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goffilolo · 3 years ago

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Revival of Midoriya Izuku: Chapter 4 "My depression may be chronic, but my ass is iconic"

I bet you didn't think you were ever gonna see an update. well neither did I. What can I say? writing with a broken hand is a struggle.

Link to the fic on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/81090403

Izuku’s first day of high school was interesting, to say the least, or it would’ve been if he actually went to school instead of spreading mayhem amongst UA’s first years. Shinjuku Metropolitan has been rather lenient in regards to his attendance or lack of thereof, thanks to whatever bullshit Shin wrote to the school on his behalf to ensure that the faculty would accommodate his ‘condition’. Which is just fancy wording for ‘I got a get out of school card’. Truth be told, this is probably the best thing that the doctor has ever done for him since Izuku was nowhere near ready to return to mainstream education, not after everything that has happened in middle school. The last thing he needed were looks of pity and guilt-induced niceties from people who otherwise had no problem laughing at his misfortune.

So instead Izuku has decided to spend his time productively - if you could count tormenting your ex-childhood friend and having an accidental family reunion as such.

Uncle Shouta always had a bit of a mean streak to him, although it never really felt as such when Izuku himself interacted with him. From what little of his childhood he could remember that didn’t involve trauma and discrimination, his uncle was a somewhat kind, but grumpy man. He believed in a brand of tough love - that somehow did not correspond with the way his mother raised him in the slightest and went above and beyond for things and people he held close to his heart. Sure they haven’t seen each other since Izuku was 4, but if his uncle’s empty threats from today’s Quirk Apprehension Test are anything to go by, not much has changed.

Which brings him back to now; sitting in an empty classroom that he does not belong to - a school that he does not belong to, writing down his ever-so-detailed notes about the quirks he will only be able to admire from afar. Not much has changed , indeed.

It almost feels like a betrayal. Almost , being the operative word, because he has no reason to cling onto the things that he no longer cares about - should no longer care about, for they had died along with him that day on the roof, and were properly buried within the four walls that Izuku called his own during his stay in the hospital.

But well...looks like today Izuku is in a mood to dig up old corpses.

Metaphorically, that is.

“God, you’re still here!”

“Kacchan we’ve talked about this” he replied, rather dramatically “God is dead and all that’s left is me”

Kacchan clearly did not appreciate his superior sense of humour, if the lack of response is anything to go by. “No seriously, why are you still here?”

“I could ask you the same”

“I actually study here you fuckwit!” the blond exclaimed in his ever explosive fashion “Besides I had to come back and get my change of clothes since that demonic pet of yours was sitting on them when we were all leaving for the test”

“Huh, that actually reminds me...where’s Bandit?”

“Oi, don’t change the subject you shitty Deku” replied Bakugou, as he kicked one of the chairs over towards the desk that was currently occupied by Izuku and slumped down in it in a way that would perhaps appear as non-caring to absolutely no one “I didn’t know your uncle was a pro-hero.”

Ah, so that’s what he was bothered about.

“That makes the two of us”

“Wait, really?!”

“Honestly Kacchan! Did you really think that IF I knew my uncle was a pro-hero that I would be able to ever shut up about it?”

“No way in hell!”

“Exactly!”

Well, now that the topic of his uncle has been cleared up, there wasn’t much else to talk about, at least not much that wouldn’t result in collateral damage or a Bakugou shitshow 2.0. Both of the boys were well aware of it of course, but let it never be said that either of them could be stopped by things like common sense, especially when it came to avoiding conversational land mines.

“So...what are you scribbling over here?” asked Bakugou in a rather poor and possibly the most awkward attempt at establishing small talk that has ever been known to man and sheep kind alike.

“Ok, no! That is not happening” snapped Izuku, who very much saw where this was going and was having none of it “We are NOT having a civil conversation!”

“Why the fuck not?!” replied the blond, his anger as booming and apparent as his quirk.

“Because that is not something we DO Kacchan!” shouted the teen, banging his hands against the desk, his notebook long forgotten.

“Well, maybe we should?!” exclaimed Bakugou, who was quick to anger, yet quicker to notice his ex-friend’s unusual mood as he tried to make an effort to de-escalate the situation.

“Oh? Should we really? !” sneered Izuku, feeling the kind of anger and disdain he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since that fateful day in the ward.

“That’s rich coming from you” he continued as he stood up form the chair, unable to keep still in his fury as he circled the classroom “All you ever did was shout at me, insult me and throw baseless accusations at me left and right for god knows how long, but suddenly YOU want to have a conversation with me? Isn’t it enough that we kinda talked about our feelings that one time when I was still stuck in the psych ward?!”

Honestly, what do you expect Kacchan?” asked Izuku, feeling raw and hysteric and all kinds of wrong, spilling his metaphorical guts to his ex-bully/friend “That we will just start having normal conversations like nothing ever happened, act like we’re friends or some shit? Because let’s be honest, we haven’t been friends for a very long time, that ship has sunk long before I even attempted suicide! ”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” screamed Bakugou, feeling equally angry, but mostly out of his depth in the situation. He expected Deku to possibly mock him for his awkward attempts at small talk. What the blond didn’t expect was for him to snap, in a way that was somewhat familiar but not quite, as even the few times they’ve spoken back when Izuku was in the hospital or when he got released, his tempter felt controlled in a way it was not at the moment. Katsuki wasn’t sure what exactly triggered such a strong response, but he was not looking forward to having another fight, at least not one initiated by him.

“I’m not trying to pretend it didn’t happen” he explained “I just want to move forward. I’m not the same asshole I was last year and neither are you, so I don’t want to be stuck on how things used to be ! It makes me feel like I’m going nowhere.”

“Ok! Fine! You wanna talk?! Then let me fuckin TELL you something! You asked me what I was ‘scribbling’ over here?” exclaims Izuku, as he stomps his way back towards the desk and snatches his notebook, waving it aggressively in front of Bakugou “IT’S THE SAME STUFF I’VE BEEN SCRIBBLING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME!” he screamed “Those quirk analysis notebooks you used to mock me for? It’s another one of those because as it turns out I still AM the same asshole I was last year! Now then, can YOU tell ME how many of those I’ve had?”

“Thirteen…” mutters Bakugou, feeling like he’s walking into a proverbial trap.

“Good boy, you can count! Now, can you tell me what number does it say on this one?” sneers Izuku sarcastically as he points once again at the notebook in question.

“Is this a trick question? There’s fuckin nothing on it”

“EXACTLY! And you want to know why?” screamed the distressed teen, no longer feeling angry, but tired and vulnerable, unable to stop himself from having a conversation he didn’t even want to be a part of “Because these notes used to serve a purpose, a purpose I no longer have. Hero Analysis for the Future , to be exact. But guess what Kacchan…” he whispered, no longer looking at the red eyes that used to bring him so much pain “...I no longer have a future…”

The blond hung his head in shame as he listened to his childhood friend break down in tears while hiding his face behind the very notebook that started their argument, all the while Trash Bandit who woke up due to their screaming was trying to get his owner’s attention with pathetically quiet ‘baaah’s.

