#the egg somehow bounces all the way to the basket (which I still need to learn) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chocosvt · 4 years

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⚬ pairing: junhui x reader ⚬ word count: 8125 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: secret relationship, some slice of life uni moments, FLUFF, very light angst, spice, roommates!wonhui.

✧✎ synopsis: you’re friends with junhui - but also, not really. it’s friends and a little bit more than that. it’s difficult keeping your relationship a secret, especially when you’ve never loved someone the way you love him.

✧✎ a/n: NOBODY MOVE! I WROTE A JUN BDAY FIC ;_; this is really just me projecting all my years of love onto a word doc. enjoy!!

It was midnight, and the apartment was dark, unmoving. No one had bothered to clean the blue cereal bowl left in the sink and there remained bread crumbs on the countertop from lunch. As you flicked through the strange glimpses of late-night television, yawning in an outrageous width, there was a hunger pang, accompanied by an immediate craving for some sort of sweet candy.

So, you did what seemed best: fit into your sneakers and a windbreaker and push open the door to Jun’s bedroom while he was curled up on his side watching his drama. Wonwoo would usually be occupying the adjacent bed, though he had stayed over at Joshua’s dorm to study for his next history summative. Yet he’d left his beat-up, decaying textbook on his pillow.

“Put on your slippers or something, we’re going to the convenience store.”

Jun didn’t say anything, rather he continued holding out his phone, the bedsheets pulled taunt to his nose. Looking at Jun’s desk that sat next to the door, you picked up the rubber band ball he’d been adding to since his twelfth-grade year and threw it at his shoulder.

“Ow!” He squeaked dramatically. His head then poked over his shoulder as he attempted to see where the ball rolled off to.

“Put on your slippers,” you reiterated, “I want strawberry tangs.”

Without much effort, Jun quickly gave up looking for the elastic ball and returned to watching his drama, establishing his comfort while somehow still persisting to ignore you. He was very much so a homebody, and if it weren’t for you guiding him out the apartment like a grandchild taking their elderly for an afternoon walk, then he might’ve never left his bedroom apart from his class schedule. Yet, you knew exactly how to persuade him, weaken his heart that was already soft and golden.

An immediate whine rumbled in his throat when you jumped on the bed, pulling at him until he finally rolled onto his back, at last pressing pause on his phone. You tossed a thigh over each side of his silhouette and gripped the boy’s wide shoulders, gazing unflinchingly past his black fringe and into those big, glistening eyes.

“Come with me to the store,” you weren’t sure if you were offering or demanding, “please?”

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

“Walking around alone at night? Hello? Do you have no concern for me?” Came your joking counter.

He tossed his head back, the black fringe bouncing from his lashes. His capitulating yelp of, “fine, fine, I’ll come” was satisfactory enough for you to remove yourself from the boy’s tiny waist, where you stepped on the floor and nearly sprained your ankle due to that dumb, elastic ball. At least you found it. While you returned the toy to his desk, Jun quickly threw a worn jean jacket over his black long sleeve and didn’t bother bending down to fix his sneakers, his heels jutting out the back.

At the convenience store, the only shoppers were you, Junhui, and this lady wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, though you figured she was far from the strangest of the midnight stragglers.

It was rather quiet, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing and the battery-powered fan keeping the cashier cool at the register. You grabbed the first package of strawberry tangs while Jun sorted through the other flavours very meticulously.

“What about blue raspberry?” He said. “You don’t want that?”

“I don��t know, I just really have a craving for strawberry.”

Jun detached a bright green package from the rack. “Sour apple? What about that?”

“Not tasty at all. Pass.”

He grabbed another package and quirked his eyebrow. “Sweet cherry? Come on. That sounds good.”

You lightly hit his arm with the strawberry candy, your laughter echoing over the shelves, “I just want strawberry! If you think the sweet cherry sounds good then you buy it!”

But Jun just shook the black fringe from his playful gaze, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tangy zangys are the bottom tier of gummy candy. No way.”

“So shut up then.” The words were harsh, yet your smile was no more menacing than a butterfly.

Since it would be impossible for Jun to leave the store without stocking his snack collection, you shopped for longer than expected, filling a basket with spicy chips and hard candies and a few chocolate bars. Heading home down the nighttime street, beneath the moonlight, the infinite expanse of a blackness that felt like a cocoon, you had already ripped open your strawberry tangs while Jun tore the corner off a tiny pouch of bubblegum poprocks.

They crackled loudly on his tongue, in which he made sure to hover in close proximity to your ear, ensuring you could detect every small fizzle. Each time it warranted you to shove him away, muttering a cheap laugh about how it wasn’t required that he lean in so generously, though you couldn’t evade that one nervous thought ticking at the back of your head: you wanted to kiss him, wrap your palm around Jun’s neck and taste the electric bubblegum from his heart-shaped mouth.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me?” You asked, suckling the sugar off a red candy strip.

Jun swallowed his poprocks. “I guess you can word it like that.”

Standing at the living room fish tank, you opened the tab to the flake box and shook the food into the water, your pink guppy who you had so fittingly named, Princess Pebble, swimming toward the surface in order to nip at the flakes. Wonwoo observed you from his seat at the kitchen table, dragging his spoon through the remainder of his cereal, scooping out the last soggy pieces.

“I feel good about it,” Wonwoo hummed, referring to the history test he wrote yesterday, “I think I might’ve left out some information on the essay question.”

You closed the fish flakes and returned to the table, where you left your cup of tea.

“Eh, who cares,” you mumbled behind the rim, “you’re gonna get like a ninety-five anyways.”

The boy shrugged, pressing a fingertip to his glasses, moving them higher up his nose. He had always been diligent with his studying, though he often left the apartment to write notes at the library or a classmate’s dorm. It was difficult to accomplish much when Junhui would distract him, and rather than reading his textbook, Wonwoo would always end up playing computer games with the latter.

“Did you hear Jun come home last night?” You asked, gulping the rest of your tea.

Wonwoo set his bowl into the sink and filled it with water, smiling. It irked you somehow. You were only curious about whether or not he heard Jun return from his dance practice.

Joining him at the sink to clean your mug, you bumped his elbow. “What’s so cute over here?”

“Nothing,” he hummed dismissively, “I heard him crawl into bed, that’s pretty much it.”

“And that’s funny or something?”

“You ask about him quite frequently.” Wonwoo turned to you with a suspecting glance, one that made you subtly desire to dump a cup of water over his head. “You know that, right?”

The morning air was cool, yet your face felt immensely heated, almost prickling.

“I ask because we’re fri—”

“Friends. Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo huffed, the omniscient smile creeping back toward his mouth, to which you could do nothing apart from gawk at your roommate despite his reiteration of a musing that wasn’t at all unfamiliar. “I’ve always loved you for your innate sense of comedy. It’s priceless.”

It’s what everyone assumed anyways. You and Jun fought tooth and nail to articulate your friendship, to paint with the colours that would lead everyone to believe it was true. Most often your explanations worked, yet there remained some who were particularly stubborn. Wonwoo was an evident case. But he was too close, too eagle-eyed, and he saw that you and Jun behaved in a manner completely beyond friendship. Despite the likewise feelings, something unbeknownst kept you apart.

“I know exactly what that means, idiot!” Echoed your shout as Wonwoo disappeared down the corridor, hoping to take refuge in his bedroom.

“I’m glad!” The depth of his voice reverberated into the kitchen, and you heard his door quickly shut.

No less than a few seconds later did Junhui reveal himself from around the corner, clean and freshened up after a steamy shower, one he desperately needed upon immediately passing out, sweat-soaked and exhausted in his bed the night before. Soonyoung definitely hadn’t taught their lesson with any degree of ease. Pretending you weren’t just quipping at Wonwoo, you smiled.

“Were you two fighting?” Jun asked, pulling out a frying pan from the cupboard. He usually whipped together an omelette for breakfast.

“No, not at all. We never fight, remember?”

Jun scoffed while opening the fridge, removing an egg carton and a plastic wrapping filled with vegetables. Still hungry, you started peeling open a tangerine from the fruit basket and stood next to him as he organized the produce onto a cutting board. Ever so faintly, you could smell the crisp scent to his aftershave. It was peculiar how a bit of foam could render your chest that cottony.

“In fact, when’s the last time you even remember an argument Wonwoo and I had?” You prodded.

“Two days ago,” Jun laughed, “when Wonwoo wanted to watch that exploration documentary on King Tut, but you changed the channel so you could finish the last season of Home Makeover.”

Pressing his rose lips together, Junhui casted you an innocent glance. “So there’s that.”

Separating a small slice of tangerine, you gently pushed the clove into the boy’s mouth. He smiled softly as he began to chew. With the gentle tang of citrus in the air, you set a hand on Jun’s shoulder and buried your face against his warm neck, whispering, “yeah, and it was definitely worth it.”

Quite frankly, neither you, Jun, Wonwoo, or Joshua were fairing optimally at the library. While Wonwoo sat on the opposite side of the table helping Joshua organize his economics presentation, you were neglecting your biology packet, instead choosing to sketch a tiny Princess Pebble in the paper’s upper corner. Jun had been tasked with reviewing his latest theatre script, yet he hadn’t even flicked through it. He was intrigued by one of the numerous mangas he’d saved to his phone.

“Take the last point off here,” Wonwoo said, peering over Joshua’s shoulder at his laptop, “there’s too much text, and this isn’t a major branch of your topic anyways.”

Joshua sighed as he made a few clicks on his keyboard. “Dude, I don’t think I can edit another word. This class is so boring.”

“Mr. Canning is just a boring professor,” Wonwoo sympathized, “it would be best if it were someone who weren’t so… dry. I guess is the right word.”

Slumping back in his chair, Joshua huffed, “he’s like a human chalk stick.”

Desperate to discuss something that wasn’t related to his lacklustre econ class, Joshua spared a glance at Jun’s unopened script. “Shouldn’t you be learning that?” He asked.

Jun didn’t look away from the phone in his lap. “I can’t do it here.”

“That means he’s going to open it for the first time at one in the morning, the day of his performance.” You chuckled, outlining the sketch of your guppy using Wonwoo’s pink gel pen.

Harshly, Jun’s hand smacked your knee under the table and you couldn’t help but laugh, garnering an over-the-shoulder glare from a student in the corner who’d been trying to focus on their colossal textbook. Wonwoo smiled at them apologetically while Joshua feigned as though he were typing something on his laptop. However, Jun’s hand didn’t leave your knee, and your laughter became an immediate drought, to which the sole thing you could feel was his palm creeping higher up your leg.

Attempting to be subtle, you turned your head slightly and looked at the boy with a bit of a warning expression, though Jun simply continued to scroll through his manga.

“I’m going to check the world history section,” Wonwoo announced, rising from the table, “anyone want to come with?”

Joshua pushed out his chair. “I’ll come just so I don’t have to stare at this shitty powerpoint.”

As soon as the boys walked beyond earshot, you pinched the edge of Jun’s ear. He finally tossed his phone onto the table, though he didn’t exactly appear compassionate, rather he was smirking, for he knew if you truly didn’t want his hand touching your leg then you would have bumped it away.

“You can’t do that.” Nonetheless, there surmounted a need to establish some insignificant boundary, one that neither of you were going to follow through. “Not when they’re so close.”

“But they didn’t see.” Jun replied, squeezing your inner thigh. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“It does. What if Joshua saw?” At that point, Wonwoo was fairly conditioned to your lingering fingertips, grazes and stares. He usually pretended not to notice them. However, Joshua was a risk.

Jun shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you worry too much? I always touch your leg.”

That was the problem. People trying to convince other people that their relationship was wholly platonic didn’t linger in such an intimate way. They didn’t creep fingertips up the other’s inner thigh beneath a tablecloth, or possess a gaze that traced the other’s lips like a delectable piece of candy when they spoke. There shouldn’t be any whispers pressed quickly against the other’s ear when no one else was looking, or the dire urge to climb into the other’s lap when their legs were wide open.

Both of you were afraid. Neither of you wanted to break the question that would thrust your relationship into the light. You kept waiting for the right time, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The movie theatre was nearly empty as the longwinded credit screen continued rolling, the last few congregations throwing their soda cups and empty packages into the garbage on their way out. Still, the floor of practically every row had been scattered with butter popcorn or melted m&m’s, shiny chocolate wrappers left crinkled in the recliners like the employees were supposed to take them home as gifts. Wonwoo put his hands on the back of his head, examining the disastrous rows.

You sensed he was feeling rather lucky about not being scheduled that night. Jun forced himself from the recliner and picked up his cup of fruit punch, jammed with way too many ice cubes.

If no one else was going to comment, you might as well. “That wasn’t the worst.”

“Agreed.” Wonwoo said, pushing up his glasses. “The murderer’s ploy was difficult to follow at times. I started getting confused when he left his car in the woods.”

“What?” Jun gawked. “That’s when you got confused? I didn’t even know what was happening after the first half hour.” His eyes gleamed in astonishment.

“Same.” You admitted. “I guess you’ll have to explain in the car.”

Reaching into the cupholder, you pulled out the package of strawberry tangs with nothing but a tiny amount of the powder-like sugar left inside.

“Thank you for picking up your trash,” Wonwoo sighed, taking the lead down the stairway while the credit music still played, “I’d hate to be working tonight.”

The wide corridor was completely vacant by the time you exited the theatre. Ever so slightly you could hear the galactic sound effects from the arcade machines. That buttery scent of popcorn seemed to waft no matter where you stood in the cinema. Wonwoo announced that he was going to check the concession counter to see who was on cash, but assured he would meet you and Jun at the back exit. Jun hurriedly downed his fruit punch in a large gulp before you emerged into the night.

You were confined to the small overhang by the doorway, for a hard rain was pelting against the concrete and turned the night air considerably cooler. Not one of you had checked the forecast beforehand, and you would undoubtedly get drenched straight through to the flesh in your thin long-sleeve.

“How are we going to make it to the car?” You groaned.

Pulling up his hood, Jun only laughed. “Now is a good time to be able to teleport.” He then stuck out his hand for a moment, the raindrops hitting his palm.

“Does it feel like bullets?”

“No. It feels kind of nice actually.” He remarked.

Curious, you rolled up your sleeve and extended your arm into the downpour. Jun was right, it felt satisfactory as each of the brisk droplets splashed your skin. However, you prematurely discovered the rain wasn’t so appealing when Jun suddenly shoved you from beneath the overhang.

“Hey— what the hell?!” You squealed upon the immediate repercussions, the cold water already leaking through your top while Junhui slapped his thigh, cackling.

Wanting to erase that luminous grin of his, you attempted wrestling the lanky boy into the weather, but no more than a few harmless drops skimmed his shoulder. Yet, with another brute shove, Jun stumbled, feeling the silver needles of rain pour down from the night sky and swirl at his dampening sneakers. He was laughing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you hard against his chest before you were even cognisant that an immense wetness was soaking through your every article.

You wished it had been indignance drumming in your heart rather than affection, because it was taking every single fibre of your being not to kiss him. As the droplets beaded down his skin, he was like a springtime flower caught in the morning dew, and when he carded back the wet, black hairs plastered to his forehead, you thought it was possible to fall into him and never feel that concrete scrape your knees. Gently, his hand touched the small of your wet back, his breaths deepening.

He urged you in tighter as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting the rain.

You were shivering, frigid, though your blood was far too warm to let yourself take note. Instead, you moved your head closer, closer, Jun’s cold palm cupping your cheek and your eyes fluttering shut and your soft mouths just brushing together— until Wonwoo appeared from inside.

Instantly, you two pushed away from each other. With his eyes widening, Wonwoo stuttered.

“I-I’m… I’m going to pretend as best I can that something weird didn’t almost happen.” He stated, swallowing thickly. “Just… Why did you two have to get soaked? You’re sitting in my car, y’know!”

At last, you felt that icy shiver trickle down your spine.

“S-Sorry.” You hummed, teeth chattering.

“I guess it’s fine,” Wonwoo sighed, “I have some towels under the passenger’s seat.”

Not long after returning to the apartment, Wonwoo gathered his laptop and slipped into his pyjamas. He proceeded to flop onto the couch to edit his research paper, though it didn’t take much for his eyelids to start weighing down, his dense paragraphs blurring together on the screen. More often than not you would take advantage of Wonwoo’s midnight crashes in the living room.

After exchanging your damp, terribly cold clothes for a warm t-shirt and sweatpants, you found yourself cozied beneath Jun’s comforter for the umpteenth night. The boy’s head rested against the crook of your neck, where his slow breaths were cool to your skin, though they occasionally became heavier when your fingertips stroked at his smooth hair. He was much like a kitten who loved a thorough scratch behind the ears. You swore that he purred whenever you rubbed the right spot.

Holding out his phone, he’d been finishing an episode of his drama before bed. You tucked some of the black locks behind his ear, noting how much it’d grown over the months. Then your gaze wandered over every detail that shaped his face, as though he were a textured oil painting.

His eyes were always glimmering, seemingly innocent and curious, yet you knew just how much that earthly shade could darken when he fell into his professions. When Jun acted on stage, his gaze lost its untainted nature. It moulded into the role of the sinister characters he preferred playing. When he danced in blazing lights, those eyes were sharp enough to consume, to cut, almost like a razorblade.

But then you studied his lips, his heart-shaped cupid’s bow, the small constellation of moles that dotted his skin like kisses from past soulmates. You thought back to the mist and the rain, his hand resting against the small of your back, how close you were to tasting the flavourful, fruity mix of his drink. In fact, you wondered why you didn’t just kiss Junhui whenever you wanted. What was stopping you, in that moment, from turning his head toward you so that your lips could press to his?

Suddenly, the boy laughed at his phone screen, to which you felt the brassy reverberation erupt in his chest, his eyes glinting and his mouth stretched into a box-like smile. You pulled a few strands of hair from his forehead as he seemed to be glowing, his cheeks rosy.

Jun mewled in surprise when your fingers threaded rather tight through his black locks, feeling you tilt his head up until his gaze was burning into yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you kissed him sweet and slow.

Jun’s eyes fluttered as the pressure warmed his mouth, a small whine getting caught in his throat upon the gentle sting of your hand tugging at his tresses, his scalp tingling. His phone sunk into the bedsheets, and instead he was gripping your t-shirt, moving his head with yours as the kiss deepened. He tasted like mint, and his small whines were silky.

How on earth could you have ever shied from kissing him when it felt so relieving? Nothing else held any significance to you apart from making his pretty lips shine.

However, you needed to catch your breath. Releasing the firm grasp on his hair, you detached your mouth from his, your chest rising and falling in great lengths. The boy’s eyes couldn’t be more glazed, his lips shimmering, flushed garnet and slightly swollen. Neither of you uttered a word. The blankets fell from Jun’s shoulders as he straddled your waist eagerly. Again, his mouth slotted with yours, and your hands slid up his caramel thighs, imprinting his flesh with the curve of your fingernails.

If you kept quiet enough, then perhaps Wonwoo would remain asleep until morning.

Standing amongst the crowd in the cramped performance hall, it was inevitable that you would get bumped around like a tiny, flying pinball. After rutting into Wonwoo’s shoulder for the third time, he seemed dauntingly close to losing his indolence and snapping, though he realized it wasn’t your fault that others were pushing toward the front of the stage and bit his tongue.

