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saebyeog-i · 4 years ago

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bitter brews (i) | syh

“Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.””

genre | not quite a coffeeshop!au, (mild)slow burn, this thought about being an adversaries to lovers fic for six minutes

rating/warnings | a stupid amount of exposition about coffee plants, catch me throwing in the random recipes that have been my go-to for cooking during quarantine, is this angsty?, discussions of mental health issues {see tags for details}, overall mature content/themes {foul language, alcohol consumption, references & discussion of masturbation, awkward boners, future smut}, some soft moments, and some good ol’ tooth rotting waxing poetic nonsense fluff. Don’t expect too much out of this I just got tired of editing this part so I’m finally posting it.

word count | 19.6k (I meant for this to be a super long one-shot but it’s turning into a story in parts for the sake of ratings w h o o p s)

pairing | Johnny Seo x fem reader

writing playlist | Egotistic - Mamamoo, Black Swan - BTS, Sober - HYO, I Blame On You - Taeyeon, Heartbeat - BTS, Close to Me (Red Velvet Remix) - Ellie Goulding feat. Red Velvet

—

“So, what you mean to say is… you’re not coming? Like, at all?”

The bright yellow plastic of the rotary phone was slightly cool against your overheating skin, which was constantly veiled in a thin layer of sweat whenever you stayed on the farm property instead of the main house on the opposite side of the island. It was the first week of May, which meant it was already humid again. If it wasn’t the time for the daily afternoon rain showers, it might as well have felt like it was raining with how saturated the air was.

“I’m sorry, Bean, I just can’t get on a plane right now. I thought it would be fine it we stretched out the time between flights, but all my doctors are saying I need to just stay here between now and the birth, so…”

Your sister’s voice trailed off and you had to wait for a moment to be sure it wasn’t the poor reception for the phone call running across the four thousand miles that separated you— the four thousand miles that would continue to separate you for the rest of the summer.

You exhaled and twirled the aged spiral phone cord that could barely hold its shape around your index finger, staring at the concrete floor and scrunching your toes. “Well, I’m already here, obviously… do you… you want me to stay here then? Take care of stuff?” You asked hesitantly, already having a feeling of what the answer would be.

A crackly sigh of relief came through the other line. “Little Bean, you are the best, Yunho was worried about asking you to stay and man the farm for the summer harvest but I knew you would just offer! You’re the best like that, you know?” You gritted your teeth and forced a smile through, even though no one was there to witness it. “Okay, so we’ll ship out the supplies in the next few days. Yunho is gonna email you a list of delivery dates of materials for the projects he had planned for the summer and a few contractor contacts…”

Her voice warbled on, and you could only nod your head and vocalize an ‘mhmm’ every so often, listening to her rattle off instructions and information that you knew would be sent in an email too. You’d been looking forward to spending the summer with her�� you hadn’t gotten a proper chance to visit for more than a weekend since she and Yunho had gotten married about two years ago— but it turned out this wouldn’t be it. You couldn’t blame her though; she was approaching the third trimester of her pregnancy. You’d do anything for her, even this, even isolating yourself on a farm for four months. Alone.

Not exactly the leave of absence you’d been hoping for from work, but it would have to do.

✧ ✧ ✧

This was supposed to be a vacation. A break. Some much needed time off, away from your job, your career, and your “normal” life. You told yourself over and over again you were looking forward to it. And besides, it would all be worth it, because of all the time you’d get to spend with your sister after so long.

And then she had to betray you by going and getting fucking knocked up, with twins no less.

Fucking happily married couples with their god damn healthy ass sex lives and family planning and wanting to raise children. What the fuck was that all about?

It had been so long since your last vacation. Years, in fact. So long, you had over two months of paid time off accrued at work, and back at New Years you’d made the preliminary plans to spend a month on the farm in Hawaii with her, bonding and just relaxing. Sure, it would require some manual labor for the business here and there, but mostly just to rest.

What a joke that turned out to be.

The farm in Hawaii. You know, the coffee farm your brother in law bought four years ago on a dare from your sister, because he said he could totally pull it off as a side hustle, and she said he wouldn’t be able to? Yeah, that one. Fast forward to today and the side hustle became a full fledged passion that roped in a good amount of the family into the business. Siblings, cousins, parents, all involved in different aspects of package design, social media marketing, distribution and wholesale— everyone except you, who stuck with your soul sucking job in advertising, the same industry your brother in law had since left behind.

The farm and roasting wasn’t an overnight success by any means, but in the last year the brand had really taken off in the craft coffee scene. After all, Kona coffee was well sought after, and one could only claim the name ‘Kona’ if it was grown on the same two thousand or so acres of land on Hawaii’s big island. You know, the same area of land you were living on for the remainder of the summer?

Right. The whole summer.

It was just supposed to be the month of May. And then it turned into May and some of June, when you’d asked your sister to make more concrete plans, and she kept brushing it off. And then the week before you actually got off the plane, you hadn’t booked the return ticket, because you were still waiting for her answer. And then the phone call, and now, this was… indefinite? No, that was being too dramatic; if anything, it would be up through the birth. Based on the number of projects Yunho had planned for the farm, through the remainder of the summer was how long everything would take. Just you and a little over five acres of land and the summer heat. The thought of an extended isolation had your breath catching in your throat, but the last thing you wanted to do was complain or call for help. Stubborn and proud, you wouldn’t have made the offer to stay if you didn’t mean it, if you didn’t think you could handle it. There was no way you were backing out now.

When Yunho had first bought the farm, it had been a rough first few years of refining the coffee plants that had been on the land and uncared for for a number of years, but the last two summers had provided a steady increase in the harvest yield. There was a small farmhouse on the property, with two small bedrooms, a shower, and a small kitchen and living area. A few miles down the coast was the nicer, newer condo that the business had bought, a multi-bedroom unit with some better amenities for when more of your family wanted to visit. It felt weird spending time there— it was too nice, too clean, and quite frankly you had enough to keep yourself busy with on the farm property, you’d rather not have to spend time driving back and forth every day. So you opted to spend most of your nights sleeping here, even though it meant only ceiling fans and no air conditioning.

The farmhouse had very shitty, very limited wifi and a grand total of three electrical outlets outside of what was used to power the oven and refrigerator. One of those outlets was, of course, dedicated to an espresso machine on the kitchen counter, which you had gotten acquainted with over the last two weeks. It was an older model and a little temperamental (the one at the condo was much nicer), but it was still from a decent manufacturer, and you could still use it to pulled a decent shot.

Most of the time you worked in silence, and most of the time you were never too aware of how much time had passed, other than when the sun went down and it was suddenly dark out. You weren’t always this absent minded, you swore— maybe it was a byproduct of being alone for so long—

A loud, high pitched whine filled your ears, followed by some scratching at the door that lead to the lanai outside. You sighed, standing up from the kitchen table and walking over to face the monster that had made it.

“What? What do you want now?”

Staring back at you from the the other side of the screen door was what you’d affectionally referred to as The Thirty-Three Pound Menace— the medium sized stray dog that your brother-in-law so conveniently forgot to mention had been living on the farm for the last few months. It had been waiting outside the farmhouse when you first arrived, and you’d learned from the neighbors that Yunho had taken a liking to the stray and had arranged for them to feed it in his absence. But now that you were here, taking care of the dog was added to your list of daily chores. It seemed to not want to leave the farm property unless actively accompanied by you, with the assurance that you’d be bringing it back with you.

With a roll of your eyes you hip checked the door open just enough to let the dog inside the house. It circled you several times, sniffing at your knees before sitting and panting, staring up at you expectantly. In the two weeks you’d been here, the majority of your conversations were between you and this, a being that couldn’t talk back. Maybe you liked it that way. “What, dinner? Fine, fine,” you grumbled, shuffling to the cabinet and pulling out a can of wet food.

Your meals had consisted of relatively simple dishes, but today you were cranky at the confirmation that your summer was not going to go as planned. Tonight’s dinner featured a bowl of cereal and a coffee mug full of cold white wine.

You ate in silence. You drank in silence. The only noise came from the hum of the ceiling fan overhead, and the occasional sound of the dog, cleaning its paws and laying by your feet protectively. Why it seemed so determined to win over your affection, you had no idea.