“You have the right to be angry with me, after all this shit I put you through” stated Bakugou after what felt like an endless silence broken only by Izuku’s stuttering sobs. He never thought of himself as a coward, but at this moment he could not find enough bravery to sit face to face with the crying teen.

“I KNOW that you shithead-” replied Izuku as he shakily tried to take a breath in between the sobs “-but what good is that gonna do?! You’ve actually admitted that the way you treated me was wrong, hell you even voluntarily went to therapy! You’re basically going through a whole-ass redemption arc and what do I do? * sob * I’m still stuck in the past and I can’t let go of my grudges, which isn’t doing me or you any favours. I’ve told you to get your shit together, and this is exactly what you’re trying to do and instead of being h-* hic *- happy for you I’m mad-”

His rant broke off as he took another breath with tears still rolling down the freckled cheeks despite the boy’s best efforts. Izuku slumped down in his seat and with shaking hands he took out a cigarette and lighter from his backpack that was still hanging by the hook on the side of the desk. And although putting the cigarette in his mouth was relatively easy, lighting it was another matter. As Izuku grew more frustrated with the quiver in his hands, so did Bakugou. The blond became impatient as he grumbled “give it here damn it” much more quietly and gently than he normally would’ve done as he leaned forward, all the while grabbing the other teen by his shoulder with one hand, as he used to the other to quickly light the cigarette with a small explosion. Izuku’s flinch at the sudden but familiar noise and heat did not go unnoticed.

To say that Izuku was shocked by his ex-friend’s action would’ve been an understatement, but he was pleased nonetheless. If anything it proved his point that Kacchan was trying to be nicer to him, even if the attempts were somewhat awkward. The freckled teen, feeling only marginally better, leaned back in his chair facing the ceiling as he continued to blow circles of smoke up into the air, trying to regain his original train of thought.

“You’d think they would have a fire alarm in here or something” mused Bakugou as he stared at the disappearing circles.

“Hmm” replied Izuku, absentmindedly “You’d think”

The silence has once again stretched between the 2 boys, although this time it felt less oppressive in its need to be filled. Bakugou was happy to wait for Deku to finish what he started, it was the least the blond could do seeing as he was at fault for the current state of things between them.

“I’m so fuckin angry...” stated Izuku as he crashed the burnt out cigarette against the desk, which Bakugou conviniently ignored seeing as the desk was his. “I’m so fuckin angry-” he repeated despite his tone and words not matching at all “-because this proves that you could’ve gotten your shit together this whole time” he continues while gesturing vaguely between the two of them.

“You could’ve stopped this bullshit and apologised to me!” exclaims Izuku in a tone that is half resigned and half accusing “You could’ve spared me the misery, and yet you didn’t. I feel like I’ve suffered for nothing-”

“You did!” interrupted the blond.

“What?”

“You’ve suffered for nothing” clarified Bakugou “There’s literally NO good reason for you to have gone through even half the shit you did”

“I dunno about that Kacchan” teased Izuku “I’m pretty sure the reason is sitting right in front of me”

“I said no good reason damn it, don’t go around twisting my words you fuckin Deku!”

And Izuku couldn’t help but break out in laughter, because he was pretty sure that this was the first time ever that Bakugou had made a joke at his own expense and this moment was going to live in his brain rent free from now on.

“Oh God, Kacchan-” he wheezed, trying to stop himself from laughing “You were right, you really aren't the same asshole that you were last year!”

“I sure fuckin hope not” replied Bakgou who was just as close to laughing “Otherwise I would’ve had to demand refund for all of those shitty therapy sessions”

“Look at us Kacchan” said Izuku, his laugh now subdued “We’re still a fuckin mess”

“I guess we are” agreed the blond as he stared down at his friend’s notebook in a thoughtful expression.

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After the truthfully embarrassing heart-to-heart with Kacchan, Izuku wanted to do nothing more than sink into the void for the next eternity, or at least until he gets his reminder text that he’s running late for yet another therapy session. Unfortunately neither of these options were viable seeing as he was on a self-appointed mission to catch up to his uncle. The boy hoped that uncle Shouta would still be somewhere on the premises seeing as his ugly-ass sleeping bag was still in the classroom. Izuku used that to his advantage as he gave the sleeping bag to Bandit who promptly sniffed it and began to follow the scent of a premature-midlife-crisis. Who knew that sheep could make such good hounds?

Bandit had dutifully led their owner through an ever inconvenient maze of corridors, which eventually ended with the two entering the teacher’s lounge like they had every right to be there (which they kinda did, shoutout to Nedzu!). As expected, Izuku’s uncle was in the lounge, surrounded by fellow members of staff as they tried (unsuccessfully, at least by Izuku’s standards) to get any information out of him regarding his class this year. Uncle Shouta for the most part looked like he’d rather be doing anything else and so Izuku has made an executive decision to insert himself obnoxiously into the situation.

“In my humble opinion-” he said, as he sat down next to his uncle, while Bandit jumped up on his lap “that Mineta kid should’ve been expelled. Like, we get it uncle, he has potential ” continued Izuku, as he spat the word distastefully “But how far is that potential gonna get him when all he does is harass the entire female population, like every other mediocre straight guy with self awareness of a sea cucumber?”

“A sea cucumber? Really?” asked uncle Shouta, sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he is.

“I mean don’t get me wrong” he continues, completely ignoring the unnecessary commentary “Straight people are already embarrassing as they are, but this guy is on another level, the kinda level that usually leads to a straight jacket, am I right?! Hah- I just made a pun!”

“The little listener does have a point, Shouta” replied Present Mic.

“Also, did he just say uncle ? Shouta, is there anything you’d like to tell us?” asked Midnight, you know, like a traitor.

“No”

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It wasn’t until they walked past the gates of the school that his uncle finally stopped in his tracks to voice at least a portion of the questions that have been bubbling in his mind since the impromptu family reunion with his nephew.

“Izuku” says Shouta, with as much concern as an uncle-who-you-haven’t-seen-in-almost-a-decade is allowed to voice “What the fuck?”

“Look, I heard that question far too often in my lifetime, mostly from my therapist, so you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific” replies Izuku sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he hopes to evolve into through the sheer power of genetics and generational trauma.

“Look kid-” says the hobo looking man that has the privilege of being related to Izuku as he puts his hands together, takes a deep breath and prays to whichever God he believes is not yet dead for some guidance on how to handle this “-as much as I’d love to elaborate on the sheer amount of confusion I am experiencing right now due to your questionable way of life, I do actually have to go on a patrol so this conversation is gonna have to be postponed. In the meanwhile give your mother my regards, and I’ll hopefully see you in the near future when you decide once again to wreak havoc in my classroom.”