It became tradition for Soonyoung and his students to rent the downtown performance hall and host a fundraiser. The event typically lasted a few hours, with a few short interludes where the dancers would retreat backstage to catch their breath. Being Jun’s roommate, you and Wonwoo were always granted access into the small dressing room, and though you never admitted it, you loved experiencing that small flash of pride whenever the moonstruck audience watched you slip away.

The next interlude was closing in. Despite the different dancers on stage, you really, truthfully, only watched Jun. Each time he captured the centre position, you couldn’t help but cup your hands around your mouth, being one of the first to cheer overtop the deafening music as he moved so fluidly, with poise. He was a completely different person when he performed. Somehow, his tender-hearted nature would peel back and he’d emerge a domineering beacon.

As soon as the stage ended, an uproar rippled from the audience and resonated deep in your ears, to which you couldn’t help but slightly bury your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder to muffle the cacophony. Nonetheless, you were clapping, smiling, staring fondly as Jun grabbed his collar and fluffed it out, welcoming a slight gust of humid air. His skin was dewy with sweat, and yet he glowed beautifully, even when he was breathing so heavily through his nose.

Soonyoung was speaking into his microphone, but you missed half his speech, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Wonwoo through the crowd toward the backstage entrance. The room was at least big enough to accommodate the dancers. Jun was in the corner, gulping down his water.

“Only three more songs,” Wonwoo smiled, “you guys really stepped the level up this year.”

It took a moment before Jun replied, the column of his neck glittering as he completely crushed the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Yeah,” he burst out, “I’m freaking dying.”

“It’s for a good cause at least.” Wonwoo reasoned, ignoring how you stepped on his foot.

After Jun rolled his eyes, he was staring at you.

The air grew much too thick, and you had to clear your throat. “S-Seriously, you’ve improved so much. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” Jun replied, scratching his nape, “it’s nothing special, really.”

“Uh? Nothing special?” Wonwoo quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Soonyoung say you’re one of the best in the class?”

When Jun innocently flitted his gaze toward a distant spot and pressed his lips together, Wonwoo merely huffed, announcing he was going to the lobby for a drink of water. You watched him wind between the busy dancers, either wiping down their sweat or fanning themselves, until he disappeared out the door. When you faced Jun again, you looped your fingers through the satin collar of his stage outfit and kissed him quickly, knowing everyone was too occupied to take note.

He squeaked, “what happened to being careful?”

“This is your fault.” You eagerly pinned it on him. “Try being less hot.”

“That’s horrible advice. And also not possible. Which makes it worse than horrible.”

You weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to feel his mouth again or whack the side of his head with his deflated water bottle. Opting for latter, you stole another kiss, though you tensed in surprise when Jun wrapped his arm around your waist to secure your body firm against his. Hastily, you pushed at his toned stomach, your heart drilling manically as you looked over your shoulder toward the dancers. It didn’t appear as though anyone had seen and you breathed out in relief.

Suddenly, Soonyoung poked his head through the doorway.

“Ten minutes!” He shouted before disappearing.

Jun was staring at you with the most ingenious twinkle.

“That was your fault.” He purred, tapping your thigh with his water bottle. “Try being less hot.”

You did feel a small sliver of guilt. After all, Wonwoo had been waiting back at the apartment for approximately an hour, twiddling his thumbs, wondering why you and Jun required so much goddamn time just to buy some hot fudge sundaes. The molten taste of the chocolate, the vanilla ice cream, cold and sweet, was completely stolen from your lips by the boy whose lap you were occupying. Wonwoo’s sundae sat on the dashboard, dripping slowly beneath the evening sunlight.

And yet, that infinitesimal sliver was plucked straight out when Jun latched onto a sensitive patch of your neck, softly digging in his teeth and swirling his tongue. Your fingers sheathed through the black hair and pulled up at the roots, knowing how much pleasure he took from the dull sting. Button by button, Jun started to simultaneously open your shirt, to which you questioned if this was really happening, if you were really going to sort of out the complications of intercourse in his car.

The device abandoned in the passenger’s seat buzzed. You already knew the name to the text. As Jun kissed his way down to your collarbone, licking and suckling, you reached for your phone, feeling it buzz again with another impatient text. The guilt from earlier began to resurface.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] This is suspicious now. WHERE ARE YOU? >:(

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] Actually screw that. WHERE IS MY HOT FUDGE SUNDAE?

The screen blipped with yet another message.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] I know you’re reading these… Answer me or I won’t feed Princess Pebble!!

“J-Jun,” you piped up, hearing his low, husky mumble while he continued to mark your collarbone, “I think we need to go home now.”

The boy splayed a few more open-mouthed kisses against the skin before peeking up at you, his eyes wide and glimmering, lips flushed a deep magenta. With half the buttons of your shirt hanging open and your heart blazing, you had to snip the venereal longing in its bud.

“What’s wrong?” Jun hummed, pushing his fingers through the loops on your jeans. “Who’s texting?”

“Wonwoo. He’s been waiting for almost an hour, and his sundae is gonna be a puddle at this rate.”

He blinked a bit cluelessly, though still in musing. “There’s no way to be quick about this, is there?”

Rebuttoning your shirt, you shook your head and laughed. “Let’s wait before we ruin the car. I’m sure there’ll be a better time in the future.”

Jun nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the seat, a ray of sunshine that bled golden slanting through the windshield. Somehow, Wonwoo’s sundae wasn’t a complete pool sitting in the plastic cup, but that didn’t negate the fact he was still going to start his theory on responsibility and trust the moment you stepped onto the welcome mat. As you finished clasping the last buttons, something had caught Jun’s eye out the window, for he immediately panicked and tightly gripped your waist.

“Oh my god, g-get off my lap,” he grunted, to which your head bumped against the ceiling during the hurried shuffle and your knee whacked the gearstick.

“Ow! Okay, I’m going! Jeez, could you not give me a warning?”

“No,” Jun remarked, looking quickly to the rear-view mirror to straighten out his hair, “it’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung. They just came out of the store.”

When you glanced out Jun’s window, you noted the duo making their way across the parking lot, some plastic bags filled with groceries hanging from Jeonghan’s hand while Soonyoung appeared to be texting someone. To both your dismay, Soonyoung immediately recognized Jun’s car. You watched as the blonde bumped Jeonghan’s shoulder, how they took a slight detour on their way over.

“We have to talk to them?” You whined. “Are you kidding? Lock your window.”

Jun’s brow pinched together. “How is that going to help? They already saw us so just relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax? You practically threw me off your la—”

“Shht,” Jun snapped as the two boys drew nearer, “just shhhhht okay?” And with an incredibly large gulp, he plastered a happy-go-lucky smile to his mouth and let the window slide open.

“Jun?” Soonyoung called, leaning down slightly to peer inside the vehicle. “What’re you doing out here, huh? Back from shoplifting?”

Jeonghan bent down too, grinning snidely. “You looked a little frazzled or something.”

“Me?” Jun pointed at himself. “No, I’m fine. Just – we have to leave. Wonwoo is waiting.”

“Wonwoo?” Jeonghan seemed excited. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Hey, tell him I’m still appreciative for writing my World History paper on the Persian Empire.”

You knew it was best to stay quiet, but you couldn’t help your slight choke. Wonwoo had come home one day saying that one of his classmates offered him seventy-five bucks if he’d write their history paper. He wasn’t going to oblige originally, but cracked after listening to his classmate type out their introduction in the library, that it was just so bad Wonwoo felt piteous and decided to pitch in.

Gaping at Jeonghan, you exclaimed, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I still dropped that class. And Wonwoo definitely thinks I’m a dumbass. But I didn’t have to do a spot of work, and now I’m getting smooth nineties in English. You just have to make up some shit and do a couple fancy indents and you’re set.”

Jeonghan paused, then leaned in a little further to look you up and down. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you before. How easily do you give out your numbe—”

“We really have to go,” Jun interrupted, already clicking the button to roll up the window, “see you at practice, Soonyoung. Bye Jeonghan!”

The two boys didn’t really have any other option apart from stepping back, allowing Jun to exit the parking space and turn onto the road. Not that it would help much, you turned on the air conditioning until it felt like the wind was pure ice, hoping that you’d be able to preserve Wonwoo’s melting fudge sundae. You made sure to text him on your whereabouts, that you were heading home, and churned up a white lie about how you ran into Jun’s friends who held a persistent conversation.

It wasn’t entirely false. And yet, Wonwoo still managed to see through it.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Just say you were making out.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Btw, I fed Princess Pebble.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: I’m not a sinner. Unlike you guys.

Later that evening, after delivering Wonwoo his melted cup of chocolate ice cream, after Jun quickly threw some extra clothes into his backpack and ran to his late-night dance practice, you were standing at the fish tank with some new plants you bought for your guppy. As the bright lights of the tank reflected across your face, there was a strange feeling inside you. It seemed like turbulence, confusion, your heart experiencing one sentiment but your brain thinking another.

You hadn’t realized you were absently standing there until Wonwoo came into the dark living room, holding a crumpled tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. Watching the pink fish swim in between her new seaweed arrangement, he asked you if there was an extra tube stored in your bedroom.

“Don’t think so. Text Jun and ask him to stop at the store when his practice ends.”

“I’ll do that…” Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, you know I already fed Princess Pebble?”

He accompanied you at the tank. For some reason, you refused to look at Wonwoo. You felt unusually vulnerable, like a fragile shell that could be cracked open even by the gentlest hands, and the more you thought into your emotions, the harder your heart started pounding.

“I-I know,” you smiled weakly, “but I got her some new plants today. I just put them in.”

Wonwoo could always tell when something was off-kilter. You almost hated how sharp his senses were, that he was able to detect with such accuracy how you were being eaten up inside. Softly, he touched your shoulder, urged you to turn toward him so he could see the honest colour in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

You felt terrified, but there was no sense in pretending.

“How do I tell Jun that I’m in love with him? That I don’t want us to be a secret anymore?”

It was a weighted question, and you knew that. But it was also the truth. As much as it could be invigorating to maintain a secret relationship, you were beginning to feel the brittle side effects that came with keeping such love behind closed doors. You didn’t want Jun to push you from his lap just because his friends might’ve seen you, nor did you want to keep an eye out for whether or not you should knock his hand off your thigh in public. The secrecy had been fun, but it wasn’t enough.

Scratching the blue collar of his shirt, Wonwoo appeared uncertain.

“I’m not sure, honestly. I just think you shouldn’t repress this. You need to be upfront.”

“How?” It sounded like a desperate plead. “I don’t know how, Wonwoo.”

“Stop overthinking it,” the boy advised, grabbing onto your shoulders and giving your frame a small, grounding shake, “you know Jun. You know he isn’t a rash person. You know if you tell him he’ll hear every word of it. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re all he thinks about.”

Wonwoo brushed at the side of your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself like this, okay? The next time you’re alone, just say how you feel. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re hypothesizing.”

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded. Overthinking was a poison to you. It shouldn’t be that difficult to be honest, especially when you knew how attentive Jun was, the manner in which he always adapted himself to be of a comforting presence.

“Okay,” you attempted to draw together some confidence, “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” The boy grinned, still fiddling with his empty tube of toothpaste. “It really doesn’t bother me that you guys run around together. Just… please… never do anything weird in my bed.”

The next time you were alone with Jun, it was all but a desirable circumstance. Once you came home from work and heated up some leftover dinner in the microwave, you decided to feed Princess Pebble, though your jaw unhinged as you noticed something a little unorthodox about her tank: a pink blotch floating against the surface of the water. Immediately, the tears welted hot and stinging against your eyes. You had to use the small net to scoop your guppy out from the water.

Remarkably, Princess Pebble had lived a long life for a fish. You remembered walking with Jun to the pet store one summer afternoon, after you two finished your last day of eleventh grade and had just escaped a brutal chemistry exam. Rather than studying beforehand, you spent ample time researching different types of fish, and would often send Jun pictures asking him to choose which one he thought was cutest. Yet, at the end of it all, you chose a guppy with the prettiest pink scales.

“Don’t most people want a puppy? A kitten? And you choose a boring fish.”

Jun had teased, sounding awkward and a bit lisped through his braces.

Somehow, Princess Pebble had managed to live a five-year lifespan. Wonwoo told you most guppies live for two years, three years if the owner takes good care. Sitting at the kitchen table, you placed her body onto a piece of paper towel, the thick tears dripping down your cheeks while your sinuses grew wet and congested. You didn’t know if it was petulant to be your age, crying over a pet fish. In fact, you didn’t even possess the heart to rise from the table and discard her body.

It wasn’t much longer until Jun returned home after his theatre class, to which you heard his key rattling in the lock. Wonwoo was scheduled for a shift at the cinema, most likely handing out overpriced popcorn and chocolate and having to reject every person who asked for his number.

“Hey,” he called, shouldering off his backpack, “Wonwoo texted me. That weird thriller we were looking at is playing next week. We should—,”

Jun paused the moment he heard your runny sniffling. He didn’t realize that your fish was sitting on the paper towel until he took a few steps closer. You felt embarrassed Jun had to see you like this. If you were crying, it had always been over something with a little more gravity, like the time you were distraught about flunking your laboratory practical, and Wonwoo couldn’t persuade you to open your bedroom door no matter how frequently he stood outside, pleading.

Plucking at the collar of your shirt, you used the fabric to clear away the tears. Without a word, Jun grabbed another chair from the dining table and pulled it next to you, scooting in close. As soon as you felt his arm drape around your shoulders, it was like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub filled with water, to which you pressed your face against his neck and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry.” Jun whispered, hugging you tight to his comfortable chest. “It’s okay to be upset. I know how much she meant to you.”

He drew soothing strokes down the back of your head, and he sat with you until those wet pearls ran dry with salt. You knew it wasn’t wise to keep her body out in the air, that you would have to discard her somehow, yet the thought of having to flush her away seemed too cruel. Jun wiped the soft glisten from your cheeks with his sleeve, his fingers then tracing up and down the side of your face.

“I-I don’t want to flush her.” You blubbered.

The boy shook his head. “We won’t do that. We’ll find a good way to handle it.” His thumb brushed tenderly below the fragile skin of your eye for a moment, and he seemed to be in musing.

“Wait here.” He announced, suddenly running into his bedroom.

You could hear Jun shuffling through his closet, moving around clothing hangers and pushing aside boxes still filled with some of his old belongings from homelife in Shenzhen. When he remerged into the living room, he was holding a particular tissue box, one that you hadn’t seen since twelfth grade biology. You, Jun, and Wonwoo had painted and decorated the box as part of an optional project, to see if you could grow any plants from the packets of radish and tomato seeds your teacher had.

Nothing ever grew. Wonwoo claimed there had been some green sprouts when it was his turn to look after the makeshift garden, but that his cat snuck into his room and ate them all. Jun always kept a multitude of random things that dated back to your adolescence. As awkward and bumpy as those times were, seeing the tissue box reminded you that there had been precious moments too.

“Why do you still have that?” You laughed, even if your chest was aching.

“Because that was the first time us three did something together.” Jun said, returning to his seat beside you. “It was one of the first memories I made after moving away from home.”

You fondly looked at Jun while pulling the tissue box toward you, slathered in old, chipping acrylic paint and obnoxious, starry glitter.

Licking the dry salt off your lips, you smiled. “Princess Pebble would love this.”

“It can be her shrine. When Wonwoo comes home, we can find a good place to bury it.” Jun explained. “I know I called her boring five years ago, but I didn’t mean it. I loved her too.”

In the pensive silence, you thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo, recalling his firm grip on your shoulders as he reiterated the importance of freeing your heart, of not bogging yourself down with too many untold truths. Then, you glanced at Jun. You thought about that fluttering feeling when you kissed him, when you ran your fingers through his hair, listening to his deep-chested laughter whenever he gleefully buckled over into your lap after telling one of his hit-or-miss jokes.

The boy tensed slightly as you pulled him into a hug, though he quickly came to ease and warmth. You thanked him, because it just felt like the right thing to do for his compassion.

And then you told him something else.

“I love you.”

Without missing a heartbeat, he murmured against your hair, “I love you too.”

It was late, unreasonably late, the past-midnight late where the entire world falls still like an unperturbed pond. Downtown was completely hushed. Every so often the wind picked up, though it inevitably withered away in between the buildings and emerged a pitiful whistle onto the street. And yet, despite the fact you should be tucked in bed while the moon protected the silence in her silver hands, you were pushing outside the convenience shop with Jun close behind.

He took the end of a straw into his mouth and slurped at the sweet, cherry-flavoured slushie that was beginning to empty. Immediately, he crinkled his forehead and his face contorted.

“How many times have I said not to do that?” You laughed as he passed you the slippery cup.

“I don’t know. Three?” Jun replied with a grimace. “I can really feel it. Wait, I need a moment.”

You stopped next to the traffic post at the end of the street. Jun grabbed at his hair and squeezed like it was some miraculous remedy for curing a brain freeze. Directing the straw into your mouth, you sucked up the cherry syrup and crushed ice until you felt the distant ache thrum inside your head.

“Okay…” Jun concluded, brushing the long, black fringe from his eyes, “I’m good now.”

Thrusting the drink back into his hands, you couldn’t help but huff: “you’re such a baby.”

As though to prove your point, Jun started whining. “My head is so, so cold. It’s freezing.”

“So put this up or something.” You teased, reaching around the back of his neck to pull the boy’s hood over his head. Giggling slightly, you grinned at him as he shot you a questionable glance.

The streets remained quiet, and the sky was remarkably clear, no more than a few ragged and thin clouds drifting over the stars. The last time you had been on this corner, you were licking the strawberry sugar off your fingertips while Jun crumpled his last packet of popping candy. You remembered tracing the rose tint that warmed his lips, each fibre in your muscle twitching because you just wanted to wrap a hand through his locks and kiss him like he was your last breath.

You didn’t understand how you could love one person so much. Why love often fused itself into your bloodstream more than functionality. Your heart knew how to beat, yet it stumbled whenever you gazed at him. Your lungs knew how to filter the air, yet they closed up whenever you caught his eye. Your tongue knew how to articulate, yet it tied itself in a knot the moment he’d touch you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, patting his arm, “can I ask you something?”

Jun looked away from the stars, sipping at his drink again. He nodded.

The moon probably wanted to crush your heart in her hands for how loudly it was thumping.

“What if I told you that I want people to know we’re together? What would you say?”

Despite your anxiousness, you weren’t as afraid as you anticipated. Maybe it was because Jun didn’t immediately sour or attempt to disparage your sentiments. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he blinked at you, but it didn’t matter. When it was most important, Jun picked his words carefully.

“I’d tell you that I want the same thing,” he admitted, his tone deepening and the amber in his cheeks sparked with pink, “that I want people to know how I feel about you… That I’ve always been in love with you.”

You smiled wide, like a kid who just got their braces off. Unable to contain such a rapturous energy, you stepped in close to Jun and held onto his shoulders, dotting the corners of his mouth with small kisses before you pressed your lips against his. You felt him smirk, though it seemed too devious. Jun had suddenly wrapped his arms around your lower back, pushing you in chest-to-chest. You melted as he kissed you, your fingertips ghosting along the soft hairs at his nape, the moonlight on your skin.

When you arrived back at the apartment, you could hear a few of Wonwoo’s gentle snores echo from behind the bedroom door. Just before you slipped away into your own room, Jun left a goodnight kiss to the top of your head, his hand thoughtfully squeezing your hip.

