes out or if her particular brand of it remains what's taken as truth, you & I both know what really happened

James: my priority right now is protecting the girls from what she has already done & whatever else she is intending to do for the duration of her return, however long that will be

Ava: And they are all that matters

Ava: I can totally respect that is how it is for you

Ava: And I can see how they are the top priority, regardless of any other factors

Ava: but I do care about how this is affecting you, or could, will

Ava: you know that

James: of course I do & I care just as much about how it could or would impact you, despite knowing full well you can handle any of those effects

Ava: I’m angrier than I could ever be capable of being upset right now, there’s no room for it in my head yet

Ava: but that’s definitely a good thing because if I do start thinking about the potential hurt she could do to the girls with this, I will have to leave or

Ava: just no

Ava: She hasn’t mentioned them once

Ava: not even as a point score

James: whenever you're ready to leave, we'll all be delighted to see you

Ava: Thank you

James: it doesn't feel selfless enough to deserve thanks, particularly when I think about having to engage her in conversation once the champagne has worn off

Ava: You don’t have to come here and pick me up

Ava: and you don’t have to talk to her today

Ava: it’s not as if she has bothered to tell you she’s here

James: no, unless she’s altered her drinking habits whilst being at the villa I won’t be talking to her today, but I’ll pick you up if you want

Ava: Oh she’s certainly celebrating like it’s her baby shower

Ava: I can make my way back to the flat, it’s not too far, I’m fine, promise

James: the only way this could be worse is if that was an announcement she came back to reveal

James: I’m sure you can, nevertheless this has been a horrific surprise & I don’t like to think of you making your own way anywhere to then sit alone with every daunting ‘what if’ & ‘why’ to process when you don’t have to

Ava: Not quite

Ava: I don’t know if it’ll even be pertinent

Ava: but she has ‘subtly’ dropped plenty of loud hints about a new man

Ava: and you’re right, I’m just trying not to be another problem or worry for you to have to think about, but being stubborn about this would do just that

Ava: Whenever you’re ready to come get me, do, I’ll be ready

James: okay, if I drop enough loud hints of my own that we’re on our way to rescue you, Jay is bound to hurry up

Ava: How has your outing been, up until this point?

James: we have had a lovely time with no apparent foreshadowing, which I suppose is appropriate because when I commit this to paper in an effort to understand it, our readers will also be left feeling equally cheated to discover no written warning forthcoming, & there will be some ease in the act, at least, in not to having to think up & in turn add a satisfactory plot device where the source material had none

Ava: Her lack of interest in making the story make sense is in character, if nothing else

Ava: Frustrating and angering and

Ava: Well

Ava: Contempt for the truth at least shows she knows, on some level, that she’s in the wrong, right?

James: hopefully, yes, but as you said, there's a definite losing battle in trying to make sense of her motivations at the best of times & we're far from there at the moment

Ava: I know

Ava: It’s worrying

Ava: Her parents can’t like… make her get some help?

Ava: I know that never works but it might

James: even more worryingly, they can't make her do anything

Ava: Hmm

Ava: I can sense that

James: it wouldn't surprise me if she hasn't told them she's back either

Ava: Jesus

Ava: Whatever hotel she’s booked whilst she’s here will be on them though

James: along with her flights, cars & everything else

James: maybe I should call them in case they don't learn of her whereabouts until she posts baby shower photos

Ava: It would be decent of you, though it shouldn’t be your call to be decent on her behalf

Ava: wouldn’t blame you if you didn't

James: performing tasks or behaving a certain way on her behalf did become second nature to me

Ava: That’s only logical

Ava: When there was so much she wouldn’t do herself, that she should or needed to be done

Ava: You had to step up for two

James: but now there is no longer a need to project the false united front & it's a habit I have to break

Ava: In this case, it isn’t a bad thing you care about their feelings

Ava: bizarre that you do more than her, but still, bizarre by how little she does

Ava: Do what YOU think is right

Ava: Don’t consider her at all, in the things that is a possibility

James: you're right, I will

James: thank you

Ava: This is not ideal, we both know that

Ava: but she hasn’t mentioned any permanent plans to stay or anything like that

Ava: but whatever she does, this will be okay, we’ll work it out, you will

James: I appreciate your belief in my ability to handle this, I hope you know that as well

Ava: I do

Ava: on both counts

James: then yes, it’ll be okay

James: I promise we are on our way to collect you, just bear with me while I call her parents

Ava: Take as long as you need

Ava: Initial shock over… as much as it can be

Ava: I don’t need Chloe thinking I can’t handle her

James: [please do phone them in case they don't know and see those posts then come back]

James: you don't need to worry about what she thinks

Ava: [can you bloody imagine lmao]

Ava: Not about me, never

James: on any subject

Ava: Diana’s step daughters have behaved more maturely

James: I'd feel confident in predicting Jay also has, over the course of the day

Ava: and she only had like, three tantrums, right? 😏

James: I couldn't possibly give you the tally, lest you tell Frank & provoke an even worse reaction

Ava: 🤫🤐

Ava: He’ll never know

Ava: he’s definitely had the best day of us all 😴🥩🥎😴

James: I'm happy to hear his criteria has been met, but I'll be ecstatic if I can do the same for yours

Ava: My criteria is slightly different but I’d take 😴🥩🥎😴 at a push

James: I'd rather you decided to elaborate than compromise

Ava: I only need the one emoji

James: oh really?

Ava: Mhmm

Ava: I won’t ask you to guess

James: are you sure? It wouldn't be much of a hypothetical perfect day if you couldn't ask whatever you like of me

Ava: I don’t need hypothetical or real perfect

James: you don't have to need something for me to want to offer it to you

Ava: All I need from you, is you

James: wouldn't you like to forget about all this?

Ava: Is that possible?

James: I'll be finding out as you do

Ava: Okay

James: so where is this fool's errand taking us?

Ava: Well 🤔 what helps people forget that isn’t champagne

Ava: 🌳🎞📚🖼💚 as your day out was cut somewhat short

James: okay, I'll of course start us off with 📚

James: I suggest we let the girls pick 🌳 or 🖼 because of their awful taste in 🎞 but I'll let you make your own decision before I mention any of this to either of them

Ava: Harsh 😅

Ava: but I’ve sat through enough films that aren’t Twilight to know you’re not lying

Ava: I’ve missed you today, all of you

James: we've missed you too, especially me, even though you've ruined me for any & all films but Twilight

Ava: At least you also have the perfect soundtrack for the 💔

James: it'll work just as well for the traffic we end up stuck in

Ava: Where would we be without the traffic, help or hindrance

James: personally, I’ve recently had more positive associations with it & where I would be without those is inconceivable to me

Ava: I feel the same

James: I’ve really missed you today

Ava: I wouldn’t wish this particular event on you, especially with the unexpected bonus of Chloe

Ava: but it’s better doing things with you, the stuff we don’t want to particularly do included, even if they’re not as nice as the good things

James: I would’ve come with you, in spite of her arrival & because of, had I been allowed

James: she isn’t someone you should have to deal with on your own, not when we made the choices that contributed to her disappearance together

Ava: She’s got enough blame for the both of us, definitely

Ava: but I can’t see anyone seriously buying it…

Ava: anyway, we know how it was

James: yes we do & you’ve never doubted what I’ve said the truth was, anyone who takes her word instead is the least of my worries, because they clearly have their own

Ava: Exactly

Ava: and maybe I could take the homewrecker bit more seriously if she was making any effort to fight for any of you

Ava: not that you’re even asking her to fight to see the girls 🙄

James: precisely

James: tomorrow I’ll be the one fighting against her clear reluctance to spend time with them & then again to ensure Jay doesn’t overhear that she’s back when that plan inevitably fails

Ava: Of course

Ava: There’s no need to do that

Ava: it’s bad enough without the anxiety of waiting, not to mention the potential disappointment

Ava: If she comes, she comes

Ava: When Jay is a bit older, it might be better for Chloe to have to arrange it with her herself, but not yet

James: from experience it would be better if she refuses to come, I couldn’t get her to feign even the slightest interest when they were both living in the same house, occupying the same rooms, she’s unlikely to if she has to put herself out to meet us

James: & it was one thing to tell Jay when we move into the new house mummy isn’t living with us, it’s quite another to try & explain she doesn’t want to visit her anywhere at any time, or worse still, to have her agree to do that & behave worse than the children themselves

Ava: It’s so bloody difficult

Ava: because that is true, or does seem to be true, from all the available past experience you shared and behaviour she’s exhibited then and since

Ava: but it’s unfair to leave the onus on you to ever have to have that conversation with Jay, and Mattie, when you can

Ava: it shouldn’t be one you should ever have to have

Ava: but the reality is, it might be, parents leave, and the parent who stays has to do the lion’s share and then some, dealing with whatever the deserter has left in their wake…

Ava: we’re just programmed to be far more shocked and appalled when that parent is the mother, not the father

Ava: but it is shocking, and can in some cases be appalling, regardless of role and gender, I’ve seen it within my own family

Ava: but in others, I’ve seen it is ultimately for the best, and to have that parent around would make life worse, if they had chosen to be involved

James: you said yourself she hasn’t expressed any desire to stay & her parents weren’t prepared for the eventuality when I spoke to them, our instinct that this is a short visit is the one I trust in right now & the one I’m readying myself & the girls for

James: whether or not she engages with them tomorrow, the reality is, her parenting has only ever been performative & taking a picture of or with them in response to comments she receives under the ones from today isn’t going to trick Jay into thinking they’ve spent quality time together the way it did when she was younger, she may already have questions I’m struggling to find appropriate answers for, but I know expecting her mother to supply them would be disastrous & I can do better than that

James: what has happened so far has been for the best, I don’t know what possessed my sister to send that invitation & jeopardize things

Ava: I hope she intends to explain, as well as apologize

Ava: Whatever she was thinking, it’s safe to say it’s backfired, unless her intention was to cause potential harm to her own niece

Ava: which you have to hope was not

Ava: All you can do is all you can do

Ava: Chloe is going to do, or not do, whatever she wants, that’s apparent

Ava: Jay’s fast approaching an age where she won’t engage with that performativeness and I don’t think anyone will blame her if she decides not to

Ava: Then Chloe will have to decide if she is actually going to try or not

James: I love you for being the type of person to sincerely write out & send that message when it’s unfortunately as apparent we can’t really hold out any such hope for Diana’s character, regardless of what’s happened, she’ll be steadfast in her conviction her intentions were good & she was right

James: all I can do is expect less than nothing from either of them, at this point

Ava: If it wasn’t her baby shower, your mum might have beat me to confronting her on it

James: perhaps there’s some hope for my mother yet

Ava: Perhaps

Ava: or she was just livid to be caught out of the loop, who’s to say really

James: realistically yes, I think we can say it’s the latter

Ava: They’re not invited on our redux day out regardless so

James: speaking of, we’re finally here

Ava: Yay 🙌🙌 I’ll make my excuses and be right out

James: take as much time as you need, I know what my family & sister’s friends are like

Ava: I’d love to see them pretend they’re dying for me to stay, honestly

James: as long as you’re expecting a performance on a par with the lowest-rated children’s film in place of one from the Twilight saga

Ava: 😏 you’ll make me laugh, which might help my own performance

James: oh good, I’d love nothing more than to grant you the fastest possible exit

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty, “Close Calls”

All chapters can be found here! 

Inspiration tag for the story! 

I recently completed a character survey from Becky’s POV that you should check out! 

Warning! This story contains mentions of: cancer, vomiting, chemotherapy process, and brief mentions of blood.

                                       Sneaky peeeeeeeek!

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. The paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back.

Snowflakes flutter in front of my eyes, painting the world white. Cars zoom past on the streets down below, the size of my fingernail. Yeah, it sure looks like the first of February out there, the thought sounds inside of me. The festivities of Christmas are long over as a new year has begun. Thinking of what comes next leads to a disorganized mess behind my eyes. I try to rid my thoughts of it with a hard blink, but instead it brings something else forth. 

February 1st. 

It’s Harry’s birthday today. 

He’s 29. Shit. 

Flipping my phone over in my lap, my thumbs get working fast. But once that empty conversation is in front of my eyes, I stall. Before I chicken out, words appear on the screen quickly. 

I read them over and wonder how they sound. Or, more like, how they would sound to him. Do they sound too personal? Do they not sound personal enough? Or am I worrying too much and it’ll just blend into all of the other birthday texts he’s sure to receive? 

“I think if you stare at that thing any harder your eyes are gonna pop out of your skull, Ree.”

I raise my head to find the voice who said that. My dad. He smiles tiredly at me a few steps away. I laugh, realizing he’s right. 

“What’s got your attention so peaked anyways?” he asks. His eyes framed with exhaustion stay for only a second. They return to the Arsenal football match playing on the telly. 

“Um, just trying to write a text to somebody. But I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Don’t think about it so much, sweetie. I mean it, you’re probably thinking too hard about it,” he comments, scratching at the blue wool hat covering his head.

Sometimes I still expect to see the IV tubing dangling from his skinny arm. Like all of the other times at the beginning. Patches of faded red cover the insides of his arms from them now. You wouldn’t notice their small marks, but I know they’re there. The seconds of relief from their absence is whisked away when he tugs at his shirt. The moving of the material reveals the tubing leading to the port in his chest. The one I forget has been there for months when his shirt covers it. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I tell him, and go ahead and hit Send. 

Hi. I’ve been thinking of you. I hope you’re doing alright. Just remembered it was your birthday. Wow 29, huh? Damn you really are getting old, you geezer. You better hurry and claim your senior discount now. No, but really I hope you’re having a good day, Harry. Enjoy your day. Have some drinks and do something for yourself, something you enjoy. I hope 29 is a fantastic year for you. Hopefully you’re not as run down yet as Chandler is. 

I tap Send again, watching the clip from F.R.I.E.N.D.S go with the text marked by a heart. A smile pulls up my cheeks, thinking of the scene. 

The three guys are sitting on the sofa in Central Perk and Chandler talks about not being 21 anymore. He’s 29 now and just wants to relax and go to bed at his bedtime, according to him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” my dad comments, bringing my eyes back to him. A small smile pinches his sallow cheeks. I nod, thinking of those words, but in a different way. If only that could be said about everything.

Setting my phone down, I try to watch the match with him. I’m glad it’s taking his mind off of the poison coursing through his veins. But I’m distracted by the anxious excitement of waiting to hear a ding from my phone. 

Point after point is scored and it doesn’t come. And I try not to be disappointed, but I think I’m getting rather good at being disappointed lately.

+

The last words of a Katy Perry song trickle from the speakers as I put the car in park. A soft glow pours out the living room window, waiting for me. 

6:13 pm, the digital clock reads. 

I let my head fall back to the head rest. The events of today and their emotions flood my thoughts. As well as the things I still need to do tonight. Bring in the groceries. Put them away. Make dinner, even though he’ll eat 5 bites that he’ll throw up. Sweep and mop the kitchen. Disinfect surfaces. Find time to vacuum when he isn’t sleeping. Change his bedsheets. Do la-

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

The incessant words forming inside of my head cease. Looking over to the passenger seat, my phone buzzes face down. I pick up and answer it without looking. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Becks,” a refreshing voice answers. It almost removes the heavy words inside of me, but not quite. 

“Hi, Harry. How was your birthday?” I answer, peering down at my lap. 

“It was pretty fantastic, thank you. ‘m sorry I didn’ get t’ yer text yestaday. Tha’s why ‘m callin’, an’ ‘cause I got yer gift. I love it, it was so nice o’ you! I don’ have this Fleetwood record yet, so thank ya very much. ‘s in incredible condition, too! Hope ya didn’ have t’ pay too much. I know how pricey original records can be,” his syrupy voice utters with extra sugar today. It fills me with comfort, but he also picked the worst time to call. Although, maybe it would help to get out of my head for a few minutes. If I can.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I uh, wasn’t sure if you had it or not,” I reply slowly, unsure of what to say. I find it hard trying to pick out words from my head as so many others are whirring around. Playing with the zipper on my coat, I wait for his reply. 

“I can’ wait t’ listen t’ it. There’s not a scratch on it, ‘s unbelievable. I got sum drinks with sum mates last night afta work, so tha’s why I forgot t’ text back. Had lots o’ fun tho’, an’ ate sum good food,” he narrates for me in an animated voice.

I nod at his words, wishing that would suffice. But I have to talk, even though yesterday I would’ve jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Well, I still would today. Just minus the jumping part. 

“Good,” is all I say, amidst the lump building in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. But it doesn’t help, it never does. “I’m glad you had a good time,” I somehow manage. Cursing myself, I know he heard my voice crack at the end. Because so did I.

“Becks-.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday with friends. It did sound fun. Um I’m sorry, but can I call you back? I was just going to run into a shop quick,” I cut him off, the lie knitting together fast. 

“Ya sure, an’ thanks. ‘ll talk t’ ya later, Becks. Drive safe,” he replies, something amiss in his voice. But I can’t listen any further than that, or else the guilt will make the tears come sooner. 

“Thanks, Harry. I will, and happy birthday,” I finish, not giving him a chance to reply before I hang up. 

Because the tears already arrived at my last word. And he sounded so happy, and I couldn’t ruin it. Over the course of the few texts we’ve sent back and forth in the last month, it was the happiest he’s sounded. And I didn’t want to share my dark cloud, and reveal that I’m in the lowest of my lows. Another side of me selfishly wanted him to notice, almost begged him to. And that part is disappointed that he didn’t, but the other part knows that I can’t expect that. Or at least it tries to. 

It’s going to take everything inside of me. To lift my head from the steering wheel and walk back into that house. And to do yesterday and the day before, all over again. Dole out the meds and write them down. Clean up the vomit. Cook the meals. Clean and clean. Endure watching the pain and suffering I can’t do a damned thing about. And on top of it all, try to deal with my own pain and suffering. Not to forget, the schoolwork. 

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. Or the paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit. 

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back. 

+

“Hey, Becky. Could you do me a favor, love?” 

The pictures of puppies I was looking at suddenly feels illegal. Closing my laptop, I look up and find Sophie standing in front of me. I still think for a split second that she’s the mom from The Princess Diaries when I look at her, even after a year of working here. 

“Y-yeah yeah. What do you need, Sophie?” I ask, trying to sit up straight, for once.

“Could you run this down to the post room for me, please? I need it sent out today, and I have a video conference in a minute. I’d wait on it, but I know they pickup the post in about 20. I won’t make it since my video conference is an hour long,” she says, her lips lined in scarlet grimacing. She tugs at the end of her corkscrew brown curls, a nervous habit of hers. “I hate to be one of those bosses that makes you do stupid stuff, but-.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph. A little walk would be nice, anyways,” I insist, taking the large white envelope from her. She thanks me with a smile and a handful of ‘thank yous’ before leaving. 

Standing up, I feel my joints wake back up with a few cracks. I smooth down my maroon blouse over my black dress pants. A shiver tickles my spine, and I decide to slide on my zip up black Columbia. The last thing I do before leaving is to grab my steel water bottle to fill up. 

“Be right back,” I let the girls know at the front desk. They nod with a smile before resuming their hushed conversation. 

My pointed flats hardly make a noise on the tiled floor. It’s hard to look for a noise with the wind whipping around the snow outside. Just looking out the windows lining the hallway makes me feel cold, colder than it should be in March. And regret choosing these shoes this morning. I reach a corner and take a left, thinking back to when I first started and always got lost. I pass a handful of people on my way, familiar and not, and we exchange smiles or nods. I pass the doors for Human Resources, and wave at a friend. A gruff bailiff passes without either, but he was a little too scary looking to make eye contact with anyways. 

I reach another corner, knowing the post room is only two turns away now. I take a right, but a few steps in, I hear voices. And laughing. My feet stop at the sound, and I turn around. The large doors to Courtroom 5 are down the hallway behind me. A clump of people stand across them talking, leaning against the wall under a clock. One of the laughs stands out to me from the others, like a musician can recognize a note. I can only see the backs of heads of those facing away from me. They shield the others from my view. My head goes from side to side with dismissal as I turn back around. But I don’t get very far, because I hear something they say. 

A name. 

It’s like it takes control of my limbs, and again I’m spinning around. I make it just in time to watch a figure break away from the group. Smiling and shaking hands, a laugh tickling their lips. And walk over to the drinking fountain. It’s Rose, one of the lawyers from Harry’s firm. Hmm, I think silently before walking away for real this time. 

I soon find another water fountain and I decide to fill up. Luckily almost all of the ones I come across here have the nifty water bottle attachment. It was always a pain any place I’d go trying to fill it up directly from the spout. With the thick envelope under my arm, I screw the cap back on. Slipping my finger through the little handle at the top, I take off. But once again, I don’t get very far. Because this time I almost run into somebody. 

“Sorry,” I automatically say before even taking a look at the person. But I don’t need to look when their voice tells me what I’m looking for. 

“‘s alr- Wait, ‘s that you, Becks? Well hi, love,” Harry coos, his words catching. 