“No” replies the freckled teen in a total disregard for other people’s prior engagements, thus truly earning his title of a problem child.

“What do you mean no ? Izuku, I have a job to do!”

Instead of replying, Izuku has decided to simply pull a pro-gamer move, by quickly taking out a familiar pair of handcuffs from the side pocket of his backpack, cuffing one side to his uncle’s hand and the other to his own. That on its own is probably not particularly impressive, however it is the speed of the action that has earned it the title of a pro-gamer move, which Izuku is quite proud of. His uncle on the other hand is definitely less so, looking at his cuffed wrist like it has somewhat betrayed him.

“Please tell me you did not just do that”

“I did not just do that”

After wasting about 10 minutes of his life on fruitless struggle of trying to get the handcuffs off like an untrained dog trying to chew off its own leash, Aizawa Shouta; the underground hero Eraserhead, the infamous Erasure Hero has slumped in defeat, internally swearing to himself to one day get revenge on his unruly nephew.

“God, I am so going to have a talk with my sister about this” he says, as if a threat of authority had any meaning to the green headed teen.

“Yeah, no shit, that’s the whole point, we’re going to my house now” replies the teen, completely disregarding any attempt at ‘ an adult asserting their authority ’ over him.

“I still have to go on a patrol tonight” repeats Shouta, as if it was somewhat relevant.

“That sounds like a you problem”

#demise!au #bnha #revival of midoriya izuku #fanfic

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boogiewrites · 6 years ago

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Choking On Sapphires 80

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: 505

Summary: Genevieve comes home from the hospital. The journey to her recovery begins, but there are so many more things besides bruises and broken bones to worry about healing. Alfie tries to push back his own trauma from the event he's in denial over, and the whole house has to watch as things get worse before they get better. Song is 505 by The Arctic Monkeys.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Canon typical violence. References to assault and violence. Near death experiences. PTSD. Suffering/Physical Pain. Fluff.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Alfie had kept his word so far. Every time Genevieve would open her eyes to escape the mixture of horror and fantasy that kept circling in her subconscious in her sleep he would be there.

When the memories of what had happened would become less fuzzy, would creep into her dreams, he’d be there holding her hands as she fought out of the drug-induced slumber she felt held prisoner in to keep her from hurting herself. She’d make unsettling noises during her fits. Feet kicking and arms twitching and flailing as her face pained and winced, eyes rolling under their purple lids in the misshaped sockets for the violence she was reliving.

Sometimes the dreams would be pleasant though. An escape to another timeline where none of this had happened. She’d make hums of approval in her sleep, nuzzling into her pillow and it would make Alfie sigh with relief. She deserved some respite from this reality he thought, and he was happy she could find it. If she stirred his hand would always find hers. Even on the rare occasion, he’d be able to fall asleep, back aching and twisted in the chair by her bed he’d keep hold of her as if someone could steal her away without him knowing again. When she would wake from her pleasant dreams he’d be there with his ruffled hair and haggard face, a soft glance she’d meet as he’d stroke her swollen hands. She liked to touch his face in these tender moments they shared. The back of her hand, the knuckle of a finger lightly against his scaled features and wiry beard. She’d give him an affectionate smile, one he’d seen in the mornings before her eyes would close again, him placing her hand back onto the bed as it started to slowly lower when she fell back into her peaceful distraction.

Within a few days with no seizures or signs of internal bleeding, she’s given the go-ahead to be released. Instructions for her care are given to each Alfie, Claire, and Aggie as they were life-threateningly important. She was out of immediate harm from some things, but plenty could still go wrong. Alfie schedules home visits with the doctor ahead of time and even has Ollie hear the orders for her medicine. He was taking no chances at anyone that would be near her not knowing what the fuck they were doing.

With the state of her still being so very fragile, still multicolored from injuries and barely breathing without pain, although the morphine did help that part, she couldn’t exactly walk out on crutches for her twisted ankle. Alfie commandingly insists on being the one to handle her. She did admittedly respond best to him. He has her taken out of the hospital by a back entrance via wheelchair. He wanted all the details of her situation to remain a secret for now. No one that didn’t already know, needed to know how bad it was. He didn’t want word getting out to the community they were a part of, her students, here children at the home. He wanted to keep that ideal version of her alive and well, as he still had faith she would return to it one day.

Despite the fog she found herself in, she tried to keep her head up as they drove out of town. There was a distinct smell to the air and as they were on their way out of the city, the swirls of smoke could be seen in the rear view mirror.

He sees her focusing, her nose twitching like a rabbit. She raises her hand, a single finger pointed behind them with a subtle tilt of her head in question as she could still not speak.

“The smoke?” He asks.

She moves the pointed finger up and down as an indicator for her answer of yes so she didn’t have to nod.

“That was me, love.” He says with a noisy exhale, turning her head from it gently. “I had everything he owned burnt down and everyone in it killed.” He has no remorse and a fling of hunger for the day left in his eyes. “Seems me 'n Tommy’s men burnt down near half of fuckin London. For you, love. No one is gonna mess wif a Solomons. ‘Bout time us Jews started remindin’ these goyim what we’re capable of. Didn’t survive this fuckin long through slavery and oppression to lay down on the cusp of birth of fuckin' Nazi’s.” He shakes his head, brow low and lips tight as his mind only thinks of more things to worry about. He closes his eyes before turning back to her and kisses her forehead. “I’d set the whole fuckin' world ablaze for ya love. If I had to have ya live on a fuckin' island somewhere to escape the flames yeah? Nuffin else but you and ours matters now, eh? Now you lay your head down darlin' and have ya little lie down and I’ll keep ya steady 'til we get ya home, yeah?” He offers, having her place her head on his shoulder, his large hand cradling it and her hip like a baby in his arms. He rests his cheek against her hair and breaths her in, keeping his lips to her when he’d inevitably get emotional with her in his arms all small and helpless now. With the lack of sleep and the strain of the events of the past few days, he’d been a mess. He’d been moody, even more so than usual. He'd neglected himself entirely. Not eating or sleeping of his own doing, always thinking, always worrying. It was starting to take more of a toll on him than he would admit to himself. But he was blinded by his compulsion to protect his love. Following the advice to be delicate with her the best he could.

Her home wasn’t exactly wheelchair friendly, but Alfie certainly didn’t mind carrying her back into the house, the chair brought in behind them as he keeps his eyes on her in his arms, anyone else not existing as far as he was concerned when she was within his eyesight. He has pillows brought and piled high on the bed for her, a little bell for her convince on her nightstand. He leaves his cane by the bed to aid her when she would inevitably need to use the loo.