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

You finally knew what you should have said.

“Because I love you.”

✧✎ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET PRINCE!! never would i have imagined that someone who’s on the opposite side of the globe could mean so much to me ;_; mr. moon has been such a healing presence, and it’s bc of him that i have found so much happiness these past five years! whenever i see him smiling and laughing and have good ol times just being himself, all my worrisome thoughts somehow fade away and i feel only joy!!

anyways, i don’t want to ramble for too long (i could really fill a page with my cloying sentiments r.i.p) but i hope this was a wholesome fic!! the stars aligned and for once i was able to write a fic for a member’s birthday :_)

#svt fanfic #jun scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jun fic #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #jun imagine #jun x reader #svt x reader #wen junhui #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #junhui scenarios #jun fluff #junhui fic

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

Text

My sweet buttercup; Eugene Sledge x reader

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well this only took me a couple days to write this little genius but now I’ve got it done and ready for you all to enjoy. Now I really wanted to try something different with this Eugene fic, I really wanted to DIVE right and get to the heart and root of the blossoming relationship b/t Eugene and the reader in this fic. So more n the lines of what they were like as kids together, early teen years, basically a Pre-WW2 fic mostly before the ending.

Warnings: Fluff, bit of angst, family disownment, mentions of PTSD, forbidden love.

But I hope you all enjoy this fic so much and until next time ;)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@dancingcoolcat

@queensdivas

@geek-and-proud

@queendeakyy

@kairosfreddie

___________________________________________________________

*June 14th, 1928*

It was a warm summer day in Mobile, Alabama. In the center of town stood a farmer’s market shop run by Sheldon (L/n). Sheldon (L/n) was once part of the 1st Marine division back during the Great War. After the war he settled back home in Mobile to run himself a farm where he was known for growing the brightest, freshest, most delectable apples in the whole state of Alabama.

Why if you asked people where the stores got their apples from, nine times out of ten they would tell you they came from (L/n) farm. Sheldon while having his shell shock moments from the war, still managed to have the American dream.

He married his high school sweetheart Marianne Lewis and they lived a good life together and had a beautiful baby girl they named (y/n) (l/n).

Sadly though, when little (y/n) was just a year old, her mom died of breast cancer. Sheldon was devastated but he tried to keep trudging on by being both hard working man, and loving father to his little girl.

Walking through the town was Dr. Edward Sledge, his wife Mary Frank and their two sons, Edward Jr. Sledge and Eugene Sledge. Eugene was five years old, going on six come the fall.

His bright auburn hair bounced off the summer sun and as they came right towards Sheldon’s shop, Edward stopped his family in their tracks.

“Maybe we best find another way around.” Suggested Edward warily.

“Edward, it was five years ago, can’t you learn to let it go?” Mary Frank told her husband.

“I have, but Sheldon on the other hand…..that man’s as stubborn as an ox.” It was then Sheldon came out with some crates of food ready to be shipped off to the stores.

As soon as he saw Dr. Sledge, a gruesome scowl came across the farmer’s face.

“Just what do you think you are doing here Sledge?!”

“Now Sheldon calm down, we were only passing by.”

“If you think I’m gonna do any type of business with you, think again! After what you had done…..”

“Sheldon there was nothing my husband could do to help Marianne.”

“Mary Frank you keep out of this.” Her husband warned her cautiously.

“You best listen to him Mary Anne. This is no concern of yours. Now get yourselves as well as those little monsters of yours away from my shop!” he spat down at the ground in disgust before slamming the door of his shop closed.

“Why does Mr. (L/n) hate us so badly mama?” asked Edward Jr.

“Oh never you mind that Edward. It’s just grown up business.” Mary Frank assured her eldest son.

“Come along boys, we’re gonna head back towards the barbershop and go through the back alley there to get to the fair.” The two boys groaned.

“But that’ll take longer!” whined Edward Jr.

“Why do we have to go back!?” groaned Eugene.

“Now boys don’t argue with your father. Now come along, or else we can just head right back home and forget about the fair till next year.” Their mother scolded them. That immediately got them to stop whining and soon they turned back around and went the long way to the fair.

They barely got a block away from Sheldon’s market shop when Eugene heard someone calling out to them. It was a faint psst sound so he stopped right by a flower cart and soon peaking out from it was a young girl around his age.

She had curly (h/c) hair and bright (e/c) eyes that sparkled like the stars at night. Eugene knew this girl very well, it was his best friend (well secret best friend) (Y/n) (l/n).

Yep. Even though Sheldon has repeatedly drilled into his daughter’s mind to never, ever, ever under any circumstances go anywhere near the Sledge family. But due to the fact that the two kids were in the same class as one another, they just—clicked immediately.

Her, Eugene, and Sydney Phillips were like the three Musketeers. But Eugene and (y/n) well—they had a special bond with each other. They were just like peas and carrots. Different in every way but somehow they managed to click with each other.

“Eugene, over here!” he smiled before turning to see his parents and older brother who hadn’t noticed he wasn’t with them anymore. He smiled and ran up to (y/n) who had a basket filled with wildflowers in them.

“Hey (y/n). Mrs. Mulley said you were sick last week and that’s why you weren’t at Sunday school, what did you have?”

“Just a bad tummy ache. But I’m all better and I’ll be back in Sunday school tomorrow.”

“That’s good. What did you find?” he said gesturing to her basket. Sometimes, if they could manage it, Eugene and (y/n) could be seen going out to the fields picking wild flowers together. They would even have contests to see who could pick the most flowers in a certain amount of time.

“Mostly pink and blue flowers. But check this out,” she then held up a yellow buttercup flower.

“That’s a buttercup flower. My mama sometimes grows those in our garden.” Eugene said.

“Buttercup huh? I like it, it suits it.”

“You know my mama says that if you hold a buttercup under your chin, it’ll make it glow. I tried it once but it didn’t work.” (y/n) looked at it with curiosity before putting it under her chin.

“Does it work for me?” and well and behold, her chin was glowing right over the buttercup flower.

Even at the tender age of five, Eugen B. Sledge always knew he held more than a friendship feeling for (Y/n). Whenever she’d laugh, his heart would beat faster and it felt like he was being tickled by a billion butterflies in his tummy.

His face would go red every time they would pick wild flowers together, and his heart ached every time she had to mention that her daddy didn’t want her talking to him.

“It sure does buttercup.” He said softly.

“Did you just call me a—”

“(Y/N)! Oh now where is that girl at? (Y/n)!” her father’s voice soon called out from the market. He whistled for her like she were a dog and that’s when she turned to Eugene and whispered.

“I gotta go, see you at church Eugene, bye!” she quickly ran off with her flower basket towards her daddy. As Eugene watched her father kneel down in front of her giving her a soft but firm lecture about running off, Eugene couldn’t help but feel those butterflies again.

“Eugene! Eugene!?” at the sound of his brother’s voice, he snapped out of his daze and quickly ran off before Mr. (L/n) could take notice of a Sledge boy staring at the two of them.

*September 17th, 1938*

It was a hard time in America. For five years now, the whole country was under a Great Depression. Every American was affected and of course that didn’t exclude the Sledge’s or the (L/n)’s. Without enough payment for the extra help, it was all up to Sheldon and (Y/n) to work the farm.

And in order to help bring extra money and food on the table, the Sledge siblings both got jobs helping their dad out with his physician at home job.

Right now Sydney and Eugene were walking along the outskirts of Mobile. Along for the ride was Eugene’s new little pup, Deacon. He had gotten Deacon as a ‘job well done’ gift from his dad. A client of his had a dog that recently had a litter of pups but times were tough and if they didn’t get the pups adopted soon they’d be taken to the shelter.

So Edward being the kind hearted gentleman that he was known for, got the dog and decided the pup would be a good gift for his son Eugene, as a token for being such a big help through these uncertain times.

As the two boys walked over the tall hill, they soon came upon the (L/n) farm. Sydney and Eugene were both shocked to see just how much the Depression had affected the farm.

The soil that they remember being a rich stretch of fresh soil was now dried up and cracking. Weeds were growing up in almost every spot imaginable. Without the extra help, it was almost impossible to keep the weeds in check.

And of course there was hardly anymore livestock anymore. Save for the horse, 2 cows, and the chickens. All the other animals the (L/n)’s once had, had to be sold off in order to get the money they needed to survive.

“Man, I heard (y/n) was struggling but—never did I think it was this badly.” Sydney said with a solemn shake of his head.

“No wonder why she said she had to quit school and be with her dad.”

“Are you sure it ain’t for another reason why you miss her?” teased Sydney. At that moment (y/n) had came out of the chicken coop with a bunch of eggs in a crate and the two of them watched her enter back into her family home.

“You wish you were right Sid.”

“Oh I know I’m right. I’m always right when it comes to you two. Don’t think I didn’t know about the time in 3rd grade when you offered to do her side of the book report when she broke her leg and had to stay at the hospital.”

“I was being polite and didn’t want her getting held back.” As the two of them bickered back and forth, the 10 month old pup had raced down the hill catching scent of the chickens and crept towards the chicken coop.

Deacon slowly stalked towards the door before entering inside of it. The young pup stared at the chickens before one of them caught sight of the unfamiliar creature that stood in their coop.

The pup then let out a series of barks which sent the chickens running mad with fear. From up on the hill, Eugene looked down to see Deacon was gone and from the barks that came down below, he immediately put two and two together.

“DEACON NO STOP!”

“Eugene wait you can’t go down there!” Sydney raced after him.

At that moment, Deacon came out of the coop chasing after the flock of chickens who were racing around frantically trying to escape this wolf-like creature.

(Y/n) immediately peeked out from her bedroom window and was shocked to see what was going on. The chickens being chased by the dog, the dog being chased by Eugene, and Gene being chased by Sid.

“Oh hey (y/n).” Sid stopped by her bedroom window.

“Sid what in the samhell is going on out here!?”

“Funny you should ask, but uhh—mind helping us out?” she quickly got on her shoes and crawled out of her window before running beside Sydney to try and round up the chickens.

Running around like—well chickens with no heads, Eugene, (Y/n) and Sydney all tried to calm the situation down before he father would return home.

“WHAT’S GOING ON OUT THERE!?!?” at hearing that thunderous voice. (Y/n) stopped running as she held a chicken in her arms and froze in fear.

“You guys need to get out of here, now!” she urged Eugene and Sydney on. Eugene who had finally gotten hold of Deacon turned towards (Y/n) but before he could say a word, a gunshot was heard and the shot landed just a few inches away from his foot.

“C’mon Eugene lets go!” Sydney pleaded and soon the two men took off running for the hills. The backdoor slammed open and there stood Sheldon with his shotgun in hand and his jaw dropped at the sight before him.

All the chickens out of their coop, now finally calm, the chicken coop now lay there in rubble (when (y/n) and Gene tried to wrangle Deacon and a few chickens that had gotten back into the coop, the sudden jostling and heavy weight of both humans trying to calm the situation down, forced the coop to collapse under their weight).

“What-gup—what happened here!? (Y/n) (m/n) (l/n). You were supposed to be gathering the chicken eggs!!”

“I know daddy.”

“Then why the hell are they out and about!? How did the coop get destroyed!? JUST WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING GIRL!?!?”

From up on the hill, Eugene’s heart broke at hearing (y/n) getting yelled at by her own father. She had nothing to do with this. So getting the courage, he held Deacon once more and walked down the hill back towards the farm.

“Eugene, Gene don’t you dare! He’ll kill you if you go over there. Eugene!” Sydney hissed out quietly but Gene refused to listen to his best friend.

“I—” (Y/n) began to respond till Eugene’s voice called out.

“She didn’t do it sir.” The two of them turned around. Gripping his gun tighter, Sheldon stood in front of his daughter and said lowly.

“What was that boy?”

“The chicken coop. And the reason why the chickens got out. It was my fault. (Y/n) had nothing to do with it. You see my dog—”

“Great, the Sledge’s have a dog. One more thing to worry about.” Sheldon muttered angrily to himself.

“Please Mr. (L/n), don’t blame (y/n) for this. She was doing her job just like you told her to do. If anyone’s the blame, it’s me. And I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” Hearing Eugene confess, it made (y/n)’s heart flutter and place her hand over her heart.

“Oh you can be damned well sure you will boy. As much as I hate to say this. You’ll be helping me out for the rest of the Harvest season, as well as repairing the chicken coop! And you young lady, come with me.”

He dragged his daughter back to the house as he whispered harshly to her.

“Throughout the time he’s here repairing and helping out, I don’t want you anywhere near him. No daughter of mine is gonna be seen with a Sledge.” As her father continue to rant out his hatred towards the Sledges, (Y/n) turned back towards Eugene and softly smiled at him and mouthed out a thank you.

Eugene smiled softly and seeing her smile it was like cupid’s arrow had struck him as he made goo-goo eyes at her. Even as Sydney snapped his fingers in Gene’s face to get him to snap out of it, Gene was stuck under the love spell he was on.

As agreed; Eugene worked with his father helping him run the at home physician and on his breaks, he’d ride his bike over to (Y/n)’s place to repair the chicken coop, as well as pull out the weeds.

Of course that didn’t stop Eugene and (Y/n) from sneaking puppy love eyes at each other as the two teens were put to work. Throughout the harvest season, it only allowed Eugene and (Y/n) to grow closer than they ever were before.

*June 14th, 1941*

Eugene and (Y/n). Never has there been a couple more meant for each other. Sid always referred to them as childhood sweethearts, and now for these past several years, they’ve really seemed to just hit it off. And with him being the only real person who knew of their ‘more than friendship’ relationship, he kept that to himself.

Of course Eugene’s parents never turned (y/n) away. From the early days when they were kids, they welcomed her with open arms. What they didn’t know was their blossoming relationship. Neither of their parents knew of their courting with each other, and they wanted to keep it that way for just a little while longer.

The two of them were at their favorite hillside where they once picked wildflowers when they were kids. Splayed out along a blanket cuddled close together watching the summer sunset. Eugene lying on his back with (y/n) lying her head against his chest, their hands intertwined with each other’s and their thumbs stroking the back of each other’s hands.

“Happy Anniversary my love.”

“What do you mean Gene?” she looked up at him.

“You heard me, happy 131, 456 hour anniversary.” Eugene said with a small grin as he picked up a buttercup flower and tucked it behind her ear.

“What? That’s way longer than when we first met.”

“I know. But it’s the anniversary of the day I first called you my buttercup.” He said as he cupped her face. Inside (y/n) felt warm and fuzzy remembering that day by the flower cart when Eugene had called her buttercup after finding out one glow underneath her chin. “But it’s fine if you forgot and didn’t get me anything.” Teased Eugene as he sat up trying to hide a grin. She rolled her eyes at Eugene’s teasing.

“Actually I did.” She crawled towards a log and pulled out a guitar case. Eugene’s eyes widened and as she opened the case up he said.

“Oh darlin you shouldn’t have but uhh—I don’t really know how to play.”

“Quiet you.” she teased back as she took the guitar (which was actually hers) and she began playing a soft tune. After letting the soft tune play for a bit she opened her mouth and began to sing.

As she sang; she began to remember all the times she and Eugene had together. From sharing secret letters/drawings with each other (with Deacon being the messenger dog), nature walks together, or secretly waving at each other from her father’s shop.

Their times doing out to the soda shops every Saturday night to go dancing. Always dancing together

We're far apart in every way

But you're the best part of my day

And sure as I breathe the air

I know we are the perfect pair

On a prickly path that goes on for miles

But it's worth it just to see you smile

And I cannot be pulled apart

From the hold you have on my heart

And even if the world tells us it's wrong

You're in my head like a catchy song

“I’ve always loved hearing you sing.” Sighed Eugene lovingly.

“The song’s not too gushy is it? Be honest now.”

“It’s everything but gushy, please sing more for me.” He said as he laid his head close to her thigh. (Y/n) continued to sing while Eugene just stared at her with loving eyes.

More memories came to both of them from their nature walks through any type of weather whenever they had free time. The stargazing’s they’ve done, and even one time when (Y/n) was struggling with the farm one spring that she ended up working till nightfall.

When morning came that morning, she found herself being covered with Eugene’s jacket and just a couple feet away from her, laid an exhausted Gene. He had actually came by and done the rest of the work for her so that she could get some sleep. As he slept, she had sat down beside Eugene and stroked through his auburn hair.

The seasons change and leaves may fall

But I'll be with you through them all

And rain or shine, you'll always be mine

On a prickly path that goes on for miles

You're the only one who makes it all worthwhile

And you should not blame me, too

If I can't help fallin' in love with you...

At the last verse, the two of them went red. While they have called each other their love or life, and while they were technically courting, neither of them has actually those three binding words. (Y/n) covered her mouth with her hand and looked down shyly as her face went red.

“Well that’s unfair. I was gonna tell you that first.”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m serious, I was gonna pull you up,” he stood up and helped her stand up. “Cover your eyes,” he covered her eyes. “Lead you over here.” He then guided her as he kept his hands over her eyes towards the wooded area of the fields. “And say surprise!” he uncovered her eyes and (Y/n) saw the sweetest thing she would ever see.

There along the willow tree they used to climb when they were kids, was a heart engraved at the center of the trunk and written in that heart were their initials. E.B.S + (F/I). (M/I). (L/I). She walked up towards their willow tree and placed her hand over the engravement.

“And then you’d say ‘Oh Genie. It’s—it’s so beautiful. I love it’.” He said imitating her Southern bell voice. “And then I’d say, ‘well, not as much as I love you’.”

“Guess I’m glad I beat you to it then.” She teased as she playfully bumped into him.

“I can accept that.” He said with a proud grin as he wrapped his arms around her waist while she wrapped her around his neck before the two of them finally kissed each other.

It was the kind of kiss that wasn’t deeply passionate that you couldn’t breathe. It was the kind of kiss that just felt like you found your missing half. Gene and (Y/n) were meant to be together and right as they kissed, it felt like it was right.

They were right for each other. And they began to dream of their bright future together. But of course no happiness lasts forever.

After returning from the fields later that evening, she came home to see her home filled to the rim with boxes. She asked her father what was going on and that’s when her father told her the grim truth.

They were moving to North Dakota.

Her father explained to her that the property here was just too dry to farm at anymore. Ever since the Depression decade the land hasn’t been the same. So he hired a contractor to tear the family home and the farm down, he had sold off the rest of the animals, and in two days they were gonna get a fresh start in a new land, with new people, and most important for him it would get them away from the Sledges.

(Y/n) was devastated. Two days and she’d never get to see Sydney Phillips, or Eugene ever again.

When she broke the news to Eugene the next day at the Willow tree, Eugene couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He held onto his weeping girl waiting for her to calm down before he finally spoke to her.

“But you’re practically an adult now (y/n). He can’t control you anymore.”

“What do you want me to say Eugene? I love you, I really do but—he’s the only family I got. And I—I have to stay with my family. I’m sorry!” with that she took off crying, heartbroken and alone.

Eugene looked towards the carving that he had done with his father’s old doctoring knife he used in the Great war. He placed his finger’s over (y/n)’s initials and knew what he had to do, but he knew he didn’t have much time so immediately he got on his bike and pedaled off as fast as he could into town.