“What, I don’t get an ‘it’s alright’ just because I’m not a stranger?” I joke, looking into his brilliant green eyes. 

The skin around his eyes crinkles as amusement paints his face. Nodding, his growing curls dance a little on his head. “Yeah, I guess ‘s alright ya almost plowed me ova,” he jokes, his straight white teeth showing behind his happy lips. 

Scratching at the back of his neck, his navy blazer pulls to the side. I see more of the cream button down underneath decorated with small navy polka dots. 

“Hey, I could say the same thing about you,” I argue, trying to calm the happiness budding on my lips. But my control doesn’t last very long. 

Harry replies with a breathy laugh, dropping his hand. “Oh hush, you. Now, what’re ya doin’ here, love? I hope yer not here fer a hearing,” he asks, swinging the leather messenger bag to his side. Probably heavy from his files and laptop, from the look of its bulging seams. 

“I uh, work here,” I tell him slowly, my words escaping me. My fingers wrap around and lift the sleek card resting on my chest. 

His moss green eyes fall to the lanyard hanging around my neck holding the access card bearing my face and name. I receive my answer when his expressive eyebrows shoot to the sky in surprise. “Here? Really, doin’ wha’?” he questions.

“Um, I do some clerk stuff back in admin,” I reply, watching his expression relax into a content smile. 

“Tha’s great, Becks. That’ll look really good on yer resume when ya graduate. Good fer you, ‘m proud o’ you, darlin’,” he comments, patting my arm. I hardly know what to say with everything jumping around in my head all of a sudden. The arm pat. The beaming pride coating his features. The part where he said he’s proud of me, for the second time now. Okay, chill out, Becky. You can’t lose it, not yet. “An’ ya like it here? Are ya learnin’ more ‘bout law?”

“Yeah, I really like it. I work with a small group of people, and we get along really well. I mean there’s always that one coworker you don’t like, but what can you do?” I try to laugh, but I’m afraid it sounds fake. It’s okay though, because his laugh covers the doubt I hear in mine. And the nerves. “And I am learning, too. My boss is really great and I think she uses me being in law school to her advantage. It’s a match made in heaven, I guess.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that. ‘m happy t’ hear well, that yer happy,” Harry tells me with a smile framing his words. But when I look at it a second too long, I see the sadness in it. Suddenly, I regret my words, and how they sounded like he wasn’t a good boss. Or that I didn’t like it at his firm. But he doesn’t let me get too far into my thoughts, luckily. “How’s yer dad doin’? I haven’t heard from ya lately, but I undastand yer prolly real busy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking away with warming cheeks. But his automatic ‘’s okay’ and squeeze to my arm makes me look back at him. “Things have been pretty crazy with classes and being there for my dad. He started chemo again the beginning of last month, since they didn’t get all of the tumor, like they hoped they would. But I guess most people still do it to ensure it’s gone, or something like that. I can’t remember.”

“Stop, ‘s okay,” he says firmly, his eyebrows raising a tick. “How’s he handlin’ tha chemo? ‘ve heard that stuff’s pretty shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. It makes him really sick. It’s hard because sometimes he has to wait to do an infusion of it, because some levels of his are too low. Or they want him to be at a certain weight, even though the chemo makes him lose weight,” I explain, the words coming out effortlessly. “It’s hard to see him like this, and to still be a student and an employee during all of it. But my professors and boss have been really understanding and lenient.”

I bite back the tears, hoping they won’t fall without my permission. But one breaks loose from the gate as I stare at the floor. My flats are separated from his brown leather chelsea boots. Then after a blink they no longer are. I don’t make the decision to look up, but it’s made for me when I feel his thumb wiping the tear away. Peering into his gleaming green eyes always seems to make time stop. A warm smile places dimples in his cheeks, and does something to me. Like it always does. 

“‘s okay. I can’t imagine how hard ‘s been fer ya, Becks. Why didn’ ya ring me? I woulda listened,” Harry asks me, his hand regretfully belonging to himself again. But there isn’t annoyance or anger in his voice. There’s emotions from the other side of the spectrum heard there. Like regret and sadness, and others I can’t fathom right this second. 

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Plus, I hate to be a Debbie Downer,” I confess, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes when they tickle his skin. 

“Yer notta Debbie Downa, Becks, whateva tha bloody hell that ‘s,” he insists. A hint of his giggle meets my ears when I look at him weird due to that revelation. “Ya can call me anytime, ‘kay? Whether ‘s happy or sad, ‘d wanna hear ‘bout it.”

I nod at his words, savoring the sound of his voice. And what it said. His minty breath strokes my cheek as he’s close enough to touch. The words get lost in my throat as his familiar smell wafts over me, catching me off guard. “Thank you,” I mumble thoughtfully, seeing his head move in answer. 

“What’re ya takin’ this semesta fer yer LLB tha’s so tough? I mean, I know all tha courses can be, but ‘m curious. Ya must be onto tha heavier courses by now, ‘s that right?” 

“Well, I’m still catching up to where I should be as a kind of sophomore. Because they changed the degree around since I’ve been gone, so that’s kinda why I took Crim later than usual. But right now I’m taking Banking Law, Family Law, and Environmental Law,” I answer, watching my words register with him. He nods at certain parts, his brow knitted together as he pays attention to me, like there’s nobody else in the entire room. 

“Ugh, those don’ sound any fun. I rememba takin’ those, or what were tha equivalent t’ ‘em when I was in uni. They’re tha ratha borin’ ones, an’ Family’s sad, too,” he comments, a look of disgust playing with his features. It’s amusing, but I get away with not letting it show on my face. Reaching to scratch his chin, I notice the stubble there. And the pops of color on his fingernails. Both fitting, I must say.

“Yeah they’re super boring. I’m surprised you even remember them, seeing as you’re 29 and everything,” I joke, earning a well deserved eye roll from him. But he can’t get rid of the grin showing on his raspberry lips. “Hey, I like your nails. It looks like you did a pretty good job, better than I could even,” I laugh and it grows harder when he holds them out for me to see. A wine red and turquoise blue decorate his fingers. But what gets me is that he puckers his lips, modeling like Zoolander. 

“Thanks,” Harry titters, looking down at them. “Me little niece picked out tha colors an’ helped me paint ‘em tha otha night. But I think they’re growin’ on me. Already chippin’ tho they are, whatta shame.”

You let your niece paint your nails? 

Wait, you’re an uncle? 

Okay, the thought of you with tiny children is not helping things. 

“You sound like a fun uncle.”

“Ya, I hope so. Harper says I am anyways, which ‘s quite tha compliment. Also, stop callin’ me old. 29 isn’t old,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out at me. 

“Oh stop it, you baby,” I giggle, and soon his joins mine. For a couple of seconds, we’re just looking at each other laughing and things couldn’t be better. But I’ve learned that good things can never last, and soon enough we’re interrupted by a voice. 

“Harry, are you coming?” Rose says from across the hallway, a ‘hello’ to me following. The sweet sound coming from his lips soon fades as he looks over to her and nods. Pushing his sleeve back to look at his watch, he clucks his tongue. 

“‘m afraid I can’ talk any longa, Becks. ‘m sorry. Rose an’ I are workin’ togetha onna case. It starts in half an hour, an’ we gotta go ova sum things befo’ it all starts,” he explains regretfully. I nod, acknowledging his words. And try as I might, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing heavy in my gut. 

“Yeah o-of course, don’t let me keep you. Good luck, Harry, knock ‘em dead,” I wish him with a small, but sad, smile. 

A hint of one inches up his cheeks before he says, “Yer not keepin’ me, I dunno why ya always say that. I enjoy talkin’ t’ ya. ‘s nice t’ catch up again,” Harry tells me. As if in slow motion, I watch him take another step closer to me with outstretched arms. I follow suit and soon find myself in one of his hugs. “Ya ring me if ya need anythin’, ya hear me? Even just t’ talk. Maybe we could get coffee or tacos sumtime.”

The moment in his arms doesn’t last long enough, although I’m sure any amount of time wouldn’t be enough for me. Soon, I’m leaving the safety of his arms and again, I’m alone. “Of course. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome. Tell yer dad an’ Robbie ‘m thinkin’ of ‘em,” Harry rasps, and I just nod. “An’ take care, Becks. Good luck in yer courses, I know ya’ll do well.”

Happiness seeps through the sudden sadness with his kindness, and I muster a smile. And another thank you. 

“Have a good day, love,” is the last thing he says, before he turns to walk towards Rose who waits for him. 

“You too,” I mumble, watching him walk away. 

Bittersweetness lines my thoughts, wondering if the sadness is worth getting to see him. And that hug. God, that fucking hug. They do fix everything that’s wrong, if only for a couple of seconds. It makes me wonder how much happier I’d be if I could have one of those every day, as a respite from the chaos of life. But that would only be in the case of if I was his-. 

Yeah, I’m not going there again, I tell myself. And with that, I finally continue my journey to the post room, unsure of how I’ll be able to top that. 

For the rest of day. 

Week. 

Maybe even, month. 

+

The butter melts on my tongue and next the pillowy bread does too. I close my eyes and smile at the taste. Like home. Opening them again, my eyes flit over the half dozen crock pots and several other plates. Frowning, I can’t stop thinking about the meatballs, the macaroni and cheese, the sugar cookie fruit pizza, and the homemade bread. 

But with a longing sigh, I walk away and leave the break room. Excited coworkers of mine pass me on the way to the food. My desk eyes me from across the room, but I ignore it. Soon, I find myself in the hallway. Twenty minutes left of my break after scarfing down the monthly potluck meal. It only gets better each month, and makes me wish it was weekly. The last bite of airy bread passes my lips. I wipe my hands on the napkin and toss it in a bin. The new storm delivers snow outside of the hallway-long windows. Although they’re frosted from the chill, I can still just make out the falling flakes. 

My thoughts of snow are whisked away by the shuffling of feet. And hurried voices. It takes me a moment to figure out where I’ve gone off too. Soon, I realize I’m back by Courtroom 5. And that the people are bustling inside the doors to sit in the gallery. And watch. The sleeve of my zip up glides over my watch, revealing the time to be one o’clock. Quickly, thoughts come together like puzzle pieces in my head. 

My break is over at 1:30. 

It’s Friday, so it’s not like I really have anything important to do when I get back. 

Sophie has been bothering me for ages to go and learn from the teachers I have just down the hall. 

So she won’t mind. 

And the only teacher that I can think I want to learn from is in there right now. 

About to argue a case that appears to be available to the public. 

I don’t remember telling my feet to move, but suddenly I’m behind an older man. And the scene in front of me changes drastically. It fills me with nervous excitement at the sight of the judicial panel, the jury box, and the witness stand. But I don’t have time to gawk, because the chatter around me is quieting down. I quickly find a seat towards the back of the seating in the gallery. 

Silence follows the clanging of the doors shutting. Within a few seconds, everybody rises when the judge enters. But the rest of the room - the jury made up of all kinds of faces, the bailiff, court reporter etc. - melt away when I see that head of curly hair. I’d know it was him if we were in a crowd of people, but any doubt I had from afar is washed away when he speaks. 

Harry and Rose take turns delivering their opening statement. They’re defending their client, the plaintiff, who from the sounds of it, was harassed by the defendant. It kills me to watch the opening statements unfold, even if all I can see is the back of the girl’s head. The hush over the courtroom is chilling, and goosebumps grow on my arms at the sound of Harry’s tone. His professional voice that I’ve yet to really hear before. Because although I worked for him, I was only his assistant. I never got to tag along to trials, or hear much about them. Yes, I did some of the dirty work for them, but I only saw the outside. I heard about how good or bad it was going, and then was dealt with the good news or bad news of the verdict. No more than that. 

It’s awe inspiring to witness him arguing the case firsthand. The way he uses his hands to speak, or the times when his voice does all the speaking he needs to. His eloquent choice of words drills the emotion home, and is accented by the expression on his face. It’s often neutral, but at times, I watch him struggle to hide the effects of the words playing on his face. I find myself having a hard time doing the same when he returns to sit next to the plaintiff, patting her on the back during difficult moments. Unbeknownst to me, the defending lawyer may have been practicing for two years or twenty. But their skill wanes next to Harry’s, even though he’s been practicing for less than ten years. I can’t stand to watch the discrepancies and weaknesses in his arguments. Luckily, my break is over and I don’t care to waste my time watching Mr. Bow Tie over here. 

I quietly leave a few minutes into his opening statement, hoping one day I can evoke as much emotion as Harry with my words. And hide from my face all of the ones that I’m feeling inside. Walking back to my department, a smile curls the edges of my lips. But then it falls, because I realize the mistake I made. 

I just fell a little bit harder. Again. 

+

“I’m gonna bring the dishes down,” I mumble, watching him nod at me. 

The wooden steps creak with my weight as I juggle the tray of barely touched food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup. A piece of toast. And apple slices with peanut butter. 

Options, options, options. 

The plastic tray hits the counter with a hard slap, and an accentuated huff. I bend down and grab tupperware from the drawers. As I pour the soup into a container, the slam of a door upstairs makes me jump. My thoughts fly to the soup spilled all over the counter, but they stop when I hear another noise. Besides the tv in the living room, it’s the only other one I hear. It pulls my feet out of the kitchen and through the living room until I’m at the stairs. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the top. The terrible sound carries down the hallway, leading me to the bathroom door. 

I nervously rap my knuckles against the door. 

“I’m fine,” my dad says from the other side, coughing. 

“Dad, they said if it gets bad-.”

“It’s not bad yet,” he interrupts. There’s a pause when he blows his nose. “Please, Ree, I just want to be home. I hate having to go there.”

“I know, dad,” I reply, sighing when I hear him start to vomit again. 

Walking away, I give him privacy. And my ears a break from one of my newest least favorite sounds. My fingers drift to my back pocket, sure of their actions before I am. Exhaling, I take a seat on one of the stairs.  

It rings and it rings. 

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter, bouncing my leg. 

Kneading my temple, I listen to it continue to ring. And ring. Finally, it stops. But I’m not greeted by the sound I want to hear. Instead I hear their voicemail, making me groan. I listen to the old recording I’ve heard time and time again, but this time I just want it to go away. So I can hear the instructions, and that final beep.

“Hey, it’s me. J-just call me back when you get this, please,” I say quickly, the words running from my lips. Alongside the tears. 

Dropping my phone onto my lap face down, my head falls in my hands. Noises surround me. Those of everyday life bustling around me. The sound of the laundry machine whirring downstairs. The hum of the tv. And the ones I try to ignore coming from the door behind me. The sound of the crying. And the vomiting. 

I can’t keep my hands still. They go to rake through my hair. To cover my face. To play with my fingers. To make fists. I even try to sit on them, and it doesn’t help. And I can’t stop bouncing my legs, as my nerves jitter from the thoughts.

 The worries.

The uncertainty. 

It feels like an hour before I hear my twinkling ringtone. But when I see the time on my phone, it’s only been eleven minutes. I barely take the time to look at who’s calling before I answer it. 

Clearing my throat, I say a shaky ‘hello.’

“Hey, I got yer message. ‘m sorry I didn’ answer, I was inna late meetin’, but I can talk now. ‘s everythin’ okay, Becks? Ya don’ sound so good, love,” he inquires. His caramely voice is the first comfort I’ve felt all day. My respite from this mayhem. 

“No, I’’ll um, let you go. I don’t want to interrupt your meeting. I can call later,” I insist, guilt weaving its way into my words. 

“No, yer okay, Becks. I stepped out. It wasn’t anythin’ important, anyways. I can have Myles tell me later. Now, wha’s goin’ on?” he tells me, but it doesn’t revoke all of the guilt consuming me. I grimace at the pain from my chapped lips when they smash together, salty tears flowing over their cracks. “Becks, talk t’ me, please. Yer not a botha, not ever. Please tell me wha’s wrong.”

“Harry,” I begin, not capable of any other words. Because that one has been constant in my head for the last twenty minutes. Ever since it started. It’s the one I’ve been holding in, and not been able to say, until now. 

“‘m here, Becks,” he says. Never did I think three words could be so comforting. And at the same time, hurt so much. Because they’re true, and then they’re not. I want them to be true so badly I feel it in my veins. 

“M-my dad . . . he won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. He had chemo yesterday, b-but it went fine. And then we had dinner tonight, and he hardly had three bites, before he got sick. It’s been like that all day,” I confess, leaning against the staircase railing. Letting it hold me there, because nobody else can. Because I can’t do it for myself anymore. “This happens sometimes with the chemo, b-but . . . . . it was getting better recently. I think I should bring him in like they said, but that means staying the night in the hospital. Again. I’m just so tired, Harry, I want all of this to be over already. I want him to be okay, and I want to feel what it’s like to be okay again.” I can’t get out another word, because the tears consume them. And the anxiety. And the exhaustion. My head falls to my knees and the hand cupping my mouth slides away. 

“I think ya should bring ‘im in, Becks. ‘Specially if they said so. Don’ want ‘im t’ get dehydrated, that certainly won’ help things,” Harry murmurs, his voice quiet and controlled. “I know ya don’ wanna be there ‘gain, ‘specially twice in tha last two days. But he needs their help . . ‘s there anybody who can come an’ be with you? Maybe that aunt o’ yers who was at tha hospital that night? Robbie, or Skye? But I s’pose they’re 3 hours away in London . . . ,” Harry sighs, his words trailing off into the air. For some reason I nod, glad to hear that my reasoning for not wanting to ask them to come is valid. 

“Yeah, it’s just me here. That’s how it’s been. Robbie and I switch off . . . But my dad doesn’t want me to bring him in, he hates going there. Being poked by them and everything. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I cry, the tears soaking the knees of my ripped jeans. 

“Ya hafta bring ‘im in, Becks. What if ‘s sumthin’ else, like tha stomach flu or sumthin’ worse? He needs t’ be able t’ eat an’ drink in order t’ get betta,” he urges, and finally I decide to listen. 

Nodding at his words and the truth they hold, my lips part, “I know, you’re right. I-I’ll bring him in. T-thanks, Harry, for answering your phone.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sit up slowly. “Course, Becks. ‘m sorry I was a li’l busy when ya first rang . . . Um drive safe, ‘kay? Maybe bring yer laptop t’ do schoolwork or even jus’ t’ watch Netflix. Sumthin’ t’ distract yerself - a book, or headphones fer music.” His suggestions meet my ears, but they go through one and out the other. They’re not the kind of distraction I want, I think selfishly, but the kind I want, I can’t have. Because it’s you. 

“Yeah, I’ll bring something. Thanks, Harry. Have a good night,” I say in almost a whisper, exhaustion stealing my words. 

“Yer welcome, Becks. Lemme know what happens, ‘kay?”

I mutter an ‘mmmmhmm’ before hanging up, and trudging up the stairs. Listening for the sound again is hard, because I don’t know what I want to hear. Part of me doesn’t want to hear the vomiting, but the other part oddly does. Because if it stopped then he’ll try to convince me that we don’t have to go in. But I hope it hasn’t, because there’s something at the back of my head telling me we have to. Making me think we need to, because something’s wrong. And I know that if he’s stopped, he’ll tell me that there’s no reason to go in. 

My gray striped socks stop on the hardwood floor in front of the door. I knock before I can convince myself to wait. “Dad?” 

No answer. 

“Dad, I’m bringing you to the hospital. Something’s not right, I just know it. You need to be looked at, and they can help,” I plead from the other side of the slab of wood. A sigh meets my ears and the shuffling of a body. 

“Okay,” he relents. I push the door open and am met with his tear-stained face. 

Trying to ignore the smell I’m by now used to, I wet a washcloth at the sink. Returning to his side, I bend down and wipe his face with it. And then his mouth. Tossing it in the laundry bin, I wash my hands. Watching him as I do so, his frail figure is slumped against the closed toilet. Embarrassment blanketing him like a sheet. 

“It’ll be okay,” I try to tell him. But as I watch his barely there nod, I’m not sure if I believe it either. “Let’s get you downstairs to the car,” I say, drying my hands. 

It takes us awhile, to stand up together. To get down the stairs, one step at a time. To slip on his coat. To grab my things. And to drive to the hospital as he threw up into a bucket beside me. But we got there, and the worst part still awaits us. 

It pains me to leave his side, but I can’t handle watching them stick him with needles. Or the blood. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 7 months. Combing my hair out of my eyes, I begin my walk down the hallway. Yet another one. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey,” I respond to the voice I could pick out of a crowd. I try to prepare my words, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m so tired. “I’m at the hospital with dad. Everything is okay. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day, he’s been throwing up off and on. And after dinner, it got worse. They’re taking some blood now to run it for labs. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“Shitttt,” Robbie replies, holding out the last syllable. Just like our dad. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ree. I’m surprised he let you take him in, but thanks for doing that. Yeah, I guess all you can do is wait until they have the tests back. Hopefully you two can go home soon,” he says quietly in a tone the polar opposite of the one he answered with. 