After sitting in silence with only your thoughts and the now sleeping dog to keep you company for what felt like hours and downing a second mug full of wine, you found yourself letting out a loud yell, startling the dog and waking it. In a fury, you pulled out the laptop you had for the sole purpose of checking once a day for emails from Yunho and connected it to the shitty, sub-par wifi with just enough patience to navigate to an airline’s website and search flights back to the states. You were looking for the cheapest, most reasonable one you could find. After all of five minutes of research and a quick round on mental math, you clicked on a date and hit the ‘book now’ button before you could second guess yourself, slamming the computer shut once the payment went through and shoving it away from you across the table.

“September 10th,” you grumbled out loud for only you and the dog to hear. Standing from the chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor, you crossed the room and stopped in front of the wall calendar your sister had put up the last time she’d visited the farm just after New Years. You lifted a few pages and flipped forward to the month of September. Red marker in hand, you found the date and circled it rather aggressively, several times over. You looked down at the dog, watching you patiently with its head tilted. “You got that? I’m getting off this fucking island on September 10th.”

✧ ✧ ✧

The day your life fell apart came twelve days later just before nine in the morning.

Mondays were the delivery day, that’s what Yunho had laid out in his instructional emails to you. Your only source of personal transportation was an older jeep, one you didn’t enjoy driving, given that it had no top and needed some mechanical work done. So you’d made arrangements and had your groceries delivered on Monday mornings, buying mostly direct from another farm on the other side of the island, and they were always kind enough to act as the courier for whatever additional miscellaneous supplies you’d request, regardless of where they’d have to go to procure them.

There was a winding driveway that lead up to the house from the main road, and a larger, wider drive up a less steep hillside for larger vehicles for delivery. You were fully expecting the truck that lumbered up the delivery road and came to a stop just outside the barn which housed the massive coffee roaster and stored most of the processed green beans from harvest. Even though it had only been three weeks, there was a routine that had slowly been settling into place: the sound of the truck coming to a stop riled up the dog, the dog came running from wherever and started barking, you’d get your groceries and any other assorted items, the dog would get a treat because your delivery boy had a soft spot for the creature, and you’d pay for your goods. “Hey Jin,” you called out over the barking from the front of the barn, hands currently full with a sack of processed coffee beans you’d hoisted over your shoulder. “You can just leave the groceries on the porch, I’ll put them inside in a few. Did you manage to get me the bags of fertilizer and some wood stakes?” A loud thud sounded as you dropped the bag to its resting place on the concrete floor.

“I mean, I can go put these inside if that’s easier. And yeah, there’s ten bags to get us started, we can have more delivered next week if you still need ‘em.”

You whipped around to face whoever had just spoken, because that voice was most certainly not Jin.

He was tall like Jin, had wide shoulders like Jin, and his hair was kept just a bit long and looked ridiculously shiny and soft and like you could run your fingers through it like Jin’s. It was a lighter brown with some honeyed highlights running through it, compared to the dark brown almost black of Jin’s. You tensed, seeing him carrying a brown paper bag with a loaf of bread and the leafy green tops of carrots sticking out the top. He wasn’t looking at you, rather, he was far too occupied with bending down slightly and scratching behind the ear of the dog who was currently whining and wagging its tail at his feet. Some guard dog it was.

Without a second thought, you reached for the first sharp object you could find, which happened to be the box cutter you used to cut open the burlap bags the beans came back from the processing plant in. “You’re not Jin,” you said tersely, holding the utility knife by your hip defensively.

“Chill out killer, he’s harmless,” a more familiar voice called. Seokjin, your regular delivery driver whose family owned the farm you bought directly from, came into view carrying another two bags of produce and a small pile of envelopes. “Picked up your mail on my way up, the box was practically overflowing. Do you ever check that thing?” You’d first met Jin two years ago when you’d come to visit your sister and Yunho for a long weekend. He’d become a good friend of Yunho’s and was one of the people who would take turns feeding the dog when no one else was here.

Ignoring the unknown man, you relaxed your shoulders slightly and placed the knife down on the table behind you. “Thanks,” you grumbled, taking the small pile of letters from him. Admittedly, you hadn’t checked the mailbox since the day after you’d arrived on the farm, mostly out of sloth and spite. You sifted through the letters— mostly junk mail, with a few bills and notices relating to the business. You put those in front so you could look through them later, when you’d finished the physical work for the day. You tore one envelope open in particular when you noticed it was addressed directly to you and had your sister and Yunho’s Illinois address in the upper corner. It was a letter postmarked from two weeks ago, which struck you as odd, because what the hell would he bother writing in a letter that he couldn’t just send you in an email or a text or a phone call? You started reading aloud softly to yourself.

“‘My Dearest Bean… First of all I want to apologize for the change in plans, but with your sister’s condition her doctors just don’t recommend her traveling,’ God, he’s so dramatic she’s not terminally ill she’s just pregnant. Blah blah blah, I don’t care, you’re full of absolute shite, Yunho,” you began skimming through his lengthy pre amble, looking for the purpose behind the note. Without reading the middle you flipped the stationary paper over to see his handwriting covered the entire back of the page, too. “God, he’s so long winded. Oh, here we go, the very end— ‘I promise we’ll make it up to you, thank you for running the farm and taking care of Puppy, please be nice to Johnny and treat him well, he seems like a good kid.” You stared at the words written on the paper and looked up at Jin. “Who the fuck is Johnny?”

The man next to him cleared his throat and held his hand up. “Johnny! I’m uh, that’s me. You must be _____— I’ve heard a lot about you from Yunho! I’m Johnny Seo, it’s nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, reaching a hand out.

You eyed it but made no move to reciprocate the action. “Cool. You know Yunho. Lots of people know Yunho, he’s a huge fucking flirt, social butterfly of the century, the man never shuts up. Why should I be nice to you?”

He shifted on his feet and his outstretched hand retreated. “Oh. Uh. I’m uh, here for the summer,” he explained, sounding almost confused. “Didn’t— didn’t Yunho tell you?”

Your eyes bugged out and you looked over to Jin. “Jin who the fuck is this and why is he on my farm?” You whispered.

Your friend laughed. “You read the end of Yunho’s letter. I’m sure if you read the whole thing it would explain more. This is Johnny, and he’s here for the summer. He’s gonna help you out! I know the list of all the projects you need to finish this summer is lengthy, and plus look at the guy, he’s jacked! You could use the muscle for manual labor. More work for him, less for you, right? And look, the poor dog you refuse to give a name to even likes him!” Jin gestured comically at Johnny. You looked over, sizing him up some— Jin wasn’t wrong. The stranger was muscular on top of being tall, and under the capped sleeves of his tee shirt you saw his arms that looked the size of your head. The dog was still circling him, sniffing and begging for attention.

Johnny tried smiling again. “Yunho mentioned there was a lot of construction type work to do. I uh, had nothing else planned so he said I could stay on the farm for the summer and work in exchange for food and a place to sleep. I take it he uh, didn’t run that by you first, did he?”

Your grip on the papers in hand tightened and you felt your jaw tense involuntarily. “No, he managed to not mention that once to me. How did you even get here?” You hissed back.

“I picked him up at the airport this morning,” Jin answered calmly, “Yunho gave me a buzz a few days ago to ask if I could bring him here with this week’s groceries.”

“So he managed to arrange for him to get on a plane and secure transportation to the farm but couldn’t be bothered to call me and let me know?”

Jin only laughed, his eyes crinkling. “I’m pretty sure he knows you well enough by now to know that this would have been your reaction whatever way he told you.” Despite the kinship you’d felt growing between the two of you, Jin was Yunho’s friend first, and it only made sense that his allegiance would be to him first. Of course he’d side with Yunho on this matter. “And yes, like Johnny said I did bring a bundle of plant stakes and ten bags of fertilizer— they’re in the back of the truck bed.”

“Oh, I could get those—” Johnny started, moving to step towards the truck.

You could barely think straight. First they bailed on you unexpectedly to spend the summer on the farm alone. That was fine— you’d gotten that through your head, and had come to terms with that. But suddenly springing a plus one on you, without your consent? Absolutely the fuck not.

“Yeah. Don’t need help. Thanks,” you spat, grabbing the bags of groceries from him and brushing past, stomping your way back to the farmhouse.