By nightfall as (y/n) was solemnly packing up her stuff, Eugene came knocking at her window and he told her to come with him. He made up a story that Deacon wasn’t feeling to good and he needed his ‘mama’. Knowing how much she loved that dog, Eugene and her rode off on his bike.

They soon arrived at the church garden, which was an odd place that Eugene would bring Deacon at, but when she saw the candles all lit up and a beautiful flower archway standing near the back entrance of the church.

Wide eyed in awe, (Y/n) couldn’t believe what she was seeing. When she felt Eugene take her hand he got down on one knee and said to her.

“I don’t ever want to be apart from you. I don’t know what’ll happen in the future but—all I know is now. And I know that I love you so much that I’d marry you today. If you’ll have me that is?” tears of happiness filled her eyes as she said to Eugene.

“I’d like that too.” Eugene smiled and stood up as he embraced his fiancée and spun her around, the two of them cheering and laughing with glee.

After settling down, the two of them walked arm-in-arm with each other towards the pastor (who was actually their own Sunday school teacher who had since went up the ranks and was now one of the head pastor of their church). With Sydney Phillips as their witness and Eugene’s best man, the ceremony began.

The two young teens shared their vows together before the house of God and proclaimed their loyalty and love to each other.

“Then by the name of our Holy Father and in the eyes of the law; I now pronounce you—”

“Pastor Jacob! Pastor Jacob! Please can you help us our son is—Eugene? (Y/n)?” coming behind Sydney were Eugene’s parents.

“What is going on here?” asked Eugene’s father.

“(Y/n)!? Where are you girl you’re supposed to be packing!” soon coming up behind (y/n) from the bushes was her father. As soon as he saw his daughter with the Sledge’s he sneered out, “What are you two doing?” As both families came closer to see just what was going on, that’s when Eugene spoke up as he wrapped his arm around his future wife.

“Mother, father, Mr. (L/n). (Y/n) and I are getting married.”

“What!?” all three parents shouted in shock.

“That’s right. And we’ll officially be married as soon as Pastor Jacob says…..” (y/n) said firmly as she looked back at the pastor.

“Oh right, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” He stepped aside as he closed his Bible.

“Mrs. (Y/n) Sledge, has a nice ring to it don’t you think?” Eugene said as he cupped his wife’s face.

“Indeed.” The two of them kissed each other finally sealing the deal.

“What are you talking about married!? You both are too young to be married!” Mary Frank scolded as she came between them and pushed Eugene aside.

“Finally something we can agree on.” Sheldon spoke as he now stood beside his daughter. “(Y/n) (m/n) (l/n) you listen to me and you listen good, girl. We’re moving and that’s final. And you have got to stick with your family! So enough of this foolish teenage fantasy and come home!” he grabbed her wrist and began to drag her away.

Finally having enough of her father’s grudge against the Sledges, she broke free of his grip and proclaimed.

“No daddy!”

“No?” her father asked as if he had been punched in the face.

“The Sledges are my family now too. In the eyes of God and the law as Pastor Jacob has said.” Eugene brushed past his mother and stood beside his wife to give her backup.

“You can’t be serious. Are you really choosing to be family with the ones responsible for your mother’s death over your own flesh and blood?!”

“Are you making me choose?” she spoke with a trembled lip as tears filled her eyes.

Her father stood there in shock and everyone around them grew tense. Could a father really force his daughter to choose who she sides with?

“Yes. I am.” Her father demanded. Finally hearing that answer broke (y/n)’s heart but she stood her ground as she spoke in a broken voice.

“Then yeah. I guess I am.” Her father’s face showed absolutely betrayal before his eyes grew red and he snapped at her.

“Then I guess I have no daughter anymore.” Without another word he stormed away from the church.

Heartbroken by her father’s words, (y/n) wept out a river of tears. Eugene held his new wife close to him trying to comfort her, meanwhile Dr. Sledge walked up to the young newlyweds and placed a comforting hand to his new daughter in law’s shoulder. She looked up at the old physician and he told her.

“You’ve always been like family to us (Y/n). You’ve always had love here with us. Right Mary Frank?” after witnessing what she had seen, she couldn’t deny the fact that ever since they were kids, her son and this young girl were just destined to be together.

“Even though I don’t condone you both being married so young while you’re still in school Eugene, there’s—I cannot stop the bond that it is you both share with each other.” Hearing those words coming from her new mother and father, it repaired some of the damage that (y/n)’s heart had taken.

“Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Sledge.” She thanked them.

“Oh sweet pea, call me mama.” Mary Frank said as she came up and cupped (y/n)’s face.

“And whenever you feel like it, you can call me dad.” Dr. Sledge said with a warm smile. (Y/n) never felt so grateful to the Sledges, she continued to weep as she now hugged her new parents and they warmly embraced her back. Welcoming her to the family officially.

*August 29th, 1945 1st Person POV*

I lot has happened in the past few years. Six months after Eugene and I got married, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and America was officially in the war with the Axis Powers.

Eugene wanted to enlist so badly but dad said that his heart murmur prevented him from enlisting, they knew with that he would never get it. So he always begged his father for frequent checkups every day until one day it was gone. That was the day my life changed forever.

I begged and pleaded with Genie to not go but he kept saying he had to do this. He’d feel like a failure if he were stuck doing bond trades or collecting scrap metal, while so many men including our dear friend Sid are fighting out in the front lines.

At that point I knew I couldn’t argue with him anymore and so he enlisted. Of course the night before he left, we made sure to make that night extra special because we both didn’t know if this would be the last time we’d see each other. We memorized each other’s kiss, scent, and touch (and I knew Eugene was trying much harder than I was since I knew he’d suffer the worse).

I went back to school, got my high school diploma and I’m currently now working as a teacher’s work assistant as well as a part-time librarian at the local library. I had remained with mom and dad taking care of house as well as Deacon (God rest his little soul) just trying to distract myself from missing Eugene.

It was (for once this past few weeks) a cool Summer’s day. I was tending to the garden outside planting a few roses, daffodils and of course buttercup flowers but I didn’t expect to suddenly get jumped by two little body masses.

Soon enough I was in the dirt and two 3 year old kids were piled on top of me. One was a little boy who looked so much like his daddy when I first met him, except he had my hair and eye color, and the other was a girl with the same curly hair I once had as a kid and her daddy’s auburn hair and brown eyes but the rest were my looks.

“We gotcha mommy now say you surrender!” my son proclaimed as he held up his toy gun at me, while my daughter had a couple of sticks, pretending they were a bow and arrow.

“I surrender, you both got me.” I held my arms up in surrender. They cheered as they got off of me but that’s when I tackled them both to the ground and began tickling them both.

The two of them laughed as they tried to escape my clutches but soon our moment was interrupted by one of the servants, Octavia.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Sledge?” I stopped playing with the kids and the look on her face was—unreadable.

“What is it Octavia?”

“Just come inside (y/n) dear, there’s—someone who you need to see.” Oh god please don’t tell me. Not when the war was finally over do I get the news.

“Mommy, what is it?” asked my son.

“Gene, you and your sister stay with Octavia okay?” I told him as I stood up and brushed the dirt off my dress as best as I could.

Slowly I walked through the back entrance towards the dining room where I knew mom was at stacking the dishes. I almost didn’t even want to turn the corner to see an officer in uniform telling us now that Eugene was dead. Finally I worked up the courage to turn the corner and there my heart stopped.

Standing right there by his mother and father in full Marine uniform, was my Genie.

He slowly walked towards me and I him until we finally met in the middle. For years I’ve dreamed of this day to come that—now it feels like it is a dream. He raised his hand to my face and the moment I felt his touch, I knew this couldn’t be a dream.

“You—you’re as beautiful as the day I left buttercup.” At that moment, the tears poured down my face as I felt myself collapsing against him. Eugene kept me steady as his head rested against mine and he rocked me back and forth.

“You’re back! You came back…..” I wept into his uniform.

“I told you I would.” He whispered to me.

“Mama?” Eugene and I separated from each other to see Octavia bringing in the kids. “Why are you crying?” asked my baby girl. When I looked up at Eugene, his eyes were wide and his body fell tense.

“Genie, I—I didn’t want to share this with you through letter. But—I’d like you to meet two very special people of mine. Kids come here.” Shyly they walked from Octavia up to me and Eugene as we now knelt down to their height.

Our kids soon came up and our daughter hid behind my back while our son fiddled with the ends of my dress as he curled himself around my arm.

“Eugene, these are our kids. The oldest of the twins is our son, Eugene B. Sledge Jr. and our baby girl, Daphne Eliza Sledge. Kids—this……is your daddy. He’s come home to us.” My son looked up at me hesitantly and I nodded to him telling him it was okay to go see him.

Little Gene walked up to his daddy and just stared up at him in both awe but a hint of fear.

“Little Gene, suits him. Guess you managed to convince Sid to not let us name our first boy after him.” Eugene teased at me as he gently ruffled his son’s hair. Knowing that this strange man in uniform wasn’t going to hurt him, little Gene smiled and immediately embraced his daddy.

Eugene embraced his son and kissed the top of his head and it just made my heart soar at seeing both my boys finally meeting each other and already loving each other. After giving his son some of his love, he looked behind me to our baby girl who was still shyly trying to hide from him.

“It’s okay sweetie bell. He won’t hurt you.” I assured her. Slowly but surely, she came out till she stood by my arm and clung onto it just like her brother.

“My, my, my. You—you look exactly like your mother when I first met her. Guess now I’ve got two buttercups.”

“How did you know my name?” Eugene looked at me confused so I explained to him.

“She likes to be called buttercup. Says it sounds more prettier than her real name.”

“Well whatever name you prefer darling, it sounds beautiful. Just like your mother, and just like you.” he gently booped his daughter’s button nose which made her giggle and finally loosen up around her daddy. Before long she too cuddled into her daddy’s chest and he gave her the same love and affection he gave his son.

Seeing him hold our two kids just—finally felt right. I always knew Gene would be a natural dad, and even now after being through such hell for the past 3 years, he can finally have some peace knowing his family has now grown.

The rest of the day it was just the four of us bonding and getting to know each other.

Of course I knew life wouldn’t be the same as it was before. For example the nightmares. Every night Eugene would suffer terrible and horrifying nightmares. Some nights I ended up staying awake all night just to make sure he didn’t suffer alone.

There wasn’t much I could do except to just assure him that he wasn’t there anymore and that he was home. Sometimes the kids would ask him why they would hear their daddy scream and cry but I told them to not ask him such questions yet.

After Eugene had returned with his dad from the dove hunting, I could see from the tearstains on his face and the slight red in his eyes that it didn’t go so well and that he had suffered flashbacks (I still remember when—well my old father still suffered from them night after night).

So Eugene and I, along with the kids decided to head out to Genie and is old favorite spot out in the fields. He and I were lying on our backs cuddled close to each other while the kids went off to pick wildflowers.

“How long till you found out about them?” he asked me. I looked up at him before turning towards our kids.

“A couple weeks after you left for bootcamp. I just felt so sick till dad checked me out and that’s when it was confirmed that I was pregnant. I would’ve mentioned it but—something like that can’t be said through letters.”

“They’re beautiful though. Just like you.” he said as I felt his nose bury itself into my neck.

“And you.”

“Mama! Daddy!” soon our kids came running up to us and Buttercup held up a buttercup flower. “Look what I found!”

“Yes sweetheart, you found the flower you’re named after. Did you know of a legend that goes with this flower?” she shook her head no. I took hold of the buttercup and told her, “If you hold a buttercup under your chin, it’ll make it glow. See how it works on me?” both my children looked at me in pure awe.

“Let me try! Let me try!” Little Gene called out as he reached out to take the flower. He took it and held it under his chin asking repeatedly if it was working. When Buttercup shook her head, Little Gene pouted, god he really was just like his daddy.

“No worries little Gene. It never worked on me either when I was your age, see?” his daddy said as he held the flower under his chin.

“Can I try it next daddy?” asked Buttercup. Gene nodded and held the flower under his daughter’s chin and low and behold, it worked on her. He smiled as he shook his head softly scoffing.

“Does it work?” she asked him.

“It sure does Buttercup. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, huh (n/n)?” I smiled as he picked up his daughter and began kissing her all over her cheek making her giggle.

“Mommy can you sing for us?” asked little Gene as he crawled his way into my lap.

“What would you like me to sing?”

“The catchy song!” The kids both proclaimed. I smiled and said.

“Okay. But you both know I don’t have the guitar with me to play it.”

“Please mommy!” they both gave me the puppy dog eyes they inherited from their father.

“I swear Eugene this trick came from you.”

“Uhh excuse me? You’ve done the puppy dog eye trick on me way longer than I have. Don’t you put this on just me.” Eugene said trying to point the blame on me. I scoffed that’s when Little Gene said.

“Mommy sing for us now!”

“Now, now Little Gene, that’s not the way to get something from your mother or from anyone. If you want something you ask politely.” Eugene gently scolded his son. Little Gene nodded and apologized to me. I told him it was fine and that’s when I began singing the song that I had made for Eugene what felt like an eternity ago, which now became the kids’ favorite song.

Eugene set our baby girl down and laid his head across my lap while I stroked through his auburn hair as well as down his face. And every time my fingers came close to his lips, he would pucker them out and give each of my fingers or the back of my hand a kiss. The kids all lay down close to us with my boy laying his head near my knee while our baby girl cuddled herself tight against her daddy’s side, like a little kitten.

After I finished the song, Eugene and I thought it best to head back home and put these kids down for their nap. I grabbed our son while Eugene held our baby girl, both our kids clung onto us once they knew we had hold of them. Eugene and I looked at each other before leaning in and giving each other a soft kiss before heading back to the house.

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nottragedies · 4 years

Text

“I’ve already told you.” Faberge says, firmly, dangerously close to annoyed. “I’m not interested in holing up in a houseful of people I barely know.”

“That’s so dumb.” Hyo bites back from the other end of the line. “There’s no reason for any of you to not get along.” They’ve had this argument before, which is likely why she stops at that. “Then at least let me come over.”

Faberge audibly groans. They’ve had this argument before, too. “I’ve already told you.” She repeats with added emphasis. “I’m not inclined to have to explain you to my parents.” She knows that Hyo is going to say something about how long they’ve been ‘talking every day’ so Faberge doesn’t give her the room. “When we’ve barely spent any time together in person.”

“We’re not ever going to at this rate!” Hyo snaps, and Faberge has had enough.

“Well, that’s too bad, then.” She says, plainly. At this point, she’s not the only one who can predict the others' responses, because from her phone she can hear ‘Don’t hang up on me!’ the very moment before Faberge does exactly that, tossing her phone aside and going to bed.

When she wakes up in the morning, it quickly finds it’s way back into her hand, her ‘Good Morning💖’ text already waiting for her.

Good morning~ She sends, waits a beat, then clicks to type a new message. I have an idea.

One benefit to The Pandemic is that Faberge can get away with waiting in the car instead of being whined at to come into the house to converse with everyone. Instead, Hyo comes scampering out, practically flinging her bag into the back of Faberge’s Barbie Dream Jeep before joining in the front. Hyo doesn’t even have to remove her mask before Faberge can tell she’s beaming. (It seems a bit overkill for her to be wearing it just to go to the car, but from what she can tell of Nina, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was to appease her at least somewhat.)

Beyond that, Hyo clearly put extra effort into looking especially cute. Braids, sun dress, and of course, the Faberge Egg charm that, ever since Faberge’s impulse to have delivered to Hyo, she has never seen it missing from around her neck, not in a single one of all the selfies they send between them.

The drive is pleasant, even with Hyo babbling on about her morning so far. Faberge is pretty much used to it. It’s odd even to her how little she actually minds it. Maybe it’s because Hyo has always been more than willing to listen to Faberge in return, about everything from what she had for breakfast to ferociously ranting about all the ways Jaeger had wronged her.

Though, it’s not as though Faberge ever gave much mind to fairness before. So maybe it was just a side effect of quarantine.

They soon arrive at their destination, and Hyo leans forward to get a better look out of the windshield. “Whoa. Cool.”

Faberge hums in response. Hyo reaches behind her to the back, already grabbing her bag to pull into the front. When she notices Faberge is still in place, hands on the wheel, looking out to the building before them, Hyo lets it land in her lap. “What?” She asks with concern. “What is it?”

Faberge lets out a long, heavy sigh. “He may be here.”

Hyo blinks. “Why?”

“He works in the shop.” She motions to the side of the building it’s on. “And has at least one room. Maybe he’s keeping the spares in case he decides he needs side pieces for that one, too.”

“Gross.”

There had been a good chance Hyo could have been mad at Faberge bringing her somewhere it was possible to run into her ex so easily, but there’s only the slightest of edge to her voice. Still, Faberge can’t help but explain herself. “This was my parents spot.” She slams her hands into the wheel, gripping. “There’s a good chance I was conceived here! And why should he get it in the break-up, regardless?”

“Yeah!!” Hyo agrees, straightening her posture in her fierceness. “Fuck that! Don’t let him take anything from you!”

Faberge nods, her determination growing. “Let’s go, then.”

Later, after settling into the new room, which, naturally, didn’t occur until after Hyo’s wide-eyed fascination at the over the top decor, Faberge finds herself in the bathroom, putting on a new face after having already put on a new outfit. She wraps up the finishing touches, adding an extra layer of shine to her lips, and examines the final product in the mirror.

Of course she looks good, but now that she’s made it this far, it’s starting to feel a little ridiculous. Seeing as she has come this far, though, she steps back out into the room anyway. Hyo’s sitting on the bed, had obviously been poking through the gift basket on the bedside table, but having heard the bathroom door open immediately turns away, toward Faberge, blush blooming on her face.

Faberge can’t help but smirk, cocking her head in interest, but to Hyo’s credit, she does a decent job of deflecting (if she’s even trying to) by taking in the sight of Faberge, all dressed up in the same dress she had previously worn to Valentines. “You’re right.” Hyo says. “That outfit was wasted.”

She knew that, already, voicing so was what started the conversation that led to this happening, but it’s still satisfying to have someone agree to it, so Faberge offers a pleasant hum in response. Hyo stands, offering a full view of her own outfit, decked out in shiny white with added sparkles of gold, boots nearly up to her knees, flattering her legs. This is her cue, she knows, but offering out compliments unprompted is not something she’s used to, and Faberge is stubborn.

But so is Hyo, who doesn’t avert her gaze, smiling. “And how do I look?” She asks in practically a sing-song, shifting her posture as if to give Faberge a better look, before her hands fall to toy at the hem of her own skirt.

“You look good.” Faberge admits, and Hyo’s grin scrunches her nose, and then she turns, finding her phone. Faberge notices the speakers set up only moments before Hyo clicks a button on her phone, filling the room with loud, upbeat music.

Hyo steps back over to Faberge, taking her by the hand, and it seems to occur to both of them that this is essentially the first time they’ve had any sort of physical contact in months. Or at least, that’s what Faberge can only assume Hyo is thinking about as she pauses, because she doesn’t say anything, but soon she’s tugging on Faberge’s arm.

Faberge knows what she wants, but doesn’t budge. Hyo blinks. “What?”

“This is stupid.”

Hyo’s face falls. “What are you talking about? We’ve been looking forward to this for months.”

“No.” Faberge argues. “We had been looking forward to dressing up to go back to Nucleus for months, but they’re not open again yet. It wasn’t until I said I’d bring you here that you said we could make do with that. But turns out it’s kinda lame.”