I echo his words with a ‘me too’ before there’s nothing else to be said. And I let him go. I call Skye too to tell her, and because I can’t go back yet. I just need some time. She talks my ear off, but I’m grateful for it. She tells me about work, her newest boyfriend, the weather, and a show we’re watching together. 

After I finally get away from her jabber mouth, almost half an hour has passed. I find my way back to his room in the Emergency wing. As I walk in, he shoots a tired smile at me. One I can barely make out amongst the dark room. 

“Early bedtime?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nods, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

“Yeah. They did all their tests, and said it would take a little while, so fluids, anti-nausea meds, and naptime it is.”

“Good,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around his. Squeezing them, his dusty lips offer a laugh. Or the closest thing to one. He tries to squeeze back, but I barely feel it. It’s nothing compared to when he’d nearly break my fingers giving my hand a squeeze. Somehow his hands look older than the rest of him as I look. His skin wrinkles among his bulging veins, liver spots, and freckles. 

“You should too, baby girl,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes return to his face where he’s opened his eyes to look at me. “You look exhausted too. Get some sleep, I know it’s been a lot taking care of me for this long.”

“Dad,” I begin, an argument forming in my voice. But I don’t get any further than that.

“You know it’s true, and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. Don’t let yourself think any different,” he insists, the area above his eyes raising. But it doesn’t have the same effect with his dark eyebrows absent from his expression. A whimper escapes my lips as tears obscure my vision. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Come here, my baby.”

It confuses me when his clean scent doesn’t surround me. But it’s there in a hint when I bury my face into his neck. His right arm pulls me against him, and I cry into him. It’s one of the only times I can remember doing this since this all started. I want to stay strong in front of him, but sometimes it’s too hard. I feel a warmth on my forehead, and my lips break into a smile at his trademark forehead kiss. “Get some sleep, sweetie. They’ll wake us with the results if they need to,” he tells me. I nod into him, feeling him scooch over for me to lay more comfortably beside him. 

+

My words are taken away with a whooshing sound just as a ding meets my ears. A bubble appears at the top of my phone screen. With widening eyes, I hold down the bottom button for volume on the side of my phone. Peeking across the room, I exhale watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, his snoring greeting the air. My attention returns to the dings coming from my phone. I read the first one. 

Me - a few minutes ago

Tests came back positive for some type of bacterial infection in his digestive tract. Starting antibiotics now. Keeping him overnight and until further notice for observation because infections can be scary with weak immune systems like his.  

Harry

thx for the update. glad 2 hear it isnt anything 2 serious. its a good thing u brought him in when u did becks. thinking of u and him. 

Me

Thanks so much, Harry. I’m glad I did too. Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch again, yay!

Harry

get some zzzz’s love. might be a long nite. dont forget 2 eat. 

Me

Goodnight 

+

My eyes don’t want to believe the clock when the growling of my stomach wakes me. Shuffling into the hallway rubbing my eyes, I swear under my breath. 

“No fucking way it’s only 11 o’clock. Why can’t it be 8 am or something?” I groan, trudging down the quiet halls of the oncology wing. But I’m glad for the quiet compared to the craziness of the E.R. earlier. 

Dropping my hand, I’m welcomed once again by the stinging fluorescent lights. And the packaged foods waiting for me behind the glass. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I scan the many choices. Hmmm, salted nut roll for once, hostess cakes, sour patch kids, hard pretzels, jelly beans, or Cheez-Its? I wonder to myself, blinking the sleep from my eyes. 

Another ding meets my ears. But when I lift my phone to my face, there isn’t a new text popping up on my screen. There are some, but they’re from an hour ago or longer. Weird, I think, staring at the screen and reading the words. 

There’s a cough as somebody clears their throat. “We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like dis,” they almost laugh, making me turn my head without a choice. 

[sweetbitterpdf]

hello!!! could you do 44 and 9 from the prompts list? if they haven’t already been suggested heh 💛

( 50 cliché tropes and prompts !!! )

44. I’m your new neighbour and I got locked out, help!;

& 9. There’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling

I can absolutely do that! fair warning, this ended up being 2.8k words, which just may be my longest prompt fill, like… ever. I like how it turned out, though, and I hope you do too anna!! thank you for being patient!!

—

There’s no catharsis quite like a nice, hot shower.

When Lucas’ brain won’t quiet down— that is, most nights— he’ll take a long shower. There’s probably some scientific explanation as to why it calms him to the point where he can fall asleep, but he’s not sure about the details of it. In any case, he emerges in a cloud of steam feeling a lot better than before, and he thinks he’s finally ready to attempt sleep again. 

He’s not sure if it’s the new setting— the constant commotion of university dorms— or something else, but his brain has been racing a mile a minute, all day long. He wants nothing more than to rest, but his brain won’t allow that, apparently. He thinks about settling down into his uncomfortable dorm bed and finally being able to fall asleep, wills it into existence.

Except—

“Fuck,” he says, reaching into the pocket of the shorts he brought with him. He reaches into both pockets, and doesn’t feel his room key in either of them. “No, no— Fuck!” He’s heard that it’s a rite of passage for first years to forget their room key at least a dozen times throughout the year, but he really thought better of himself than to forget it on the very first day— well, night. 

He has his phone, at least— he can call building administration! All is not lost.

“Hello,” a pre-recorded voice drones, “Thank you for calling. Please note that our administrative services only run from 9am-5pm, and are closed for the day. Please call during these times if your have any questions or concerns. If you have an emergency, please call—”

“Fuck!” He says, again. He doesn’t want to call the emergency line— it’s not like being locked out of your room is an emergency, just a huge inconvenience. He stops to think, then. He contemplates toughing it out in the bathroom for the night— but quickly realizes that he would rather do literally anything else.

And so, a few minutes later, his clothes now back on, he’s staring at the door or his next-door neighbour, staring at his loopy handwriting, reading it over and over.

Eliott Demaury

Second Year

Double Major, Literature & Media Studies

Underneath his information is a cartoonish drawing of a raccoon. It has a speech bubble next to it that says come say hi! 

Lucas wonders if that offer applies at— he checks his phone— 1:37am.

It’s worth a shot, he thinks. He takes a deep breath, reaches his fist up, and knocks three times. If his friendly doodle on his door is any indicator, he should be nice. It’s odd that they haven’t met yet, Lucas thinks. He’s just about to turn and leave, when he hears footsteps, and then the door opening, and—

Oh.

“Hello?” Eliott says, and Lucas just… Stands there. He stands there and he stares because Eliott kind of has the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen and his hair looks so soft and— “Can I help you?” There’s no malice to his voice, but it’s quite evident that he’s confused by Lucas standing there, in his doorway, in the middle of the night.

“Oh,” Lucas says, gathering himself, “Uh, I… I’m Lucas, I live next door. I, uh, locked myself out of my room— impressive on the first day, I know— and the admin office is closed until tomorrow morning, and so I can’t get back in to my room until tomorrow, and I just— I don’t know what to do. And you seemed nice from the sign on your door, and you’re in second year, and I just thought— maybe you’d know what to do? I’m sorry, I probably woke you up, but I’m just freaking out a bit, right now.” A beat of silence follows, where Eliott looks Lucas over, and Lucas can feel the other boy’s gaze go down, and then back up again. He tries not to shiver with it.

Eliott shrugs, and Lucas’ eyes follow the movement.

“No worries, come in.” And, okay, what? The majority of Lucas’ brain was expecting him to get laughed at, or to get the door slammed in his face— but getting invited in? Wasn’t even on his mental list of possibilities.

“Are you sure?” Lucas asks, because he still can’t quite believe that this is happening. He can’t believe that not only does he now have a place to stay for the night, but that place just so happens to be the room of the single most attractive person he’s ever seen.

“Lucas, I’m not going to abandon you on your first night of university. You can stay the night here.”

“Oh, okay.” Lucas says, following Eliott in, a little bit dumbfounded.

—

“So, first year science? Are you excited?” Lucas tries to figure out a way to tell Eliott that he’s scared shitless, that he has no clue what’s coming next. 

His face goes warm when he realizes that Eliott has been paying attention to him, that he knows what Lucas is studying. He’s thankful for the low light of Eliott’s desk lamp, for being able to conceal himself in the shadows.

“Yeah!” He lies, partially. Part of him is excited, to be on his own, to be away from his tumultuous family. “I’ve heard good things about most of my professors, so I’m hoping things will go alright.” Hoping, praying— “What about you, why did you choose literature and media studies?”

Eliott looks contemplative for a moment. “I really like storytelling, in all of its forms.” His voice has gone a bit quieter, and Lucas can tell that this is something vulnerable. “Have you ever read a book, or seen a movie, and it just… Stays with you? Becomes a part of you?” The way he says it makes Lucas’ heart ache for him. “Those sorts of stories are my favourite, and I love how everyone’s perspective is different, no two people will share the exact same view or opinion, it’s so subjective.” The way his eyes shine makes Lucas want to lean in, makes him want to watch Eliott forever. “I don’t know, I just… Really couldn’t imagine myself studying anything else. I want to make stories that do that for other people.” Lucas tries to nod noncommittally, to act like he doesn’t feel like Eliott has just laid himself bare in front of him.

To act like he isn’t so desperate to find out more about him that— in his sleep-derived state— he would die for it.

“That’s beautiful.” Lucas says. You’re beautiful, Lucas doesn’t say.

They talk like that for a while. Part of Lucas wants to leave, wants to stop disturbing Eliott at— he checks his phone, 2:24am— and let him go to sleep. But Eliott fills every pause with chatter, with bouts of laughter and soft smiles that make Lucas’ heart leap and tumble around inside his ribcage. Lucas can’t ignore the way sleep starts to tug on Eliott’s eyelids, the way his blinking gets slower and heavier, the way he keeps yawning.

“I don’t want to keep you awake too long.” He says, and Eliott shakes his head, wakefulness coming back to him for a brief moment.

“No, no, it’s fine!” Eliott says, “I was actually having some trouble sleeping, anyway. And it’s nice, talking to you.”

Lucas swallows, hard. His mind is a whirlwind of want, everything he wants to do with Eliott flying around his head. More than anything, though— “It’s nice talking to you, too.” And if it weren’t so late, if there wasn’t still that nagging little voice in the back of his mind droning you’re bothering him, you’re burdening him, Lucas would keep talking to Eliott without so much as a second thought. “But you look tired. We can talk in the morning.” The way Eliott smiles at him, then, makes something unfurl in his chest.

“Okay.” Eliott’s tone keeps switching— he’s never heard a simple okay sound so private, so special. “You can take the bed.” Another simple sentence with the softest tone Lucas has ever heard. He wants to wrap it around himself like a blanket, curl up under it and let Eliott’s voice lull him to sleep.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor.” Because, really, it’s Eliott’s room. He’s not only a guest, but an unplanned guest, one who barged in in the middle of the night and he can’t just—

“Lucas, you’re my guest, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.” 

“Eliott, it’s your room, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor.” Certainly not his best counter, but it’ll suffice, he supposes. Because it’s Eliott’s room— and also because the sheer thought of spending the night bathed in Eliott’s scent is enough to make his head spin.

But then—

Then—

“Guess we’ll both have to take the bed.” Eliott says. He shrugs a bit, his face nearly smug, as if he knows exactly what’s going through Lucas’ head at this exact moment, frantic words running through his mind to the point where they’ve blended together, overlapping each other in a frenzied static. “Is that alright with you?” Eliott asks, and Lucas wants to answer yes, please i’ve never wanted anything more, wants to answer no, because my heart is pounding so hard it hurts and i’m scared of what you’re doing to me, with only your voice and your smile, wants to answer a thousand different things. Instead, though, he takes a deep breath, nods a couple of times, and says—

“Yeah,” as if that wasn’t the single best and worst thing anyone has ever said to him. “That’s fine.”

“Right or left?” Eliott asks, gesturing to his bed. Lucas ends up on the right, the side furthest from the wall. He tries his hardest not to toss and turn, but he finds himself turning over after a short while. However, when he does so, he’s face to face with Eliott, already asleep, he expression even and serene.

Lucas turns away almost immediately, his heart lurching, foreign, in his chest. Even when he turns, though, everything in the bed smells of Eliott, and that only makes his heart pound against his ribcage, threatening to burst out.

Lucas lays flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep for an entirely different reason. He feels everything— the way Eliott’s toes brush against his ankle, the way the bed shifts every time he does, even his gentle breathing tickling his face, a whisper along the skin of his cheek, unsure whether he wants to lean away or lean in.

—

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but all he knows is that he did, and that he’s awake now, in the early morning sunlight.

And that his limbs are tangled with Eliott’s, so close that they’re nearly chest-to-chest. 

He’s still on his back, but at some point in the night, Eliott curled into him, snaking his long arms around Lucas’ waist to keep him pulled close. He’s sure it wasn’t a willful decision on Eliott’s part, to send his heart hammering away during his first moments of wakefulness. If it was, though, Lucas certainly has some choice words for Eliott, because frankly who has the right to—

“Mm,” Lucas’ train of thought is cut off by Eliott, humming low in his throat, still asleep, his hands brushing along the skin of Lucas’ lower back, sending Lucas’ stomach aflutter, effectively silencing his thoughts. Part of him wants to pull away, wants to leave with a note or something, to see if the administrative staff have arrived yet.

But, the other part of his brain asks, but do you really want to? 

And Lucas knows. He knows with an equal measure of curiosity and fear, that he doesn’t. That he wants this, for as long as Eliott will allow it. So there he lays, in Eliott’s embrace, his mind having settled, somehow. He’s barely known Eliott a night, and yet there’s this feeling in his chest that he wants to pursue in any way he can.

So when Eliott stirs again, Lucas ignores the sliver of panic that sneaks in, he digs his feet into place— metaphorically speaking— and he stays where he is. Eliott groans again, coming into consciousness, and Lucas can tell that it takes a few moments for Eliott to notice him.

“Lucas?” He says, his voice raspy with sleep. His eyes blink fully open, and then he’s pulling away. Lucas misses the proximity already. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize—”

“Eliott, it’s okay.” Now, though, Lucas is armed with a plan. “I liked it.” Liked may be an understatement, but he doesn’t want to scare Eliott away by telling him the whole truth. I’ve never felt so safe in anyone’s arms before seems a bit overkill.

“You did?” Eliott’s surprise renders Lucas surprised, as well. Does he not know, Lucas asks himself, how beautiful he is?

“I did, it was nice.” Lucas says, as if it’s an objective fact, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. His reward for being so straightforward is more than worth it: Eliott’s cheeks flush pink, illuminated in the morning sun.

“Oh, okay.” Then Eliott’s smiling, only to himself seemingly, and Lucas has never wanted to kiss anyone more than he does right now, he thinks. “I liked it, too.” As they lay there in silence, Lucas manages to stay bold, somehow, and pulls Eliott’s arm back around him, to rest lightly on his back. Light enough, as if to say we don’t have to keep doing this if you don’t want to. Even his boldness comes with hesitance. But Eliott takes the gesture and runs with it, drawing small circles with his finger along Lucas’ sleep-warm skin. Lucas mirrors the gesture, and commits the smile that Eliott gives him in response to his memory.

—

They stay like that for a while, holding each other close, talking about their lives. Eliott tells Lucas that he’s from Paris— me too! Lucas says cheerily— that he loves visual art as much as he loves literature, that the cartoonish raccoon on his door is supposed to be him, and that— if Lucas were an animal, to keep raccoon-Eliott company— he would be a hedgehog.

It’s as if the morning is enchanted, somehow. He doesn’t notice time passing— let alone the fact that he’s been laying in bed talking to Eliott for hours now, and that it’s nearly noon. If he isn’t careful, he may have to wait another day to get a spare key for his room.

“I should go.” Lucas says, after they’ve been quiet for a while. Eliott’s expression drops slightly, and Lucas nearly says never mind, I’ve actually decided that I’m staying here forever. “I just need to get my key— if we’re not careful, admin will close again and I’ll be locked out for another night.” Though, admittedly, Lucas can think of worse fates. “I had… a really good time though, here, with you.” Eliott’s smile is back in full force, and Lucas feels as if the universe has been restored. “Thank you, for taking me in, in the middle of the night.” He’s gotten up now, sliding his pants over his boxers, searching for his socks. Eliott follows him, helping him gather his things.

“It’s no problem. I had a really good time with you, too.” Eliott mirrors his tone playfully, and it brings a smile to Lucas’ face as well. Will this happen again? Hangs in the air between them, wordlessly.

Lucas turns, heading out, and Eliott follows again, opening the door for him.

“See you around?”

“Yeah.” Eliott says, in a puff of air. Lucas has just started to turn, but then he hears “Wait.”

Eliott’s leaning in, fixing a bit of Lucas’ hair. He’s very clearly taking more time than necessary— Lucas isn’t even sure his hair was messed up in the first place, it had looked fine in the bathroom mirror when he was brushing his teeth earlier. Nonetheless, Lucas wants to lean in to the touch, but before he can, Eliott’s leaning in again. This time, though, he presses their lips together, so quickly it’s barely there, before he’s pulling away, smiling over at Lucas from his doorway.

“Feel free to lock yourself out of your room more often.” Eliott says, before closing the door.

—

“Yes!” Lucas exclaims as his door opens, at long last. Getting a spare key for his room had been an ordeal all on its own, but finally— finally— he’s back in his room. As he enters, he notices a piece of paper, folded on the floor at his feet. He picks it up and reads it over.

Text me when you get back in your room, I want to make sure you’re safe!

Then maybe text me after that, too?

XX-XX-XX-XX-XX

Lucas pulls out his phone and enters to the number, smiling down at the drawing of a raccoon and a hedgehog in the corner of the note.

[cassandra-tangled]

Cassandra Appreciation Week Day 1: Friendship

Hi guys! Here’s a little oneshot for day 1! I’m a little late (it’s 1 am on the 16th in my time zone), but better late than never!

Here’s the AO3 link 

The word count is 3,653

And a brief summary is: the gang celebrates Cass’ twenty-eighth birthday. If you read my fic it’s not related but I had fun writing this and might add a birthday chapter at some point. 

They do drink and I think there’s like one curse, just an fyi. 

Well, here it is! I hope y’all enjoy.

Cassandra awoke from her sleep to a persistent tap, tap, tap on her shoulder.

“Cass? Cass, wake up. Come on, wake up!” 

Groaning, Cassandra rolled over, shifting from her usual sleeping position on her stomach to lie on her back. She forced her eyes open and glanced at the clock on her wall--it read seven o’ clock in the morning. Admittedly, she’d usually be up by now or within the next few hours, but her thoughts had kept her up last night, and she hadn’t found slumber until three o’ clock in the morning, when she usually let herself rest at ten or eleven o’ clock. Her eyelids were heavy, her eyes swollen, and her hair a ruffled mess of black bed-head.

“What do you want, Raps? I’m tired.”

“You’re not allowed to be tired!” Rapunzel shook her head, pulling the covers off of Cassandra and throwing them across the room. 

“Hey,” Cassandra growled, instinctively rolling onto her side and drawing her knees in close to her chest. “Come on, Raps, why’d you do that?” 

“Today is a very special day, Cassandra.”

Cassandra paused. It was? She couldn’t quite bring to fruition why today would be different than any other, unless it was another Coronan holiday she’d forgotten about whilst on the road. She’d been on the road for a while, and just recently returned home to relax and rest up a bit. Living on the road, especially on your own, time tended to be but a blur. The days congealed into weeks, the weeks into months, the months into years--honestly, Cassandra would have had no idea how long she’d actually been gone if Rapunzel hadn’t counted the days and announced it upon her return. She was back on somewhat of a visit, and hadn’t decided if she was going to stay and work in Corona or leave once more, but she knew one thing for certain--she had no clue why today was ‘special’. 

“Uhhh...special day?”

“Cassandra.” Rapunzel huffed, shaking her head. Her emerald eyes glimmered with a hint of amusement. “You can’t be serious. Stop joking.” 

“No, Raps, I’m serious. I’m sorry, but whatever Coronan holiday today is, I have no clue. I have no concept of time anymore, honestly.”

Rapunzel clicked her tongue. “I’m glad you’re back then, so that I can remind you.”

“What is it?”

“Cass, it’s October 30th. It’s your twenty-eighth birthday!” 

“Oh.” Cassandra’s cheeks flushed red. “I really forgot my own birthday? Honestly, time on the road was a blur. I wasn’t even really sure if I was twenty-six or twenty-seven...”

“Well, yesterday you were twenty-seven. Today you’re twenty-eight.” 

Cassandra sat up and groaned. “Oh my God, I’m old.” 

Rapunzel shot a judgmental glance in Cass’ direction, and playfully swatted at her shoulder. “Oh, hush.” She paused, a laugh escaping her lips. “Now you know how Eugene feels.” 

“Hey, don’t compare me to Fitzherbert. I’m not thirty yet.” 

“Whatever you say. Are you ready for your special day?”

“Uh, no, honestly. I didn’t know it was my birthday. I’m not...emotionally prepared for whatever craziness you have planned today.” 