Johnny stood frozen for a moment before stammering, looking from Jin to your retreating figure and back again. “I should— I should talk to her, right? Or do I—”

“Whoa, don’t think too hard there handsome, I can smell wood burning. Don’t stress about it. She’s just a little… touchy. Let me talk to her,” Jin patted Johnny on the back before heading up the path to the farmhouse after you.

You’d stormed into the house and slammed the groceries down on the counter and let out a screech of rage before picking up the receiver of the yellow rotary phone and dialing. Tapping you foot incessantly, you waited as it rang.

“He-llo~?” The singsong voice that came through the other end was far too amused with itself, more so than usual, and that’s how you knew he knew why you were calling.

“Jung Yunho you better be thankful you knocked up my sister because if it weren’t for the babies in her womb I would fly myself across the Pacific and flay you alive,” you seethed through gritted teeth.

In true unbothered fashion, your brother in law only laughed at your threat. “Ah, so I take it your employee has arrived safely! I’ll have to thank Seokjin for getting him from the airport. Can you give the Kims a pound of the special medium roast as a token of my gratitude?”

“No!” You yelled back, “No! I will not! I’m already beyond frustrated that I’m on this island alone for the entire summer, I’m doing this as a favor because we’re family! I’m not your slave, Yunho! Where was my warning, huh? When were you going to ask if I was okay with you sending some stranger to live in the same house as me, huh?!”

The familiar ache in your chest started to swell, and breathing became difficult. ‘Not now,’ you thought bitterly, ‘Please not right now-’

You curled your free hand into a fist and pressed your nails into your palm, hard, grounding yourself. Yunho’s voice on the phone blurred out and by the time his words started making sense again, you’d already missed what he’d been saying. “I’m not saying you have to like the kid, just show him some hospitality, yeah? You just said it yourself, you didn’t want to be alone this summer, and now you won’t be. I know you’re a good cook so that’s why I told him food would be included. Don’t worry, I’ve already sent some pre-payments to the Kims, so your grocery orders are doubled for the rest of the summer.” His voice went quiet for a second. You rubbed at your temple in frustration, squinting your eyes shut and forcing the mere thought of tears deep back into the recesses of your brain. “Bean? You still there?”

“Don’t get all pretend concerned, Yunho. And stop using my childhood nickname any time you want something from me.” Your voice was quieter now, the intensity of your emotions subsiding, but the betrayal you felt still running strong. “Fine. I’ll tolerate him. But there better be a case of wine in next week’s groceries to make this bearable.”

“Done and done! You’re gonna love him Bean, he’s really great. He’ll be good company.” The continued use of your childhood nickname from anyone other than your sister always gave you pause.

“I said tolerate not befriend. There’s a difference,” you clarified quickly. A knock at the door startled you, and you jumped and looked to see Jin standing by the front door, a roll of wooden stakes under his arm. You rolled your eyes and waved your arm to shoo him away, pointing at the phone pressed to your ear. “Look, Yunho, I don’t know what you’re hoping to see me get out of this, but if he drives me insane I can’t promise that he’ll walk away from this unscathed.”

His laugh echoed through the receiver and reverberated against your skin. “I just think it would do you some good to have some human interaction, that’s all. Your sister too. She says hi, by the way,” he added softly, “And so do the little ones.”

You scoffed. Yunho always brought up your sister as a way of diffusing your temper. He knew it would always work. “They’re still in embryonic fluid, they can’t talk and they certainly don’t have cognitive function.” Sometimes you wondered if even Yunho had that with the wild ideas that went through his mind.

“Ever the romantic, you are. You know, soon they’ll be able to think! And they’ll be thinking of their favorite auntie, and how much they can’t wait to meet her! So she can’t be arrested for murder between now and when they’re born, because babies can’t go to prison!”

“I’m telling your sister you said that,” you challenged. With an exhale, you did your best to let go of the frustration and tension inside and politely ended the phone call. You were trying to clear your head and collect yourself before heading back outside when you heard a yell that sounded all too much like Jin’s voice.

“What fresh hell—” you started, shuffling back outside in the direction of the commotion where you saw Jin, somewhat struggling under the weight of two bags of fertilizer, and Johnny, now with a baseball cap turned backwards on his head, easily hoisting a stack of four bags without slouching.

Your eyebrow ticked up upon the realization that it was almost seventy pounds that he was slinging around like it was nothing. “Anywhere specific you want these?” He asked innocently, looking up at where you stood on the lanai just outside the door. You almost cursed him out when he blinked at you twice.

You pointed your left arm down the hill, the opposite direction of the way to the barn. “Shed. Next to the vegetable garden.” You wrinkled your nose at him. “And lose the hat. Or at least don’t wear it backwards. Makes you look like an ass.”

Johnny’s mouth hung open for a moment before he hummed and winked. “You got it, Boss! Come on handsome, if you can carry those good looks you can carry some dirt,” he called back to Jin, who was currently grumbling about how manual labor wasn’t a part of his delivery arrangement.

The hairs on your arm stood up on edge as you watched Johnny laugh deeply as he ambled his way in the direction you’d pointed. The thirty three pound menace next to you whined and wagged its tail, panting as it went from watching you to watching Johnny’s retreating figure. You looked down and made eye contact. “If I survive this, I’m going to kill Yunho.”

✧ ✧ ✧

There was no case of wine in the grocery deliveries the following week. The reasoning Yunho gave was that per Jin’s investigation, the liquor stores were all out of your favorite wine, so there was no point in sending you a sub par alternative. It was absolute crap, but you had better things to do than chew out your brother in law over the phone. Took way more energy than it was worth.

So far, Johnny was making good on his word and earning his keep. At first, you’d tried avoiding him as much as possible, intentionally waking up hours ahead of him and starting your day when the sun rose. You never made much noise in the mornings, the loudest thing you did was make coffee, and lately you’d opted for a pour over versus pulling shots of espresso. You weren’t personally one for breakfast, choosing just coffee and maybe a piece of fruit instead. This morning you felt a little hungrier than usual, so you thought you’d get yourself a bowl of cereal. Peering into your pantry, you saw that on the shelf where there had been a stash of cereal boxes, there was now nothing.

“Where the fuck are my cocoa pebbles?” You swore in shock, not realizing you weren’t alone in the kitchen.

“Shit sorry, I ate the last of those yesterday.”

You whirled around to see Johnny, still seemingly half asleep and with some gnarly bedhead, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. His lips were so perfectly pouty, one small part of your brain almost thought he looked cute like this.

But no, he wasn’t cute, he was a thief— he’d stolen all of your cereal stash. “Did you seriously eat through four boxes in a week?” You asked incredulously.

“It was three and a quarter! And yeah I don’t know, I’m always hungry and just one bowl of cereal isn’t filling enough, so I usually have two, or three...” He mumbled, voice trailing off as he rubbed a hand behind his head sheepishly.

You snorted. And then a thought came across you. “Johnny,” you said calmly, the feeling of his name on your tongue foreign and strange. Was this the first time you’d addressed him by name since his arrival? You couldn’t remember. “Do you not know how to cook?”

He hummed thoughtfully for a second. “No-pe!” He popped the p sound in the word. How was he this cheerful, even first thing in the morning? “I mean, I can like, boil water and cook pasta and stuff like that. I think I successfully grilled pork belly once, though it was probably doused in too much oil and too many spices. My college experience was funded almost exclusively on instant dinners and takeout for two years, and then for the second half one of my roommates was an actual chef, so, no one was allowed in the kitchen ‘cept for him.”

“Honestly, I am shocked that you haven’t perished in some tragically strange idiotic accident yet,” you sighed and shuffled to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon. You grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet under the stove and clicked the burner on, reaching for the oil bottle that lived on the counter top and drizzling some in the pan.

Johnny shuffled closer to inspect what you were doing and let out a gasp of appreciation. “You’re making me eggs and bacon?”

“I’m making me eggs and bacon,” you corrected, “But I guess I’ll make enough for you too,” you said as you peeled the strips off the packaging and placed them into the pan with a sizzle. You reached for a few eggs and cracked four into the pan directly, cocked your head at the amount of food, and then grabbed two more eggs and added them in before taking a fork and scrambling them all together, adding salt and white pepper to the bubbling liquid. You glanced up at Johnny, still watching you, slightly curious. “I don’t trust you. You say you’re an adult but you eat like a teenage boy still. There’s never any leftovers.” After a few minutes you flipped the strips of bacon over and then quickly chopped up a green onion and scraped it onto the scramble just before the eggs finished cooking.