“No it’s not! How is it less embarrassing to dance by ourselves in privacy than it would have been in public?”

Because it was too intimate. “It’s corny.” Faberge insists, doubling down.

“Oh my god.” Hyo huffs in frustration. “It’s only corny if you let it be corny. Do you want to record it?”

Faberge blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Because maybe if you think of it like you have an audience then you can own it. If there’s witnesses to you not caring about corniness, then it becomes cool, right? But then if you still don’t like it we can stop and no one will have to ever know.”

Faberge is annoyed that it makes sense to her, but it annoys her even more that Hyo’s able to read her like that, when all they’ve been doing everyday for the past months is talking. Every single day. Often multiple times. But that’s not the point. There’s a part of Faberge that wants to continue putting up a fight just for the sake of it, but instead she finds herself huffing out a ‘fine.’

In her head, it was supposed to be sexy. The plan was to go to Nucleus, have a drink or two, end up on the dance floor. In her head, there she would lay on all the moves, the crowd would force them close together, and Faberge would make careful, specific choices about where to place her hands, would know all the moves to get their bodies to touch just right. And then, at the end of the night, take Hyo home, and that would be that.

But now that they were here, in a sleazy motel room, with no one around but each other, and the pandemic having had a weird effect of both slowing down and somehow speeding things up simultaneously, the vibe is just all together different. Hyo’s reasoning ends up making even more sense, because it’s only a matter of time before the corny truly is fully embraced, and attempts to be sexy are soon replaced with having fun.

Before Hyo, Faberge could barely remember the last times she felt anything like fun before, especially not directly related to anything sexual. When she first became friends with the Carlisles, maybe, but even that had ended up dissipating in a way.

So, somehow, the night turns into essentially a glorified slumber party. Even when Hyo’s satisfied with how much she’s made Faberge bounce along to her music with her, and she whines about being hungry, when the room service arrives they go as far as to eat it on the floor, Hyo’s laptop open to display their favorite movies (currently it’s Faberge’s, Clueless.) though it’s nearly forgotten about, not unlike their now discarded shoes.

Over the course of the night, Hyo winds up closer and closer, until there’s barely any space between them at all, their knees practically touching. Hyo’s leaning against the foot of the bed, looking up at Faberge like she’s got something to say, but has yet to actually do it.

It’s gotten late-ish, late enough for the sun to be completely gone, the only light the dull neon that seems ever present, the street lights coming in from the sliver of open curtain, and the glow from Hyo’s idle computer. As Faberge looks back at Hyo, she feels a twinge of endearment. She’s debating what she wants to do about, calculating what she wants to do about the rest of the night from here, when Hyo moves forward, pressing her lips to Faberge’s. It’s simple, soft, and yet completely catches Faberge off guard.

It doesn’t take Hyo much time at all to notice Faberge’s lack of response, and pulls away. “Oh, no. Was that too soon?” She asks, genuine concern evident. “I’m sorry.”

The truth was that Faberge had not even considered not making the first move, had been counting on laying everything out in a specific, controlled manner. And with just a little peck, Hyo had come along shaken all that up. It has an expected effect on Faberge. Hyo’s still waiting for Faberge to say something though, and shifts herself in a way that seems to imply she’s readying to distance herself. Faberge doesn’t say anything, but instead goes back in for another.

Hyo is immediately kissing back, moving one hand to settle her slender fingers under Faberge’s ear, letting out a little, happy noise.

That has an unexpected effect on Faberge, too.

Months and months ago, when this whole thing had first started to bloom, Faberge had told herself one thing, that she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes that she had with Jaeger.

And yet here she was.

Hyo lays beside her, sleeping soundly, meanwhile Faberge remains wide awake, looking at her phone. Earlier in the night, Hyo sent over a collection of files she had taken over the course of the night, some of the videos from earlier, along with some quick, random ones she had roped Faberge into being in after. There were also pictures, some nothing more than simple snapshots from the night, along with one that had been posed for to capture their dress-up, but the one that currently stands out to Faberge the most is one taken outside, just before entering the throb, Faberge’s jeep sits in the background, the two girls side by side before it, donning their apocalypse masks. As the result, they appear nearly expressionless, and that makes the image of them radiate a powerful energy that is causing Faberge to have something of a revelation.

Despite the thrill Faberge got from tormenting him, her and Jaeger were never anything even close to compatible. It wasn’t that Faberge ever deluded herself into thinking they were, it’s that it had never mattered. He was fun to play with, at least had been at first, and in Faberge’s mind, the fact that she took the time to do was alone enough to make her worthy of his worship and devotion, and when he turned out to be the farthest thing from devoted there was, Faberge couldn’t even wrap her head around the idea.

But Hyo’s not easy as that. Hasn’t been from the start. It became apparent incredibly soon that Hyo could be a raging, insufferable brat. She wasn’t afraid to challenge Faberge when Faberge did or said something Hyo didn’t like, and that could result in anything from miniscule frustration to explosive arguments. But the interesting thing about this was how little that mattered in the long run. In fact, there was a part of Faberge that almost appreciated Hyo having the nerve to fight back, after having dealt with someone so cowardly he merely found shelter in others’ beds instead of confronting Faberge head on.

But even beyond that, it was strange to examine the aftermath of the conflicts. When she’d gotten angry at Jaeger, or even Porcelain, or Lambert and Levy, the rage had a tendency to linger, to sizzle under the surface, collecting itself in a pile that would build and build with every instance.

With Hyo, it didn’t have the same effect. Even when they’d have their worst rows, no matter who won, if either of them even did, after the dust settled, that was that. Faberge had yet to come out on the other side feeling any less valued. If anything, it was the opposite. Hyo had a determination, not just against Faberge, but for her, too. They had only been on a few dates before the world nearly ended and everyone was told to lock themselves in their homes, and then months and months followed.

Months and months where the only contact they had was through their phones, and yet throughout that process Hyo got to hold witness to nearly every side of Faberge there was. What started out as flirtations to keep Faberge entertained turned into a rhythm of conversing with Hyo nearly constantly, whether she was feeling pleasant, or bored, or grumpy, or devious. Even sides that probably no one even knew Faberge had. There had been times where Hyo somehow managed to make Faberge laugh or smile in a way that even she herself didn’t know she was capable of being genuine about.

Throughout all of that Hyo remained… well, patient wasn’t exactly the word, if Faberge were to take all the nights of the other whining or stomping into consideration. Unfaltering in her determination to see this thing through. And if the sounds she’d made earlier in this very bed were anything to go off, Faberge would guess Hyo would say it was worth it.

So now the question that remained was for Faberge herself, what about her? The fact that Faberge was even extending this much thought was an answer in itself, really. She looks down at the photo once more as it all falls into place. It was simple, and, if she was being completely honest to herself, a little frightening.

When it came to Hyo, it wasn’t about Faberge having someone under her. It was about having her beside her.

#c:#probably goes without saying but obviously this was is a little backdated #i just finally found the drive to finish it #also the usual disclaimer #I LOVE JAEGER #Ge DOES have a right to feel wronged but also obviously sees things through Ge tinted glasses #and that's part of why we love HER right? >.>#I do v_v that's my giiiiirl #anyWAY #hyoge

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sunflowersandink · 6 years

Text

Seasons

Part 1

Read on Ao3

Pairing: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson

Summary: In spring, the swallows come. Two days after Peter sees the first swallow of the year, he finds a plastic Easter egg on the ground. Inside is a grenade.

Or: Peter and Wade, and the development of their relationship between one spring and the next.

Words: 2251

In spring, the swallows come.

The swallows, out of all the birds, are his favorites. Peter sees a lot of birds in his line of work, probably more than almost anyone else in the city. Even the bird watchers see them most often when they’re still.

But Peter gets to see them fly, and the swallows fly like they know exactly what a gift it is.

As far as he’s concerned, spring in New York City doesn’t really start until he’s seen one.

Two days after Peter sees the first swallow of the year, he finds an egg on the ground.

This is probably unrelated to the appearance of the swallow, as the hot-pink plastic-ness of the egg seems to indicate that a person, and neither bird nor reptile nor weird experimental mammal placed it there.

He picks it up tentatively, and isn’t it sad that his lifestyle has made him so suspicious of an innocent plastic Easter egg?

He cracks it open to find a grenade.

In the next instant he’s off the civilian-riddled street and on the roof of a nearby building, heart thudding furiously in his chest. He fumbles with the device, hands shaking slightly, and finds, to his great relief and slight confusion, that the grenade doesn’t appear to have been activated in any way. He webs it five times to a structurally unimportant part of the roof just in case.

He swings back down to land on a lightpost next to where he found it. To his dawning horror, he spots pastel colors dotted all down the street, stuck in the windshields of cars, balanced in the windows of businesses, and lying on the ground beneath trees and street lamps.

“Mommy, Mommy, look! The Easter Bunny came early! See? There’s an egg!”

Peter freezes, then twists on his perch, honing in on the voice. There’s a little girl with red pigtails bouncing up and down excitedly beside her mother, a yellow egg clutched in her small hand.

“No!” Peter yelps, flinging himself off the post and towards the girl. “No, no no no no, don’t touch that!” He yanks it out of her hand, backing away quickly. She stares up at him in shock. Tears fill her eyes, and her face scrunches up. “Oh, no no, don’t cry, it’s okay,” he says hastily, cupping his hands between her and the egg. “You just don’t want this egg is all, it’s full of…” he cracks it open, and stares. “...vegetables. It’s full of vegetables.” He does his best to hide the packet of M&M’s within his hand.

Her face lights up. “I like vegetables!” she chirps.

“Of course you do,” Peter mumbles. “I mean.. of course you do! Vegetables are awesome and you should eat them all the time, but, uh, not these ones, okay? They’re all...uh, mushy and gross.”

He spots a blue egg in the window of the salon behind them, and he lunges over to snatch it. This one appears to contain a AAA battery. He looks back up at the girl and her mother, who are watching him in confusion and alarm, respectively. “Just...uh, don’t pick up anymore Easter eggs, okay? Ask your mom to buy you some broccoli or something,” he backs away down the sidewalk, pointing at the mom. “Buy your kid some veggies! Don’t let her touch any strange eggs!”

He fashions himself a web bag, and sets off on an egg hunt.

Within a few minutes, he has a collection of twenty-three plastic Easter eggs of various sizes and colors in the bag. Their contents range from candy, to coins, to what seems to be the entire contents of someone’s junk drawer. Several contain five and ten dollar bills. One has a hundred dollar bill, and he takes careful note of every one that has money in it, just on the off chance that they aren’t somehow rigged to explode or poison him or turn into a robot that will cut his nose off while he sleeps.

The trail stops at the opening of an alley. In the middle of the alley is a black-and-red-clad figure with pink bunny ears, skipping cheerfully away.

“Here comes Pe-ter Cotton-Tail,” he sings brightly, a large basket swinging from his arm.

“Hey!” Peter calls after him.

Without missing a beat, he spins gracefully on his toes, and Peter abruptly has a gun pointed at his forehead. “Shoo-ting you in the fuck-ing skull!” He finishes to the same tune.

Peter yanks the gun out of his hand with a strand of webbing before the last note has even died off. The other man barely seems to notice. He claps gloved hands against his cheeks, staring at him with the comically large white eyes on his mask.

“Oh Em Gee, you’re Spider-Man!” He squeals.

Peter looks at the gun now in his hand, wrinkling his nose in distaste, and then back up at the other red-and-black suited person in the alley, a growing suspicion as to his identity forming. “You wouldn’t happen to be Deadpool by any chance, would you?”

Deadpool makes a sound like a tea kettle with some sort of factory error, and bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. “He knows our name!” he squeaks. He freezes. “Wait. Did you just happen to know it, or do you have psychic powers in this universe? Did you see it in my mind?”

Peter blinks. “No. I saw it in an Avengers briefing.”

Deadpool nods thoughtfully. “That’s not as cool, but still, adorable that they talk about me when I’m not around.”

“They said you’re an unstable menace and I should ‘take extreme caution and not approach unless absolutely necessary’,” he says, mimicking the Captain’s lecture voice.

“Ooh, a menace, huh?” Deadpool repeats in a high-pitched voice. “So what exactly brings you to approach lil ol’ menacing me today?”

Peter raises an eyebrow under his mask. “Seriously?” he holds up a plastic egg. “I’ve got like fifty of these. Easter isn’t even for another two weeks, man.”

“Aw, someone doesn’t have much Easter spirit!”

“You could’ve blown someone up!”

He cocks his head, looking genuinely bemused. “Sounds fun, but that’s really more of a Valentines’ Day sort of celebration, Baby Boy.”

“Then why leave an egg with a grenade in it lying in the street?”

Deadpool does a double take, feeling for his belt. “I did no such - oh.” he pulls a half-melted Hershey’s chocolate belt and two grenades out of a pouch. “Well that’s not right.”

“Okay. I’m confiscating your basket. Hand it over.”

He narrows his eyes, clutching his basket tighter. “You know I can just buy more Easter eggs.”

“And I can just confiscate those too. I’ve got a collection going.”

“Fine!” Deadpool huffs, shoving the basket at him.

Peter takes it gingerly, wary of more explosives. “Appreciate the cooperation.”

“So is Easter Grinch your usual job, or is this just a night job? Because the outfit definitely screams ‘night job’, and that is not an insult, baby boy.”

“First of all, it’s day, as you can tell from the giant ball of fire in the sky. Second, I don’t get paid for this, and third, this is the first time I’ve ever had to steal Easter eggs from anyone, so congrats on being unique,” Peter says, busy checking the eggs in the basket. Deciding that there’s nothing rigged to explode, he attaches a line of web to the roof above them, landing neatly on the edge.

“Hey, you know if you ever need money, I’ve got some ideas for things I could pay you for!” Deadpool shouts up at him.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that!” Peter calls back. “Besides, you couldn’t afford me!”

He’s gone before he hears if there’s a response.

…

The next time he sees Deadpool is in the beginning of May, and this time it’s not even Deadpool’s fault. It’s the guy’s who thought it would be funny to release approximately fifty bajillion weird fuzzy caterpillar things the size of cats around the city.

As far as supervillain schemes goes, it’s really more on the ‘inconvenience’ side of things, rather than the ‘what kind of person does this shit’, so that makes it a pretty good day in Peter’s book. The Avengers are even here! Which probably just means they happened to have nothing better to do, but still.

Peter has three of the squirmy bundles of white fluff in his arms, and is busy trying to fish a fourth out from under a car when a pair of red-and-black booted feet appear in front of him. He looks up from where he’s laying on his stomach to see the merc watching him, head cocked, stroking a large caterpillar that’s curled comfortably in his arms.

“That looks uncomfortable,” he says cheerilly.

“How observant,” Peter snaps. “Want to help me out here?”

“Ooo, Baby Boy, there’s all sorts of things I’d be willing to help you out with,” he wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Like getting a giant bug out from under this car?” he asks, deciding the best way to deal with the innuendo was just to ignore it.

“Mm. Kinky.” Deadpool kneels down beside him. “Why don’t you just use your webbing to pull it out?”

Peter readjusts his grip on the three he’s holding, tugging one back from where it’s trying to crawl over his shoulder. He shuffles around to the other side of the car. “It sticks to their fur. Hair? I don’t know. Anyway, I don’t have time to cut it free and I don’t want to hurt them by just yanking it off.” With a quick lunge, he finally manages to grab the bug before it can inch away from him. “Nevermind, got it.” He stands, tucking the new addition into his armful of fluff. He nods with his chin towards the one in Deadpool’s arms. “Here, give me that one, I’ll take them to where we’re rounding the others up.”

Deadpool narrows his eyes, hugging it protectively to his chest. “Excuse you, ‘that one’ has a name. Her name is Beatrice, and I’ll have you know she is a purebred!” He says haughtily.

Peter raises an eyebrow. “A purebred what?”

Deadpool looks at Beatrice in silence for a second. “Bug,” he declares, with a confident nod.

Peter firmly resists the urge to be at all amused. “I mean. You’re probably right.”

“Hey, Spidey!” a voice calls behind him. He turns to find Hawkeye, staring warily past him at Deadpool, one hand on his bow. “You okay?”

Peter stares at him, puzzled. “What else would I be? They’re caterpillars, Clint, they don’t even bite.”

Clint’s eyes dart to Peter with that look he always gives him, which means ‘now is not the time for your bullshit, kid’, which is just plain insulting. Seriously, he’s fought with the Avengers before, are they really going to get all fussy about some harmless little bugs? He’s Spider-Man, for God’s sake. They should be his specialty.

He’s just beginning to work himself into serious irritation when Deadpool speaks up cheerfully behind him. “Nah, I don’t think it’s the fuzzy-wuzzy bugs he’s worried about. Or at least, not the miniature ones.”

Peter turns back to ask what he’s talking about, and finally picks up on the edge under his cheerful tone.

Ah. Right. The deadly merc with a mouth. Who he was warned not to interact with. Clint steps forward, hand tightening slightly on his bow, and beckons Peter forward, as though he’s a small child who’s wandered too close to the tiger cage at the zoo. “Come on, SHIELD’s pretty much got this under control.”

Peter looks at Deadpool, who’s standing stiffly, still clutching Beatrice. The moment he notices Peter watching him, he appears to relax. Appears. Peter knows what calculated relaxation looks like.

“Aw man, I would love to come with you guys, but my evening is completely booked right now.” He saunters casually backwards, towards the entrance of a nearby alley. “But you fellas enjoy the after party! I know, I know, it’s not as much fun without me, but you’ll survive.” And with that, he’s gone, without giving either Peter or Clint a chance to respond.

Clint sets off down the street towards the containment cage SHIELD set up, and Peter hurriedly falls into step beside him. “He wasn’t actually doing anything, just being...weird,” he tells Clint, not entirely sure why he’s defending Deadpool to him, for some reason feeling he should.

Clint stops abruptly, and Peter almost stumbles in surprise. He looks Peter in the eye, as best he can through the mask. “Look kid, you’ve got a good heart, it’s what makes you a good hero. But Deadpool? He doesn’t. He’ll kill you the second someone pays him enough to cover the cost of the bullet, and he won’t think twice about it. He might not be a villain you need to fight, but he’s damn well not someone you should be spending time with,” he says firmly.

Peter fidgets, adjusting the caterpillars in his arms. “What are you, my dad?” he mumbles.

Clint grins, the tension broken. “Don’t let Stark hear you say that.”

Peter laughs, and they start off again, their conversation reverting back to its usual casual chatter.

But something keeps niggling at the back of his mind.

For all the warnings people keep giving him, his spidey sense never so much as hummed around the merc, not once.

#fanfiction #spiderman/deadpool #peter parker/wade wilson #spideypool #marvel #the avengers #seasons #my fanfiction #my writing

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madisonsclarks · 7 years

Text

Snowfall

Summary: Joyce hates getting up in the morning to shovel the snow off their driveway. Fortunately, someone else has already taken care of it...and continues to take care of it for the rest of the winter.

Loosely based on a text post I can’t find anymore, that went something like this: “Hopper gets up to shovel the Byers’ driveway every morning during the winter. Joyce always assumes it’s Jonathan.”

Read on AO3 here!

It was the first snowfall of 1985, and Joyce Byers awoke with an ache in her bones.