Rapunzel let out a faux gasp. “Cass! I have no such craziness planned.”

Cassandra cocked her eyebrow. “Sure you don’t. Besides, who knows if today is even my actual birthday? It’s probably just a random date I gave my dad when he took me in. I was only four, I probably had no concept of my birthday. Anyway, I don’t need, er, a celebration.” 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Yes you do! Besides, today is the day you’ve been celebrating your birthday since Cap took you in. If it doesn’t count as your real birthday, I don’t know what does.”

“Uh, hopefully nothing does. I hate birthdays.”

“Hate birthdays? How could you hate birthdays? I mean, there’s presents, cake, streamers, singing, parties, friends...it’s gonna be a perfect day.”

“Uh, I hate most of those things. Streamers are annoying, parties are annoying, singing is annoying, and presents make me feel like I owe the gifter something in return. Friends and cake are good, I suppose…”

“Well lucky for you, I know you, and I didn’t plan a party, exactly. It’ll just be dinner between me, you, Eugene, Varian, and Lance. Lance is even leaving the girls home so it can be an adult-only gathering. No singing, I promise.” Rapunzel paused. “Except maybe happy birthday? Oh, and there will be rum. And wine. And ale.” 

“Rum and wine and ale?” Cassandra sighed. “Oh, okay, you got me. As long as it’s really just the five of us.” 

“Okay, perfect! Dinner is at seven o’ clock tonight.” 

“Right. So you woke me up twelve hours before...why?”

“Erm…” Rapunzel’s face flushed red. “Because I wanted to see you before I have to work. I missed you, okay? I wanted to give you this, too.” Rapunzel reached into the trusty satchel that Cassandra had gifted her long ago, and pulled out a small black drawstring pouch. “I mean, Eugene and I got you a present for dinner tonight, but here. This is from me.” 

Rapunzel gently passed the black pouch to Cassandra, and Cassandra took the velvety, dark pouch in her hand. Tenderly, Cassandra opened the pouch and reached her fingers inside. Her digits met with a small, cool item, which she wrapped her hand about and pulled out. When she opened her hand, her eyes landed upon a small, black ring with a large purple stone mounted in the center. Circling around the stone were several smaller clear stones, also mounted into the dark black metal of the ring. 

“Wow, Raps. It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Cassandra slid the ring onto her left ring finger. “It fits perfectly, and now creepy men won’t hit on me when I’m back on the road. I love it.”

“Oh, no problem! I made it myself.”

“You what?”

“I know, right?” Rapunzel laughed. “I made it pretty soon after you left. I wanted to have something to give you when you came back, but since you came back so close to your birthday, I decided to wait ‘til today. It actually took, like, five tries. Xavier helped me mold the ring itself. I got the Cassandrium from, well, Varian, and the smaller stones are tiny little diamonds.”

“Diamonds?” Cassandra’s eyes widened. “Raps, this is far too expensive, I can’t--”

“Cass. I’m a princess. I don’t mean to sound braggy, but suffice to say, I want for naught. It’s yours.”

“Wow.” Cassandra drew her finger up closer to her face, examining the ring more closely. “Thank you, Raps. I love it.” 

“Of course.” A warm smile spread over Rapunzel’s face. “Well...sadly, I have some duties I have to attend to before dinner tonight, so I’ll let you get back to your slumber.”

“Mmm. Slumber sounds nice.” 

“I bet it does, sleepyhead.” Rapunzel stood up and let out a chuckle. “It’ll be in the main dining hall, after my parents have finished having their dinner, okay?”

“Sounds good. Thanks for not inviting the whole kingdom, Raps.”

“Of course. I’ll see you at seven.”

“See you at seven.”

--------------------------------------

Before Cassandra knew it, it was six o’ clock at night. She’d slept til a bit past twelve o’ clock noon--extremely late for her, but reasonable, given her lack of sleep the night prior. After she woke up, she spent most of the day alone in her room killing time--she sharpened her weapons, read about half of a novel, and took a brief walk about the castle to kill some time. 

At six forty-five, she began to make her way through the wide, dim, labyrinth-like halls of the castle. To the untrained eye, the castle would be immensely confusing--but Cassandra had grown up here. She knew all of the halls like the back of her hand, the twists and turns ingrained into her mind from youth. Her legs carried her effortlessly to the doors of the grand hall. 

Cassandra was unsure if the King and Queen had finished their meal, and didn’t want to disturb them if they hadn’t. As such, she leaned her back up against the wall next to the door, and began to absentmindedly fiddle with her hands. Her mind was riddled with both anxiety and excitement as she thought of the night to come. Birthdays weren’t her favorite, and parties weren’t exactly her strong suit, but at least this evening would hopefully be more relaxing and drinking with friends. 

Suddenly, the door beside her swung open, and Cassandra fixed her posture. She wasn’t sure if it was the monarchs or Rapunzel, but better safe than sorry. 

“Oh, hello, Cassandra,” called a sweet, melodic voice. “A certain princess informed me that it’s your birthday. Happy birthday, dear.” 

Cassandra turned, her eyes meeting with Queen Arianna’s. She quickly averted her eyes, and engaged in a quick, respectful curtsey. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she smiled, “it means a lot to me.” 

“Of course.” Arianna paused both her speech, and in the doorframe momentarily. “You know, I remember when you were about yea big.” She gestured down towards her side, and a gentle smile spread across her face. “You’re surely all grown-up now. It makes me feel old. How old are you?”

“I’m turning twenty-eight today, Your Highness.” 

“And to think you came to us when you were only four.” She paused for another moment and glanced off, as if thinking, before turning back to address Cass once more. “Well, I’m off, but Rapunzel is waiting for you in there. Frederic has already adjourned, so feel free to make your way in whenever. Enjoy the rest of your night, Cassandra.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. You as well.” 

Cassandra took a deep breath, analyzing the interaction in her head. She recalled the Queen’s bittersweet fondness towards her as a child, and a pang hit her stomach. She’d always looked forward to running a message to the throne room for her father as a child because she might be there, or running into her in the hallway. There was some sort of strange, unspoken bond and appreciation between them, at least on Cass’ end--that of a mother who’d spent much of her adult life yearning for a daughter, and a daughter who spent most of her childhood yearning for a mother. 

Cassandra shook her head, cleared the thoughts from her mind, and pushed her way in through the tall, dark doors of the throne room. The room was well lit by candlelight in the fading twilight. Rapunzel and Eugene stood by the table, and Lance and Varian were already seated. The table was laid with a fine dinner of roasted chicken, steak, potatoes, and peas. Sat at the center of the table was a modest but beautifully decorated cake, a bottle of rum, a bottle of wine, and a bottle of ale, as well as glasses suited for each. Cass felt a blush spread over her face, flustered that such a celebration was for her. 

“Well, if it isn’t the birthday girl!” Rapunzel moved towards her, and her slender arms wrapped Cassandra in a brief hug. She gestured to the seat at the head of the table, where the King usually sat. “Take a seat.”

Cassandra’s cheeks burned red. “I am not sitting there,” she laughed, “that’d just feel wrong.” 

“Well, then,” Eugene jested, “I’d be glad to take your place. Happy birthday, Cass.” He moved over towards Cassandra, and also wrapped her in a brief hug, before raising his hand in a fist motion. 

“Fitzherbert, don’t even think about giving me birthday punches. I will cut your hands off.” 

“Geez, geez,” Eugene laughed, pulling his fist back. “My hands didn’t survive years as a thief just to be chopped off by the dragon lady.”

“Watch yourself, then.” Cassandra grinned slyly and sat down, with Eugene and Rapunzel following suit. She turned her attention to the other two men at the dinner. “Good to see you two,” she smiled. 

“Happy birthday, Cassie,” Varian smiled. “You’re old.”

“Shut up, kid, don’t remind me.”

“Not as old as me,” Lance interjected. “But soon! Happy birthday.” 

“Thanks for the cheer, guys.” 

“You can always count on us,” Lance winked. 

“Okay, I need a shot,” Cassandra laughed, “someone hit me.”

“Tsk, before dinner, Cass?”

“Oh, yes, Raps. It’s my birthday, remember?”

Lance chuckled and obliged, reaching for a shot glass and the bottle of rum. He poured Cassandra a shot glass and slid it across the table to Cassandra. “Anyone else?”

Eugene raised his hand, followed by Varian, and then a shy Rapunzel. 

“Wow, Raps,” Eugene poked, “you normally stick to your wine.”

“Well…” A slight smile spread over her face. “It’s a special occasion!” 

Lance poured out four more shot glasses--three for the others, and one for himself. He distributed them, before raising his up in the air. “Cheers!”

A jolly ‘cheers!’ commenced, followed by glasses to mouths and scrunched-up faces, particularly on the parts of Varian and Rapunzel.

“Lightweights,” Eugene teased under his breath. 

“Okay, everybody,” Rapunzel interjected, “let’s eat!” She shot a glance at Lance and Eugene. “Birthday girl first.” 

Cassandra served herself a bit of each dish, and the others followed. Cassandra was blown away--you tend to appreciate royalty-level meals after living on the road. The chicken was tender, the steak cooked to perfection, the potatoes whipped and soft, and the peas sweet in her mouth. Before long, plates were filled, then soon cleared--only for some to be filled again, and cleared once more. 

When Cassandra was done, she pushed her plate back and wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Well, that was fucking amazing. Thanks for putting this together, Raps.” 

“Of course! Are we ready for cake?”

“Mmm, nope. I need some more rum. Lance?” Cassandra tipped her empty shot glass in his direction. 

“Oh, fine,” he laughed, topping her off. “After this, you guys are on your own.”

“Hey, not my fault the rum’s on your side of the table.” She raised the shot to her mouth, and consumed it in one smooth gulp.

Lance grinned sarcastically and pushed the bottle to the middle of the table. “Problem solved!” 

Cassandra shook her head, amused. She noticed Varian reaching for the bottle, and let out a chuckle. “So, you drink now, Varian?”

“Oh.” He poured himself another shot, and raised it to his lips. “Uhhh...sometimes?”

“God, you’re still a child in my head. Stop growing, kid.”

“I can’t. Or I mean, I probably could, given my skill set, but I don’t want to.”

“Oh, trust me, you do. It’s not worth going to those lengths, though.”

“Yeah, no,” Cassandra chuckled, reached for the bottle, and poured another out.

“Slow down, Cass,” warned Eugene. “We’re not walking you back to your room, girly.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Number one, don’t call me that. Number two, I can handle my alcohol, Fitzherbert.”

“Oh, sure you can.”

Cass raised the glass to her mouth and tipped it back. “Try me.”

“Okay, now,” Rapunzel laughed. “Your bickering is endearing, but I think it’s time for cake.”

“Please don’t sing to me,” Cassandra groaned. 

Rapunzel pulled a candle from, it seemed to Cassandra, thin air, and stuck it in the cake. “Oh, we’re singing.” 

Cass examined the cake in closer detail--the base icing was white, highlighted with blue flowers and green leaves around the edge. The middle read simply, “Happy Birthday, Cassandra!”. At this point, the ‘irt’ in ‘Birthday’ had a candle stuck straight through it. 

Rapunzel grabbed a random candle mounted on the wall, and lit the candle that was sat atop the cake. “Okay, everybody ready?”

“No,” Cassandra sighed. “Get on with it.”

“Okay, everybody,” Rapunzel chirped, “let’s go!”

Cassandra felt a deep red blush spread across her cheeks as her friends sang the all-too-familiar song.

“Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Cassandra, 

Happy birthday to you!” 

“Make a wish, Cass!” 

So, she did. Cassandra closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and made a quiet wish in her head--no matter where life was to take her, let her remain always as happy as she was with these people, these friends, in this moment. 

Cassandra blew out her candle.

“Woohoo!” Rapunzel leaned over and poked Cassandra on the nose. “Whatcha wish for?”

“I can’t tell you! It won’t come true.”

“Oh, fine.” Rapunzel reached for the knife, cut out a neat slice of cake, and placed it on a plate, before handing the plate to Cassandra. “It’s Atilla’s,” she winked. 

Cassandra took a bite, and the sweet taste of vanilla topped with buttercream hit her mouth. “Mmm, I love Atilla’s cake.”

“Who doesn’t?” Eugene took a piece of his newly served cake, and shoved it into his mouth. “Mmm. No offense, Cassandra, I know it’s your birthday--but I’m so taking these leftovers.” 

Cassandra shrugged. “Fine by me.” 

“Eugene, can we give her our gift?” 

“If you want, Sunshine.”

“Okay, okay, I do. Hold on a minute, I’ll be right back.” Rapunzel jumped up from the table and ran to the corner of the room, retrieving a medium-sized wrapped box with a bow from the corner. She quickly made her way back to the table and set it in front of Cass. “Okay, go ahead!”

“Okay…” 

Cassandra gingerly removed the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside were a multitude of small items--a sharp, sheathed dagger, a leather notebook, a quill, a deep red sweater, black tights, and a new pair of boots, Cassandra’s old spirit bracelet, and two neatly folded, painted paper cards. Cassandra removed the cards and examined them--on the cover of one was a painting of Cassandra, Rapunzel and Eugene, and on the other, a painting of all five present in the room. She unfolded the one with just the three of them on the front, and read the inside.

“Cassandra,

Happy birthday! I hope you’ve enjoyed your birthday, and like these gifts. Whether you stay or go, these are pieces of us you can keep with you. We love you!

Raps and Eugene.”

With a smile on her face, she opened the other card.

“This one’s just so that you have a picture of all of us together. I hope you like it!

Raps.”

Cassandra leaned over and embraced Rapunzel. “Thank you, Raps. You too, Eugene. I love it.”

“I’m glad you do,” Eugene shrugged, “but Rapunzel deserves all the credit.”

“Oh, I know,” Cassandra laughed. “I’m just being polite. Seriously, I love it.”

“Okay, me next!” Varian pulled out a small pouch from his pocket. “Here you go, Cassie.”

Cassandra opened the pouch, and peeked inside to see an array of colorful crystals and gems. There was, of course, a few pieces of Cassandrium, some small green gems, a large chunk of deep blue crystal, and a large clear, polished gem. 

“I’ve found these in my work around Corona. Well, except the Cassandrium, of course. I know it’s not much, but…”

“Hey, I love it. They’re beautiful. When I go back out on the road, I’ll have even more of Corona to take with me.”

“Uhhh, I got you a bag of candy,” Lance interrupted. He pulled out a familiar bag, one from Monty’s Sweet Shoppe, and slid it across the table to Cassandra. “Thank me later.”

“I’ll thank you now, or I’ll forget.” Cass let out a chuckle. “Thanks, Lance.” 

“I’m sorry to say it, you guys, but this princess is tired out. Anyone else?”

“Uh, ditto,” responded Eugene.

“You guys are lame.” Varian reached for another shot. “I don’t sleep.”

“Well, you probably should,” Rapunzel laughed. 

“Mmm,” Cassandra shrugged, “I’m a little drained. One more shot for me, and I’m out.”

“Oh, fine. I’ll leave too.” Lance reached for the rum, and emptied a little into his shot glass. “Another round for everyone.” He slid the bottle to Cass, who slid it to Rapunzel, who, in turn, slid it to Eugene. Once everyone’s glass was filled, Cassandra raised the rim to her mouth. 

“Cheers.”

“Cheers!”

Soon, each glass was emptied, and the table was surrounded by a tipsy, droopy eyed crew. 

“I’m going to bed,” Eugene declared, standing up from the table. He moved in Cassandra’s direction and gave her a teasing pat on the head. “Happy birthday, Cass. Goodnight, everyone.”

“Night.”

“Night.”

“Night, Fitzherbert.”

“I’ll be up soon, dear, I’m going to walk Cass back to her room.”

Lance stood up from the table as well, followed quickly by Varian. 

“I guess this is our cue, Cassie.” Varian moved to the other side of the table, and gave Cass a quick hug, before making his way to the doors. “Happy birthday, Cass. Goodnight.”

“Night, kid.”

“I’m out too, Cass,” Lance sighed, eyeing the bottle of rum, before ultimately drifting towards the tall doors. “The girls have probably destroyed the house by now. Either that, or they’ve cleaned the entire thing. It’s a guessing game with those two.”

“Well, good luck,” Cassandra laughed. “Night, Lance.”

“Night, Cass.” 

Before she knew it, Cassandra was alone with Rapunzel. She slumped forward, leaned on her hand, and picked a frosting flower from the side of the cake.

“Thank you, Raps,” she smiled, placing the flower in her mouth. “Tonight was fun.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Rapunzel winked. “Ready for bed?”

“Mmm, yeah, or to get back to my room, at least.”

“Let’s get going, then. I’m worn out.” 

Cassandra placed the bag of gems and the bag of candy in the box with the rest of her presents, before heaving it up to carry it. Rapunzel grabbed a candle to light the way, and the two made their way back to Cassandra’s room in a pleasant silence. 

“Well, Cass, this is your stop!” Rapunzel leaned over and swung the door open. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you for everything today, Raps.”

“Hey, there’s no need to thank me. It’s nice to have you home.”

“It’s nice to be home. Goodnight, Rapunzel.”

“Goodnight, Cassandra.”

[mimiplaysgames]

in the shape of a star (3/5)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 8,765

Summary: What they need to rebuild their home was to be more honest. Aqua hoped for the best when she told Terra about the Guardian, and it threatened to tear their walls down.

Read on AO3

A/N: SO MANY THANK YOU'S AND I LOVE YOU'S TO @holyteapotofrussell​ WHO BETA-READ THIS FOR ME. Also I'm evil for writing this, I know. It'll get better, I promise.

*****

nobody

Waking up was always disorienting, maddening even.

Aqua was going to mumble that she needed five extra minutes. She deserved as much, but the shake on her arm was warm and gentle… she would even say loving, and she didn’t want him to let go.

Terra knelt by the couch where she took refuge. They had adopted the habit of sleeping in the Master’s old office every night right by the fireplace, where she dreamt better. Sleep became safe enough for her to stay, and Terra was now the one who started his day earlier. Somehow, he snuck her out of his arms with finesse, each and every time, that she’d never even stir.

In the sunshine, his eyes were bold.

“Good morning,” he said softly. His smile was a welcome sight. She’d grown to need it every time she opened her eyes in order to breathe steadier, and with every cycle of the sun coming up over the mountains, she’s forced to muster enough strength to keep herself from blurting out such a delicate truth.

Fighting Heartless was easier than this.

“Morning,” she hummed, rubbing her eyes. 

His smile tightened, weaving shut whatever bad news he carried with him. 

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he said. He wasn’t talking about shaking her awake - the way his throat gripped his voice said so.

Aqua immediately stood up, tiredness forgotten. “What happened?”

His lips quivered. “Ven won’t wake up.”

She bolted out of the office, through the hall to the western wing, down the bridges to the tower where the bedrooms were. It all passed in a blur.

She stormed into Ven’s room. He was sound asleep in bed, his breath inaudible and unmoving.

“Ven.” His skin at least was warm, though he looked otherwise. “Ven, please. Please wake up.”

She whimpered, she cried, she whispered. He wouldn’t listen.

And he was all by himself. 

When Terra followed inside, she was ready to throw chairs over. “Where’s Cheers?” 

“I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?” she snapped. Not even the boom in her voice woke Ven up.

“Aqua,” he whispered, coming close to her, brushing his fingertips on her forearm like she was a wounded animal. He kept so calm. She was envious of that. “I don’t know.”

Meltdowns came in two storms: like thunder, explosive and loud and terrifying, unable to be calmed until it passed, hurting anyone unlucky enough to be exposed. If not that, then like the rain, building into a downpour, enough to flood someone’s face, and keep them weighted underneath the surface.

Aqua experienced the latter, hunching over her shoulders as she wished she never learned how to cry. She crawled onto Ven’s bed to settle by his side, holding a hand over his heart, which still thrummed under her palm. 

Terra joined her by taking Ven’s other side, and rested his hand over hers. It wasn’t as warm as it was just several minutes ago.

“It’s all my fault,” she said, sweeping Ven’s hair out of his face. “I took too long to save him.”

“Then it’s mine, too.” He stared long enough for her to be swallowed by his eyes, which were glassy. “I was idle when I should have-” he gulped. 

They’ve had this conversation before, and no amount of repetitions or apologies would change anything. 

Still, he finished the one thought he repeated the most. She could recite the words for him: “I should have saved all you, and I did nothing instead.”

If conversations went in ellipses, Terra and Aqua always took the same orbit and never crossing over into the details. Sometimes they got close enough to finally spill, only to back off. Sometimes they never even came close. It was always about I should have done more and skipping over This is what happened to me.  

She sighed, taking two of his fingers with two of hers. When words wouldn’t suffice, or refused to come, they carried a language in their hands.

It’s okay, was what she said through them this time.

She wondered if time would be generous enough one day to wipe their minds and give them a fresh start. “What are we going to do?”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure something out,” he said. “We’ll do whatever it takes, go wherever we need to go.”