Johnny watched you the whole time, and you felt only slightly uneasy under his gaze. When you turned off the stove after plated your food and stepping away to pour yourself some coffee and he didn’t move, you gestured at the pan in a fashion as if to silently ask him ‘What?’

“Oh!” He gasped out lightly, springing into action and plating the food for himself. You hadn’t bothered to sit down at the table, instead holding the plate in front of you as you leaned against the counter and ate. Johnny followed your lead, taking a bite and groaning audibly in enjoyment at he chewed. He smiled and his eyes shone, almost sparkling. You watched him curiously for a moment before he mumbled out “Your cooking is really good! It uh, reminds me of my mom’s. She’s a great cook.”

You kept your lips tightly shut at the apparent compliment. “It’s just eggs, you weirdo. Finish up and do the dishes. When you’re done meet me by the shed. Today you’re stripping off the old paint and removing any of the rotting boards and disposing of them,” you instructed while placing your empty plate in the sink. His tasks for the day were the next phase in slowly rebuilding the dilapidated shed on the west side of the property to make it useful for storage of all the tools you used to tend to the fruit trees and vegetable garden nearby.

He flashed a smile at you and gave a mock salute. “Aye-aye, captain, I am at your service.”

“Oh shut up,” you grumbled, downing more of your coffee before trudging off.

It was going to be a long summer.

✧ ✧ ✧

“I’m telling you Wendy, I’m going to need an alibi, I really am going to murder my brother in law.”

“What, for giving you live-in eye candy for the summer and hinting that he thinks you need to get laid?”

“Ugh, no, that’s not— hold up, you don’t agree with him, do you?”

The sound of your best friend’s laughter through the phone had you dragging your hands over your face and pulling down at your eyelids dramatically, as if she could see your reaction.

On Thursdays, you finished up your work for the day around 4pm so you could pull up a chair next to the rotary phone and make time for the weekly scheduled phone call with Wendy. She’d insisted on the arrangement after you went six days without texting her, which you’d insisted was because service was spotty, but she’d accurately called you out on being cranky and stewing by yourself.

You and Wendy had met during your freshman year of college. By graduation, you’d lived together for three years, and made a vow to move to the same city together post grad, hence why she was still your roommate now— or was, seeing as you were on the island instead of back in the two bedroom apartment you shared. There was a five hour timezone difference between Hawaii and Chicago, so you’d figured out a schedule that worked for both of you. The calls had a tendency to last for several hours, and depending on how much wine you’d drink while on the phone with her would include bathroom breaks and you inevitably swearing at whatever you were cooking for dinner than night.

“Honey, please. I love you. Dearly, and against all other advice, you’re my best friend— but you need to get laid. You haven’t been this tense since our last finals week of senior year. And clearly you’re not opposed to the idea of Eye Candy banging your brains out, otherwise you wouldn’t have described him as, and I quote, ‘dumb hot and stupidly ripped’. When are you gonna send me a photo so I have something better to work with?”

“Okay but are you sure you’re not the sexually frustrated one here and you’re just trying to live vicariously through me?”

Wendy’s hum sounded through the line. “I mean, can’t we both be desperately horny and in need of getting some? It’s not ideal but it is possible. Plus, I’m not the one that didn’t pack her vibrator—”

You let out a whine interrupting her as you leaned back in your chair, swirling the wine in your glass a few times as you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder. “Shut up stop reminding me! I regret it but no I’m not letting you send me a new one, especially not with a guy living with me. Come on, my stories are boring, it’s the same thing every day. I wake up, I feed the dog, I tell him what to do and then I hide away doing my own chores. When are you gonna tell me more about that girl you were seeing— what was her name, Joo-something?”

“Nice try, we’re not changing the subject with my dating life. Seriously, babe, you should just think about it.”

“And what, make it awkward for the rest of the summer? No thanks,” you shot her idea down quickly.

“I’m willing to bet money you’ll cave before the end of the summer. Plus, who doesn’t love a good ol’ summer fling? And who says you ever have to see him again once it’s all over?”

As much as you’d loathe to admit it, Wendy had a bit of a point there. “Cute, but you and I both know I’m too high strung for a temporary fling. Plus, I’m not in the mood to catch feelings right now.”

“If I find a way to replenish your wine supply, would that help?”

You groaned dramatically once more. “Not with the sexual frustration, but with my overall wellbeing, yes, yes it would.”

Wendy squealed on the other end of the phone. “Ha! So you admit it, you are sexually frustrated!”

“Woman, when in the years that you’ve known me have I not been at least some kind of frustrated?” You acknowledged.

Your best friend laughed in agreement, understanding she wasn’t going to get much more out of you about Johnny, and began a lengthy and detailed story about her last three dates with a girl she’d met through a friend of a friend. As you listened to how her voice held a dreamlike quality to it when she talked about her, you couldn’t help the pang of jealousy you felt and a sinking feeling in your gut that you’d been lying through your teeth earlier, and that maybe, subconsciously, you did want to catch feelings.

Maybe.

✧ ✧ ✧

“So… is there a story or a reason why you’re here instead of Yunho?”

You lifted your head from your focused task of sorting out the peaberry beans from the regular beans. It was tedious, time consuming, annoying as all hell, and made you want a drink stiffer than the coffee that you were certain made up more of your body fluids than blood or water did at this point. “Yes,” you said curtly after studying his face for a minute, not providing any further explanation. Johnny had his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips, nodding for a moment where he stood in the entrance to the barn.

You had set up your mad scientist level organization for the process all across the concrete floor of the refinished barn. Over the last week, Johnny had finished replacing the boards on the siding of the shed, stained the wood, and sealed it with a protective coat. He even managed to remove all the broken glass from the windows without sustaining any injuries, which you hadn’t thought possible for him. This morning you had him weed the vegetable garden, prune back the hedges along the back side of the house, and clean the deck of the lanai. How did he possibly still have any energy left? He was definitely a harder worker than you’d first given him credit for— you shook your head, not wanting to continue a spiral on Johnny and any detailed thoughts about him.

Back to your task at hand.

The harvest had been divided into several metal basins of five pounds of beans each, and in front of each basin you’d placed two dishes on either side. The point was to be able to weigh how many beans ended up being peaberry from each five pounds of harvest, and to see if you could leverage a steady average from the yield and better plan for how many pounds of the limited roast you could advertise for and set the price per pound accordingly. You wore a face mask and nylon disposable gloves while sorting, and despite being an annoying task, after a while it became a way for you to zone out and let the hours pass by. When the dishes were empty and you first started sorting them, there was a distinct echo of the small beans hitting the metal dish over and over again, until enough beans were lining the bottom that it started to dull the noise.

“Sigh.”

A slight puff of air washed over you. Did he just say the word ‘sigh’ out loud? And was he hovering over your shoulder?

“Can I help you?” You asked, pausing your sorting for only a moment.

“Isn’t it my job to ask you that question? I’m not some layabout, I am trying to earn my keep, you know,” Johnny said in response, rubbing his hands together and eyeing the basin of beans in front of him. You were almost inclined to hand it to him. Over the last four weeks, you’d gotten a lot of decent work out of him, even if you did feel somewhat micro-manage-y half the time with the tasks you did give him. “Okay, how does this work?”

You groaned exaggeratedly and excessively, rolling your eyes. When you didn’t answer, he reached forward and plucked a single coffee bean from the basin and examined it closely. “Hey, this one’s funny looking!”

“Don’t touch them with your bare hands, that’s just going to waste them.” You swatted the bean out of his hand and then looked at your own gloves and sighed. “If you’re insisting on helping, fine. But you need sanitary gear to handle them. Go wash your hands, there’s masks and gloves by the sink,” you grumbled, standing up and taking off your own gloves to dispose of them and replace them with a fresh pair.

Johnny followed obediently, trailing behind you a little too innocently for someone of his size. “Yes, the beans still need to be roasted and that’ll kill any bacteria, but I just like to be extra cautious, okay? Because it’s a mutation there’s no rule to how much of a yield I’ll get with each harvest so I don’t like wasting even a single bean,” you reasoned, settling back down and folding your legs back at the now half-sorted metal bowl.