The time spent with her unconscious he’d spent wisely with Ollie. Preparations of his own taken for the business to keep moving along without him. Despite the always nervous young man’s suggestion to keep his affairs as usual to keep up appearances, he was met only with a smack to the face as he was reminded he needed to understand that Alfie's word was rule and the rules would be changing now. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his business, the tracks, the money, he still very much did. But for now, there would be a noticeable lack of Solomons around. He’d had his close call and it wasn’t going to take another one to make him see where he was needed. Ollie was a big boy and had been his second for years now. Ollie could handle it. At least until the threat against Gen’s well being was passed. But as the doctor had said, it was one day at a time.

The first step was to get her comfortable again. The bath proves difficult for both of them. He wanted her to feel clean, to smell like she had before the hospital, flowers instead of sterile. Neither of them spoke, Genevieve still having much difficulty doing so, and Alfie not wanting to say the wrong thing. His usual approach with humor to serious situations with her wouldn’t work his time and he didn't want to confuse the poor dear. As it turned out it was very easy to do in her currently still unstable state. She only makes sounds of pain when he touched her and his hurt shows on his face. She doesn’t meet his expression as she feels varied, swinging emotions as she’s faced with her naked body for the first time since being rescued. The bath water helps distort it, but she can tell even with her blurry eyes that there was plenty of distortion without the filter of waves from the water. Her swollen joints and skin that held reminders of the events that were still hazy to her, they were both left with undeniable proof that even if they didn’t know exactly what happened, that it had clearly been worse than either knew. For the first time in their relationship, they sat alone together in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. The things unsaid about the events that had unfolded sat like an invisible barrier between them, neither wanting to share how it truly made them feel. For the first time there was a disconnect between them, even Gen in her hazy mindset knew he looked at her differently, just as she was looking at herself. With a confusing mixture of pity and guilt.

Alfie does his best as the gentle touch she needs doesn’t come first nature to him. He brings her one of her favorite gowns, all silk and lace and slight enough to be able to keep watch on her injuries. But she makes a small sad noise and pushes it away when he brings it to her. She would’ve said she didn’t want something so lovely on this body, that it would only remind her of how she was before, but she couldn’t, and Alfie's expression remained puzzled. She didn’t need to try to be who she was before just yet. That version of herself was so far away, possibly even unobtainable now she felt. She wanted simple, to keep her mind calm. She needed comfort to offset the pain. She tugs on his shirt, damp from carrying her to bed. His intuition has never been such a highly valued skill to him as he retrieves one of his shirts from a chest of drawers and puts it on her gingerly, limb by limb. It smelled like him, it felt like him rubbing against her skin and let her chest bindings breathe. This is what she needed, not her silk and frills. Alfie sees a calmness take over her face as she strokes the fabric over her thighs. His darling needed him, needed comfort now. He had to attempt to let go of trying to do things his way. But that was never his strong suit.

After getting her set up in bed, she falls asleep quickly from the full day she’d already had in comparison to barely moving in the hospital. She sleeps soundly, seemingly heavy as she lies in a nest of pillows like a little bird.

He’s called from the bed, a phone call from Ollie already. He’s hesitant to leave her, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He’d had the phone removed from her room to make sure her rest wasn’t interrupted by it. He wanted her in quiet and calm with nothing that could disrupt or startle her. So he agrees to leave for only a moment.

When he returns, trying to shed his annoyance for Ollie’s tendency to panic and over question his own decisions he finds the bed empty and panics. Flashes of the night she disappeared come to him, his heart in his throat as all the hairs stand up on his skin, an anxiety attack on the verge of blooming like a boy after the war. He had his own issues from the abduction to deal with it seemed.

He hears a pained sound, something like a hurt animal, and as he approaches swiftly he finds just that. His little kitten on the floor and struggling to breathe, the cane by her side. Her arms shook and failed time and time again to hold herself up as she cried with croaked grunts from her bruised neck.

He calls her name over and over, she keeps her eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched in pain as her hands cling desperately to his forearms. “Gen you stubborn thing.” he sighs. He shushes and coos, pulling her up against his chest and setting her back on the bed. His big warm hands on her face and hair, wiping away tears and he instructs her to slow her breathing. “That’s it love breathe slow. It’s only pain. Don’t let it make you afraid.” He says in a kind tone, a hand to her wrist to feel her pulse.

At last she opens her eyes, her breathing wheezy and her posture slumped from the pain in her ribs. She opens her mouth and tries to speak and he shakes his head, putting his thumbs over the rough, broken skin.

“Don’t try to talk.” He instructs sternly. “Catch your breath and I’ll fetch the paper after. No rush now is there?”

She gulps and continues moaning with every exhale, feeling overwhelmed. Her hand reaches out and points to the bathroom as her head spins.

“You were trying to get in there, eh?” He asks, brushing her hair out of her face and she wiggles her finger to indicate he was correct. “I had a call and left for just a moment, thought you were deep asleep. You know better than to try to walk yourself in your condition.” He voice grows weaker with his pushing back of his frustrations, feeling another wave of guilt wash over him. “You wait for me to help you, yeah? Don’t go tryin’ so hard alone. We’re not there yet.” He plants a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as her hands move to his forearms. He feels her breathing steady, her hands stop trembling and her rest her weight against him. “That’s a good girl, yeah?” He says with an affectionate and very light stroke to her back. “Ya needed to take a wee love?” He says with a more playful tone, holding her chin up as she answers with her eyes looking to the bathroom doorway. “Well, we can manage that now can’t we? Right. Let’s get ya up. Ya ready for your Alfie to carry you?”

She mouths yes and raises her arms slowly to around his neck. The soft nuzzle into him as he grunts and lifts her, babying her the entire way makes her feel better in the moment. He was there. He was staying through every ugly bit of it and she didn’t need to worry about him right now, only herself. Whoever that was presently. She felt like a different person or no one at all at times. The mix of head injury and medicine leaving her confused, disoriented, bewildered and to say the least, spacey most of the time.

After settling her back into bed, he can tell she’s hurting badly, little whines with every exhale as he settles in next to her. He gives her another small dose of medicine to take the edge off. He couldn’t stand seeing her in pain and knew inside her was nothing but. It was only the first day of her being home, of the official start to the road of recovery and he knew it was going to be harder than he had initially imagined. But what he hadn’t expected was for it to be far worse before it got better.

Sleeps takes her quickly. She’s sucked into a dark undertow and deep into a very vivid dream. She comes to with a blink, as if she had been plunked into this new place. The first thing she notices is that there is no pain. A warm sun hits her skin which after inspection looked to be blemish free, her hands only wearing a wedding band and diamond ring and no bandages.

“Papa!” She hears, her head quickly turning towards the sound and having no dizziness from it. She’s surrounded by large green hedges that are dotted with flowers. They rise too tall for her to see over, but she can clearly hear the laughter of children beyond them. With fingertips dragging on the surface of the thick bushes as she walks, she follows the path before her and hears the laughter, sprinkled with the sound of birds throughout it. “Mama!” She hears called out, and she somehow knows the happy sound is for her. Her bare feet move quickly over the well-kept paths, a sense of happiness, of joy as she moves to a jog, her dress soft against her legs as she moves.