When it came to the well-being of other people, Terra was always the most confident, the most faithful, the most daring. He never offered himself the same kindness.

“What if we can’t-” she started.

“Aqua…” He stroked her thumb with his, and she shushed, feeling Ven’s heart thump under their grip.

There was a swoosh and a sparkle that lit up the room. Chirithy landed on the bedside table from wherever it came from, like nothing was amiss.

But Aqua wasn’t going to let it get away with anything.

“Where were you?” she growled while she rolled over from the bed. 

Terra stayed behind and carried Ven’s into his arms. 

Chirithy twitched its ears like it wasn’t sure what it heard. “Why are-”

“What did you to him?” 

It hung its head, a deep pout into its eyes and two paws gnawing at its chin. “I sent him a dream,” it squeaked. 

“Excuse me?” she spat. Aqua had prepared for nights when something would go bump in the dark. The only thing that surprised her was that it happened in the morning. She was ready to protect her family, marching up to Chirithy and about to grab the creature when Terra-

“Aqua,” he called gently like he was cooing her, with a smile that told stories of compassion while Ven slept soundly in his arms. He didn’t judge her, he never did. “Don’t.”

She could but she didn’t, not with Terra looking at her like that, like he understood that it would only suck her into a black hole if she continued.

Terra wanted peace, and she complied. 

“I came back so he would follow me,” Chirithy said, twiddling its paws. Its ears drooped down, and its voice trembled. It actually started to cry, with mewls as sobs. “He will wake up, I promise.”

Aqua’s breath shook with all her pent-up anger, which was at war with reassurance and guilt. 

She didn’t mean to make it cry. 

Terra said, “If he- When he wakes up, we need to act normal. He’ll get scared and will never want to sleep ever again.”

Aqua drew a long, long breath. Terra was right. The only reason Ventus was able to doze off these days was because of Chirithy, when getting him to stay in bed beforehand was a marathon of hours that ran late into the night. 

She shot Chirithy a glare instead of speaking, dabbing the tiniest of tears out of her eyes. Terra was breathing harder than usual, and that was because he was also taking a risk in trusting Chirithy. 

Then there was a sharp inhale, and a mumble. Ven.

“Wha-?” he drawled, his eyes too groggy to register who was holding him. “Why-"

Terra was better at hiding his feelings, and he dodged the onslaught of teary relief taking over him by rough-housing Ventus to consciousness.

“Umf, Terra-”

“That’s what you get,” Terra said, making a mess out of blond hair. 

“For what?"

“You were snoring really loudly.” Terra finally let him go. 

Ventus pushed him over (weakly, nothing could really push Terra over), and rubbed his eyes hard enough to make them red. 

It was time to play along. Aqua smiled to fake it, and glided over to the bed, finding a particular spot that acted as a barrier between Chritihy and her dear, dear friend. “We should have used one of those gummi phones to record you.”

At this, Ventus stuck his tongue out. “Do that and I’ll never let you in my room again.” 

It seemed to have worked - knowing him, he’d expect both of them to snicker behind his back. Lying was a tiny cost for the greater good. 

“Where’s Cheers?” he asked, surveying the room, and it honestly made Aqua’s heart drop.

Chirithy waddled over, settling into Ven’s lap. “I had the craziest dream last night.”

“I told you.” Chirithy wiggled its ears, taking its place in the middle of a reluctant family, and Aqua wondered if Terra felt like his choice in the matter was stolen from him, too.

“Tell us,” Terra said softly, like nothing bothered him. He’ll have to teach Aqua his ways later.

Something far away made its way to Ven’s eyes as he recalled it. “I was in an underground city - no, not underground. It was underwater. And there were people there I recognized, but I couldn’t tell who they were. I didn’t know their faces.”

What was more threatening than Ven’s coma was the idea that Chirithy tried to take him to strangers.

Ven lit up. “Sora was with them. I saw Sora!”

Aqua and Terra exchanged brief, uneasy side-glances. It had been several weeks since Sora’s disappearance, and neither of them had traces that could lead them anywhere.

“What did he say?” Terra asked.

“He asked if I was okay,” Ventus said, a warm smile gracing his face. “That was it.”

Maybe Chirithy did Sora a favor. 

Ven watched Aqua, leaving behind his thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” she sighed. “I mean- yes. We’re just running really late.”

“Oh, shit!” (Language, Ven, said Terra.) He threw himself off the bed as soon as he got the reminder. “Sorry! I’ll eat breakfast right away and get ready. C’mon Cheers.”

Like nothing was truly wrong, Ventus rushed out of his room with a cat that wasn’t quite a predator trailing his feet.

Aqua breathed hard. “Do you think-”

“Maybe,” Terra said. 

“What Cheers can do...”

“It’s a little weird.” Terra gazed at her, gently stroking her arm. “He’s fine now.”

“But-”

“I don’t think Cheers meant to hurt him.”

Aqua smiled but it contorted into a grimace that strained for control. “I’ve changed too much,” she said. She never trusted anyone again. She got too hot-headed and protective of her loved-ones to her detriment, and she refused help worse than she used to. 

“You’re fine the way you are. I’d rather have an Aqua in my life than somebody else.” He scoffed like what he said wasn’t a big deal.

She took his hand to acknowledge his compliment, squeezed it to tell him she appreciated it, and slammed it onto the bed sheets to tell him he needed a new friend. He chuckled.

Then she let go, as she always did when there were things to do and reasons to get away from intimate conversations that could change the course of their friendship forever. Those were dangerous waters, and they needed to tread carefully.

But Aqua only made it to the hallway when she gasped sharply, the air turning cold enough to slice her throat. 

At the end of the hallway - the opposite direction that Ventus and his Chirithy took to get to the kitchen - was another. 

Its back was to her, its cape as red and pink as a bodily organ, its fur a plum purple. She didn’t have to look into its face to know it might be rabid. She didn’t have a clean history with their Chirithy, but this one was definitely not friendly, and it invaded her home.

“What’s wrong?” Terra asked, rushing out of Ven’s room.

She took one glance at him and then back - and the dark Chirithy was gone. “It was right there.” She pointed.

Terra stood in that direction, and cupped her chin to bring her to him. The way he looked at her - sometimes it was inconvenient to deal with how well he could read her. “Aqua, there’s nothing there.”

“It was another Chirithy.”

“Okay.”

She shook in his fingers, and held his wrist tight enough to make him pay attention to every single little word. “I’m not crazy.”

Terra traced her jaw to cup her head with both hands, his breath deep enough to lure her to follow his rhythm. Forehead to forehead, his eyes demanded  her attention. “You’re not. I’ll make laps around the castle to make sure. You get dressed, we have a lot to do today. Let me know if you need help.”

With that, he rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs and left her colder than she was in his proximity. 

It certainly never was in her plans to let him in that way. Before, the thought of him dressing her was… embarrassing yet safe, maybe exciting a little. Now it just made her blush. 

But blushing was a minor thing in comparison to how her heart leaped right now, and the feelings she always knew she had were threatening to betray their little secret. 

Aqua peeked into her room first to make sure the mirror was still covered, exactly the way she left it, before stepping inside.

 ~*~*~*~

The trick to facing her fears, Aqua thought to herself, was to keep breathing.

She kept hers steady with every stride, maintaining a momentum that led her forward while she left everyone else behind, including Ienzo, who was supposed to be her guide. If she slowed down, even for a second, who knew what kind of thoughts would invade her mind. 

Around the corner was Ansem the Wise’s office. It was a little messy, but the old man wasn’t keen on dusting old and painful memories just yet when his team was so focused on improving lives for the future. 

Aqua wasn’t expecting anything when she entered - certainly not the giant painting of Terra’s face. 

Yet it wasn’t Terra’s face. He wouldn’t look this serious, this arrogant, this distant from whoever it was that painted this portrait, his white hair styled with so much gel that it looked oily.

It made her angry, and soon Terra was going to catch up with her.

“Fire,” she hummed with a low voice, her fingers outstretched as she heated the fibers that brought those colors together until they burst through brown eyes, and false-Terra’s face was no more.

“Whoa,” Ven’s voice said behind her, watching the show. “Aqua, that isn’t ours to mess with.”

She knew that. Certain things just seemed trivial, silly even, after the years she’s had. “It’s not good for Terra to see this.”

Ienzo was the next to enter the room. He stammered at the sight, and readjusted his already impeccable collar to compose himself. “I suppose we do not need it anymore,” he simply said, and Aqua felt justified. 

Terra was the last to come. The first thing he noticed was the smokey soot littering the ground under an empty frame. He smirked - there was no telling if he knew what it used to look like, but considering that no one in the room talked about it (like it never existed in the first place), he let it go, taking one look at Aqua like he knew she was to blame. 

What was more important was behind the frame: a secret passageway to… a field of underground containers. It was gross to see, violating almost, like they were designed to hold bodies (hearts, more likely). 

It also led to a room full of computer screens, where Ienzo gestured to Terra. 

“I already know how to get to the bottom floor,” said Ienzo. He typed several passwords into the computer. Whatever they hid down below was well guarded. “But I have never, in all my life, been able to access that final room. None of us have. If what you say is true…”

“It is,” Terra said. He had his arms crossed but his naturally polite smile glowed with ease. Ienzo flustered at the sight of it.

“T-then I should be able to access it.” Ienzo focused strongly on the keys below him, before commanding it to do something with a final touch of a button. 

Whatever machinery he summoned was loud, and the floor under her vibrated ever so softly. An entrance through the floor opened far from them. 

“Are you all ready?” Ienzo asked.

The smile on Terra’s face - the one he wore for the sake of saving face when he dealt with strangers - fell completely, dragging his eyes down to the floor.

“Aqua,” he called, approaching her. For a moment, she thought he was going to take her hand, but he stopped himself short. 

They were in public.

Instead, he traced her hand with his gaze, before following her arm to her eyes. “I don’t…” he started softly, quieting it into an almost-whisper. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go down there.”

If Aqua was honest, she had been dreading this day. She couldn’t gauge how Terra would behave: whether he would get hysterical, or turn stone-cold, or disappear altogether. 

So this, this, she appreciated. And she was proud of him for recognizing it before throwing himself head-first against a brick wall of triggers. 

They preferred touching a private act but Aqua decided to risk it: she graced two of his fingers with a firm clutch, taking a moment to consciously ignore how the others avoided to witness. “I agree.”

Terra let himself breathe. Funny how sometimes the act of drinking air made them feel unsafe. “Riku and Isa are waiting for me outside. I’ll be with them,” he said. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Aqua,” Ventus said. 

“Then she’s in good hands.” To her, he said, “You’ll feel better with a Keyblade.” With that, Terra let go, hesitating while turning over his shoulder, and taking it slow to leave the room.

Ienzo cleared his throat - he did that too often, and Aqua had half a mind to advise him to drink water. “Well, onward and downward I suppose.”

“Do you not want to go?” Aqua asked.

Ienzo was usually so sweet, it was hard to see how aloof he became. “Of course not. You will see why.”

The passageway that led downstairs spiraled into darkness, as though the lights from above couldn’t reach. Traversing them was enough of an exercise, and every once in a while, Ventus would complain: Are we there yet? Who was stupid enough to design it this way? Whatever is down there better be worth it. 

When they finally reached the door, it was worth it to Ventus, who awed and poked his head through immediately. It was just one hallway, its white walls pristine as though the last person who left it behind had scrubbed it of all proof of activity. 

But a mass of darkness stained its walls, unseen to the naked eye but it lingered all the same. To Aqua it was sickening, and the hand to her mouth didn’t quell the nausea. 

“Down here,” Ienzo said. He was acting more and more like a zombie with every step he took. 

“What were these rooms for?” Ventus asked. 

Aqua knew Ienzo had history here. Of all the darkness she faced and inhabited inside her own body, she could never imagine how to make peace with the horrors made with his hands. How to pay for them. How to amend.

Ventus could never understand Ienzo either for this exact reason, and she hoped that would always stay the same.

“Experiments,” Ienzo said. He offered nothing else. 

So they walked in silence. Some of the shut doors had peep holes with bars that blocked views. Aqua could make out that some of them had machinery inside, whereas others were empty. Ventus had to jump and grab the bars just to see - his imagination had much more fun than either of theirs.

At the end of the hallway was another shut door. Aqua nearly called it Terra’s door, but he’d be sick if he was here, too.

Ienzo approached a keypad, activating it based on Terra’s instructions. The door slid open with a hiss, and all three of them just stood there. Neither volunteered to go in first.

“After you.” Ienzo waved his arm out, and she wished he didn’t.

Inside was another white room, but it gave her a horrid, frigid deja vu. 

Energy radiated in chains, from the throne at the center outward to the walls. This room… it was almost an exact copy of the room she left Ventus to sleep in years ago. How this was possible, who knew he was there to begin with? Who tried to find him? 

Thank goodness he was safe all this time.

“Aqua,” Ventus called, “look!”

Swept and left to the side was a heap of blue metal, the only color in this cold room. 

And if Keyblades had faces, Aqua wouldn’t know if hers would welcome this reunion.

“My word,” Ienzo said. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have considered this being here.” The way he said it sounded like he was just as creeped out as she was. “How fortunate for you, we were about to seal this entire floor forever.”

She raced to her Keyblade and stopped herself just short of embracing it. 

Did it want her back?

Stormfall was the extension of her heart and very soul. If she was afraid of it, then surely…

No, sentience of a Keyblade didn’t work that way. She had to believe that.

“Who built this?” she asked as she knelt to her knees.

“Xemnas.” By now, Ienzo had stopped smiling, had stopped being warm and inviting, like he stopped realizing there were reasons to continue living. 

Yes, she knew of Xemnas. She recognized a face out in the desert the very last time she fought thirteen darknesses. Then they all perished before she had a chance to speak to him.

Thinking about it, would she even had wanted that? 

What would she have spoken with him about? Here was proof that he still had attachments to people he didn’t really know that well or understood, and here she was without the foggiest idea of who he was. 

The only thing Aqua wanted back the first time she saw him was Terra, plain and simple. Xemnas stole a body, stole a face, did unspeakable things that Terra wasn’t capable of doing, and she wasn’t sure if any of that was worthy of forgiveness. 

If Xemnas somehow missed her presence, missed Ventus, or wished for a better life, she wouldn’t know. Or maybe he was cold-hearted to the end. 

Even if she found it in her heart to befriend him, there was no denying Xehanort’s influence and how dangerous that was.There was no way she was going to accept a single strand of white hair on Terra’s head until he was old enough to grow them.

… She remembered now. Sentience of a Keyblade was the reflection of her relationship with herself. And there was nothing to be proud of. 

Therefore, her Keyblade couldn’t be proud of her either.

“What was he like?” Ventus asked.

“Xemnas?” Ienzo cleared his throat. Again. It took him several moments, a string of loud breaths to find words to describe such a person, and Aqua brushed her fingers against her blade, a soft, tender energy to the metal as it woke up and recognized her. 

“He wasn’t someone to be crossed,” Ienzo finally said.

Ventus sighed. “Guess I wouldn’t have liked him.”

She grabbed the hilt slowly, trying not to offend. It’s so much lighter than the Master’s Defender.

With Stormfall in her hands, she trembled harder than ever. If this was what it felt like to be whole, then it dug a new void inside of her, her body betrayed, her senses violated, and there wasn’t a spell in the world that could clean her. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to it, softly enough that only Stormfall would hear, thinking about the last person who held it in his hand. “I did it for him.”

Calm embraced her. Stormfall didn’t regret it either.

Ienzo chuckled, not paying attention to what Aqua was doing whatsoever. “Xemnas never smiled like Terra, that’s for certain.”

“Enough about Xemnas,” Aqua said, shutting them up. In a time like this, when she needed to coax her Keyblade home, the last thing she needed to think about was a stranger, much less a clone. 

It was bitter, maybe even dejected? It was her heart, so Stormfall would always be hers. 

And it was just as much Terra’s. If he had to use it to protect himself, Stormfall would have agreed. Those bonds were the point of a Keyblade.

She willed it to stay with her - it didn’t respond like Master’s Defender, which was always ready to protect, a simple testament of a father.

Stormfall had a different perspective in life - it was always ready to attack.

Aqua decided for now to keep it in her hand, let it get used to being held, let it learn what it felt like to be home again. 

Afterward, she focused on collecting every piece of her armor with her free hand, leaving no scraps behind as it easily made its way back into her skin and into her heart, waiting for the next time she needed it. 

“You’re not in the least bit curious?” Ventus asked her.

He was still on about Xemnas? “No.” She stood up, taking her route out of the room.

“But-”

“What’s in the past should stay buried there.” She didn’t mean for her voice to echo through the hall. “He’s gone. He’s no one. We have Terra back, that’s all that matters.”

Aqua didn’t like the look he gave her - shocked, a little anxious, pitiful. But he understood when he nodded, letting his initial distaste for her reaction melt away into something much more accepting. He was truly the only one of the three to have a level head, much smarter than either of them give him credit for. This was the benefit of keeping a childlike wonder of the world - it made him stronger than anyone else. 

“You’re right,” he said. “Come on, this place sucks. Let’s get some fresh air.”

The trek upstairs was more tiring than the other way, and Ventus complained with every step.

 ~*~*~*~

Outside was a different story altogether. Aqua still had Stormfall in her hand, the sun getting ready to rest on the peaceful city of Radiant Garden. But there was still some bustle, the clash of metal and the sparks of magic slamming against each other. 

She and Ventus walked down the castle steps that led to where Terra, Riku, and Isa sparred in the gardens beyond the moat. Aqua stopped to watch; it had been a while since she studied the way Terra fought, and if he didn’t know she was peeking into his private training, then he wouldn’t mind. 

Terra moved as she always knew. He was precise, commanding of his space. He conquered when he invaded the gap between himself and his opponent, he was hard to knock backwards, and he was graceful in the control he had of his body. He was beautiful.

Isa still had his giant cleaver - if he would eventually agree to a Keyblade, the only person he wanted to bequeath him was Lea, who still had a long way to go before he had the privilege... but maybe it didn’t matter since their bond was stronger than tradition. If Terra was aggressive, he didn’t hold a candle in comparison: shockwaves and blasts and ruptures that engulfed the entire garden and whatever else that fit the definition of excessive outbursts. This was what Isa always knew, and once he had a Keyblade, it would be interesting to see just how useful his skills would be. He’d be able to cover wide surface areas, perfect in protecting others. 

Then there was Riku, quick and efficient and stronger than he looked, parrying attacks with simple strikes. He was only flashy when he needed to be, preferring perfection of technique. It made sense why they chose Riku, all of them having been witness to an invasion of darkness within their bodies, all of them having to rise above it in their own ways. 

Riku egged both of them on, paying particular attention to Terra.

There was a lot of, Come on, Terra.

And, You can do this.

Plus, Don’t be afraid of yourself.

The more Terra listened, the more a black slickness flickered off his skin. Riku was teaching him to control the darkness that would forever be a scar.

Aqua told herself she didn’t mind that. 

Then a hole of darkness opened in the ground, and she lurched forward, nearly vaulting onto a steppe just above her. Terra was going to be swallowed again, and this time he jumped in on his own accord. 

She was about to yell, but Riku wasn’t disturbed by it. Great, was what he said, and he circled the perimeter with the expectation that something was coming. Isa was unsure of what to do, keeping still as he looked over his shoulder and by the trees.

A hole opened right under him, to his dismay, and Terra bolted out of it, thrusting his power upward on an Isa who was ill-prepared.

And Riku congratulated Terra for finally accepting such a technique with professionalism. 

It made Aqua whimper for a bit, enough for Ventus to rush over to her side, asking her what was wrong. 

“It’s…” She didn’t continue. It was like watching that thing, that Guardian all over again. That was what it loved to do in a fight: creep and wrestle and catch its opponents by surprise with no mercy. 

It never left Terra. Was he even aware of it? 

Of course not, she never told him.

“I’m fine,” she said to Ventus, straightening herself up. “It just surprised me, that’s all.” She gave him the most genuine smile she could fake, and it seemed like he accepted it. It seemed.

Sparring was finished for the day, and Terra rested his giant Keyblade onto his shoulder as he heaved with breath and chuckled, like it was the end of a pleasant few hours of hard work. Riku was much more distant - Sora’s disappearance had been a heavy weight, and conversation with him was like talking to a wall half the time, but he responded when he had to.

Isa said something with a very serious face, and Terra and Riku melted into laughter.

Aqua didn’t even notice that Naminé was there, sitting on a stone bench to watch them fight while she drew sketches of their postures. She was also one who was hesitant about taking a Keyblade, but if she decided yes, she wanted Terra’s blessing. 

Naminé had Chirithy by her side, and carried it with her when she was ready to join the conversation. Could the all-knowing cat ever sense that she wasn’t created in a womb? 

“We’re having dinner with them downtown,” Ventus said. 

“Huh?”