“So, we’re just sorting the weird ones from the normal ones?” He asked while picking up another peaberry bean, this time with gloved hands and a mask over his mouth and nose.

You took a quick glance and nodded to confirm that yes, the bean in his hand was one of the weird ones he should be looking for. “They’re called peaberry. Normally, a coffee cherry has two seeds in it, or beans. Those two seeds mature in the center of the cherry and you get one flat side and one side touching it. Sometimes people call them ‘flat beans’ but those are the ‘normal’ beans, as you said,” you explained, sifting through your bowl rather quickly. “But the peaberry ones only have one bean inside. The bean is round, so that’s where the name ‘peaberry’ comes from, because—“

“Because it’s round so it looks like a pea, oh I get it! That’s funny,” he laughed, examining the rounded bean in front of him. “Okay, got it, so we’re sorting the peaberry from the flat beans?”

“You proud of your new vocab words?” You snorted, listening for the well known tink of a bean hitting the empty metal bowls. He giggled in acknowledgement.

You worked in relative silence, a small rhythm growing between the two of you. Johnny worked at about half the speed you did, but you couldn’t knock him for it, as it had taken you a while to pick up the pace when you first started hand sorting like this.

“How do you even know Yunho?” You finally asked. Four weeks since he’d arrived, and you’d never bothered to get to know him well enough to listen to the full story of how he’d ended up here.

Johnny shifted in his seated position, clearly a little taken aback that you’d bothered to ask him anything, given your track record. “Oh. Met him in Chicago when I was home visiting. At a local coffee shop, where my buddy Jaehyun is the manager. I went to go bother Jaehyun at work and he was just, shootin’ the shit with one of his coffee suppliers who was doing a visit. That supplier was Yunho. Started talking about how he owned the farm where the beans were grown, and that he wasn’t going to be able to spend the summer out there like he’d planned, so he was looking for some reliable help to uh, take care of things. Mentioned someone else would be on site and in charge, but offered the whole ‘room and board in exchange for copious amounts of physical labor’.”

“And you said yes? Just like that, no questions asked?” It seemed a little too easy, but then again, Johnny had proved to be a little too easygoing.

He shrugged. “Well, yeah. That’s kinda the point of my whole year. Just, go with the flow.” You glanced over, but Johnny was looking down, focused on the task at hand.

You nodded and hummed and turned back to your own basin to continue sorting. A few beats passed by before you couldn’t help yourself— “You’ve said that before. ‘Go with the flow’, or that you ‘had nothing else going on’. What do you mean by that?”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Johnny’s ears perk up, followed by movement of his cheeks implying the curve of a slight smile. “I’m on a gap year, I guess is what the kids would say. Or maybe sabbatical? Though it’s not like I have any tenure enough to qualify for the real meaning of the term. But yeah, anyways— year off from work. Not getting paid or anything, but, when it’s over if I want it, my old job is waiting for me.”

“How come? That seems so—”

“Impulsive?”

You frowned. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he repeated, but not in a mocking manner— it was in agreement. “I guess the best way to explain it is this: I was a huge workaholic. I’ve only had my one job post grad after studying business, and I woke up one morning a month before my twenty-fifth birthday and realized it was sucking the soul out of me. It was all I ate, slept, breathed, and it wasn’t even what I wanted to be doing with my life, I realized.”

His pain started sounding all too familiar. “What is it you wanted to do instead, then?”

Even under the mask covering the lower half of his face, his smile reached his eyes. “Photography. I got into an art school when I was applying to colleges, but it just seemed so… risky. I would’ve had to take out loans and instead I got almost a full ride for a bigger university, so I went for that instead. Studied business, managed to grind through undergrad and grad school in four years and walked out with a combined BS and MBA. Took classes every summer to make it happen. I think after graduation, I went back to my parents house and passed out and slept for twenty-three hours straight,” he laughed, clearly recalling a specific memory. “I felt really accomplished when it was over, and even had the job offer already lined up. But I wish I had had more courage to study what I was truly passionate about.

“So after an almost three year long stint at the company and a vested 401k, I decided to take a year off to just, travel the world a bit. I grinded so hard through college I never got the chance to do study abroad, so I guess I wanted to make up for that? I never used to act on impulse or follow my heart, so, that was the goal for this year. To do only that.”

His words struck you differently. This was a whole new side to Johnny that you really weren’t expecting— not that you had a particularly three dimensional view of him to begin with. “And your heart lead you here… to my brother-in-law’s coffee farm?”

He laughed again, trying to hide just how thrilled he was that you were actually engaging in a full on conversation with him. “Well, sort of. My year off started back in February, day before my birthday. Got on a plane and did a few months backpack trip around Asia. I had no clue what would be next, thought maybe Australia, maybe Europe, but when I got off the plane in Chicago to see my mom and regroup on my packing, I decided to go straight from the airport to surprise and bother Jaehyun at his coffee shop. That day I met Yunho. That was a little over six weeks ago. And now I’m here, with you.”

There was something about the way he said that that didn’t sit well in your stomach— with you, like it was a good thing, like he liked it. You didn’t deign him with a response to the end of his story. Like an extension of the current state of your mind, your hands were reaching, feeling around for something, but you were only met with the flat surface of the bottom of the basin.

You looked down to see the last of the metal bowls was empty. Somehow, you’d managed to sort through all twenty pounds of coffee beans. You pulled the face mask down under your chin as you stared at the metal surface for a moment before standing abruptly and turning on your heels.

Confused, Johnny called your name out after you questioningly. “It’s getting late and I’m hungry. You uh, bag up the peaberry and set it aside and then wash out all the metal trays,” you gave him his next set of tasks quickly to make your escape back to the farmhouse to put some distance between the two of you.

A little over an hour later, you’d put together a curry on the stove with some stew meat and a base that included apples, carrots, potatoes, and melted dark chocolate for a more mellow sweet taste to balance it out. You thought about the first time Johnny complimented your cooking when it was just eggs, and how he’d continued to compliment it with every new meal you’d make. You wouldn’t call yourself a chef by any means, thinking that enjoying your go-to recipes would be a more acquired taste, and were in the midst of serving yourself when Johnny came inside with the dog trailing behind him. You didn’t bother saying much, you never did when you’d finished cooking a meal; just a grunt acknowledging his presence and a head nod at the food before you took your bowl and went through the door to go sit on the lanai by yourself. Absent-mindedly, you whistled for the dog to follow you.

Johnny kept to himself that night, eating at the kitchen table, content with looking up out the bay window to see you hand feeding small chunks of meat from your bowl to the dog, even going so far as to pet its head. He shook his head to himself thinking about how you pretended to be so opposed to the dog, and how you still hadn’t given it a name, and smiled as he took another bite.

✧ ✧ ✧

At five weeks, you stopped watching Johnny like a hawk, and started giving him more lengthy tasks that you, quite frankly, just didn’t want to do yourself. Though, if you were being honest, every task you gave him was one you didn’t want to do yourself.

Such as his current one, which was to prep the ground for a new row of sapling fruit trees. You’d walked down from the farmhouse over the hill to the open area next to a row of lemon and guava trees where you’d set him to the task of digging a row of four foot wide, four foot deep holes. The week after next, Jin’s delivery would be a much larger one, and include a number of sapling fruit trees from his family’s farm— rambutans, limes, and mangos, to name a few. You wanted to make sure the holes got dug and the irrigation system set in place properly well in advance.

When you came to a stop at the end of the row of freshly dug holes in the ground you blinked once. Twice. A third time. The sight before you was impossible to comprehend. Because not only was Johnny finishing digging the last of ten massive holes having taken less than three hours to do so, but he had been digging them shirtless.

“What. What?” You asked, staring, eyes wide and brow furrowed.

“Huh?” He asked, looking up from the bottom of the last hole and swishing his head to get his bangs, matted with sweat against his forehead, out of his face. The sun had crested over to this side of the hill now and it was blisteringly hot out. Standing in direct sunlight, doing physical labor, obviously he’d worked up a sweat.

You had to tear your eyes away from the shine on his torso and return them to just his face. “Where the fuck is your shirt?”

He pointed to where a lump of fabric was off to the side next to a water bottle. “It’s fucking hot out, I was dying,” he reasoned.