The wind howled, a monster pounding its fists against her bedroom window. She shivered, fighting the instinct to yank the thin quilt and knit blanket up to her chin and defy the beast that was winter in Hawkins. But she knew better.

There was snow.

It wasn’t that much snow.

The kids would have school today, despite their wishes otherwise. She would have to trudge into Melvald’s with slush clinging to her boots, seeping through where her soles parted from the fraying synthetic material, chilling her toes and numbing her feet until well into the afternoon.

A little snow wouldn’t stop the hustle and bustle of a Monday in Hawkins – life would go on, as it always did. As she slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a bulky, knit sweater, she couldn’t help noticing the deafening quiet. Jonathan wouldn’t have to be up for another hour or so, and Will had another hour and a half of sleep. But the duty fell to her to shovel, to toss the unwanted inches of white gunk off their cracked driveway and scrape ice off the cars so that everyone could get about their lives.

Closing the door to her bedroom behind her, softly, as not to wake the boys, Joyce tried not to think about the frigid morning air or the needlepoint pinpricks of itchiness that surfaced each time the sweater brushed against her bare skin. Given their situation just a few months ago, some snow was nothing to gripe about: they’d faced much, much bigger foes. She’d faced much, much bigger foes. The memory was an echo, bouncing back all sorts of fears and recent nightmares, louder and louder. Her breath caught.

On instinct, she took a few steps down the hallway and gently pushed open the door to Will’s room. The hallway was lit only by white moonlight – not enough to wake him, but enough for her to see him by – and she breathed a tiny sigh of relief when she glimpsed his sleeping form buried under the comforter she’d promised him she didn’t need. She smiled, standing for a few seconds, watching his chest rise and fall, the dim moonlight turning his hair to a kind of soil-brown color: her hair color. He was okay. They were all okay.

She couldn’t help a cursory glance around the room, just to make sure nothing sinister lurked in the long shadows that wrapped long, dark tendrils around his desk and the sketches taped on his walls. There was nothing amiss, but even so, she swallowed hard. There was one drawing she could barely look at, though time was, thankfully, making it a little easier.

Bob Newby, superhero.

Deciding she’d lingered long enough and feeling that familiar dreadful lump forming in her throat, Joyce stepped away from her son’s room. He was fine, and that was all that mattered. The rest…the rest she had to deal with, by herself. And she could. She had been. She would.

Joyce took a few more steps down the hallway, stopping outside Jonathan’s room, taking a few deep breaths until grief relinquished its hold on her throat. She peered through the doorway, desperate for the sight of her eldest, knowing his sleeping form would be enough to put a smile on her face. Her caring, helpful, wonderful boy. For everything Will had been through, Jonathan had suffered, too: his pain simmered beneath the surface, hidden in blank stares and hugs that held on tighter than they used to, embraces that masked a fear of being forced to let go. Joyce had no idea how she’d be able to drop him off at school next year.

You don’t have to think about that right now, she reminded herself when she felt her heartbeat speeding up, like it always did when she started thinking about Jonathan and college and losing him to the great big world. Right now, you have to go shovel the goddamn driveway.

But she needed to see her son first. So she opened the door a crack, just as she’d done with Will, and…

He wasn’t there.

Joyce frowned, certain her sleep and cold-addled brain must have been yanking hallucinations from her nightmares. She opened the door wider, letting the hallway light in, and stepped into the room.

He definitely wasn’t there.

His covers had been thrown back, his pajamas scattered in heaps on the floor. A glance around the room confirmed her fears, and she didn’t bother forcing herself to breathe evenly.

“Jonathan?” she said, though she knew better than to expect an answer.

She turned around and practically sprinted down the hallway, turning toward the kitchen, Jim’s number already on her fingertips. Jonathan’s gone. Jonathan’s gone and I can’t find him and I don’t know where he i-

“Mom?” a familiar voice said, and she froze in her tracks.

“Jonathan?” she breathed.

There was a long pause, in which both parties seemed to question why they were hearing the other’s voice at such an ungodly hour of the morning. Joyce took a few moments to compose herself, turning toward her son, who had – for some reason – taken a portable desk light and his textbooks out to the kitchen table. He’s okay, she reassured herself. He’s right here. He’s fine. He’s fine.

“Why are you up so early, honey?” she asked. He had to have gotten up well before her – he was wearing his school clothes, and he even had his shoes on.

“I have a big biology test today,” he said, his sentence marred halfway through by a loud, long yawn. “But I thought it was going to be a snow day, and…”

He trailed off, and Joyce couldn’t help but smile. Part of her knew she should be a little annoyed with him – he shouldn’t have put all his eggs into the snow day basket, after all – but she’d done the same thing as a kid. And Jim had, several times, failed tests as a result of his ill-fated optimism that school would be closed.

“Good luck, sir,” Joyce smiled, squeezing his shoulder as she walked past, steeling herself for the onslaught of negative temperatures and ice. His shirt felt a little wet, and she noticed his hair was dripping: he must have just gotten out of the shower. He had a little over an hour to study…God, how she hoped he wasn’t just starting now.

“Where are you going?” Jonathan asked, and she could hear a confused scowl in his voice.

“To shovel the driveway,” she said, pulling on her boots. She added, because Jim was a terrible influence on her and she just couldn’t resist: “So you can take that test.”

“Do you need help?” he asked, like she knew he would.

“No,” she said. “You’re soaking wet. If you go out there, you’ll catch a cold.”

“Mom, I can do it.”

“It’s all right. I can take care of it.”

“Mom.”

“Study for your test.”

Jonathan didn’t answer, and she guessed he’d gone back to his textbook. Joyce made her way toward the front door and sat down on the floor to get ready for the cold, fingers fumbling with the nearly decade-old, fraying laces on her boots, and she only managed to tie them into a knot. It would do. Her coat was easier to command, and she shoved a hat on and pulled on a pair of black mittens.

Seeing no point in delaying it any further, she pushed open the front door, ready for whatever frozen hell into which winter would drag her. She stepped out into the cold morning, shoving the door shut behind her, feeling the icy wind strip her warm breath from her lips in wisps of gray. Her feet touched the porch, and –

Her feet touched the porch. Not snow, which should have blown up from the driveway and coated the wood with a dusting of white. Her feet touched wood, solidness, a hard surface. The porch.

When she looked out, following the path from her home into the road, her jaw dropped. The porch wasn’t the only oddity.

“What the hell?” she whispered, equally confused, stunned, and joyous.

Daylight had begun seeping in around the edges of the sky, painting the darkness purple and red, and through those colors Joyce saw her driveway had been shoveled in its entirety. A path had been meticulously cleared for the cars to back out, piles of snow evenly spaced where gravel met grass. Windshields had been scraped clean of whatever ice and snow had covered them in the night. It was as though she’d somehow sleepwalked her way through that dreadful winter morning routine, though she knew that hadn’t been the case. But who else…

Oh.

She smiled and turned around, stepping back into her house. She sighed as its warmth embraced her, and pulled off her boots in one fluid motion. She didn’t bother with her hat, mittens, or coat: not at a time like this.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, practically floating as she walked back to the kitchen and pulled him into a tight hug. Jonathan’s head snapped up as he shifted from focusing on the pages of his textbook to focusing on her, and he frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“The driveway,” she said, stepping away and smiling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

It would be just like him, she thought, to be modest about it. Did he even have a test he was studying for, or had this been a ploy? At any rate, she could hardly believe his kindness. Well, she could believe it – he cooked breakfast for them every morning, and even dinner, sometimes, when she got trapped at Melvald’s – but sacrificing his sleep to do the winter task she absolutely despised was so kindhearted she thought he might’ve melted the snow outside.

“Mom, I -“

“Jonathan,” she interrupted, still beaming. “I really appreciate it, honey. I’ll take care of breakfast this morning and take Will to school. You just focus on your test, okay?”

She thought he’d be elated – instead, his brow furrowed.

“Mom, I di-“ he paused halfway through his sentence, realization seeming to wash over him as his expression changed. As if he’d suddenly remembered something.

“What?” Joyce asked, confused.

“I, uh,” Jonathan stammered, “thanks. I really need to focus on this.”

Joyce smiled again, though the expression was now tainted with a bit of uncertainty. Something was off about his behavior, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Was he just tired? Was he nervous about the test? Was he coming down with something, because he’d gotten up in the middle of the night to lift this burden off her shoulders? Whatever it was, she’d do anything she could do help.

“Of course,” she said.

And because she was happy and felt lighter than she had in a very long time, she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. Jonathan squirmed – he’d long ago outgrown such motherly displays of affection – but even despite his odd behavior, she was overflowing with gratitude and had to let it show before her heart burst.

“Thank you,” she repeated, and she couldn’t help noticing the beat of hesitation that passed before Jonathan responded.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’m happy I could help.”

***

It was the third snowfall of 1985, and Jim Hopper awoke with an ache in his bones.

“Dammit,” he breathed into the early morning air, shutting his alarm clock off with a slam of his hand against the freezing metal. He didn’t look at the time, because he damn well knew what time it was, and he damn well knew he was an idiot. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up, but he’d be damned if he didn’t keep trying.

At least, he thought as he pulled on his uniform, it was Friday. He and Jane were going to rent a movie from the video store tonight and eat a ton of discounted Valentine’s Day candy, maybe play a few rounds of Scrabble if they hadn’t both passed out on the couch by the time the credits rolled. It was going to be a good night, and he needed a good night, because the rest of the week had been shit.

God, he was so tired.

It took him only a few minutes to gather up his things – or at least, the things he would need for his self-imposed snowfall ritual – and he stumbled out the door, trying to remember why the hell he’d taken it upon himself to do this. He didn’t have to keep going, after the first time. There was nothing that necessitated this, nothing in it for him, or Jane. But there existed a kind of magnetic pull now, something that drew him back every time the snowfall was unmanageable, and he couldn’t help it.

Jane’s door was closed, and he didn’t want to startle her with the squeaky door hinges that would undoubtedly screech if he tried to check on her. Everything was fine between them now – she had never tried to leave since October, and now that she had a set date, a time when she could be back into the world, they argued a whole lot less. Thank God. He didn’t know how many arguments with a telekinetic teenager he could take. He didn’t know how many arguments with a telekinetic teenager he could survive, either, remembering the shattering glass that had accompanied their last big blowout.

But seeing Jane when she was happy, when she spent time with her friends and how she grinned when she bit into one of those Eggo waffles and how she cheered when she won a game of Boggle…it was worth whatever risk might come with her powers. Losing Sara had blasted a hole through him he wasn’t sure he could repair. It wasn’t pain, not really, it was emptiness. A gaping, echoing cavern of nothingness, into which he fell and fell and fell.

Until Jane pulled him back.

Jim smiled as he stepped out into the morning and locked the cabin door behind him, his expression a little sad around the edges, grief still hiding in the quirk of his mouth and in the lines on his forehead. The air was sharp, stinging, but it was the kind of morning Sara would have loved – the kind of morning that held possibilities of snowmen built and snowball fights in the afternoon sunlight. Sometimes he could still hear her laughing when he looked at the fresh snow, at that glimmering blanket of white that cloaked the woods.

He took a deep breath to stave off the ache in his chest.

There only existed enough patience in him to brush the snow off his windshield – the rest, he decided, would fall off on the road. So, unceremoniously, he flung open his car door and slammed it shut, shoved his key into the ignition, and twisted it. The car turned over a few times, as reluctant to head out into the frigid morning as he was, and eventually, like him, accepted its fate.

He’d made it out onto the road by the time he noticed something under his the fleece blanket he kept in his car was moving.

Shit, he thought, debating whether to pull over or keep driving. In the end he opted to keep going, despising himself for leaving his gun at home. What the hell had he been thinking? Though he doubted those demo-things, whatever the hell Dustin called them, would have the decency to camouflage themselves beneath a blanket.

But he could think of someone who would.

He pulled back the blanket, and underneath the layer of fleece sat, huddled into a ball, exactly the person he expected to see.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jane said simply, as though this would be the only explanation he’d require. As if he wouldn’t want to know why the fuck his thirteen-year-old was sitting on the floor of his car underneath a fleece blanket instead of in her bed at home, asleep. Or, trying to sleep.

“Yeah,” Jim said, still trying to catch his breath as his passenger clambered up into the seat and buckled herself in. “That’s fine. Sometimes I can’t sleep, too. But why are you in my car?”

She was quiet, staring out the window. Sometimes he could accept whatever answer she gave, but this…this needed more than the half-assed explanation she’d given him. He might not know a ton about raising a teenager, but he damn well knew “couldn’t sleep” wasn’t a justification for this behavior. But he had a sinking feeling he already knew why she’d shown up here.

“Elle,” he tried again, softening his voice a little. After all, she hadn’t meant to scare him half to death. “What are you doing?”

“Wanted to see…where you go,” she muttered. “When it snows, you leave.”

Every alarm bell in Jim Hopper’s head went off at once.

There had been a reason this ritual was his and Jonathan’s secret. And even then, he knew the kid hated keeping it – he himself wasn’t too fond of keeping it between them. But if Joyce knew, Jim knew she would feel obligated to do something in return – to bake him cookies or buy him lunch or something like that, and the last thing he wanted was Joyce Byers feeling obligated to do anything for him. She already carried so much on those tiny shoulders of hers, and he didn’t want this to be another few pounds added on. He didn’t want to be another few pounds added on. Hell, he was doing this because…

Well, because he was an idiot. That was the simple explanation, and the only one that mattered at four in the goddamn morning when he’d only gotten three hours of sleep.

“Yeah, I do,” Jim said. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s just…a secret.”

Jane relaxed a little, leaning back in her seat. “Why is it secret?”

“Because it has to be.”

“Why?”

Jesus, she was asking him all the hard questions.

He trailed off, realizing his brain had taken the wheel and whether he liked it or not, he was still driving to the Byers’ house. Whether he liked it or not, Jane was going to know all about the secret before the sun rose this morning. Just by getting in this car, she’d made all the decisions for him.

He sighed.

“Okay, kid,” he tried again, looking over at her, finding her brown eyes in against the navy night sky and pinpricks of glimmering starlight. “If I tell you, you gotta promise not to tell anyone. That includes Mike, and Will, and all your little friends.”

Jane’s eyes widened a bit, as though taken aback by the responsibility she was being given. After a few moments of quiet consideration, she said,

“Promise.”

Jim swallowed hard, trying to determine where to begin. Well, where they were going was probably a good start, he thought. At least he could figure out where to begin.

“When it snows, I go shovel the snow off Byers’ driveway. For Will and Jonathan and Joyce,” he said.

“Shovel?” Jane said, sounding incredulous. It occurred to him, briefly, that this was probably the farthest thing from what she’d imagined he’d been doing. And it even sounded a little silly, when he said it out loud: I get up at four in the morning and go shovel a bunch of snow off of a driveway that isn’t mine.

“Why…shovel?” Jane asked, and Jim’s stomach dropped. “Why do you go?”

Shit. He’d known the question was coming, but that didn’t make him any more inclined to answer it.

“I, uh,” he started, his gruff exhale a swirl of white wisps. “I want to help them. Joyce and her kids….they’ve been through a lot this year. And Joyce hates mornings.”

He smiled, remembering how she’d often stumbled in halfway through first period during their high school days. Once the temperature dipped below freezing, he could count on seeing her only well after the bell rang. Granted, he wasn’t much better – he’d usually just made his way through the classroom door when she made it to the parking lot.

Jane seemed to read his mind. “You hate mornings.”

He wouldn’t bother denying it. “Okay. I do. I just…wanted to do something nice for them. They’re good people, and they deserve a break. That’s all there is to it.”

Jane stared at him for a few seconds, her eyes wide, like she was staring straight through him at the turmoil raging in his chest, reading all the thoughts he wasn’t ready to acknowledge – thoughts about Joyce, and their past, and their future. A future neither of them was ready to have, least of all him, but he’d be damned if it didn’t flicker through his head more and more often…when she smiled, when she brought Will over to spend time with Jane, when they shared cigarettes and old memories. When she looked at him, her brown gaze slowly growing less and less haunted by the events of last October, color coursing through her cheeks when she laughed.

It was as though the jagged edges of where they’d been broken, he and Joyce, fit together just right. And for a few hours, when he was with her, he felt like he was whole again. She’d always had a talent for that, even when they were younger – when he was with her, the world seemed a little less dark.

Jane’s stare unsettled him as he turned onto the Byers’ street, flicking off his headlights so he wouldn’t accidentally wake the unsuspecting family. She said nothing as the car slowed to a crawl, then a stop, crunching on the thick layer of snow that had fallen overnight. Uncomfortable, Jim decided to fill the silence.

“Stay in the car,” he said.

“Why?” Jane asked, her tone both angry and demanding.

“Because it’s not safe for you to be out here,” Jim tried. “Someone could see you.”

Jane frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, imitating a gesture she’d undoubtedly picked up from Mike.

“No one will see me. Too cold.”

Jim weighed the pros against the cons, as well as his exhausted brain could in the early morning deep freeze. It was highly unlikely anyone was awake in the sleepy town of Hawkins besides him and the kid on his right. And while he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her use her powers to help him, it might be nice to have the company. Shoveling snow was a lonely, tireless job.

“No using your powers. And stay in the shadows.”

Jane’s scowl deepened. Jim, done negotiating, opened the car door and stepped outside.

“That’s the deal,” he said. “Take it or leave it, kid.”

The frown didn’t vanish completely, but it slipped a fraction.

“Fine,” Jane said.

He took care to close the door quietly, and Jane, learning from his example, did the same. He turned to get the shovel out of his trunk, only to find it floating in mid-air, traveling toward him as though the wind had lifted it and brought it his way.

“I said-“ he started, ready to launch into a lecture, interrupted mid-sentence.

“Quieter,” Jane said, depositing the shovel in his hands, and he guessed he couldn’t really argue with that. Her method was quieter than him unlocking and closing the gate. But dammit, he told her not to…

“If you do that again, you’re going back in the car,” Jim said, though there was no heat behind his words – it was too cold for that.

“I understand,” she responded, and they made their way up the Byers driveway in silence. Jane adopted her post in the shadow of Joyce’s Pinto, leaning against the car, where only the faint outline of her curly hair was visible. Good, Jim thought. If he could barely see her, no one else around would be able to discover her.

Working quickly and quietly, he began shoving the snow off to the sides of the gravel line that led to the Byers’ front porch. His arm muscles burned, and he decided that this morning, of all mornings, Flo had damn well better let him have a donut. No more of this “apple a day” bullshit. Maybe he could grab one and sneak past her, wait until she was on the phone or something.

He was so lost in his donut daydream that the first time Jane spoke, her words were lost to the powdered sugar snowflakes and winter air.

“What?” he asked, hearing only a mumble and the whisper of the icy wind.

“She likes you,” Jane said, and lest there be any question about who she meant, the kid pointed at Joyce’s house.

Jim gave a startled cough, angry at his heart for skipping a beat, losing focus and wincing as a sheet of snow blew back in his direction and stung his face. Apparently he hesitated a moment too long, because Jane took his silence as an invitation to keep talking.

“She is happy,” Jane added, “with you.”

“We’re friends,” Jim said, wondering how the hell he ended up having this conversation – one he couldn’t even have with himself – at four-thirty in the morning with a 13-year-old. “Joyce is…” he trailed off, distracted by the mental image of her, smiling while they stood on the front porch of the cabin, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, a cigarette between her fingers. Friends. Right. “A very good friend.”