“We were invited.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you open your gummiphone?” He flipped his out and scrolled through text messages. “You should get on top of that, we’re going to look like old people to them.”

“Okay.” 

“Lea will be there,” he said like it was incentive. “And Kairi, and Xion. Roxas, too. Everyone. It should be nice.”

There was a nagging feeling in the clutch of her diaphragm that Ventus was implying she should get out more. 

Sure, she could handle it. She could push back the memories of shadows, and of giant demons with horns and bindings on their mouths from her mind for a couple of hours.

~*~*~*~ 

Aqua took plenty of time to spar by herself. Stormfall was a bit of a hassle, and Ventus, as her student, was sometimes the victim of heavy handling when Aqua never meant to.

He laughed about it, said her Keyblade was just as snippy as she was. 

So she cut half her days between her apprentice and herself, while Terra continued his private lessons with Riku. 

Her boys expected that she would suddenly turn over a new leaf with her reunion - as though all the things she feared would magically disappear. They didn’t. The only person that drew away the nightmares was Terra, and that was because they continued to sleep together in the Master’s office, legs finding spaces in between to settle for the night, and arms resting under torsos and heads since the couch was so small. Under his chin and against his chest, Aqua would always be safe. 

She tried to turn off lights by herself, daring to sit in a dark room for ten minutes. She still couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

She tried to look at her reflection in the mirror, but she wouldn’t pull the bedsheet off of it.

And Aqua promised herself she would be braver the next day, the next morning, the next hour.

But at least she didn’t consider herself a coward. It wasn’t like she wasted twelve years for nothing. She just needed time. 

Terra had been busier with Merlin’s lessons but he still kept his promise with coming home before the sun set completely, though now he often rushed into the workroom, tucked at the back of the castle where machinery and hand tools were stored.

It was where she initially welded all of their Wayfinders.

Terra was there tonight with an apron on, his quartz crystals shaped in hexagonal styles, with each end pointed and pretty. He hustled with mixing water on his sandpaper, and scrubbed away at each side of each crystal before starting the tedious process of using the polish. 

“Knock knock,” she said, tapping the doorway. “How’s it going?"

He mumbled something - such a Terra thing to do when he’s obsessed with getting something right. He twisted over his shoulder to give her the least bit of acknowledgment before going back to his work. “It’s going,” he repeated.

Aqua crept over his shoulder to see him overwork as he continued torturing himself with the details. “What are you aiming for?”

He sighed. “Merlin said lots of things, one of them being that if I actually want to put magic into the crystal, then I would have to give it my all.”

She rolled her lips inward and shrugged. “I told you crystal activation was difficult.”

“Mm.”

“Why did you even start with this?” She stopped herself from asking, Shouldn’t you have chosen something easier?

Terra took a moment, letting the sandpaper hang in his hand. “I asked for it.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He searched the room, and when he found his answer, he didn’t look at her. “I wanted to prove myself.”

She murmured, “You’re always pushing yourself so hard.” 

He nodded in return, and went back to his work.

“So how far did you come?” she asked.

Terra exhaled with frustration, and left the sandpaper on the workbench. “I can’t get any of it right.”

He had demanded to learn these lessons on his own only because his pride was on the line, and she wished she could tell him that she could be proud for him, just as he was, without embarrassing him. 

But Aqua couldn’t help herself. Seeing Terra this frustrated was entertaining.

“Do you want some tips?”

He rolled his eyes at her and studied her face. “...Sure.”

With a pep in her step, she took one of his more polished pieces of crystal since it was more prepared to capture power than the raw ones. “Merlin teaches like a wizard, not like someone with a Keyblade.” She twirled it in her hands. “Crystals are like permanent storage for magical commands, so he’s correct that you’d have to give it more intent in order for it to activate, right?”

She held it up in the air to let the light flash on its surface. “Our Keyblades are an extension of our hearts. As children, we don’t know what they’re supposed to look like, not until we figure out who we are and begin to decide what we want for our lives. Then they take shape. They represent us, and take a solid form when we’re asking and ready for the burden. It doesn’t take from us, it becomes us.

“But foreign objects aren’t like that. They don’t have connections to our hearts, so we literally have to give a piece of it to them.”

She paused. This was why she never performed such rituals. She needed her Keyblade completely whole, giving her all the freedom to perform magic however she wanted. 

“Terra, you will literally cut your magic into tiny slices to put inside. Are you sure you want to do that?”

He shrugged one shoulder and answered, “Yes,” like it was no big deal.

“Why?”

He took his crystal back, caressing it before going back to the polish. “Like I said, I need to prove myself.”

“For what, though?”

He smirked, long breaths drawn out between words. “I’ve always thought that I was someone special because the Keyblade chose me. After what happened… if I may be honest… sometimes I wondered if it was really a blessing after all.”

She hummed. It was all too familiar, more than she wanted to admit. “I had wondered the same thing.”

“Well…” Something that had nothing to do with her drew a hopeful smile on his face. “I want to do something special again.”

“Okay.” That was as good of an answer as she was going to get. 

With her approval, he beamed. It reached his eyes and for the first time Aqua grasped just how important this was to him, even if she didn’t understand. In time, she figured she will. 

For a moment she watched him buff the crystal with polish, his lips moving with silent words as he tried again and again to transfer a part of himself into its core. After too long, he decided he couldn’t do it, but she didn’t expect him to be able to succeed the first time.

“I can’t wait to see what you’ll do with it,” she softly said when he tried for the last time. 

It was exactly what he needed to hear, and he dropped his work, catching her gaze with gratitude in his tired smile. They stared at each other like that, his hands messy and hers leaning on the workbench, eyes taking in information that was familiar, like the color of their irises, and how they looked when they were happy and quiet and comfortable. 

But her eyes took in new information too, as newly discovered tenderness churned in her belly the more she lingered into his pupils. She noticed lines in his irises that she had never noticed before.

His eyes flickered.

He gripped a fist to throw away his nervousness before wiping his hands with a rag. Then he cupped her face, and for a second Aqua prepared for something she’d been hoping for. 

Terra took his other hand to brush through her hair, and she led an uneasy breath to steady. Maybe she was silly for wanting to touch his lips. 

“I’m still no good at it, huh?” she asked, her heart screaming at her ears from how close he came.

“Not. At. All.” He smirked to do away with his shaky breath, parting her hair the way he recognized her.

Ventus, however, was the master of worst timing, and he barged into the room like he had no idea how hard his best friends were struggling. “There you guys are. The sky is clear tonight.”

Except he wasn’t dumb. “If you could stop touching each other for at least an hour, maybe we could hang out and stargaze like we used to?” 

Terra stammered. Terra let her go. Terra wiped his hands on his apron, and Aqua brought hers to her face to hide her blushing. 

Ventus had reason: twelve years apart, and she’d never want to miss stargazing with her two best friends ever again. 

They huddled at the front steps of the castle - Ven with Chirithy on his lap, and Terra by Aqua’s side, leaning on one arm with a suggestive distance between the two of them. 

The stars gave their blessings in a sky void of clouds, which was rare so high in the mountains. Hikes in the Realm of Darkness had left Aqua wishing for a night exactly like this.

“When I was asleep,” Ven said. “I flew to the sky to reach them.”

“Excuse me?” Aqua said. 

“In Sora’s reality.” Despite how insane the subject matter sounded, Ven talked about it like they were at a simple dinner party. “Do you have any idea what kind of awesomeness I was doing in his brain?”

Terra snorted.

“One day, I was breathing underwater,” Ven continued. “Then I was chasing rabbits. Another day, I was petting cute creatures. I played cards with monsters, and went to Halloween parties where I dressed up to look scarier, and I fought pirates and-”

“You mean Sora did all those things,” Terra said.

“Well, yeah but… it seemed real to me.”

He grinned and Aqua couldn’t feel anything but grateful to Sora. It was the one reason why he wasn’t as messed up as she was: Ven had plenty of reminders of what awaited for him when he woke up. He had hope. He had Sora, and there was no one better to spend twelve years with. 

“I want to do the same one day,” Ven said, his eyes locked on the stars above. “Have crazy fun adventures. Turn nightmares into dreams.”

“Turn nightmares into dreams?” Chirithy asked, as if the concept was foreign. 

“Sure.” Ven leaned backward on both hands. “I want to be like Sora. I want to teach people that they don’t have to stick to their fears, and that they can do whatever it is they want to do, especially if it changes their circumstances.”

He turned to Terra and Aqua. “What do you think?”

Aqua was proud of him. 

“Just don’t disappear on us,” Terra said, ruffling Ven’s hair into a flattened heap of hay. “Or you’re grounded.”

“Worse will happen to you if you keep ruining my hair,” he muttered, restyling his bangs. 

Chirithy said nothing. 

But as fast as Ven got excited, he retreated into reflection. He shifted uncomfortably on his step, and twiddled his fingers. He prepared a question that Aqua had been waiting for him to ask, but he never quite found the time or place to do so. Perhaps that perfect moment didn’t exist.

“What was it like for you guys?”

She had spoken little of the Realm of Darkness. Refusing to stand in the dark or to look into mirrors gave her boys enough of an idea of what it was like, but she had described it in simple terms: lonely and sad. 

Terra rubbed his chin, and Aqua really wanted to know about his experience. Since she never spoke about herself, she never asked him either. 

“I was angry all the time if I wasn’t crying,” Terra said. “I couldn’t see anything, and if I heard voices, I barely understood them.”

All of them sat still, under stars that stopped guiding their hopes, even though they were free and safe now.

“I would see orbs sometimes,” Terra continued. “Sometimes I got weird feelings, like I was going to die if I tried to fight it, and…”

He inhaled sharply like he said too much. “I begged a lot for it to stop,” were his final words on the subject.

“I begged a lot, too,” Aqua said. They looked at her now, almost leaning forward to listen for more. “I saw lots of different worlds, but they were empty. The environment would change for the purpose of getting me lost, and there was a lot of traveling with no one to talk to. That’s if I wasn’t fighting Heartless. Sometimes I wanted to disappear forever.”

She thought about certain things, and never offered words on them. Instead, she said, “You know, sometimes I saw the both of you.”

“For real?” Ven asked.

“Yeah.” She rubbed the side of her neck, her other arm huddled around her knees. “Then you disappeared. Neither of you ever said anything, but I would talk to you anyway, pretending you could listen.”

They stared at her.

She scoffed. “I know it sounds silly, me talking to myself.”

“Not at all,” Terra said. “Don’t say that again.” His voice quivered, and she expected him to apologize, but he wouldn’t do that in front of Ven - that would upset the boy the most.

Ven fussed in heavy guilt, barely able to look at either at them. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“There’s no reason to feel bad, Ven,” Terra said. “It’s… about time we were open about this.”

Ven nodded to himself, staring at grass. Neither of them had any idea how to move the conversation forward. Should they talk more about it? Should they change the subject? 

Aqua didn’t think she’d ask Terra for more information, just to spare him the agony of remembering it. Knowing Ventus, he probably would never breach the topic again because he cared about them too much.

There were things they’d never forget and perhaps those were conversations they would only have alone.

“I’m…” Ven started, and Aqua’s heart didn’t have the strength to witness his discomfort. “I think I’m going to get chocolate milk or something. Maybe some cookies? Anybody want some?”

Again, he still didn’t look at them. He deserved some homemade cookies.

“Sounds delicious,” Aqua said.

“You always make the best cookies,” Ventus mumbled as he walked past them and up the steps, Chirithy trailing along. Those two were never apart, and sometimes Aqua wondered if her post-darkness existence could never suffice in comparison to the friend he used to have. 

It made her feel awful, even though he never even implied the thought.

“Maybe it will get easier,” Terra said, rubbing his forearm, glancing at the stars where he found no solace.

“You mean talking about it?”

“Sure. Maybe.”

Silence, as quiet as the wind kissing the flowers, as stoney as the stars above them. 

“I’m so sorry,” Terra said. 

“I told you before,” she said, near a whisper, “I don’t blame you, and I don’t regret it.”

“It sounded terrible.”

“Yours did, too.”

“Maybe. You’re so strong, though. You’d be the only one out of any of us to survive it.”

Again, a silence tight enough to burst. 

And Aqua did burst. “I just wish you guys wouldn’t-”

She stood up before she continued, about to walk back to the castle.

“Wouldn’t what?” Terra asked behind her.

“Nothing, I was thinking out loud.”

He stood up as well, following the few steps she took until they were equal. “If I made you uncomfortable at all-”

“No. You didn’t. Don’t worry.” She hugged herself, her hands warming bare shoulders.

Terra frowned, leaning back from her for a second. “Aqua, didn’t we agree not to hide things from each other anymore? To be more honest?”

“It’s not what you think, Terra.”

His eyes whimpered, pleading for her to rest his anxiety and the stars only knew what else he was blaming himself for in his mind. 

Then he scoffed, wiping his cheek with his hand, letting himself smile his thoughts away. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t be asking, all things considered.”

“I just-” she started. 

Terra was so close to her, within a hand’s reach. Yet there was a wall between them, one she built out of bricks made of refusals and assumptions. If she was going to tear it down and let him finally step through, then she needed to commit. So Aqua steeled herself for the demolition.

“It’s not true that I’m strong,” she said, tears already making their entrance.

It shocked him. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself.”

“Let me finish.” She breathed hard, her heart wrenching and telling her to quit. “I fell, Terra. Darkness overtook me for a moment, before Riku and Sora found me.”

“What?” he gasped, blood leaving his face. He had no idea. She was grateful Riku respected her privacy enough not to gossip. “Aqua, I’m… ugh.” He held her by the arms, rubbing them, nearly about to embrace her but thought better of it. “I’m so sorry,” he choked. 

She couldn’t expect there was anything appropriate to say.

“How did it happen?”

She flinched, and reminded herself that she committed. 

It took some time before she spoke. Terra didn’t press her and he didn’t ask the question again. He only stayed still, waiting for her to talk. 

“Xehanort’s Heartless was there,” she said.

Already, his tears dried up, his eyes widening. The hold on her arms slackened. 

“And he summoned that… thing. The Guardian, I think is what it’s called.” Her voice was steady, detached from her body, like it abandoned her. 

She didn’t need to say anything more, what with the way Terra’s breath thrashed.

He let go of her. 

“That was you?” he rasped.

Then he yelled, stumbling on the steps when he walked backward away from her.

“Terra.” She reached for him.

He recoiled, completely dodging her hands as he picked himself up on his legs and ran right into the castle doors before desperately grasping at their handles. 

“Wait, Terra, it’s fine.”

“How can you say that,” he wailed. “I-”

He stopped, his lips quivering. He tensed when she tried to step closer, keeping his arms within, with grips that strangled the door knob. She almost expected that he was about to punch his way through.

“I hurt you, and there’s no forgiving that.”

He slammed the door in her face, and she dragged it back out to follow him inside. “Please don’t turn your back on me,” she said softly enough that he wouldn’t hear her. “Not again.”

Yet Aqua stopped herself short, watching him storm down the hall until he turned right and disappeared around the corner. What he said pounded in her ears. The way he cried it spoke of damage, of humiliation, of hatred. 

Not for her, he could never hate her. But she knew him too well, and she couldn’t tell her body to stop crying at the thought that he hated himself so much.

“You okay?” Ven asked behind her. He had a plate with neatly stacked cookies in his hands, Chirithy riding his shoulders with both paws dug into his hair. 

She looked away to wipe her eyes with her wrist. 

“Yeah,” she said, then rubbing the excess on her pants. 

“It’s a little late anyway for cookies,” Ven said, his voice the only real presence in this empty entrance hall. “I’ll turn off the lights, no big deal.”

“Ven-”

“Cheers makes a good sleeping buddy if you want.” He looked up, and Chirithy wiggled its snout affectionately, squeaking.

“No, but thank you.” She said. She sounded dead. “I’m fine, really.”

He pouted, but let her slide. “Holler if you need anything?” 

“Okay.” She clasped her hands together. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, Aqua.”

“Yeah.” 

Terra wasn’t in the Master’s office, and the hearth felt cool even though it was lit. Terra wasn’t in the kitchen, drinking tea to soothe himself to sleep. He wasn’t back in the workroom, throwing himself into his crystals to ignore everything around him. Nor was he in the training hall, sparring senseless.

She found him in his bedroom, his door locked. He sobbed, and his howling was muffled, as if he was letting it all go into his arms, rested on his table. 

Aqua’s chest caved into itself at the sound, making it hard for her to breathe. 

She wanted to knock, to tell him that everything was okay. She was fine, she made it out of the Realm of Darkness and the past was the past. She wanted to ask him if he could help her bury it for good. The only thing separating them now was a thin block of wood.

But she did nothing, sneaking away from his door so he wouldn’t hear that she knew. 

She left him hoping and praying to the stars that Terra would tear the darkness out of his heart to throw away in those crystals for good, so they wouldn’t be haunted by it anymore. She wanted him whole.

All that was left for her right now was her own bedroom, and she crept her door open just enough to stick her hand through and turn the light switch on. She peeked with one eye to make certain that her mirror was still covered. 

It was only then that she entered, preparing herself for whatever chaos waited for her in sleep tonight.

[taylorroger-s]

shooting star // ben hardy x reader

a/n hooooolyyyy shit it has been a while since I've written something. this has actually been in my drafts since june, and was originally a response to an ask following me reblogging a prompt list. to the anon that requested it, sorry about that. but hey, it’s now done and personally, I think it’s pretty good. hope y’all think so too

plus, I've been in a ben mood after the 6 underground trailer so that gave me the motivation to finish

masterlist here!

enjoy :)

⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱ 

you really weren't in the mood to leave the house. 

your friday nights were usually spent curled up in your bed, eyes glued to your old hunk of a computer, burning through cheesy rom-coms and seasons upon seasons of any mildly interesting show you could find. 

but after a brief pep talk by your roommate, you had dragged yourself to a university party where drunkards snogged in dark corners and booze was in no short supply. you were settled comfortably in the corner of a well-worn sofa, nursing a cup full of what you assumed was vodka and lemonade. 

the party itself wasn’t as bad as you expected. letting loose once in awhile always helped relieve some of the stress built up by tests and essays. prior to sitting down, you had spent a good thirty minutes dancing to a strange assortment of classic rock ballads and eclectic disco melodies. once exhausted and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. you grabbed the mystery vodka concoction and sat down. 

you were just starting to relax when one of the alcohol-fueled “men” stumbled into the growing circle of people seated in the middle of the chaos, haphazardly leaning on one another. 

“yoooo,” the boy slurred, “let’s do… truth or dare!” you groaned, moving to leave when your friend ashley tugged on your arm, dragging you back to her side.

“cmon… it’ll be fun” ash pleaded, throwing her arms around your neck to pull you closer. you could smell the cigarettes, weed, and crude cocktails on her breath. with a dejected sigh, you sunk back into the couch, curling up against ashley. you had never really enjoyed the game of truth or dare. ever since your junior year, when you were pressured into stealing something from the headmaster’s office and ended up with a month of detention, you had avoided it pretty successfully. 

“i don’t think so.” you muttered, finishing off your drink with one last gulp. that’s when you heard an achingly familiar voice. ben jones, childhood friend turned sworn enemy somewhere in junior high. 

it was difficult to piece together how the rift between the two of your formed. your friendship was so pure, so uplifting. there was no one in the world you trusted more. the beginning of the end came when you had your first serious crush. a boy in your french class named john had asked you to the movies to see the third harry potter film. 

but that was the issue. ben and you had seen the first two together, read the books together. suffice to say it was a sacred tradition between the two of you. so when you broke the news to ben about your date, he wasn’t the most supportive. it escalated into a heated argument, before you angrily left his room with tears streaming down your face. later that night he called and apologized, but things were never the same after that. the last true conversation you had ended with both of you renouncing your friendship and going your separate ways. for weeks after, you would catch yourself staring at the phone, waiting for a call; or waiting for the courage to call first. but every time you felt the urge to run back to him, the final words he said would come back to haunt you.

“you abandoned me”

“how could you?”

“i hate you.”

since then, things were never the same. no more late night phone calls, no more movie marathons. when john broke your heart, you didn’t have ben to turn to. you didn’t realize how much you cared about him until that moment. but you weren't about to run back into his arms. so you stayed silent, grew up and went to university without so much as a backwards glance to your former best friend. just your luck that he ended up in the same school, even if he was in a different major. as university dragged on you walked past him in the halls less and less. but then you would see him at parties, exchanging furtive glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. you hadn’t has a direct conversation in years. so the fact that he was at the same random party, giving you grief, made your blood run cold.

“you don’t have to be such a downer, bugs.” ben chided, taking a sip from the beer in his right hand. there was another, unopened bottle in his left. he had the audacity to call you by a nickname you hadn’t heard in years. at the age of six, the two of you had become obsessed with the looney tunes, watching old reruns from the seventies and following along as new episodes came out. you had been dubbed bugs in honor of bugs bunny by him, and you took to calling him beaky. you could remember vividly scratching the words ‘bugs and beaky forever’ into a tree not far from your primary school’s front yard. he called you bugs? well two could play at that game.