“You’re hot,” you mumbled under your breath, turning on your heel to give yourself reprieve from the onslaught that was Johnny’s unexpected number of defined abdominal muscles that were usually covered by cotton t shirts.

“What was that?” He called, squinting up into the sun from the bottom of the hole.

“I said, put a god damn shirt on before you come back in my house,” you called back, already wrapping your arms around yourself and heading back to the farmhouse. “And dinner’ll be ready in twenty, so finish up,” you added, trudging off before he could respond.

What you would have seen if you’d turned back around was an open mouthed smile curl across his face, as Johnny hummed to himself at the joy he felt for this, the first time you’d bothered to warn him when dinner would be ready.

✧ ✧ ✧

Ever since you’d seen Johnny shirtless, you’d be restless.

Well, restless was the polite word. The word to better describe what you’d been feeling was… frustrated?

Distracted? Peeved? Worked up?

Horny.

The word you were avoiding was horny.

Wendy had been the one to get you to admit it during your last weekly phone call. You told her about the shirtless incident and the first thing she asked was if you had plans to throw out the washing machine and instead start doing your laundry on Johnny’s abs, which did not help your predicament any further. It was also Wendy who had pointed out that you’d been alone on this farm for almost two months with a dog and a man too pretty for his own good, and despite how he represented everything you were annoyed at in life at the moment, after seeing his half naked figure, it would only be natural for you to have been a little turned on. And a little turned on was exactly where you were— for the last week, you had been going on runs every night to release the excess pent up energy you suddenly had.

The last time you exercised this much you were still in college. Back then you went on hour long runs through the city with your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ because it was the only way you weren’t constantly bombarded with an on onslaught of messages from classmates, friends, family, or your on campus job that took up way too much of your time. And now, you found yourself returning to old habits, this time because what, you were too proud to just rub one out like the rest of humanity? (That phrasing, too, was courtesy of your best friend, when she again reminded you of your failure to pack your vibrator.)

After another eight miles up and down the road outside the farm that ran along the island’s coast your legs felt like absolute jello when you finished, but your head was empty enough that you were able to return to the property and exist near Johnny in peace. You walked by the barn on your way up to the farmhouse, sticking your head inside briefly to look for him. You didn’t hear any noise, and didn’t find him at first glance, but didn’t think much of it as you went back inside.

The dog was already in the kitchen, so that should have been your first clue. You opened the fridge and peered inside, pulling out a number of assorted ingredients to make a lemon cream sauce for pasta with chicken.

You set a pot of water to boil, turned the oven on to preheat, and began melting butter, garlic, oil, and a variety of herbs in a sauce pan. That plus the low hum of the overhead fan meant just enough noise that you couldn’t hear the water running from the small shower on the other side of the house, and you didn’t think twice as the heat cast off by the appliances made you feel even stuffier post-run, and you peeled your shirt off your body and rolled the waistband of your shorts down an inch, pressing your bare feet flat against the hardwood flooring to try and get some semblance of cooling relief.

It was only a few moments later, with the water boiling and pasta cooking inside and the chicken already seasoned and in the oven, when you peered over the bubbling sauce pan and dipped the edge of your pinky into the mixture to bring just a taste up to your mouth. Just like you’d hoped, it was light and had a kick of citrus to it from the lemon, but not so much that it was overpowering. You closed your eyes and hummed in appreciation as you licked the sauce off, which, in retrospect, probably sounded far too much like a moan for your own good.

“Jesus fuck—”

And suddenly, you realized you weren’t alone inside the house.

You screamed at first from the shock of being startled by the noise, and then again when it registered in your brain that Johnny was standing in the kitchen, hair dripping wet, chest bare and abdominal muscles just as defined as the last time you’d seen them, face flushed in some sort of embarrassment with a bath towel wrapped around his hips.

Johnny was fresh out of the shower, nearly naked in your kitchen, clutching his clothes balled up in his left hand.

You scream again.

“What are you doing?!” You shrieked out, raising your voice over the dog’s excited barking at the commotion the two of you had begun making.

He stammered for a moment, clearly frozen in place. “I was just! You were gone, and I was done for the day, so I took a shower but I— I forgot my change of clothes in my room and these towels are small and just— Jesus why are you wearing so little clothing?!”

Your fury returned full force at the comment. “Why am I wearing so little clothing? You’re in a towel for fuck’s sake! This is my house, I live here! I should be the one asking you where your clothes are!”

“They’re here, in my hand!” He yelled back, waving the bundle around frantically. “I just said I forgot them when I went to shower!”

Your eyes bugged out of you head as your gaze traveled down, taking in the entirety of the figure before you and— oh.

“Are you… are you hard right now?” You asked in bewilderment.

The way the color drained out of Johnny’s face and the speed with which he moved the bundle of clothing to hold it over the space between his legs answered your question.

“Oh, my god.” Exasperated, you slammed your eyes shut and held your hands up by your sides. “What the fuck, John.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— fuck, shit I made it weird— please don’t get mad, I can totally fix this,” he started spewing apologies, and you heard him take two steps closer to you. “Wait, were you looking at my dick?”

“Ah!” You spat out, turning away from him. His question was valid but you had no intention of acknowledging it. “Out! Get out of my house, go… somewhere else until that goes away or you can, I don’t know, take care of it!” You instantly thought of the implication of your words and then yelled again. “No— don’t— fuck, don’t do that! Jesus for the love of god don’t take care of it while I’m standing here—” you were stammering and beyond flustered. How the fuck were you supposed to talk to someone who had just gotten a fucking boner by looking at you, sweaty in a sports bra, while sucking a cream colored substance off the tip of your pinky?

You exhaled deeply, eyes still closed. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to go to your room. I am going to finish cooking my dinner. You will be absolutely silent until you hear me leave. I will be staying at the condo for the next week. You will either ration the leftovers or fend for yourself, I do not care. Got it?” You signed out again, eyes flicking open. Johnny held his bundle of clothes in front of his legs and nodded his head once, not bothering with any comeback before he shuffled to the guest room and shut the door quietly.

It took another twenty minutes for the meat to finish cooking and the dish to be full prepared. How you managed to keep your head empty and shut off your internal monologue during that time, you’ll never know, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You packed two servings into a Tupperware container for yourself before shoving some clothes in a duffle bag and grabbing the keys to the jeep you hated driving. It was only about ten minutes down the road to the condo, but it was almost fifteen miles, so you figured this was the lesser of two evils. You whistled for the dog to follow you, and it was all too excited to jump in the passenger seat of the car. The farmhouse was now dry of liquor, what with Yunho not making good on his promise a month ago and your weekly wine dates with Wendy, but you knew the condo definitely had some spirits stashed somewhere in a cabinet. You were going to need that and a nice hot bath to destress after that encounter.

Meanwhile, Johnny sunk down on to the floor inside the guest room, his back pressed against the door. When he heard the sound of the jeep’s engine turning over, he sighed in relief and ran a hand through his hair. There were no better words to describe it: he was truly and utterly fucked.

✧ ✧ ✧

You stayed at the condo only for three days, and did little other than sleep, binge watch some TV since there was better electricity and internet here, and eat your way through slightly stale bags of chips and frost bitten freezer dinners that were months old. Because you couldn’t just open the door and let the dog out to run through the property for whatever exercise or bathroom needs it had, you had to actually walk it with a leash and everything. You paid less attention to how domestic the action of clipping the leash on to the collar you’d found in an unopened delivery package on the kitchen table was, and thought more about how slothful you’d felt over the last 60-odd hours of self isolation, especially after two months of working outdoors every day.

It was childish to keep hiding from Johnny. It’s not like you could prove that he’d gotten hard looking at you, and really, shouldn’t you take it as sort of a compliment? (Well, maybe you wouldn’t go that far.)

It was Monday when you returned to the farm, parking the jeep back by the barn and hip checking the door shut after the dog went running off in search of Johnny. It found him carrying pruned branches of trees down to the area where you burned excess brush, and you could hear the excited sound of his voice at the return of the creature as you walked slowly down the hill towards him.

“I missed you! It’s been so lonely without you, but I guess I’m glad your mommy had you with her, huh?” He cooed at the dog, rubbing its face in his hands after dropping the bundle of branches and flopping its ears from side to side. Hearing Johnny refer to you as a mother, even of the animal, had you grimacing.

“Ew,” you said, making your presence known. He stood up suddenly, possibly just a little embarrassed.