She emerges from the maze to a wide open garden of grass, trees and ivy wrapped lattice, bird baths and statues along the space that was nestled in the valley of a yellow-green rolling hillside the tall grass swaying in the distance. A young child runs in front of her, catching her attention.

She quickly hitched up her dress and chases after, running through the garden. One child disappears behind a corner, to reveal two as she rounds it as well.

“Mum!” She hears an older girl laugh, her long dark hair swishing and a crown of flowers atop of her head as she moves with the small child. Another corner, another child, all seeming to be different. All in their own little clothes, varying heights, hair colors, and styles. She chases around the hedge maze until there are five of them, then they move as a small herd, the older ones helping the younger as they fall and squeal.

She calls out for them in her pursuit. But their faces stay hidden from her. Even she stumbles, the soft, dark auburn hair of a little boy in shorts moving just out of reach. She comes back into the clearing, a white house now at the other end of the stretch of grass and an easily recognizable man standing with his little glasses on his nose, cane in hand, and a lovely booming voice calling out for her.

———

“Genevieve!” Alfie shouts as Aggie rushes out of the room and to the phone. “Wake up love, come now, stay with me.” His voice breaks as he holds her in his arms, his panic pulsing through his exhausted body.

He’d noticed her fall so still, not resting himself as her little tumble earlier had shaken him up. As the night went on she grew far too still for his liking, he could no longer see her chest moving up and down and that had sent the shouting and panic throughout the house that they sat in now. Her pulse was there but weak, his eyes wild and voice so angry as Aggie told him the doctor was on his way.

————

“Chanah!” Alfie's warm voice calls out to her. A sense of rightness, of contentment, follow as the small herd of children also hear him and let out their various sounds of approval as they head towards him ahead of her.

“Ari!” She calls out with a beaming smile.

“Papa!” One of the boys responds as he stumbles on his still young legs towards the inviting outstretched embrace of Alfie.

————-

“Ari.” Genevieve’s voice is a whisper, if he hadn’t been holding her head to his he would’ve missed it. He chokes back tears as he kisses her face and holds her hand, once again not thinking about having to let her go once the doctor arrived.

———-

The five children like broken stair steps range from an older girl, probably a teenager to a young boy and girl who looked to be barely even 6. The girls had bows and flowers in their hair and the boys had grass stains on their pants and messy hair. They looked a portrait of perfect to her. They kept moving just out of reach of Genevieve’s hands, the dreamscape making the run to meet Alfie go on for so long, and her frustration grew. She began feeling desperate to touch them, to feel them and know they were real, to see their faces and tell them sweet, loving things. But they kept out of her reach and she kept stumbling towards them with now filthy feet from the ground.

With the edge of the back porch of the house reached by the kids, Alfie ruffles their hair and looks a picture of a proud father. A little girl in his strong arms, her face buried in his neck as he laughs at another small boy wrapping his little arms around his leg. For a moment the thought crosses Genevieve’s mind that this might be heaven.

With the thought the oldest turns, her face coming into view now. She was strikingly beautiful. With dark hair dotted with flowers, the same Genevieve had been chasing earlier, and similarly, as the girl just a touch shorter than her who stood next to her, face still toward her father.

“Mum.” The girl says with a sweet voice that came from lips that looked like Alfies, Gen’s large eyes looked back in their mirrored image over the same rounded nose with Alfie's stormy blue pupils looking back at her.

“Yes, cheri?” Genevieve responds with a fluttering of her heart in her chest as the girl steps closer.

“I’m sorry.” She says with a kind smile.

Genevieve is confused, their hands reaching out, just a hair's width from touching.

“Chanah!” She hears Alfie shout, her head whipping fast to him as he motions her to come towards him, children still swarming him.

She gives a nod and a smile and moves to turn back to the girl but as fast as she’d turned her head, she was gone. She could almost feel the heat from her hand when it had almost slid into her own. She looks around, startled and upset, wondering where the lovely girl had gone.

“She’ll be alright, love.” Alfie says, motioning her towards him, he's missing his usual assortment of jewelry. Only a gold wedding band on his aged hand with it's faded crown tattoos. The little girl in his arms puts her own around his neck and squeezes. “Not time to meet her yet.” He says with an almost cheerful disposition. “You’ve still got to meet the others.” He says, turning and bouncing the girl, the boy now sitting on Alfie's foot as he walks with a waddle. The older girl that was left now walks with the older boy under her arm, rubbing his back affectionately as they move toward the house. Gen turns to look around the garden, still worried about the girl who disappeared. “Chanah!” Alfie calls out and she ignores it, feeling her heart race and her breath shorten. “Chanah love, come back to me!” His voice sounds different now. More demanding. “Chanah!” He shouts again with anger and she turns to look his way, a sharp dizziness taking her over as it feels like an omniscient hand yanks her from where she stands.

Her eyes open back into the reality Alfie had been dealing with while she was having her most curious experience.

“Chanah! Fuckin ‘ell girl ya gonna kill me wif 'is.” He says bending over her body on the bed.

She tries to say his name and only gets out “Ah-“ as is standard.

“Shhhh catch your breathing up love. Ya medicine put ya a bit too far under. Had to pull ya out of it dinnit I?” He holds her like a child as her eyes with their mixed pupil sizes loll around in her head.

“W-wuh-“ She grunts out.

“Hand us the paper there Agatha.” Alfie instructs, holding the ice water they’d been applying to her skin for past few minutes. “Ya need somethin'?” He asks, putting the pen gently into her hand.

“Ch-chi-“ She stutters and rasps, writing ‘children?’ On the pad.

“What are you on about love? There’s no children.” He doesn’t hide the confusion on his face as he turns to the doctor for answers.

“She’s most likely having trouble distinguishing real life with dreams as she comes out of it. Fairly common occurrence.” He says with a flat delivery.

“There’s no children, love.” Alfie whispers softly.

She whimpers, writing ‘where are the children?’ again as Aggie starts to cry at the state her lovely Genevieve was in. She thought of her as her own and seeing her suffer in any way, especially in a way she could not help hurt her deep down into her soul.

“There’s no children, love.” Alfie says with a more stern delivery, as she sweats and groans in his arms, wanting to struggle to get back to that lovely place but she’s so weak. Each toss of her head sends nausea flooding over her, her eyes showing white as the room spins. Nausea gives over to actual vomiting as Alfie leans her over the side of the bed where a bucket sat just for such an occasion. He shoots another questioning glance to the doctor.

“Also very common.” He nods. “Could be her stomach rejecting the excess medication, could be from the head injuries. Severe dizziness is common in cases such as these. It will pass.” His bedside manner wasn’t the best, but his reputation was and Alfie could easily forgo a sugar-coated delivery for fast facts.