“that’s rich coming from you beaky.” you shot back, keeping your eyes trained on a generic painting hanging on the opposite wall. you could feel him shift on the other side of the couch’s arm, taking a seat no more than two feet away from you. after a moment you couldn’t resist the pull and took a quick glance at your ex-best friend, sucking in a breath as he came into view. he had ditched the justin bieber hair you remembered, letting it grow and curl around his ears. you pressed your lips together in a firm line, slowly tearing your eyes away from his chiseled jawline and striking green eyes.

“alright, everyone have a drink?” the boy who introduced the game called, holding up a cup of his own. everyone raised their own in response. you glanced down at your lap where the empty cup sat. whoops. just when you were toying with the idea of simply bailing from the party, an unopened bottle dropped into your lap, cold against the denim fabric of your jeans. you whipped your head to the side, where ben was quietly watching the plastered people arranged in the messy circle. you stared at him for a moment before he spoke.

“you’re welcome” he huffed, taking a sip from his own, identical bottle. you twisted off the cap, twiddling it between your fingers for a moment.

“thanks.” you said through gritted teeth, shutting yourself up from saying anything more with a long swig from the bottle. and so the game began. you sat there, head on ashley’s shoulder, laughing at the silly dares asked and often scandalous truths. someone would spin an empty bottle in the center of the circle, and whoever it landed on they would ask that stupid, fated question. truth or dare?

you weren’t subjected to anything too horrible. anytime you reached a question or dare that you were uncomfortable with, you would simply take a quick chug from your steadily emptying bottle and laugh. as time dragged on you had confessed the worst cocktail you ever drank, the weirdest dream you ever had, and had given someone a brief kiss on the cheek.

once your turn rolled around the third time, you reached for the bottle, spinning it with a bit of difficulty due to the beer pumping through your system. it spun in two complete circles and then just a touch more, landing square on ben. just your luck. you turned to him, locking eyes with his stunningly green ones. he really was quite gorgeous. it made your breath catch in your throat as you pushed out the question.

“truth or dare?” you breathed, raising an eyebrow in challenge. your mind filled with a number of different options and possible outcomes for his response. part of you wanted to be malicious and embarrass him for some crude form of revenge, but deep down you still cared deeply for ben and would hate to see him miserable. there truly was a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. 

“truth.” ben stated, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. his nonchalance steeled your spine and you held your chin high. your judgement was admittedly impaired by alcohol, but it was too late for you to change your mind. you needed to know the truth, whether or not it was in front of an audience. 

“what’s the biggest lie you’ve told?” 

he took in a sharp breath, moving his steely gaze to the frayed edges on his shoelaces. no more than a few seconds had passed between your question and his response, but it felt like an eternity. you clenched your fists repeatedly in your lap, habitually cracking them as the room stayed quiet. ben sighed, lifting his eyes just a tad to watch you through his long eyelashes. 

“that i hate you. that you abandoned me. that i never wanted to see you again. take your pick” he almost hissed out the words, jumping to his feet and walking out when he had finished. you sat in stunned silence with the rest of the group, slowly processing what he said. someone coughed, another sneezed. still the silence stretched on. then ashley elbowed you in the ribs. 

you whirled around, mouthing the word ‘what?’ and giving her a glare. she rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. you crossed your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at her as you waited for an answer. she pointed wildly towards the door that ben had disappeared into, eyes wide as she gestured. it was very easy to read her exaggerated movements. she wanted you to talk to him. you knew you had to talk to him. but you didn’t want to. yet, after a beat, you groaned internally and headed towards the door, flipping ashley the bird as you left.

ben was a few rooms away, brooding silently as he gazed out a window. you took a seat across from him, resting your head on the chipped window frame. there was a plush bench situated against the wall, pillows tucked up against the glass. the two of you were seated on the floor, curled in similar positions, mirroring each other. the party seemed to have resumed in the other room, giggles and fits of laughter filling the air. 

"so…" you began, grappling for some way to start up a conversation. you heard ben let out a heavy breath through his nose, tucking his hand under his chin. his profile was bathed in moonlight, casting a monochromatic glow on his chiseled features. his lips were turned into a distinct frown. 

"so what?" you rolled your eyes. just as stubborn as he was when the two of you were kids. it summoned a memory of him nearly beating up a boy for calling you names, while you did your best to drag him away. always your defender, whether you needed it or not. another memory to make your heart ache as you sat straight across from that same, hot-headed boy. 

“are we going to talk about what just happened?” you said, tone slightly terse. you suddenly wished you were back in your room, curled up in your covers, repressing memories of a happier time. a time where your only worries were what games to play and looney toons episodes to watch. a time where it was just you and ben against the world. 

“suppose so.” he sounded just as tense as you, which for some reason pissed you off. he didn’t have to answer the question with something that hadn’t ever been addressed between the two of you. he could have said something inconsequential and you both could have continued on with your lives. but his admission needed to be dealt with, and it fell to you to make him explain. 

“since you seem so keen to begin a conversation, i’ll start. why did you lie in the first place?” you could feel a lump rise in your throat. even after years of no contact, you still cared about him. his rejection all that time ago still stung. you deserved to know the truth. 

“next question.” ben answered, voice still flat and emotionless. however, you could tell that he wasn’t unaffected by your prying. the muscles in his jaw had tightened, and you watched as he ran a hand through his hair. his gaze was drilled on something out the window, as if he was adamant not to look at your face. 

“fine, smartass. why did my going on a date piss you off so much?” you were now fully focused on him, silently begging to any god that might exist for an answer that you had waited so long for. 

“it wasn’t that you were going on a date,” you raised an eyebrow, doubtful of his answer, but he continued speaking, “it was that you were going to see harry potter. that was our thing. our tradition. in my adolescent boy brain, you were replacing me.” he suddenly sounded years younger, just like the boy you would play football with in the dead of night and share sweets with after school. his expression had also softened, eyes tentatively flicking back to you every couple seconds. 

“you know that nothing would ever replace you. thick as thieves, mum used to say. i never would have replaced you for a middle school crush. so, why. did. you. lie?” you sounded strained, mad that he had ever for a moment thought anyone was more important to you than him. no person could fill the space he left behind. 

“because i was jealous alright? jealous that you chose him over me. jealous that he got to hold your hand, take you to dances. i was jealous because i loved you, and you slipped away before i did anything to show you how much i cared.” ben snapped, tone softening as his confession went on, voice cracking near the end. he had been waiting to say those words for what felt like a lifetime. a weight was lifted of his shoulders, and, by association, yours as well. despite the somber nature of your conversation, you could feel a smile spread across your features. you were now entirely looking at each other, stupid, love-struck kids once more. 

“ben, you total dork. i would have chosen you over him every time. you were who i truly cared about. but i’m not a mind reader, so when you never said anything, i assumed it was because my feelings weren’t reciprocated. therefore, i tried to move on. didn’t work by the way. nothing i did could make me stop loving you.” you reached out a hand and he gently took it, lacing your fingers with his. he too had a soft smile on his face, gaze shifting to your intertwined hands. his thumb rubbed small circles on the back of your hand, warming your skin with his touch. 

“guess we're both idiots.” he looked back up, locking eyes with you. all at once, your feelings came rushing back. you could do nothing else but smile as the minutes passed by, still connected to ben through his outstretched hand. you tilted your head to look back out the large window, tracing the shapes of constellations between the stars. one flew by; a shooting star. your wish was simple: that you never had to let go of ben ever again. 

“guess so.”

⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱⋰⋱ 

yee haw kids i’m finally getting back into it (if you call finishing off a draft that’s been there since june getting back into writing but shh)

here’s to more motivation in the weeks to come!

[sincereiyleah]

Is This Seat Taken?

A/N: Because the scenario kept bugging me, thanks to @/millennial-mess (sorry! I don’t know if they want to be tagged or not!) I decided to write a little ficlet about Carisi not being able to sit in Barba’s seat at the bar. I decided against posting it up on my ao3 account because it’s really short, but I’m trying to promise myself to post something up there regarding barisi before Friday comes. Anyways, enjoy! 

Warnings: Rated Teen audience and up, nothing too disheartening. 

When Carisi hears a sudden and confident click of high heels walking towards him, his pen momentarily stops, however, he’s able to complete his thought by the time the footsteps stop and the body is right next to him. A familiar smell of perfume bombards his nose and Carisi smiles, without taking his eyes off his legal pad he asks, “Would it be redundant to ask how you found me, Captain?”

The new title falling off his tongue as easily as his own, Carisi was surprised how natural the switch from Lieutenant to Captain was for him, just how he was surprised about his own switch from Detective to A.D.A.

There’s a bemused chuckle, the Captain sits next to him and Carisi finally places his pen down and shifts towards the one and only, Olivia Benson.

“Spare me,” she says, her eyes filled with playfulness and Carisi is instantly enthralled with her light humor. However, the moment is gone and the ever-observant detective leaned her head to the side, her eyes darting towards an item in the low lit bar. “You’re not in his seat.”

In hindsight, Carisi should have seen this coming, she was a trained detective of more than twenty years, but still, Liv said it in such a motherly type of way; hidden with undertones.

“Yeah, no, no I’m not,” Carisi manages to stumble out, he glances over at the empty seat and a legal pad like his own appears with a man hunched over it, scribbling quickly as the two fingers of scotch he was working on finally drained dry.

The vision disappeared.

The Captain only hummed, perhaps she was expecting him to elaborate on his conscience thought of sitting beside a particular former A.D.A’s seat but Carisi doesn’t have the answer himself.

“It’ll get tough,” she said instead, Carisi’s eyes drift back over to her, she has that docile kind of smile, kind but sad, knowing something that others don’t.

“I know, Liv,” although practiced, Carisi is still new to this job, it isn’t like the transitioning to a detective, he had his experience from uni days, he had something to lean back to and familiarize himself with. This A.D.A business, this territory, it feels foreign and aches of familiarity and all he has to lean back to are his memories of a certain A.D.A who reluctantly showed him the ropes. That and Carmen, who Carisi was lucky to have. “I may have changed jobs, but it isn’t easier by a long shot,” his hands deftly go and grab a beer that’s been idling beside his paperwork and drinks, the cool liquid turning lukewarm in his mouth.

“Well if there is anyone who can overcome it is you, Carisi,” that smile with only fondness returns, “I can still remember where you went around the precinct sputtering your legalities to anyone who would listen.”

They share a laugh, his earlier days where he wasn’t as bright but he had the spirit, that’s what brought him here, his will.

“I’m proud of where I am, but I can’t help but feel like I’m trespassing on familiar grounds,” the smile that Carisi sports fall flat and when he looks back over to the empty seat filling the empty air with only a reappearance of a two-finger scotch and a brief flash of green, he bites his lower lip and picks up his pen again. “I want to build, but I don’t think I can tear down what’s already there.”

“Then don’t,” was her simplistic reply but Carisi should know Liv is everything but simple. Nonetheless, she pushes herself up from the seat and regards him once more, “I have to get back home to Noah,” she explains.

“Of course, thanks for the chat, Captain,” Carisi forces his eyes onto hers, those brown eyes always contemplating.

A hand is placed on his shoulder, “Give him a call, Carisi, I’m positive he’s thrilled.”

And she leaves. Carisi watches her go with the comment playing on a loop in his head, he knows the ghost that haunts this job for him, but he’s unwilling to say his name in fears that he will reappear.

-

It’s been six months since he became the new A.D.A and the job had become more ingrained into Carisi, it’s been smooth so far, but Carisi is wary because in this business smooth can end quickly.

Carisi is also surprised at how many late nights he spends at the low lit bar now, always sitting next to the empty chair which always seems to remain empty during his stay.

But it’s been two months and Carisi still hasn’t called like Liv suggested, Carisi mainly doesn’t know what to say and everything he wants to say he can’t. So he ignores the lingering ghost the best he can.

The case the squad caught isn’t a particularly rough one, Carisi just has to be cautious of a loophole the defense may exploit and so far he’s had a winning streak and he doesn’t want to mar it. Therefore, when a pair of footsteps, confident in its strides, makes its way towards the empty seat, Carisi fails to notice.

The detective that’s still in him dies a little at his carelessness.

But it isn’t until he feels the warmth of another body coming in close contact with him does Carisi’s pen stop. His eyes don’t leave his legal pad, mostly out of fear, but in his peripherals, he could see the bartender serve a drink to the new companion almost as in rote.

“Should I ask?” Carisi finally says, blue eyes unwilling to turn.

“Carmen still has her loyalties, remember to give her a raise.”

Carisi doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, the voice, he hasn’t heard in almost two years fills his ears and all the memories he had in his arsenal to lean against when a case gets tough all merged together.

“Duly noted. Two years without a peep from you, I’m surprised to see your brief return,” it’s a bit more bitter than Carisi had wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Carisi blinks and his head finally lifts up and turns, that empty seat filling the empty air is not so empty anymore.

Rafael Barba sits there, scotch already in hands and from the looks of it, has been staring at Carisi since he got there.

“You were one of the people who should have known of my departure,” Rafael says, the rim of his glass holding his green eyes’ interest until they finally snap up and lock with Carisi’s blues, “personally.”

Carisi sighs, “I could have called- I wanted to but...,” his voice falls flat and he breaks the stare. “I guess I hadn’t forgiven you yet.”

“I haven’t either. The way I left, with only saying goodbye to Liv, Rita, and Mami, I don’t expect to be welcomed so quickly,” there’s a sad tug of his lips, he has a pout and it’s adorable. Rafael’s eyes glance down at the legal pad and there’s a small smile that appears, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I missed your insistent questions, looks like you got it all figured out,” Rafael caught his eyes, “Counselor.”

The flush that imprisons Carisi’s cheeks is embarrassing and a sputtering laugh tries to cover it, “I didn’t think I’d live long enough to hear that.”

“It’s well deserved, Carisi.”

“Sonny,” he quickly corrects.

Rafael raises his eyebrow.

“We’re not colleagues anymore, we haven’t been in a long time,” the answer seems to suffice, “besides, I have you to thank, Rafael.”

“No you don’t,” was the quick and curt response, “only yourself. You became A.D.A by yourself, acknowledge that.”

Carisi is momentarily stunned, but he nods his head nevertheless, “I-uh,” and for lack of better communication on his end, “why are you here, Rafael?”

“I see you still have that detective inside you.”

“I don’t think he’s ever going to leave.”

“I didn’t say I wanted him to.”

“Stop deflecting.”

“Because,” Rafael blinks and takes another sip of his scotch, “someone I did consider a friend should know that even though I don’t deserve their forgiveness, I’m proud of what they have done with themselves,” Rafael's lips tug again and now it’s into a smile, genuine, “and who they turned out to be. There’s no one better for this job.”

“There was you.”

The words fall quick before Carisi can think about them. Rafael is silent for a moment.

“There was. Now it’s you.”

“Why are you here?”

“I just told-“

“No you didn’t, why are you here on a Friday night, close to twelve am, trying to make good with an old-time friend who stole your job?”

“You didn’t steal anything, Carisi-“

“Sonny.”

“You didn’t steal anything, I left on my own volition, I’m excited that you finally got the job.”

“Finally?”

“You were my first recommendation to the DA’s office, good to know they actually valued my opinion.”

Carisi shook his head, there were too many emotions in there creating a headache.

“Why are you here, Rafael?”

“To give you that personal talk I should have given you two years ago.”

“Why now?”

“I see that you’ve settled nicely into your lawyer status-“

“Rafael.”

“Florida’s men are crazy and the city called back to me, I only learned of your status two weeks ago.”

“Who told you?”

“The papers.”

Carisi throws an eyebrow up and his gaze sharpens.

“Manhattan A.D.A Dominick Carisi Jr. wins the trial against sex trafficker.”

Carisi rolls his eyes, it was his third big case since becoming SVU’s ADA and Carisi had worked his ass off to ensure life for that man.

“Liv didn’t tell you?”

“No. She didn’t. I asked and she said I should have called you if I wanted to know so bad.”

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Excuse me?”

“Anything else you want to know about me since you’ve been gone?”

It’s a brief silence.

“Yes. But not here.”

Carisi blinks and it takes a moment, but Rafael looks over to him, the two interlocking eyes.

“What are you saying, Counselor?”

“Something I should have said two years ago: can I buy you a drink, A.D.A Carisi?”

Carisi smiles, he closes his legal pad, “Yes you can.”

[missjanjie]

Branjie Fic | Bad Girls Club (5/?)

Title: Bad Girls Club Summary:  Los Angeles’ new program, the Juvenile Female Rehabilitation Program (JFRP) was created with the purpose of taking at-risk girls in the county and send them to a summer-long program located where a sleepaway camp once stood. There, they will take classes in ethics, behavior, and other courses to help mold these young minds. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa have been sent there for wildly different reasons, but with the same result - a clean permanent record. Being roomed together, the pair might find an unlikely alliance (and maybe more) in each other. Word Count: ~2.6k (this chapter)/~13.2k (total) Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo) Rating: E

Read on AO3

------

[October 8th, 2017]

Brooke had been staring at her bedroom door for over fifteen minutes now. She was trying to will her legs to work, will her arms to open the damn door. There had been weeks of anticipation – she had practiced what she was going to say in front of the mirror dozens of times every night. It was much more comfortable to perform intricate dances in front of a full auditorium.

Fuck it, this was it.

“Are you busy, Mom?” Brooke’s voice was meek as she poked her head around the corner into the living room.

The muffled noises of the television silenced. “No, come in.”

For the most part, Brooke Lynn wasn’t afraid of her mother. They generally kept to themselves unless otherwise necessary and cohabited perfectly adequately. But this? This was entirely different. It would change the entire course of her life drastically, possibly for the worse in the short term. Still, she knew she would regret it if she didn’t say it at all.

Brooke fidgeted with her fingers; eyes trained on the floor. “You know how I told you I didn’t want to go out with your friend’s son because he’s an anarchist?” She didn’t wait for her mother to respond. “He’s not. At least… not as far as I know. The truth is...” Her throat tightened, and her heart started to race. “I’m not attracted to him. Or any guy. I-I-I... I like girls. I’m gay, Mom.”

The ticking of the clock in the otherwise silent room felt like a bomb counting down to her world collapsing around her. Brooke Lynn needed her mom to say something, anything. “Mommy?”

Her mother sighed. “I suppose this is my fault. Perhaps if you’d spent less time with your nanny, you wouldn’t have this… misplaced need for affection.”

Brooke swallowed thickly and shook her head. “This has nothing to do with Kyle. It’s just who I am. A-And I want you to still accept me.” Her eyes welled with tears and the strength to keep the dam from breaking was dissipating with every passing moment.

“Well I don’t really have any choice but to do that now do I?” she scoffed, then added “these days they call that child abuse,” flippantly. “You’re still my daughter, Brooke Lynn. Now please be a dear and go fetch me my wine.”

“Which glass?”

“Oh no, just bring me the bottle.”

[Present Day]

“No, I don’t got no fucking wine. Where d’you think I’d keep it? In a cooler with some caviar? Look, do you want the vodka or not?”

Brooke nodded and handed the girl a twenty-dollar bill. “Yes please,” she mumbled and exchanged it for a sixteen-ounce bottle of Smirnoff. Luckily it was a rare chilly evening on campus, allowing her to smuggle the bottle in her sweatshirt (while looking over her shoulder every ten seconds) all the way back to her room, everyone she passed none the wiser.

Luckier still, the room was empty when she returned to it, allowing her to make a cocktail of vodka and fruit punch and pour the artificially red mixture into a metallic water bottle. There was a split second’s hesitation.

Having never been drunk on vodka before, Brooke Lynn didn’t know what to expect from the experience. As it turned out, it was brief euphoria and dizzy bliss followed by becoming utter comatose. It was probably for the best – to be dead to the world by the time Vanessa returned. She wasn’t ready to talk to her – she wasn’t even entirely certain why she was so upset, other than it was obviously her fault, apparently. And she felt guilty – it pained her to be the reason why her sometimes-lover was hurt.

The next morning, Vanessa was woken up by the sound of Brooke Lynn groaning. “Damn you really hungover, huh?” she observed, noting that maybe karma had laid a hand in this. “Take some Advil and get ready. You ain’t getting outta class cause you lack self-control.”

“Ugh. So mean,” Brooke grumbled and pulled the pillow over her head.

“That’s life.”

Vanessa was dressed by the time Brooke Lynn got herself out of bed. “How the hell did you get that shit in here anyway?”

Brooke rubbed her eyes as she pulled herself together. “Bought it off some girl. Said she knows a guy. And that I ask too many questions,” she recalled. “It worked though. Got me good.”

“So, you just gonna drink til you feel better?”

“That's the plan.”

[November 20th, 2017]

Brooke caught her breath as the front door shut behind her. “Okay, we’re in the clear,” she exhaled, waving the wine bottle around like a trophy and parading it in front of her as they walked up to Detox’s bedroom.