Jane shook her head. “Not just ‘friend.’ Like me and Mike.”

That was yet another conversation he didn’t want to have at four-thirty in the morning while flinging snow over his shoulder, but he’d take these unsavory topics one at a time.

“Kid, it’s not like that with Joyce and I,” he said, swallowing hard, then convincing himself the gesture was a byproduct of the cold and not emotion. “She needs some time. We both do.”

He’d made enough progress to see Jane’s expression now, the furrow in her brow that accompanied either use of her powers or deep, continued thought.

“Will agrees with me.”

That was enough to make him stop in his tracks.

“You talked about this with Will?” he asked, his tone sharper than he meant.

For some reason, the idea took him aback – that their kids could be discussing the nature of their relationship before he had the guts to sit down and think about it. To sort through the tangled cobweb of his feelings and get at whatever mess rested in the center.

But he was convinced on one thing, he wasn’t wrong: Joyce needed time. She wasn’t ready for anything, not for a while, not after Bob. And hell, he came with enough baggage to capsize any relationship; if she decided to date again, it would probably be best if it wasn’t him. So why did that thought ignite that familiar bitterness, that acidic burn in his stomach?

“No,” Jane answered, seeming to sense this was the answer he needed to hear. “Not much. A little. Once.”

Because he was tired and the snow had seeped into his clothes and was dripping down his neck, and because his judgment was clouded by his deep, deep discomfort, Jim asked the question – the question he’d regret asking later, when his common sense returned.

“What did Will say?”

“He said…you make her laugh,” Jane said. “She smiles with you.”

Jim had no good answer for that, so he didn’t try to give a coherent one. Instead, he just nodded. Instead, he just kept shoveling, finished the job, walked back up the driveway and cleared the porch, scraped ice off the cars. Instead he kept quiet, letting the howling wind and stinging snow speak for him, letting it say the words he couldn’t.

When all was finished, he returned to Jane. She’d pulled her fleece blanket tightly around her shoulders, and she looked up at him with a regretful gaze. It was as though she knew, though he hadn’t said it, that she’d overstepped a boundary.

“Sorry,” she muttered, though he couldn’t tell if she was sorry for bringing it up, or sorry he hadn’t given her the answer she wanted, or sorry she couldn’t tell how he felt so she could report back to Will.

I’m sorry, too, he felt like saying.

And he was. He was sorry their lives were such a fucked-up mess that he couldn’t tell up from down when it came to his feelings for the woman in the house behind them. He was sorry she’d been through hell, and he’d been through hell, and somewhere in that labyrinth his emotional center had gotten lost and never found its way out. He was sorry for what happened to Bob, and for what happened to them, all those years ago.

All apologies he could never say, words the winter wind would steal from him before they could find their way to the open, starlit air. So instead of saying them, he reached down and ruffled Jane’s hair to let her know there were no hard feelings.

“It’s fine,” he said, removing his hand from her head as he made his way toward the drivers’ side. “But you watch too many soaps, kid.”

***

It was the last snowfall of 1985, and Joyce Byers awoke with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Her expression, given the conditions outside, was an abnormality. It was just a day shy of being April. Everyone was just tired of the snow and had long ago stopped thinking it was pretty. It was about 30 degrees outside – just cold enough for the white stuff to stick – and when Hawkins awoke, it would be hidden under gray clouds and a cold front. There was little reason for her to be smiling.

But now that she was listening for it, she could hear it: the faint sound of a scraping against the gravel on her driveway, a muttered swear word or two. There was no question as to what was going on, and the identity of her mysterious snowfall savior was no longer a mystery.

Jonathan had broken down a few days ago, apparently believing they wouldn’t have another blizzard until November, at the earliest. Granted, he’d lived in Hawkins for long enough to at least assume there was a decent chance of another storm, but Joyce figured he’d kept the secret for long enough. It was obvious it was eroding him inside, and whether he knew they were calling for another storm or not, she was happy he’d freed himself of the burden.

“Hey mom?” he’d said as they dried dishes after dinner. Will had gone to do his homework, and the house was oddly quiet. But it wasn’t a harsh silence; it was comforting, embracing – it offered normalcy, instead of chaos.

Of course, the softness of the silence made her son’s exaggerated casualness all the more harsh. Joyce could tell from the moment he opened his mouth that something was wrong, but she held her tongue – Jonathan would tell her when he was ready.

“Hmmmmm?” she said, drying a bowl and reaching to put it in the cabinet.

“I, um, have something to tell you,” Jonathan said. Out of the corner of her eyes, Joyce saw he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding eye contact. “Just…don’t get upset.”

Joyce drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for anything from “Will’s showing symptoms again but didn’t want to tell you” to “Nancy and I broke up.”

“I won’t,” she promised, placing the bowl back on top of all the other chipped ceramics in the wood cupboard and closing the door. She leaned against the counter, giving Jonathan her full attention. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Jonathan gave a tight, tiny laugh – it sounded more like a bark than an expression of amusement. “Nothing’s wrong. But I’ve been keeping a secret, and I think you should know the truth.”

She swallowed hard, took a deep breath in an attempt to counteract her surging heartbeat. You don’t know that it’s bad yet. Stop jumping to conclusions. Hear him out.

“Okay,” she said slowly, wringing the towel in her hands, twisting it one way and then the other.

“You know that one morning in January, when I was in the kitchen studying for a biology test?” he said, finally meeting her gaze.

Oh. Yes, she remembered that morning, because it was one of the strangest in her recent memory – her son sitting at the kitchen table at an hour reserved only for chirping birds and coffee. She also remembered it because it was the first morning her snow savior had shown up, and continued to show up every time there was a blizzard. No matter how early she woke up, they finished earlier. Despite her best efforts to uncover their identity, she couldn’t get to the bottom of it: the Wheelers were as mystified by the phenomenon as she was, and Jim just shrugged, muttered something about trespassing, and offered her another drag of his cigarette. All things considered, it had to be Jonathan - and given the direction their conversation was headed, she was ready for her suspicions to be confirmed.

She nodded, and Jonathan continued.

“I didn’t have a test,” he confessed, and Joyce couldn’t help a smirk.

“I figured,” Joyce said, her smile maturing to a full-blown grin. “Let me guess. You’ve been shoveling the driveway this whole time?”

“What? No,” Jonathan said, and just like that, her smile vanished.

“I woke up that morning and heard a scraping sound in the driveway. I was worried it was the-“ he stopped, swallowed hard. There was no need to give it a name – both he and Joyce knew exactly what he was talking about. “So I looked out my window. And I saw Hopper.”

“Hopper?” Joyce said, the dish towel wrung into a compact knot of worry and confusion. “Jim’s been shoveling our driveway?”

Jonathan nodded. “He wanted me to keep it a secret, but I thought you should know.”

Joyce stumbled over her words, several sentences trying to escape all at once.

“But why…what…I don’t understand.”

“I don’t, either,” Jonathan said, shrugging. “He told me he was trying to help. That he didn’t want you to feel obligated to do anything in return, and if you found out it was him, you’d try.”

Dammit, Jim.

He was right – she was sure as hell going to do something nice for him in return. Granted, money was tight – it always was – but she could probably swing the cash to buy him a pack or two of cigarettes, or that beer he liked, or a new Scrabble set for him and Jane (apparently theirs was missing the ‘Z’ and ‘Q’ tiles, because Jim had hidden them when they first started playing and had now forgotten where he put them).

Her expression must have morphed into something resembling determination mixed with a fair amount of anger, because Jonathan jumped back into the conversation.

“Don’t be pissed at him, mom,” he said. “I know you wish he had told you, but-“

“No, I’d expect this from him,” she said. That much was true. She’d expect Jim to do something kind and expect no credit for it: even when they were younger, he’d done random, thoughtful things just to see her smile. He’d shown up at school with a pack of her favorite gum, kept her company when her parents skipped town for days on end, let her wear his jacket when she was cold. He didn’t expect anything back then, and 20 years later, he still expected absolutely nothing from her. “But he can’t expect me to just accept that he’s been doing this the whole winter. Do you know how much snow we’ve had? How many times he’s come over here and-“

“I know,” Jonathan said.

She felt her throat closing up and decided to stop talking before her voice broke. It was all suddenly too much; Jim Hopper, who hated mornings just as vehemently as she did, showing up at her house with a shovel and ice scraper and digging them out from under one of the worst winters Hawkins had ever had. He was too good, she thought. He’d always been too damn good. Even when he’d buried himself under drinking and half-assed hookups, he was a good man – a better man than Lonnie could ever hope to be.

“Thank you for telling me,” was all she said, drawing him in for a tight, long hug.

And that was how Joyce Byers ended up conscious at four in the morning on the day of the last snowfall of 1985 with a smile and a racing heartbeat. Much like she had on the night of the first snowfall, she slid out of bed and shucked off her pajamas, taking a little more care with her appearance than she had back in January. As much as her feelings for Jim Hopper confused her from time to time, she at least knew she didn’t want to stumble outside in her raggedy sweatpants and old Hawkins High sweatshirt – not this time. But there was something to be said for prioritizing warmth over outward appearances, especially at this hour of the morning, so she opted for a thick sweater and jeans.

Doing her best not to awaken the rest of her household with her stumbling, she pushed open her bedroom door and headed for the bathroom, where she ran a comb through her hair and smeared on a layer of foundation and mascara. Her movements were coated with exhaustion and ache, and briefly, she wondered why the hell she was doing this. It was dark outside, and Jim was a friend. He’d probably come over in his pajamas, for God’s sake, and it was incredibly unlikely he gave a damn what she looked like. He’d be scared shitless at the sight of her, and here she was trying to look nice.

Her stomach flipped, and she decided she’d ridden that train of thought far enough. Her feelings for him were growing harder and harder to decipher as the events of last October faded into the background of their daily lives. Sometimes she caught herself thinking about him on her downtime at work, wondering how his day was going, wondering if calling to ask him if Jane wanted to see Will was a suitable enough front for what she really wanted: to see him. Slowly, it had become easier and easier to lean on him, in the aftermath of everything. He was sturdy, and strong, and as kind as he had ever been, and so tightly woven into her past and present that ripping him out would tear her apart inside.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

To have him push her against the shelves of the storage closet, to giggle against his mouth, to grab a fistful of that tan police uniform and pull him down to her. But those thoughts were always accompanied by a swift, searing current of guilt, one that washed away her daydreams and left doubt in their wake. She wasn’t looking for a relationship – not after Bob – and if anything, Bob had confirmed her worst suspicions: that people close to her, to her family, tended to get hurt. If she could, she wanted to spare Jim that pain. He’d once referred to himself as a black hole, but Joyce thought of herself as a tornado; fated by nature to bring destruction, chaos, desolation. In protecting her family she lost whatever normalcy remained in her life, swirling in a vortex of alternate dimensions and shadowy truths.

Joyce took a deep breath.

None of this mattered right now, she reminded herself. What mattered right now was the man standing in her driveway, shoveling heavy, thick snow away from her car and chipping ice off her windshield. What mattered right now was getting her boots on and going out there and thanking him for what he’d done for the past three months. The rest of the bullshit in her brain could wait.

A few minutes later she’d pulled on her boots and coat, and stepped out onto her porch in the wintry April night. She could barely make out his silhouette halfway down her driveway, snowflakes still falling in loopy, zigzag patters through the icy air.

“Hey!” she called, and she saw Jim’s back stiffen.

“Joyce?” His voice carried an exaggerated kind of casualness that faded into shock, disbelief. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I’m not, usually,” she said, walking toward him. “Neither are you.”

She was soon close enough to see the tiny smile that stretched his lips, the shyness in his gaze. He’d been made, and he knew it.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he said. “Don’t blame the kid – I told him to keep it between us. If you’re going to get mad, get mad at me.”

He’d stopped shoveling now, stood next to her car with a gaze equally apprehensive and defiant. It was clear he expected some kind of lecture – and if she’d been more awake, maybe she would have given him one. Nothing serious, nothing too accosting, but enough for him to realize he wasn’t going to get his wish – she’d be getting him something for his trouble.

“I’m not mad,” she said, keeping her tone even and measured. It occurred to her that this was the exact voice she’d often used on Jonathan and Will, when they’d done something she didn’t approve of or went somewhere without telling her. And because Jim was Jim, he picked up on it.

“Just disappointed?” he said, and they both chuckled, any awkwardness between them dissipating.

She leaned against her car, letting the cold metal hold her up, and next to her, Jim did the same. It was impossible not to think about the last time they’d stood together like this, the exact same position, outside the Snow Ball. How he’d wrapped his arm around her and pressed his lips to her hair, reassured her, comforted her. How could everything be so different, yet so similar?

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said.

“I know,” he responded.

“I’m buying you a pack of Camels,” she said, her voice firm. “Probably two.”

“Joyce,” he started, sounding weary. This was, she knew, the exact discussion he didn’t want to have. But goddamn it, he wasn’t going to get out of this with nothing. He’d been helping her family all winter, and she wasn’t a charity case.

“No!” she said, as sternly as she could muster. “If you keep arguing with me, it’ll be three.”

“Fine,” he huffed, not sounding like it was fine at all. “But I never meant for you to-“

“Okay, three.”

“I wasn’t trying to -“

“Do you want to make it four?”

“Dammit, Joyce,” he chuckled.

Where she’d get the money for three packs all at once, she had no idea. But she liked the way the threat sounded as it slipped past her lips, and when she looked at Jim, she found his gaze more appraising than frustrated. She swallowed hard, recognizing that look. It was the same way he’d looked at her at the kitchen table all those months ago, the first time they’d shared a cigarette in two decades. Though the weather was frigid, she felt her cheeks flush.

“Why did you do it?” she asked.

He stopped, hesitated, looked away. Snow was still falling, if barely, flakes floating down and peppering his beard with white crystals that melted as soon as her eyes settled on them. She felt snow sticking to her mittens and melting, knew she should be cold, but felt only warmth. Even the wind did no damage to her now.

“I wanted to help. And I know, I know,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t need it. You’re fine on your own. But just because you can handle everything yourself…” He stopped, looked at her again, his voice softening. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

His words froze her more deeply than the temperature ever could, and she felt her lungs burning. Joyce Byers had not needed anyone in a very long time. Not Lonnie, not her parents, not even the doctors at Hawkins Lab. But Jim was different. Jim was the closest she had come to it, to needing someone, and that thought was both electrifying and terrifying.

And maybe, she thought, that was why she couldn’t let herself get close to him, like she’d been with Bob. Because if the loss of Bob – who she’d liked, but hadn’t needed – was enough to wound her this deeply, how would she ever recover from losing Jim?

How could she ever forgive herself if the tornado tore him from her, too?

“Thank you,” she said, because that was all she could say. Because anything else, right now, was too much. Because she already felt tears forming, and she didn’t want to let him see, even though she knew he wouldn’t fault her for it. He’d already seen her with every wall down, stripped to the barest of emotions at her core. There was no point in hiding anything from him, least of all her tears.

She needed him, and she couldn’t lose him. But he was here, now. She was here, now. All the nightmares of their past were but hazy memories, evaporated upon awakening.

And then, because she was happy, and nervous, and desperate for him not to see her tears, and her heart was beating so loudly she thought he had to be able to hear it, she pushed herself onto her tiptoes and closed the gap between them in a soft, slow kiss.

He made a gruff sound of surprise as her lips brushed his, and she allowed herself only a handful of seconds to treasure that moment. To feel his heart racing under her palm, warmth spreading from his hand as it rested on the small of her back. To hear the wind as it whistled through the leafless trees, seeming to pass around them, allowing them this small, fleeting moment of bliss.

And it was exactly that: fleeting. She pulled away, took a second to compose herself before opening her eyes, preparing herself for whatever she might see: confusion, disgust, bewilderment. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d passionately kissed her back – this was, all things considered, vastly different from her graveyard shift Melvald’s fantasies.

She opened her eyes, and his gaze was unreadable, hidden behind a wall of emotions she couldn’t translate.

“Jim,” she started, trying to cobble together a meaningful sentence as her heart sank lower and lower. “I…I didn’t mean to-“

He cut her off with a second, far less gentle kiss.

It was her turn to give a startled cry, melting into him, leaning into his touch. He was warm, and solid, and Jim, and this – this was everything she’d imagined on those nights when her brain was anywhere but at work. She kissed him back with every ounce of uncertainty within her, nullifying her doubts, her fears, her worries.

Nothing seemed to really matter at four-thirty in the morning. The world was trapped in a sort of twilight, ghostlike glow, as though everything the moonlight touched was nothing more than a mirage.

Nothing seemed to really matter at four-thirty in the morning, except for this, which she was half-convinced she was dreaming.

Nothing seemed to really matter at four-thirty in the morning, except for Jim’s arms around her waist and her fingers in his hair, the way he tasted of spice and smoke.

She could have kissed him until the sun came up, but her lungs had other ideas, and breathless and smiling, she leaned away. Jim held her for a little longer, the sincerity and softness in his gaze as disarming as it was charming. It had been a while, Joyce thought, since anyone looked at her like that.

The cold began to make its presence known again, as a particularly harsh gust of wind blew her hair in front of her eyes. She brushed it back into place, hating herself for not wearing a hat, again reminded that they weren’t standing in the storage closet at Melvald’s.

“I’ll help you finish,” she said, looking down at the shovel they’d both long forgotten.

“Yeah?” Jim quirked an eyebrow and gave her a shit-eating grin, his very expression an innuendo.

She snorted, rolling her eyes and giving him a playful punch on the arm, right on the Hawkins Police patch on his jacket; she doubted he could even feel it.

“You’re awful,” she groaned.

He laughed and leaned down again, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I can take care of it,” he said softly. “Go get some sleep.”

Intending to do the complete opposite of that, Joyce freed herself – though not without great reluctance – from his grasp and picked up the shovel.

“Just because you can do it yourself, doesn’t mean you have to,” she said. He smiled.

And together, they watched the sun rise over Hawkins.

#jopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #emily writes

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emmalt24 · 4 years

Text

A Significant Relationship

When I was 23/24 I went through a real I have no idea what the hell I’m doing with my life phase. I was working as a nanny and going through an incessant clubbing and running phase. Even though I was worried about the judgement from my parents and more straight edged high school peers it was one of the greatest carefree times in my life. I would be clubbing until 4am at a private members club in Mayfair then ferrying my insanely talented children I nannied around to national swim practice, tennis, hockey, you name it they did it.

Maddox Mayfair - A favourite old haunt! Left to right; me, Jazz & Suraya (aka Susu / Island Cutie)

Anyway, despite the fun of this laissez faire blip in my life. I was my harshest critic and I would constantly berate myself for not having chosen a graduate scheme in the field I had trained in. I had done well at school, in my degrees and had completed numerous internships and even worked alongside my masters degree. I don’t know what it was, office life just wasn’t for me. I felt I’d put all my eggs into one basket. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I’d always loved working with children and heavily considered becoming a teacher. So alongside my nannying job I also became a Teaching Assistant (just for one term, thank god) to make sure it was the path I wanted to follow. Alas, I decided to follow through and become a fully fledged teacher.

My first day as a Teaching Assistant. I was happy I was taking a step in the right direction.