“Let it out, love.” He says softly, rubbing her back and keeping her hair out of her face. This was worse than any other time he’d seen her sick whether from drink or violence. The sounds that escaped her were gruesome and churned his stomach just as much as hers was.

But the sounds faded, she passes out again, limp in his arms like a classical painting of tragic lovers. He holds her close, keeping her warm as she chills, speaking to her as she groans and shifts in her unrest. All this was reminding him of the war. The constant feeling the other shoe was going to drop at any moment, the tension and paranoia. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely allow himself to blink, lest she take a turn for the worst. Deep sleep and shallow breathing were part of the new medication she was on. He could’ve been told that one hundred more times but it didn’t make the terror that shot through his core when he thought her dead any easier to handle. Or the frustration he felt at the strong rise and fall of his own emotions he was not accustomed to.

She sleeps, but it is not peaceful. Her mind trying to rewire and heal, skipping and making missed connections, leaving her in a disturbing mix of memory and dream inside her own head. He stays up, swearing to himself she would not fail because of him. He kept watch like an ancient guardian relic over her. A slumped and bent, red-eyed and scaled skin gargoyle over her in the dark of the room, the fire casting them in uncanny low light. The sight of them was frightening, and only Agatha and Claire dare enter the room.

The two women, shunned by Alfie in his slow descent into madness it seemed watched on helplessly. Claire was by far the most optimistic of them all. She recalled Gen’s brother after the war and knew things like this happened. Setbacks were all part of the road to progress.

“Although you might think it insensitive of me to say so, I can’t help but look upon this scene as she would if she were us right now.”

“What do you mean dear?” Aggie says with a wrinkled nose.

“The lighting, the love, the tragedy. She’d be a big enthusiast of this would she not? The drama and aesthetic. I only wish I could capture it for her.”

“Why on earth would you want to recall this hellish night?” Aggie’s confusion clear in her voice.

“Because I know she’d think it would make a lovely painting,” Claire replies with a sigh, an almost happy look on her face as she watched on from the darkened hallway. “Gen would find the beauty in this madness. Since she can’t...we must.” She says confidently with a nod.

“That’s a beautiful point dear. We would all be best to keep it in mind the coming days. I fear this is not the end of the ugliness of recovery.”

“It is not. And we will. We will tell her of this when she’s better. And she will be. But healing from this will be unpleasant. She’s strong but not inhuman. We know what those men did to her, and when she remembers I don’t know how she’ll respond. We could be looking at another wave of rebellion again like last time.” Claire’s lips pursed.

Agatha sighs and slumps. “I hope for everyone’s sake you’re wrong.”

“Oui. So do I.”

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

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harlowtm · 5 years ago

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𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝟎𝟎𝟔: 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐘 // @gallaghertasks

“ --- i need someone who knows me to go in there and tell them i’m NOT in denial . . . because i’m not. ”

THERAPY. THERAPY. THERAPY. realistically this probably shouldn’t have been the first time lennon was seeing a professional. she was an emotional person with high sensitivities and a low pain threshold. she also had a vast need for attention and a strong, overwhelming urge to give it. it seemed, however, that none of this would be discussed. the therapist had their own script to follow. it felt more like DAMAGE CONTROL than caring, but lennon didn’t mind. she made the job easy. in the script that follows, T is in reference to the therapist speaking and L is in reference to Lennon.

T: did you know either of the victims : amelia taylor or cassie snyder ? L: i actually did not know either of them. T: how have your sleeping and eating patterns been ? L: i mean . . . DIFFERENT than prior to the incident, but i’m not sure that it’s related. it might be my own internal battles that began around the same time, but i know that’s not what i’m here about, so we can talk about that a different time. T: do you find yourself thinking about the event even when you don’t want to ? L: YES, but my only reason for thinking about it is hearing other people talking about it. i mean i guess i think about the people i care about here and i care if they were affected by the deaths, AND i think about how i couldn’t imagine what i would do if it was them. T: what are the most frequent images ? L: my loved ones being found, getting that call, or having someone tell me the news . . . what that would feel like, what kind of break down i would have, if i would recover, and SOMETIMES as screwed up as it is, i picture myself in their shoes. partially because i don’t know the girls, so i don’t know if they deserved it, not that anyone deserves that, but i just mean, that i sometimes wonder if i deserve that. if i deserve to be that person that was found. i mean, i try really hard to be a GOOD person, i just feel like i’ve been falling short lately, so that’s me being hard on myself. i also kind of wonder if anyone would CARE if it were me . . . if HE would care . . . if SHE would be as distraught. [ laughs nervously ] i’m rambling, let’s move on. T: do you avoid thinking or talking about the event ? L: ummm . . . yeah. i do, actually. i thought i was just doing things to try and help other people keep from thinking about it, but i guess regardless of my motive or intent, that still translates to ME not thinking about or talking about the event; avoiding it. yeah. T: do you avoid going places or being in situations that remind you of the event ? if yes , what are these places ? L: i avoid certain places that remind me of certain situations, it’s just not this one. i mean i haven’t been to the scene of the crime to see if it’s been cleared because the last time i happened to pass by there it was roped off, but i know what it’s like to avoid things on PURPOSE and this is not that. T: do you have nightmares about the event ? if yes , please describe these nightmares to the best of your ability . L: uhhhh, yeah, i guess. i see a an unclear version of where the murders happen, i see a body covered with a white sheet, and then i’m getting closer and closer and closer and it feels like a never-ending hallway that keeps stretching. i never actually make it to the body. i start going faster and faster, but running in heels in GRASS is nearly impossible even in a dream, so i can only go so fast, and it’s not fast enough and . . . sometimes it looks like someone’s about to lift the sheet, like i see a hand kind of cross the frame and reach for it, but i always wake up before that. isn’t that a little bit crazy ? it’s really bizarre. it’s a crazy dream. T: do you feel easily startled or anxious ? give examples L: no, not really. not that i can think of, no. T: do you worry about being harmed or feel “on guard” ? give examples . L: like --- physically ? oh, in general. i guess not. i mean i scare easy, but that’s just a character flaw. scary movies and i don’t get along. T: do you feel detached or “numb” ? how so ? L: i’m so overly empathetic, and i feel everything very deeply, all of the time, it’s LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE for me to do that even if i wanted to. T: do you feel shame or guilt about the event or about problems related to the event ? L: when i see the grief everyone is going through, it makes my own personal grief outside of this situation feel really SMALL and that makes me feel ashamed and guilty, but i guess it’s like that saying goes . . . just because the person next to you is in a body cast doesn’t mean your broken arm doesn’t hurt. or something like that. T: what do you think is causing this shame or guilt ? L: outside of being overly empathetic, i think i often find it easy to blame myself. it’s something i have to talk myself out of often. i’m just so used to feeling like i have to be the care taker, or like, i am a means to an end, fulfilling a role for someone else, and i’m NOT. i don’t consider myself an insecure person, but i think that the shame and guilt are being caused by the fact that someone HAS brought up insecurities within me recently and made me feel like a fuck up, like i’m less than . . . it sucks. 99.9% of the time i’m pretty certain that i’m great. self - love and all that is very important to me. you gotta practice what you preach, y’know ? T: do you find that you act irritable or angry ? L: i’m EMOTIONAL, but i wouldn’t say either of those two things come up. maybe occasional anger wiith myself. T: in what ways ? L: i honestly don’t even know. that’s pretty much where my insight starts and ends on that matter, honestly. T: do you act oppositional , act out sexually , or abuse alcohol or drugs ? L: ummm, no ? i feel like a lot of people have recently and i hang out with people, so by pure association, i guess so. otherwise i wouldn’t say that anything has changed about my behavior or alcohol intake, etc. if anything, i’ve been feeling LESS sexual lately, so if you’ve got a pill for that, definitely hook a girl up. --- i’m kidding. i’m ABSOLUTELY kidding. okay.