“You sure your mom’s not gonna notice she’s a bottle short?” Her eyes scanned the label with casual interest before setting it down on her end table while Brooke Lynn shifted to sit comfortably on the bed.

After a couple of moments of struggling, Brooke dislodged the cork from the bottle and took a swig. “Nah, it’s like taking one jellybean from the whole bag,” she reasoned. “Besides, it’s not like I took an expensive bottle, this is a dessert wine.”

“So, what would you call a breakfast wine?”

“The first sign of a drinking problem.”

Detox laughed and shoved her, narrowly avoiding a wine spill on her duvet. She then snatched the bottle from Brooke to down a long swig. “She still not down with the gay thing?”

There was a wince and a moment of tensing up before Brooke sighed and lay down. “If you call ‘a mounting resentment due in part to the blow in social standing from rampant gossip mixed with casual homophobia’ not being down with the gay thing, then yes.”

“You know, just ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed,” she huffed, then her expression softened. “I’m sorry shit’s still rocky between you guys. I’m sure it’ll get better eventually. You talk to Miss West about it?”

Brooke reclaimed the wine and her finger traced around the mouth of the bottle and she stared into it, as if the answer to her problems rested at the bottom. “Yeah, but she always wants to do something about it. Her heart’s in the right place but I’m not always looking for a solution. I just wanna get things off my chest sometimes.”

And her friend listened intently, nodding slowly. “Maybe you should just tell her that. Use your words like a big girl and then we can celebrate with wine instead.”

[Present Day]

Brooke poked her head into Nina’s classroom. “You got a minute?” She let herself in before getting verbal confirmation and sat herself at the edge of the teacher’s desk.

“I was actually hoping you’d come by sooner rather than later.” Nina confessed casually, not wanting to ambush her. But immediately, she saw the suspicion and hesitance in her student’s expression. “I know you were hungover in class. Think you’re okay to tell me why?”

And Brooke Lynn appreciated the way she never pressured her into divulging more than she was ready to. “I had...a falling out with Vanessa. I don’t know exactly what I said, but I’m sure it was my fault,” she sighed, “because it always fucking is.”

Nina reached out and squeezed her hand. “Come on, you know that’s not true,” she gently assured. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Brooke bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t know how.”

She tugged on the teenager’s hand until they made eye contact. “Listen to me, Brooke Lynn, even though I know you don’t want to hear it.” Nina waited until she had her full attention. “You need to learn how to let your guard down, even if it’s just one baby step at a time. I know you like Vanessa a whole lot – more than you’re willing to admit, I’m sure. I’m not saying you have to put your heart on the line in some like, dramatic gesture, but I think you’d be opening yourself up to a great deal of happiness if you let yourself feel.”

As hard as it was to admit – in fact she may never do so outright – Brooke knew Nina was right. Of course, that didn’t mean anything in regards to her ability to actually follow through on that sort of thing. It just was not in her nature – it wasn’t in the nature of anyone in her family. “Maybe I can try…”

“After all, we don’t want a repeat of last time, right?”

Brooke yanked herself away abruptly, face flushing red. “Don’t… don’t talk about that,” and before Nina could respond, she turned on her heel and briskly left the classroom. The last thing she needed was to reopen old scars.

[March 2nd, 2018]

“You know, I’ve tolerated a lot of your weird post-outing behavior shit, but I’m not giving you a free pass on this one.” Detox clicked her tongue and shook her head. “How the fuck do you have the gall to flake out on someone like Kameron Michaels?”

Brooke gave an exaggerated eyeroll and popped a couple grapes in her mouth, eating them before answering. “It wasn’t even like, an actual date. Relax.”

Detox stared at her incredulously. “You guys have been all up on each other for like, almost two weeks. But as soon as she wants to go out with you, you drop off the face of the fucking earth! And I’d understand if it was pretty much anyone else but come on bitch – she can flip a straight girl in her sleep. Not a lot of public-school girls can pull that off around here.”

“Then she won’t miss me,” she shrugged flippantly, looking off into the distance instead of her eyes drifting anywhere near her friend.

“How’s convincing yourself of that going?”

“Swimmingly, thanks for asking.”

Detox scoffed and grabbed a handful of grapes from Brooke’s bowl. “You’re so full of shit,” she said with her mouth full.

Brooke responded with an indignant huff. “Maybe so. But it works.” The definition of working was undoubtedly skewed, but she lacked any desire to address it. She could take care of herself and not get hung up on a fling – or she’d keep telling herself that until she believed it.

And as it turned out, believing it had proven to be a near impossible hurdle to overcome and she was suffering the consequences of her own denial. But there was no way she was going to turn to Detox when this realization dawned on her – so she went to the only other person she knew she could trust.

“You look like you’ve had a rough week. Honestly, if you hadn’t come in, I’d have sought you out myself. I’m worried about you, Brooke Lynn.” Nina’s tone was gentle and kind, but there was a heavy layer of concern paired with it. And it was sincere – she had always made it her duty to take care of her students’ emotional health – especially the ones in the LGBTQ+ community, because she knew exactly what these frightened, wide-eyed girls were going through.

After some uncomfortable fidgeting and shifting around, Brooke nodded. “What happened was… I was seeing this girl casually – like, I thought we were just having fun, you know? Then she asked me on a date, and I said yes because it would’ve just been too rude not to. But then I bailed last minute, and I did apologize, and she said it was okay but… I just feel awful.”

To Nina’s credit, she was a naturally great listener, which, unsurprisingly, proved to be a massive strength in her career. She nodded attentively but never tried to interrupt or talk over her – it was imperative that students like Brooke Lynn saw her as someone they could freely and openly talk about their problems with. “Well, let’s start here – how do you feel about her?”

The first time Brooke had gone to Nina for help, she had found it jarring – it had been the first time any adult had expressed any interest in hearing about her struggles – so of course she had been keeping them all bottled up. But that day she had spent nearly two hours after the final bell rang sitting in that classroom and pouring her heart out. As much of a relief as it had been, she was left feeling nauseous the rest of that evening. Clearly, doing that with any sort of regularity has posed an issue, which is why she replied to the question with a shrug and a ‘I don’t know’ noise.

Nina didn’t buy it. “I think you do know.”

Brooke sighed in the way one would expect a pouty teenager would. “I… Yeah, I guess I like her. But I know I don’t want to date her. I don’t want a girlfriend yet.”

“Do you think it’s actually because you don’t want to? Or because you think you can’t?”

Another shrug and ‘I don’t know’ sound.

“You’ve got to work with me here, Brooke.”

This time, Brooke was at least trying her best. “It just seems like too much. I got enough going on and I feel like a relationship is just too much for me.”

“That’s a good start, you should tell her that.”

[Present Day]

“You might wanna make sure you look extra nice before you go into the dining hall today.”

Brooke had quickly learned to take everything Scarlet told her with a grain of salt. Still, her interest was piqued. “What, are they doing a news report or something? Some sort of circle-jerk of praise for being such good samaritans to us lot?”

Scarlet shook her head without any other reaction. “Nah, but a bunch of girls from your neck of the woods are volunteering, figured you might wanna put on a nice face in case you run into someone. Or maybe a paper bag over your head would do the trick,” she mused.

“Fuck my life,” Brooke groaned. “Wait for me?” she asked as she ducked back into her room. And yes, Scarlet was still there when she returned. “Too much?”

“Doubt it,” she hummed as they took the now familiar path from housing to the dining hall.

As luck would have it, most of the girls were college aged. It seemed like they were the kind that were doing this in lieu of a summer internship or something of the sort. Brooke was just about to get in line confidently when her tray dropped to the ground and her eyes went wide. “No fucking way.”

“Someone you know?”

There, in all her golden haired, tan, inked skin, toned bodied glory was Kameron Michaels. She looked just like Brooke remembered – give or take a new tattoo or two. And she was there as if it had been her job the whole time – serving the girls, smiling and making small talk – it was a stark contrast to the otherwise introverted personality she was once so familiar with.

“Yeah, something like that,” she exhaled once the initial shock had settled.

Scarlet tilted her head, observing the other girl. “You seem tense. Bad blood?”

“Not bad… It’s definitely awkward, though,” Brooke explained, muttering, “Fuck, I hope Vanessa doesn’t run into her,” under her breath.

“Too late.”

Sure enough, Vanessa had been on the line the whole time and was now face to face with Kameron. Brooke’s heart sunk to the pit of her stomach and her throat felt tight. “You know that part in a romcom where everything suddenly goes really bad really fast?”

“Of course.”

“This is it.” Her voice was high and strained. “This is definitely it.”

[artificialqueens]

Bad Girls Club (Branjie) Chapter 5 - Joley

ao3 link

[October 8th, 2017]

Brooke had been staring at her bedroom door for over fifteen minutes now. She was trying to will her legs to work, will her arms to open the damn door. There had been weeks of anticipation – she had practiced what she was going to say in front of the mirror dozens of times every night. It was much more comfortable to perform intricate dances in front of a full auditorium.

Fuck it, this was it.

“Are you busy, Mom?” Brooke’s voice was meek as she poked her head around the corner into the living room.

The muffled noises of the television silenced. “No, come in.”

For the most part, Brooke Lynn wasn’t afraid of her mother. They generally kept to themselves unless otherwise necessary and cohabited perfectly adequately. But this? This was entirely different. It would change the entire course of her life drastically, possibly for the worse in the short term. Still, she knew she would regret it if she didn’t say it at all.

Brooke fidgeted with her fingers; eyes trained on the floor. “You know how I told you I didn’t want to go out with your friend’s son because he’s an anarchist?” She didn’t wait for her mother to respond. “He’s not. At least… not as far as I know. The truth is…” Her throat tightened, and her heart started to race. “I’m not attracted to him. Or any guy. I-I-I… I like girls. I’m gay, Mom.”

The ticking of the clock in the otherwise silent room felt like a bomb counting down to her world collapsing around her. Brooke Lynn needed her mom to say something, anything. “Mommy?”

Her mother sighed. “I suppose this is my fault. Perhaps if you’d spent less time with your nanny, you wouldn’t have this… misplaced need for affection.”

Brooke swallowed thickly and shook her head. “This has nothing to do with Kyle. It’s just who I am. A-And I want you to still accept me.” Her eyes welled with tears and the strength to keep the dam from breaking was dissipating with every passing moment.

“Well I don’t really have any choice but to do that now do I?” she scoffed, then added “these days they call that child abuse,” flippantly. “You’re still my daughter, Brooke Lynn. Now please be a dear and go fetch me my wine.”

“Which glass?”

“Oh no, just bring me the bottle.”

[Present Day]

“No, I don’t got no fucking wine. Where d’you think I’d keep it? In a cooler with some caviar? Look, do you want the vodka or not?”

Brooke nodded and handed the girl a twenty-dollar bill. “Yes please,” she mumbled and exchanged it for a sixteen-ounce bottle of Smirnoff. Luckily it was a rare chilly evening on campus, allowing her to smuggle the bottle in her sweatshirt (while looking over her shoulder every ten seconds) all the way back to her room, everyone she passed none the wiser.

Luckier still, the room was empty when she returned to it, allowing her to make a cocktail of vodka and fruit punch and pour the artificially red mixture into a metallic water bottle. There was a split second’s hesitation.

Having never been drunk on vodka before, Brooke Lynn didn’t know what to expect from the experience. As it turned out, it was brief euphoria and dizzy bliss followed by becoming utter comatose. It was probably for the best – to be dead to the world by the time Vanessa returned. She wasn’t ready to talk to her – she wasn’t even entirely certain why she was so upset, other than it was obviously her fault, apparently. And she felt guilty – it pained her to be the reason why her sometimes-lover was hurt.

The next morning, Vanessa was woken up by the sound of Brooke Lynn groaning. “Damn you really hungover, huh?” she observed, noting that maybe karma had laid a hand in this. “Take some Advil and get ready. You ain’t getting outta class cause you lack self-control.”

“Ugh. So mean,” Brooke grumbled and pulled the pillow over her head.

“That’s life.”

Vanessa was dressed by the time Brooke Lynn got herself out of bed. “How the hell did you get that shit in here anyway?”

Brooke rubbed her eyes as she pulled herself together. “Bought it off some girl. Said she knows a guy. And that I ask too many questions,” she recalled. “It worked though. Got me good.”

“So, you just gonna drink til you feel better?”

“That’s the plan.”

[November 20th, 2017]

Brooke caught her breath as the front door shut behind her. “Okay, we’re in the clear,” she exhaled, waving the wine bottle around like a trophy and parading it in front of her as they walked up to Detox’s bedroom.

“You sure your mom’s not gonna notice she’s a bottle short?” Her eyes scanned the label with casual interest before setting it down on her end table while Brooke Lynn shifted to sit comfortably on the bed.

After a couple of moments of struggling, Brooke dislodged the cork from the bottle and took a swig. “Nah, it’s like taking one jellybean from the whole bag,” she reasoned. “Besides, it’s not like I took an expensive bottle, this is a dessert wine.”

“So, what would you call a breakfast wine?”

“The first sign of a drinking problem.”

Detox laughed and shoved her, narrowly avoiding a wine spill on her duvet. She then snatched the bottle from Brooke to down a long swig. “She still not down with the gay thing?”

There was a wince and a moment of tensing up before Brooke sighed and lay down. “If you call ‘a mounting resentment due in part to the blow in social standing from rampant gossip mixed with casual homophobia’ not being down with the gay thing, then yes.”

“You know, just ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed,” she huffed, then her expression softened. “I’m sorry shit’s still rocky between you guys. I’m sure it’ll get better eventually. You talk to Miss West about it?”

Brooke reclaimed the wine and her finger traced around the mouth of the bottle and she stared into it, as if the answer to her problems rested at the bottom. “Yeah, but she always wants to do something about it. Her heart’s in the right place but I’m not always looking for a solution. I just wanna get things off my chest sometimes.”

And her friend listened intently, nodding slowly. “Maybe you should just tell her that. Use your words like a big girl and then we can celebrate with wine instead.”

[Present Day]

Brooke poked her head into Nina’s classroom. “You got a minute?” She let herself in before getting verbal confirmation and sat herself at the edge of the teacher’s desk.

“I was actually hoping you’d come by sooner rather than later.” Nina confessed casually, not wanting to ambush her. But immediately, she saw the suspicion and hesitance in her student’s expression. “I know you were hungover in class. Think you’re okay to tell me why?”

And Brooke Lynn appreciated the way she never pressured her into divulging more than she was ready to. “I had…a falling out with Vanessa. I don’t know exactly what I said, but I’m sure it was my fault,” she sighed, “because it always fucking is.”

Nina reached out and squeezed her hand. “Come on, you know that’s not true,” she gently assured. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Brooke bit her lip and shook her head. “I don’t know how.”

She tugged on the teenager’s hand until they made eye contact. “Listen to me, Brooke Lynn, even though I know you don’t want to hear it.” Nina waited until she had her full attention. “You need to learn how to let your guard down, even if it’s just one baby step at a time. I know you like Vanessa a whole lot – more than you’re willing to admit, I’m sure. I’m not saying you have to put your heart on the line in some like, dramatic gesture, but I think you’d be opening yourself up to a great deal of happiness if you let yourself feel.”

As hard as it was to admit – in fact she may never do so outright – Brooke knew Nina was right. Of course, that didn’t mean anything in regards to her ability to actually follow through on that sort of thing. It just was not in her nature – it wasn’t in the nature of anyone in her family. “Maybe I can try…”

“After all, we don’t want a repeat of last time, right?”

Brooke yanked herself away abruptly, face flushing red. “Don’t… don’t talk about that,” and before Nina could respond, she turned on her heel and briskly left the classroom. The last thing she needed was to reopen old scars.

[March 2nd, 2018]

“You know, I’ve tolerated a lot of your weird post-outing behavior shit, but I’m not giving you a free pass on this one.” Detox clicked her tongue and shook her head. “How the fuck do you have the gall to flake out on someone like Kameron Michaels?”

Brooke gave an exaggerated eyeroll and popped a couple grapes in her mouth, eating them before answering. “It wasn’t even like, an actual date. Relax.”

Detox stared at her incredulously. “You guys have been all up on each other for like, almost two weeks. But as soon as she wants to go out with you, you drop off the face of the fucking earth! And I’d understand if it was pretty much anyone else but come on bitch – she can flip a straight girl in her sleep. Not a lot of public-school girls can pull that off around here.”

“Then she won’t miss me,” she shrugged flippantly, looking off into the distance instead of her eyes drifting anywhere near her friend.

“How’s convincing yourself of that going?”

“Swimmingly, thanks for asking.”

Detox scoffed and grabbed a handful of grapes from Brooke’s bowl. “You’re so full of shit,” she said with her mouth full.

Brooke responded with an indignant huff. “Maybe so. But it works.” The definition of working was undoubtedly skewed, but she lacked any desire to address it. She could take care of herself and not get hung up on a fling – or she’d keep telling herself that until she believed it.

And as it turned out, believing it had proven to be a near impossible hurdle to overcome and she was suffering the consequences of her own denial. But there was no way she was going to turn to Detox when this realization dawned on her – so she went to the only other person she knew she could trust.

“You look like you’ve had a rough week. Honestly, if you hadn’t come in, I’d have sought you out myself. I’m worried about you, Brooke Lynn.” Nina’s tone was gentle and kind, but there was a heavy layer of concern paired with it. And it was sincere – she had always made it her duty to take care of her students’ emotional health – especially the ones in the LGBTQ+ community, because she knew exactly what these frightened, wide-eyed girls were going through.

After some uncomfortable fidgeting and shifting around, Brooke nodded. “What happened was… I was seeing this girl casually – like, I thought we were just having fun, you know? Then she asked me on a date, and I said yes because it would’ve just been too rude not to. But then I bailed last minute, and I did apologize, and she said it was okay but… I just feel awful.”

To Nina’s credit, she was a naturally great listener, which, unsurprisingly, proved to be a massive strength in her career. She nodded attentively but never tried to interrupt or talk over her – it was imperative that students like Brooke Lynn saw her as someone they could freely and openly talk about their problems with. “Well, let’s start here – how do you feel about her?”

The first time Brooke had gone to Nina for help, she had found it jarring – it had been the first time any adult had expressed any interest in hearing about her struggles – so of course she had been keeping them all bottled up. But that day she had spent nearly two hours after the final bell rang sitting in that classroom and pouring her heart out. As much of a relief as it had been, she was left feeling nauseous the rest of that evening. Clearly, doing that with any sort of regularity has posed an issue, which is why she replied to the question with a shrug and a ‘I don’t know’ noise.

Nina didn’t buy it. “I think you do know.”

Brooke sighed in the way one would expect a pouty teenager would. “I… Yeah, I guess I like her. But I know I don’t want to date her. I don’t want a girlfriend yet.”

“Do you think it’s actually because you don’t want to? Or because you think you can’t?”

Another shrug and ‘I don’t know’ sound.

“You’ve got to work with me here, Brooke.”

This time, Brooke was at least trying her best. “It just seems like too much. I got enough going on and I feel like a relationship is just too much for me.”

“That’s a good start, you should tell her that.”

[Present Day]

“You might wanna make sure you look extra nice before you go into the dining hall today.”

Brooke had quickly learned to take everything Scarlet told her with a grain of salt. Still, her interest was piqued. “What, are they doing a news report or something? Some sort of circle-jerk of praise for being such good samaritans to us lot?”

Scarlet shook her head without any other reaction. “Nah, but a bunch of girls from your neck of the woods are volunteering, figured you might wanna put on a nice face in case you run into someone. Or maybe a paper bag over your head would do the trick,” she mused.

“Fuck my life,” Brooke groaned. “Wait for me?” she asked as she ducked back into her room. And yes, Scarlet was still there when she returned. “Too much?”

“Doubt it,” she hummed as they took the now familiar path from housing to the dining hall.

As luck would have it, most of the girls were college aged. It seemed like they were the kind that were doing this in lieu of a summer internship or something of the sort. Brooke was just about to get in line confidently when her tray dropped to the ground and her eyes went wide. “No fucking way.”

“Someone you know?”

There, in all her golden haired, tan, inked skin, toned bodied glory was Kameron Michaels. She looked just like Brooke remembered – give or take a new tattoo or two. And she was there as if it had been her job the whole time – serving the girls, smiling and making small talk – it was a stark contrast to the otherwise introverted personality she was once so familiar with.

“Yeah, something like that,” she exhaled once the initial shock had settled.

Scarlet tilted her head, observing the other girl. “You seem tense. Bad blood?”

“Not bad… It’s definitely awkward, though,” Brooke explained, muttering, “Fuck, I hope Vanessa doesn’t run into her,” under her breath.

“Too late.”

Sure enough, Vanessa had been on the line the whole time and was now face to face with Kameron. Brooke’s heart sunk to the pit of her stomach and her throat felt tight. “You know that part in a romcom where everything suddenly goes really bad really fast?”

“Of course.”

“This is it.” Her voice was high and strained. “This is definitely it.”