Let's just backtrack a little. I was lost in what I was doing. In that time I didn’t have a boyfriend per say but the occasional post clubbing hook up / casual dating but nothing which led to much. I remember my last full day of nannying before shortening my hours to work at the school as a teaching assistant, I went on a date with my (little did I know at the time) long term boyfriend for the next (nearly) four years. I may have told a little white lie on the date in telling him that I had been at my school for longer than I had just so he would think my life was a little more ‘on track’ than it was at the time!

We met at a pub for a drink and the rest was history. In the years that ensued we went on numerous trips, moved in together, our families became close and we became a very established couple. From the moment we met, I felt that he filled in my blips, patchy career path and that we complemented each other. His education and career trajectory was a lot smoother than mine. He got four As at A Level, went to a top University and went on to build out startups and secure shares in them as he went along. I felt stability knowing that he was so professionally secure and in the time we were together I focused on getting my career on track. He supported me with applications, essays and he even convinced me not to quit Teacher Training when I felt I couldn’t go on. Without him I’m not sure I’d be where I am today. I was the sporty, lateral thinker and he was the intellectual, logical pragmatist. We balanced each other out (or so I thought). His Whats App messages were like poetry, carefully crafted with skilful intellect. I miss them a little . . .

Obviously no one can ‘complete’ you. As I alluded to in my previous blog post, there is a reason behind the fact I often felt intellectually inferior to my ex and others. ALSO the cleverest girl in my class at school was also called Emma which didn’t help my situation, she was like Einstein. Throughout the relationship I never felt clever enough for him but I loved how he admired and appreciated the work I did and the level of patience he knew it required that was not in his repertoire.

A predominately happy 4 year relationship (minus the fights…)

His friends wedding on a private island in the Philippines

Dinner with friends

The Break Up

There obviously are reasons why every couple break up and I do not think it fair to post the nitty-gritty publicly online (nor can I really be bothered to write it all out).

The crux of it was - we argued quite a lot and often blew very small things out of proportion. The slightest change of mood could turn into days of passive aggression and I often felt as though I were treading on eggshells to avoid the inevitable. He was hyper vigilant to any mood change on my behalf so I would always feel like I had to be a perfect girlfriend who was happy all the time even when he had upset me. I tried really hard but sometimes it’s impossible not to let your emotions show, especially when you live together, have had a stressful day or are not feeling your best.

The days leading up to the break up

We had been at one of my best friend's wedding together in India for nearly a week. I had to return for work but he had just left his job so he stayed on for about 10 days travelling.

The first night of my friends incredible Indian wedding in Mumbai.

I was back at our flat and was busy with work. He would send me daily updates and pictures of what he’d been up to. Some days he wouldn’t message me at all but when he did reach out he assured me that it was because of the lack of WiFi connection on the Karalan waves - fair enough. At the time I did not see our relationship in jeopardy. He returned on a Tuesday evening. I remember I had felt really unwell at work that day which was unlike me. I was susceptible to coughs and colds working around children but they would never stop me from going to school and generally getting on with my normal, everyday life. This evening in particular I felt feverish and just generally really bad. He had made dinner for me and was eager to tell me about his trip. I tried to act as interested as I could but I genuinely felt so awful, I think towards the end of the meal I admitted to him, ‘I think I’m coming down with something’. He had never been overly sympathetic with me when I had been ill in the past but he’d never had to be because I’d always bounced back in a day or two. I wasn’t so sure if I’d be able to this time…

In the days that followed I felt worse and worse and I felt like the biggest nuisance to him despite not being able to help being unwell. I was off work a little and he used this as an opportunity to not be in the flat when I was there too. I remember on one of the days that week work sent me home at lunch because I felt so awful. I got home and had a hot bath, which only spiked my raging temperature higher and then bundled into layers of clothes and hurled myself beneath layers of blankets. I was incessantly shaking, coughing, genuinely felt like death. I was messaging him asking him to buy some things to make me feel better but he didn’t reply all evening. When he finally did return home he eventually made his way into the bedroom, gave some half hearted, ‘my phone had died and I didn’t see your messages’ excuse and offered me some vitamins?! I stupidly somehow went to work the next day, although I really shouldn’t have because I still felt terrible. Then the next night I was feeling extra awful again. I woke up in the morning and again was getting ready for work when I felt incredibly nauseous and sick. I decided to stay at home so I lay on the sofa while he was still asleep, booked a doctor's appointment and got my best friend's broth recipe to hopefully make me feel a little more human. He was suspicious as to why I wasn’t at school, questioned my prognosis and said that I was taking out feeling unwell on him. He left for the gym he was doing a trial at and then proceeded to spend the rest of the day at his parents house and didn’t message to see how I was doing until late in the evening. I went to the doctor, got some advice as to how to deal with my raging temperature, made my broth but still felt awful. I just remember trying to have a ‘room temperature’ shower amid shivers and just willing to feel normal again.

That night he returned and the minute he walked in the door he could see from the look on my face that we needed to talk. I explained how hurt I was that he hadn’t supported me or checked in more over the past few days of not feeling well. He was half heartedly sympathetic and we ended up talking for the best part of three hours although the time escapes me, it was all a bit of a blur. All I remember was a long speel towards the end of the talk on our relationship - one was on making it work and moving forward and the other was the opposite. He built up both of the options like skyscrapers, one would stand tall rooted to its foundations and the other would come crashing down. He went for the second option and in that moment my entire world came crushing down. I just remember starring at him in astonishment, ‘this is over?’. I said in deep blindsided shock. ‘Yes’. He confirmed. I just couldn’t believe it, we were over, this was it, the end of us.

The Catalyst

That night I tossed and I turned, I just couldn’t sleep, I was in deep shock and utterly heartbroken. He wasn’t sleeping overly well either and I remember waking at the same time and asking him if last night really happened. It was a very tumultuous night but despite being unwell and exhausted I proceeded to having a very productive day despite not being able to make it through most hours without bursting into tears. He had a boozy lads Christmas Day planned with his football friends which he of course felt obliged to attend so I used the day to run errands and stay productive. He gave me that day (Saturday) to get my head together and then on Sunday he said he would help me pack up my things to move back home. I had some eBay items to sell so I first of all cycled to the post office to sort them out then I went on to a garden centre a few miles on to buy him a plant (we were obsessed with them) as a little parting gift. My head was all over the place, I probably would have bought him a car if he’d have asked for one! I returned to the flat briefly to shower then I went to a friends house up the road to walk their dog and hang out there after. They were going to be out for the day so they said I could stay there. I’d messaged them in the morning explaining what had happened so they were happy for me to stay there and keep their dog company. I just didn’t want to be alone in what I knew wasn’t our flat anymore. It was too heartbreaking, we had chosen the majority of the furniture together and had built a life there. Now it felt as though the rug had been completed ripped from beneath my feet. I even popped down the road to get my class an end of term gift, did a little workout at the house before collapsing into a heap of tears to which the labrador I was with tried to console me. Eventually (at around 9pm) I watched the film Marriage Story at the house, (which of course was totally the wrong film to watch at the time) and made myself a sympathy drink.

At this point I had barely eaten anything all day, it had slipped my mind a little. I was too focused on keeping busy. In the morning before my ex departed he made me a bagel, baked beans and a fried egg. This would be a typical weekend breakfast for us which I would usually lap up but I remember taking one bite of the bagel and not being able to go on. I had no appetite and food was last on my agenda. I had a few sips of coffee and got on with my day.

The next day was moving home day which physically hurt. Again I barely ate anything, I was too focused on packing everything up and dreading having to move back in with my parents. Not that my parents arn’t lovely, it just felt like the biggest step back. I tried to leave with as much grace as I came with, I was not angry and I did not shout, I was just so so sad. I remember loading up the dishwasher as he loaded up my car but then when I sat on the sofa and immediately noticed the dust on the table I thought to myself nah love you can do that! I think the way I dealt with the break up surprised him. He saw a side of me I didn’t even know I had. Nothing can prepare you for something like that, when you are shocked to your core. You don’t know how you’re going to react, you just ‘cope’.

My parents helped get the bundles of clothes and other things out of my car into my room. There was a lot of stuff and I still had quite a few things left at the flat. I just remember my not very big room floor being covered with bags and I felt like I didn’t even know where to begin. I felt physically awful still and was just so shocked and sad. I somehow managed to sort it all and put some clothes out for work the next day, the last week of work before the Christmas Holidays.

The week that followed at work was a bit of a blur. I’m not really sure how I made it in each day and put on a brave face. I remember on the Monday morning I’d just gotten into work and the Head and the Deputy Head were putting milk in the fridge in the corridor and as I walked past them I wanted to explain what had happened but I knew I’d burst into tears so I refrained and instead went over to my classroom. My teacher friend came straight over to my classroom, coffee in hand and hugged me tight (I burst into tears then surprise surprise!). She was (and still is) one of my biggest supports. I had the sweetest class at the time and each day that week after lunch during the register they would say, ‘Miss Thompson I hope you have the best Christmas ever’, I had the biggest lump in my throat when they said that to me! That week I didn’t eat lunch in the staffroom, I didn’t eat at all. Maybe a baby tomato or a banana but nothing substantial. Black coffee and chewing gum were my main sources of fuel that week. Little did I know that week would lead to a year of restrictive eating and purging. The breakup was the catalyst that lead me down a slippery path of self destruction as a subconscious way of numbing the pain of the breakup.

#breakup

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lightbreatheslife-blog · 6 years

Text

Multiplicity

Originally published by Twiniversity.com. Follow the link or read below: https://www.twiniversity.com/2019/05/idea-of-twins/

We sit in firm, angular chairs in the grey-carpeted waiting room of Duke Fertility as smooth jazz wafts from speakers in the ceiling. My husband checks work email on his phone while I scribble updated contact information on a medical clipboard. My stomach is bloated and the top button on my jeans is jabbing into belly rolls I would generally rather pretend do not exist. My body is lethargic, heavy, the way it feels the morning after I’ve taken sleeping pills and the grogginess has yet to wear off. My mind, however, is alert, anxious, awaiting the next set of data to determine if our first pregnancy, at six weeks in, is still a go.

“Kathleen Straight,” the nurse calls, poking her head around a heavy wooden door to beckon us back to the land where dreams just might come true. I feel a bit like Dorothy being let in to see the Wizard--if Dorothy were bloated and nauseous and about to lose her lunch. We hop up and scuffle through the doorway, down a bright hallway shellacked with pictures of newborn babies with thank you notes taped beside. “Our little miracle! Thanks Duke Fertility!” I read quickly as the nurse ushers us into a darkened exam room. Two chest-height machines topped with computer screens flank a tissue-covered table, beside the table another chair.

“Here’s a robe—it opens in the front,” the nurse says. “Go ahead and take off everything but the robe and I’ll be back.”

Quite sure of our places, my husband settles into the chair while I change into the starched sheet with arm holes and lie on the exam table, crinkling the paper below as I adjust to get comfortable. The nurse reenters, confirms my date of birth while staring into the computer monitor, clicking the little mouse every few seconds with her index finger.

“Your numbers look great,” she says, “We are going to take a look and see if we can’t find a nice heartbeat.”

She squeezes what looks like a ballpark condiment bottle of clear goo onto a long grey wand with a chord that trails back to the machine beside her. Noticing my breathing is shallow, my heartbeat quick, I force a deep breath in and out and make a feeble attempt to relax my lower body as she inserts the machine wand up into my uterus.

Indiscriminate motions flash on a black and white screen as the nurse adjusts the wand, searching for life. The machine speakers emanate indistinguishable shushes and slurs, much like the sound of the old home videos my dad used to take (almost without fail) directly into the wind. This moment, with the screen like a black ocean and the white noise of a microphone searching for sound, this moment lasts forever. My breathing freezes somewhere halfway into an inhalation.

Shushshssh….shlurrrrr….shushshsh…schlurrrr.

“Wup, there’s a nice heartbeat!” the nurse finally says as she zeros in on a tiny black dot I never could have found in a million years amid an ocean of dark grey on the screen. “Let’s see if there’s another…”

And before we can exhale, before we can celebrate the first, the sound of a second heartbeat fills the room.

“Oh, there it is--twins! Let me just see if there are any more…”

In a split second upsurge, every conceivable emotion rockets its way from the bottom of my gut, through my heart and up into my head. Joy, fear, shock, trepidation, insecurity, wonder: all of them at once explode like a giant Fourth of July firework trapped in the space between my ears. My eyes fill with involuntary tears.

“What?! Twins!?” Justin exclaims, smiling, as the weight of tears in his eyes, too, gives way and trails down his cheeks.

We look at each other to ground ourselves, check in on a reality too surreal to grasp without each other’s witness. In this moment, we are mirrors reflecting back at one another the same kaleidoscope of emotions: we smile, eyes wide and watery, each shaking our heads to somehow let the news settle where it needs to in our brains before it can be classified as reality (much how that little disk plinks its way to its final category in the game of Plinko on The Price is Right).

“Twins?!” I finally say, ever late to the party when it comes to formulating words in the midst of intense emotions. “Twins?!…Twins.” My brain has found a tiny space. The news begins to settle in.

“Looks like your uterus dropped two eggs: see here, and here,” the nurse says as she somehow identifies two small dark spots amidst the sea of near blackness.

“Almost certainly fraternal. They’re di-di--each have their own sack and placenta--which is good, statistically lower risk…”

Nothing she is saying makes any sense to me except that there are two little lives with beating hearts growing deep inside my body.

My mind races to a conversation I had just two days earlier while walking with a friend. “What if you have twins?” she asked.

“Ha! Well, I know there’s a chance…I guess we’ll just have to figure it out, won’t we?!” I replied, laughing all the while as if there really was no chance, as if we’d never really have to (get to?) figure it out. “We did go to a prayer service a few months ago at our church and out of nowhere this lady says, ‘Lord, I feel like you’re asking me to pray for twins for this couple.’ So there’s that! Ha!” I say, again dismissing it all as the over-spiritualized fancy of a well-meaning cat lady who volunteers to pray at church and goes home to keep company with 15 felines and a basket full of crocheted cat sweaters.

We had a similar experience years back, after all, when that crazy Korean missionary had us over for dinner and prayed for Justin and me, newly dating and unsure of each other at the time, to get married. Obviously she was certifiably nuts. Except, I suppose, for the fact that in the end we did get married.

Now, sprawled on the crinkling paper of the exam table with a (seemingly magic) wand waving around my uterus, it appears that cat lady may have been on to something (or she just prays for every human to have a litter like her kitties). I rub my hand over my bloated belly and wonder how my 5’3, 115lb frame is going to grow and carry two little babies around for the next 8 months without constantly tipping over front-wise.

The nurse explains that our pregnancy is considered high risk and we will now need to pursue obstetric care through one of the established hospitals around Durham—UNC or Duke—as opposed to the zen birthing center I had my eye on (the one that lets you birth in pools of Alpine spring water blessed by the Dalai Lama while getting a henna tattoo and seaweed facial). I push aside a split second of disappointment to take in our new reality: a high risk pregnancy will mean bi-monthly doctor visits, frequent ultrasounds, and enough data about premature birth risks to make any expecting mom all but confine herself to a padded room for the duration of the pregnancy.

“Congratulations,” the nurse says, handing me a folder of photocopied pamphlets titled “What to expect when expecting multiples.”

Thoroughly checked and deemed “all systems go” by a medical team for which hearing two heartbeats is a happy but routine data point, we are dismissed until the next follow-up appointment. I squeeze myself gingerly back into my jeans--leaving the top button undone--and walk with a new sense of caution out into the parking lot. The blinding sun bounces off hot black asphalt as Justin and I attempt to wrap our heads around our burgeoning reality.

It takes several weeks before the news begins to settle into all the parts of my brain, seeping slowly into the far corners, as my body rounds into curves. My chest, my hips, my butt, my belly—all the parts of my athletic, linear figure (that just sounds so much better than flat and angular, doesn’t it?) begin to plump and push outward. It seems my body is determined to share the happy news of my pregnancy before my words can get to it. But this pregnancy is young and high risk and Justin and I agree that we’ll wait to share after the first trimester is safely behind us.

This agreement lasts about one day before I am confronted with the reality that I have no self control. I’m convinced I will actually explode like one of those gender-reveal balloons unless I can share our insane news with someone.

“So...how about I just tell my mom?” I say.

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“aaaand, Lashelle. …aaaaand Kristen and Shey? But that’s it,” I say.

“Okay. I’ll tell Micah,” Justin relents (secretly busting at the seams himself).

I think of a clever way to share with my mom—a texted picture of two buns in an oven. Well, a bun and a bagel to be precise: the grocery was low on buns. She doesn’t get it, thinks I’ve taken up baking.

I call to clarify. “We’re pregnant! With twins!”

My mom, now a 69-year-old widow and mother of four middle-aged adults, has waited years for grandkids. To her credit, she never nags or pulls the passive aggressive, “It must be so nice for all your friends’ moms to have grandkids already.” She hopes secretly, wordlessly, ready to pounce on all the baby clothes Target has to offer as soon as she’s given the word. With the news of not one but two grandkids on the way, my mom is at once thrilled and beyond mystified (and likely already in the car headed to Target).

“Where are you going to put them?” she says.

“Well…huh, I guess we’ll make the back office a nursery…”

“No, in your body! Where are you going to fit them?!”

That question is trickier than the back-office renovation. I’m not sure what to say. I have no idea where I’m going to “put them,” but I’ll do my damndest to stretch out a comfy little cubby somewhere between my neck and their eventual exit door.

There are so many questions--posed by others and myself--that I am suddenly fielding. How are you going to manage two babies at once? How will you breastfeed two? Is the fertility medicine behind the multiple pregnancy? Or is it simply (or not so simply) an act of God? Will I be put on bedrest? Can my body nurture and carry two babies to term? Sweet Jesus, will they make it? Will they both make it? Will I be a good mom? Will I ever sleep again? Where have these voluptuous breasts been all my life?

I do not have a single answer. I am in territory I have never in a million years imagined my life navigating. What I do know is multiple doctors told me I would have a difficult time getting pregnant. Multiple doctors offered multiple diagnoses—from polycystic ovarian syndrome to hypothalamic amenorrhea—as the reason I have not yet been pregnant and might not ever be. And now, seven years into our marriage, seven years of not knowing whether we would ever have the joy of welcoming a child into our family, I am pregnant—with not one, but two babies. I do not know how the story will play out, but I recognize the grace, the excessive giving of a Cosmic Mom who offers two funfetti smash cakes when I ask for a crust of bread.

“Lord, I feel like you’re asking me to pray for twins,” that cat lady prayed while Justin and I both resisted the urge to interrupt.

“Whoa, whoa. You’re off script, lady,” I wanted to say at the time. “That’s not what we asked you to pray for.”

It wasn’t. And I’m scared. But I’ve lived long enough to understand that life is so rarely filled with precisely what we ask for. And every so often, that’s a good thing. Sometimes, it’s the best thing.

Katie Straight is a writer, poet and stay-at-home mom of three: twin five-year-old boys and one two-year-old little girl. Previously, her professional work focused on international development and international education policy (Harvard, MEd ‘12). She lives in Charlottesville, VA, with her husband and kids.

Photo credit: Lashelle Chappell Photography

#twins #multiples #infertility #prayer #birth announcement #ultrasound #motherhood #pregnancy #surprise #parenting #moms #babies #lashellechappellphotography

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