PTSD SCREENING:

You scored a total of 10

People who've scored similarly to you on this quiz for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) may sometimes qualify for the diagnosis of PTSD. When symptoms of PTSD are in this range, they may sometimes impact a person's everyday life, making normal activities -- like work or school -- more challenging than for others. Keeping one's focus and concentration on the task at hand can sometimes be difficult for people who've scored similarly to this.

T: how do you feel about your results ? L: i mean . . . i don’t agree, personally. i know you’re the professional, so chime in any time and tell me about my trauma, but i don’t FEEL like i’m traumatized. i don’t know. like, i’m pretty okay. that might be screwed up considering what everyone else is going through, but it’s the truth. and i’m happy to be there for them throughout this trauma-inducing time.

GRIEF QUIZ:

You scored a total of 23

People who have scored similarly to you have sometimes had complicated grief. Complicated grief is characterized by a preoccupation with thoughts of the deceased or lost loved one, searching and yearning for the deceased or lost loved one, disbelief about the death or loss, and having difficulty accepting the death or loss.

T: how do you feel about these results ? L: so like i said, i didn’t know the people who died . . . but the questions just ask about people leaving, so sure, i’ve had people left, i’ve left people, etc. so i answered based on those things. but for example, one of the questions asked how often i see the person who left stand in front of me. i’m NOT seeing dead people, there’s no sixth sense thing going on, BUT the person who left me came back into my life recently, so i literally, physically, occasionally seem him standing there and i answered accordingly. does that make sense ? it’s been a long time. i’ve come to terms with my grief. i’ve cried, i’ve wallowed, i’ve healed, i’ve moved on. mostly. truly.

#gallagher:task #task:006 #tasks

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the-literalist · 4 years ago

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Spare Me Some Time (12)

Pairing: USUK

Word Count: 2234

Summary: Alfred Jones is as poor as they get, living homeless on the streets. He is the type of man that high-paid businessman Arthur Kirkland would never spare a passing glance, but that’s about to change.

Link to the full story on AO3

Well this was certainly a … new type of experience for Arthur.

Regardless of the fact that he hadn’t been invited to a friendly gathering in ages, this type of hangout was simply not his forte. All the same, he couldn’t really complain about the circumstances he had found himself in. Arthur watched on as Alfred happily chatted with his Japanese friend while some other guests at the apartment battled each other in Call of Duty. This “video game party”, as Kiku had presented it, was an excuse for nerds to flock together to geek out about the latest and greatest games to hit the market.

Arthur couldn’t even remember if he had ever played a video game before. He preferred reading as a child. None of this violent, headache-inducing mayhem ever appealed to him. It was obvious how different Alfred’s upbringing was from his own.

The taller man had practically begged Arthur to come along with him to this party, even though Alfred was obviously very close with Kiku (or at least he used to be, before he lost his job and became homeless 6 months ago). Arthur knew he would feel out of place but he decided to appease Alfred and accompany him. The big puppy dog eyes that Alfred had displayed were impossible to say no to, and also ever since Alfred had moved into Arthur’s flat two weeks prior, Arthur felt like he had to protect him somewhat.

Arthur had even purchased a new phone for him and got him set up on his own plan, so Alfred was able to talk to his friends and family again. Arthur sighed contentedly as he recalled how thankful Alfred had been with the new phone, adding contacts and texting people he hadn’t spoken with in so long.

This excluded his parents, since Alfred had already disclosed to Arthur how his shitty parents had kicked him out once he told them he was gay. Just thinking about it made Arthur’s blood boil. He wanted to teach them a painful lesson for ever treating Alfred poorly. In fact, anyone that even so much as glanced at his newfound roommate the wrong way would incur the Englishman’s wrath. A twinge of guilt reminded Arthur of how he had treated Alfred when they first met, how hostile and cruel he had been when the poor man was only trying to return his money to him.

But regardless of that initial meeting, they had quickly developed a strong friendship after Alfred moved in. They were open with each other, talked about anything and everything, and had formed a comfortable rhythm as roommates. Arthur would work during the day while Alfred stayed in the flat working out (to regain some muscle mass) and job-hunting on Arthur’s computer. For dinner, either Alfred would have it prepared before Arthur returned from a long day at work, or the pair would cook together.

Arthur’s heart fluttered just thinking about it. He never realized cooking could be so fun, but Alfred really showed him to open his mind to new experiences. Everything they had done together thus far had seemed like an exciting new adventure, for both of them. In all honesty, it was completely barmy that the stone-cold Arthur Kirkland had been reverted to a kind-hearted and fun-loving person – but supposedly Alfred just rubbed off on him, a little too much.

He wasn’t going to complain. Not at all. Which was why he wouldn’t complain about his current predicament being stuck at a party with complete strangers playing games that he couldn’t care less about. Alfred was happy and that’s all that mattered.

The American man was talking animatedly to Kiku from the far couch, his blue eyes sparkling and his hands gesturing wildly as he recounted a story. Arthur heaved another blissful sigh…he hadn’t meant to fall this hard but he couldn’t keep denying it. He liked Alfred. He really liked Alfred.

All of a sudden the blue eyes darted over to him. “Hey Arthur, why are you staring off like that? Don’t be a wallflower!” Alfred motioned for him to come over which Arthur begrudgingly obliged.

“I’m not being a wallflower,” Arthur said as he rolled his eyes. “I just want to give you some time with your friend since you two haven’t hung out properly in so long.”

Kiku smiled briefly. “It is no trouble. Since Alfred has a phone again, we have been texting more frequently.”

Arthur couldn’t deny the tiny bit of envy that coursed through him. “Ah, alright then,” he tried to appear as nonchalant as possible even though the thought that someone else was vying for Alfred’s attention left him feeling a tad bit emotional and angry.

“I have been wanting to ask you, would you like some tea? I see you haven’t gotten a drink from the soda table yet, but you seem like the person that would enjoy a cup of tea instead.”