“Oh! You’re uh, you’re back.” You nodded, lips pressed together in a flat line. Your hands were full, carrying two takeout coffees from a shop down near the condo you’d stopped at on the way back. You’d forgotten how much the farm felt like a different planet, a different space in time almost, because of how isolated it felt. The act of ordering a coffee to go rather than making it yourself in the morning was equal parts bewildering and soothing.

You had no idea what compelled you to order an iced americano along with the cortado you’d gotten for yourself. You didn’t really know much about Johnny beyond the one conversation you’d had about how he ended up meeting your brother in law and crashing on the farm with you in the first place. But somehow, ordering the drink had felt right, and you thought of it as a potential peace offering to cut the tension.

“This is yours,” you said plainly after some thought, trying to remove any and all emotion from your tone.

He blinked a few times before taking three steps towards you and reaching his hand out to take the drink. He mumbled a soft thank you and sipped without bothering to ask what was inside.

“You’re just going to take the drink a stranger offers you, no questions asked?”

“Ooh!” His eyes perked up when he tasted the coffee. “I mean, I’ve never questioned any of the food you’ve made me so far, why start now? Besides,” he shrugged, taking another sip, “I trust you.”

You snorted. “That’s a stupid thing to do.”

Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.” He nodded to the paper cup in your hand. “What’s your poison?”

“Cortado,” responded curtly, ignoring his comments that were cutting a bit too deep for ten in the morning.

“Ah, a strong espresso pull with a balance of steam milk and a touch of foam. Nice choice. I can definitely appreciate one, but I’m a little too impatient and drink them too quickly— I think that’s why I love americanos so much, because it lasts a little longer.”

You tilted you head to the side, puzzled. “Wait. You… actually know things about coffee?”

“I mean, yeah,” he laughed, “What do you think I spent three hours talking with Yunho about the day we met? I did my time as a barista in college. Free coffee every shift was hard to pass up when you’re doing almost a double course load every other semester. I’ve always been curious about the growing and roasting process, and I know a lot of people do home roasting as a hobby but I just never made the time to explore it.”

Well, duh, you thought, that actually made sense. “Oh god, and here I’ve been making my lame ass bitter pour over all summer— you know how to pull a shot of espresso then I take it? You’ve seen the La Marzocco on the counter, how come you’ve never used it?”

He pouted his lips out in a flat line and shrugged comically. “Dunno. I mean, I’m a guest and a worker first, and it’s not mine, so, I didn’t wanna make any assumptions. But if this is an open invitation to use it, I’m more than happy to accept.”

You chewed on the inside of your mouth for a moment. You could feel it in the air as the hairs on your arms stood up slightly, goosebumps running down your skin. You hoped in wasn’t too noticeable. Maybe this was it— maybe it really was time to extend an olive branch and have more than half a conversation with him every four days. “It’s a little older and sort of temperamental, but it’s still a good machine. I’ll… show you the quirks tomorrow morning, or whenever you want something to drink,” you offered.

It was then that you discovered this: Johnny was not a great actor. He wore his heart on his sleeve. You figured this to be true because he could barely contain the smile that spread across his face, and the energetic nod he gave, and the mild soft exhale (squeal?) of excitement. You rolled your eyes gently and turned away, drink in hand. “When it cools down later after dinner, I’m roasting tonight. You’re welcome to join.”

You gave him the benefit of not bearing witness to the fist pump he made as you walked away.

Dinner that night was stir fried ground pork with carrots and zucchini from the garden served over rice. It was one of your comfort dishes, easy to make and easy to clean up after, since it used only two pans. As soon as you’d finished eating, this time sitting at the table together with Johnny, he’d cleared the dishes and got to cleaning up right away. You stretched your arms overhead and leaned back in your chair far enough to crack your back slightly with a loud pop.

“Oof, that sounded like it felt good,” he laughed from the sink. You hummed in agreement. “So what’d you do before this? Desk job hunched over a computer like the rest of us?”

“Mmm something like that. You may have been bored out of your mind in business, but I sold my soul years ago to work in advertising.”

“Why does that like, fit?” He asked, turning the water off and drying the pan you’d used for cooking by hand.

“You saying I have no soul?” You challenged.

He shrugged. “Hey, you said it, not me. We’re both just cogs in the machine that is late stage capitalism, I guess.”

You didn’t know how deeply you wanted to get into it with Johnny just yet. Maybe eventually, but, not right now. “Yeah, well, I was just a Project Manager, not like a Copywriter or anything. Did you know Yunho was a staff Art Director before he switched to the coffee business full time? We used to work at the same agency a few years back.”

Johnny snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “Ah, that’s right! I remember him saying something about that, made the same jokes about having no soul. You two are a lot alike for not being related by blood.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong; sometimes you wondered if you’d become closer with Yunho that you were with your sister at this point. “Enough about that. If you’re done follow me, it’s probably cool enough to fire up the roaster. I just want to do a test batch of like, five pounds with the regular beans to see how this year’s harvest takes to our standard roast,” you explained, heading to the door and slipping on your sneakers. “Don’t let the dog out, it gets scared from the loud noises and I don’t need it freaking out.”

Johnny dried his hands and followed after you to the barn. You flicked on the lights and went straight for the sink to pull your hair out of your face, wash your hands, and put on a pair of gloves and a mask. Johnny followed your lead, even going so far as to tie up the top layer of his hair on top of his head. “Hey look! It’s like an apple,” he bobbed his head from side to side to make the tiny ponytail move back and forth, and you couldn’t help but snort as you tried to suppress your laughter.

“Dork,” was all you said. You went to the storage racks to pick up one of the sorted burlap bags of beans and hoisted it over your shoulder to carry it to a metal prep table where you carefully opened it and began scooping out the green beans and pouring them into a bowl on a metal scale that had been zeroed out. “So obviously you know that coffee is counted by weight in pounds. That monstrosity,” you jerked your head in the direction of the massive eight foot tall machine in the corner of the room, “Can handle up to twenty-five pounds of beans in the barrel at a time. Because it’s so big, it’s best to not do super small batches, otherwise you risk burning the beans. Since I’m going for five pounds, it’ll be okay, but if I was doing any less I’d use one of the table top roasters, since they have a smaller barrel.” You finished weighing out five pounds and handed the container to him to carry.

You continued explaining the full process of roasting and science behind it as you flipped switches, checked that the exhaust was hooked up properly, and set the dials for the heat and time on the industrial roaster before pulling the door to the funnel open and having Johnny slowly pour the beans inside. “God you’re a fucking giant, I always need a step stool to reach that high,” you commented as he made the reach with ease.

You weren’t kidding when you said the roaster was loud when it was running. Thankfully with the size of the machine and this batch, it was only eleven minutes of the two of you standing just a few feet away in case anything went wrong and you had to hit the emergency stop, holding your hands over your ears to block the sound. Johnny began jokingly exaggerating mouthing something out, and you felt almost like friends as you laughed at his antics. You were never the best at reading lips. Especially not Johnny’s, they were too full and distracting on their own for you to make sense of the mouth shapes. When the machine came to a grinding halt and the noise suddenly stopped, he was still shouting words and his voice echoed around the space in the absence of the noise, “I said, I think you’re— oh, wow, that was fast,” he quickly diverted, catching himself from finishing whatever it was he was about to say.

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of trying to pry out of him what he was in the process of saying under the protection of the loud noises. You shook it off mentally and showed him how to remove the beans from the roasting chamber. “So you take them out like this, and then they’re still going to be warm for a while, so it’s best to let them rest for a bit. If you were to brew them right away, the flavor might not be what you’re expecting, so if you wait for them to sit for a few days, you’ll notice a considerable difference in the flavor profile—”

You stopped suddenly, a sound in the distance suddenly registering to you. You left Johnny standing there with the roasted coffee in hand and trailed to the edge of the barn and then you heard it more clearly— the sound of the old rotary phone ringing. “Oh, shit,” you swore and took off running back up to the house. The only person who had the number for the landline other than Wendy were Yunho and your sister. Wendy didn’t call you outside of your Thursday night appointments. You did the math in your head— it was the end of June, your sister’s due date wasn’t til the end of August, but early labor was always something you’d heard about, especially with more than one baby.