Okay so maybe Kiku wasn’t so bad after all. Arthur couldn’t dislike this man even if he was slightly jealous of his friendship with Alfred. “That would be lovely, yes. Jasmine tea, if you don’t mind.”

He heard snickering coming from Alfred which he should have expected. “Oi shut it, will you??” Arthur exclaimed, which just incited more laughter.

“Not a problem, Arthur, I will be right back,” Kiku said as he excused himself to the kitchen.

Arthur nodded politely at him right before he felt a hand grab him to pull him down on the couch. He yelped indignantly at the manhandling but Alfred just continued laughing at him. “Oh c’mon, I’m just trying to make you comfortable!”

“I can assure you, this is not the way to do it,” he retorted as he jerked his arm out of Alfred’s grasp.

“Sorry, I just don’t want you to look so bored and lonely. You need to relax and try to have some fun! Why don’t you call dibs on the next game? It can be something easy, like Mario Kart,” the American man replied semi-sincerely, with a hint of humor fluttering below the surface of his words. It was obvious that Arthur was a novice when it came to this kind of thing, but now that he was being challenged, he would show Alfred and everyone else that he could hold his own!

….Well he tried anyway.

After failing at Mario Kart, Halo, Overcooked, and Call of Duty, Arthur finally conceded the controller to a more advanced and worthy player – a lively woman named Elizabeta. It was embarrassing, but he knew it was all in good fun; even with his roommate tittering loudly behind him, calling him a rookie, egging him on and trying to encourage him at the same time.

But eventually Alfred excused himself from the couch to have a one-on-one chat with Kiku in the latter’s bedroom. Arthur couldn’t contain his curiosity, wondering what the pair were discussing in such private quarters. The jealousy was something he would have to work on. He was 30 years old for Christ’s sake! He wasn’t going to keep this man from having a private discussion with his good friend. Arthur took a deep breath and kept his eyes trained on the telly, blankly watching the cascading colors and figures flash across the screen as the other guests shouted and jeered at one another.

This was going to be a long night.

The walk back to Arthur’s flat was mostly quiet. Arthur couldn’t tell if it was a comfortable silence or if Alfred could feel the tension that the shorter man was radiating.

Maybe he should just address it. They had been pretty open with each other about everything up until that point and if he didn’t say something, it would just gnaw away at him until he exploded with unprecedented hostility. It had happened many times in his past. It was all a matter on how he breached the subject.

“So…” the Englishman began gingerly, “How was your talk with Kiku? Did you two catch up?”

The American tossed him a quick glance before sighing deeply. But it wasn’t angry, it seemed resigned. “Yeah… I told him about everything. I owed him the truth and I knew he was super curious even though he didn’t outwardly say it. So I told him after I lost my job I was homeless for a while and I lost a lot of hope that things would change… until you crossed my path actually.”

Arthur hadn’t been expecting that response. Once again proving that it was silly to jump to conclusions and allow jealousy to consume him earlier. Of course Kiku and Alfred had been discussing the trauma and suffering that Alfred faced during his time living on the streets. It made perfect sense to have that kind of talk in private. And the last part of what Alfred said made his heart skip a beat.

“I see, and how did he take it? Did he offer words of encouragement? I assume he was supportive, correct? He seems like a decent lad.”

“Oh he is. More than decent! Honestly it was a huge relief to tell him the truth. I’m so happy we saw him at that suit store. It was such a lucky coincidence and I have YOU to thank for that too.” Alfred raked a hand through his hair, as if coming to some awe-inspiring realization. “I seriously have so much to thank you for. You completely changed my life around in a short amount of time. And I know I’ve said it before but I’ll say it a million more times. Thank you so much for everything, Arthur. I mean it,” his smile was bright even though his eyes were watery as green locked with blue. And Arthur couldn’t help but feel the emotional impact of those statements as his own eyes teared up a bit as well.

“It’s unnecessary to keep saying that, I do appreciate it though. More importantly, I should be thanking you. This is going to sound completely sappy so don’t you dare make fun of me…,” he collected himself with a deep inhale before continuing. “…I know I have a long way to go but I do feel like you changed me for the better. I just feel…happier and lighter almost. Like the weight of the world has been lifted. I suppose what I want to say is that I’m glad we met, and I’m glad you agreed to live with me.” That was probably too much information, but he couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. Everything was still so new, they still had so much more to learn about each other. And yet… it just felt right, when they were together laughing and bantering and sharing memories, it all felt so natural. Arthur wanted to be sure he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

He spared a glance at Alfred who was staring at him in amazement. The light blush on his cheeks was illuminated by the overhead street lights as they continued down the sidewalk and Arthur had to turn away as he felt his own face flush in response.

Alfred grabbed his arm lightly to stop him from walking. Arthur’s heart was thundering inside his ribcage as he turned to face the taller man.

“Do you really mean that?”

They were so close together. Too close together. “Yes. Every word.”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” it was a whisper but Arthur heard it as clear as day.

He didn’t trust his own voice but he managed to croak out a “yes” before the distance was closed between them. Alfred kissed him so deeply and passionately that Arthur’s head was spinning, he felt overwhelmingly hot and unsteady but like hell that would stop him from enjoying this. He kissed back with as much fervor as he could muster, while Alfred wrapped his arms around him pulling him closer for a heated embrace.

They broke for air after a few minutes that felt impossibly long.

“Damn, that was…,” Alfred tried to put a coherent sentence together but was clearly having trouble formulating his thoughts. “That was just…holy shit.”

Arthur agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly. “I think I saw stars.”

“I think I saw sparks.”

“…I think we have a spark,” Arthur replied cheekily.

There was a lopsided smile in response before he replied, “I think so too.”

The rest of the walk back to Arthur’s flat passed in a blur, with both men hand-in-hand and smiling so brightly it rivaled the luminosity of the moon.

That night Alfred moved his stuff from the guest bedroom to the master bedroom. He never moved out.

Bonus:

After a few months of job hunting, Alfred finally lands a job at a non-profit organization. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough for Alfred to pitch in a bit for the rent so he doesn’t feel like a total freeloader. Obviously Arthur just wants Alfred to be happy so it’s not a big deal. Arthur decides to throw Alfred a surprise party for getting a new job and he enlists the help of Kiku in rounding up some of Alfred’s other friends around the city. Alfred is so shocked and happy that all his friends are there to support him, with his new boyfriend being the greatest support of all.

A/N: Well this concludes my writer's block. Hope you enjoyed this story (for however many people are still left in this fandom LOL). But for real, the reviews are what made me gain the motivation to finish this. Thanks for the support over the years!!

#usuk #ukus #hetalia #alfred jones #alfred f jones #arthur kirkland #kiku honda #my fanfiction #my fanfic #my story #fanfiction #usuk fanfic #libertea #homeless #businessman #my posts #AO3

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