Hands shaking, you got to the phone on what could have been the last ring and panted out a greeting of Yunho’s name, already knowing it was him.

“Oh thank god you answered, I’ve been calling for the last twenty minutes, where were you?” He chastised immediately. You felt uneasy at the tone in his voice.

You stammered in response. “I— we were in the barn, I was roasting so I couldn’t hear the phone— what’s wrong? Is she okay?”

Yunho sighed out heavily and was quiet. “She’s going to be okay, but there was a… scare,” you could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I don’t want to not tell you either. She slipped getting out of the shower, landed on her hip. Started having lower abdominal pain right after. We thought maybe it was going to be now, but, she’s fine. The doctors think they were phantom contractions? Whatever they were they’re gone now. The babies are fine, but she’ll most likely be in the hospital until the due date. If she starts experiencing any kind of contractions between now and then, though, they’ll want to induce labor.” You could tell he was still stressed and worried, but you nodded and listened as he explained some of the medical details a bit further. “Anyways, all this to say, the next time I call, it could be to tell you that you’re an auntie.”

From the moment you heard the phone ringing this late at night and calculated that it was almost two in the morning in Chicago, the tightness in your chest had been building. Listening to Yunho speak delicately about your sister’s condition was one thing— you thought it was a sigh of relief when he said that everything was fine, but then it was most certainly not fine when the gravity of his last words really hit you.

“Little Bean are you listening? Is the signal bad? I know the connection isn’t always great—”

You inhaled sharply as the pressure inside came to a head. “Yunho I gotta go,” you gasped out, barely able to make sense of thoughts to get the words out.

Before you could hear his rebuttal you slammed the phone on to the receiver to end the call and covered your face with your hands still in their nylon gloves. Despite standing in an open space, you suddenly felt like the room was spinning and the walls were closing in on you. Out, out, you had to get out—

“Hey, everything okay in here?”

Fuck.

Johnny was standing in the door, a look of concern on his face. You heaved into your hands and choked out a sob, feeling the wetness in your eyes building. No no no, everything was most certainly not okay in here. You shouldn’t have made eye contact, you should have known better, because looking at his face, his stupid perfect face and his genuine care for your wellbeing, it set you free falling over the precipice.

You were spiraling, and hard, and needed to land. It was instinctual, the way you cried out and ran pushing past him before breaking into an all out sprint down the hill to the fruit trees. Your legs barely kept up with the velocity of running at a decline, stopping short of tumbling and falling forward. The only thing that you knew to help this, the thing that had worked for you in the past, and you raced through the grove of trees for the larger one at the very end. It was one of the older trees, well mature and established with its root system, so you could always expect it to produce fruit.

But you’d harvested a large amount of the fruit in the last few weeks from the lower branches, and the only remaining fruit that would be ripe enough for your purposes was on the higher branches just out of reach. Over the sound of your pained sobs, you couldn’t hear Johnny’s approach or him asking what was wrong, your one track mind just trying desperately to jump and reach, fingertips barely brushing on the fruit you were reaching for.

“Hey hey, calm down, what are you—” he started.

“Shut up! Just shut— don’t tell— don’t tell me calm— calm—” you couldn’t make the words make sense, in your head you were screaming don’t tell me to calm down, but the act of translating that into words on your tongue was downright Herculean right now, it just wasn’t happening. Your knees began wobbling and standing too started feeling impossible. The tightness in your chest had expanded to reach your back, and though you were clearly still getting air by the fact that you hadn’t passed out yet, you felt like you weren’t breathing at all. You were crying outright now, tears wet and hot and painful as the sobs escaped your throat.

It didn’t take a genius to figure that you were trying to reach a fruit on a branch just above your wingspan. Johnny placed one large hand against your back gently and reached all the way up, fingers wrapping around what he assumed was the object of your fixation, before twisting and pulling to release it from the tree. “Hey,” he said softly, “This what you need?”

As soon as you made sense of the object in front of you you seized it from his hands, biting directly through the rind of the lemon. A muffled sob came out as your knees buckled and you sank to the ground. The bitter rush of citrus did part of its job, and brought your consciousness back down to earth. But your breathing didn’t steady, and your heart was still pounding, and the tears were still falling.

It wasn’t working, your grounding technique; not like it had the previous times, like the night you’d first gotten the phone call from Yunho saying they weren’t coming, and not like the time you bit into a lemon in the kitchen at work after first getting the phone call that your sister was pregnant, and even the time before that when she told you she and Yunho were moving, or when Yunho had asked you if he could marry your sister. If you were more with it, you would have thought for a moment longer about how all of your largest panic attacks of the last several years seemed to be linked to things about Yunho and your sister. Biting into a whole lemon had been your go-to for years, and suddenly, it wasn’t working.

“Fuck!” You cried out, spitting the lemon into your palms, “Fuck fuck fuck! Why isn’t it— why isn’t it working?!” Your words were absolutely frantic, and you were yelling at yourself more than your companion who, quite frankly, you’d forgotten was even there.

Until you felt a shadow pass over you in the moonlight and a pair of arms enveloping you in an embrace.

The top of your head was pressed against his chest and his hands found their way to the planes of your back and began rubbing soft circles. Softly he tutted out a shushing noise, voice barely above a whisper, steady. “Come on, let it out, I’m right here. I’ve got you, you’re not alone,” he said calmly, “You’re gonna get through it. Try to take a deep breath, that’s good now hold it as long as you can— okay, that’s okay, try again, try to hold on to it and let it out slowly this time.”

You’d never had anyone physically with you and help you through a panic attack before. You’d had them around people in the past, but no one had ever made a move to help you through it— not like this, not like him, not like he was doing right now by attempting to guide your breathing. The one time you had one in front on Wendy, you’d locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to answer her while you came down, and she never pressed you about it afterwards.

You had no idea how much time passed as Johnny held you in his arms, keeping a steady rhythm of his palms on your back and letting you cry it out into the fabric of his shirt, your hands wringing the material so strongly you thought you’d tear holes where your nails were.

One hand traveled to the back of your head and he stroked that too. “I’ve got you, I’m right here,” he said again.

After a longer period of silence, your ears stopped ringing and you could finally make out the chirping of the crickets in the night. You sniffled and rubbed the last of the trails the tears had left on your cheeks into his shirt, mumbling an apology into it.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, keeping his voice low, almost as if he was afraid he’d scare you off if he raised it any higher. “I mean— haha, don’t apologize. It’s okay, whatever it is, it’ll wash out. If it doesn’t, it’s just a tee shirt, I can always buy another.” His tone was even paced and calm, and in pressing your ear against his chest you could hear the reverberations as he spoke.

The humid summer air was heavy as usual, even this late at night. You don’t know how long you sat there in silence, wrapped in Johnny’s arms listening to his heartbeat, but eventually you acknowledged that your heart was beating in time with his. Whether you liked it or not, he had been the thing to ground you, and not a stupid fucking lemon.

You shifted slightly, making a move to stand, but Johnny stopped you. “Whoa whoa, hang on lemme get ready— okay, hold on to my shoulders, that’s it.” Your fingers dug into his arms as he adjusted his legs and hooked one arm under your knees and the other around your back and stood up, taking you with him.

“Shit,” you mumbled out, head rushing at the quick movement and the realization that your legs were still bent over his arm, and Johnny was now carrying you. “Hey, heavy,” your words were still soft.

“Mmm, nah, nothing I can’t handle,” his response was easy, dismissive of your complaint, but not in a bad way. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to but— anxiety? Panic attack?” You sucked in a breath at the word. You hated that word. That word made you feel weak, even if it was exactly what this was. You dug your nails into his skin slightly on a reflex of bracing yourself, not with this intention of inflicting damage. “Got it. I get it,” he had approached the house and walked to the door, reaching for the handle with the hand under your knees. “I’ve had a few myself. Not recently, but back in college, maybe two or three? Don’t think they were ever as strong as that, though. I tried the lemon trick once, it actually worked pretty well for me. Didn’t make the next time I did a tequila shot all that fun though, couldn’t enjoy citrus for at least a month after that.” His soft laughter shook his chest and you leaned in further. Listening to his voice was comforting. It was keeping you steady. It made you feel safe, and in this moment, you were too tired to think about how you probably should have hated that. “Think you could swallow some water? Rehydrating is important.”

Your head nodded. “Okay, I’m gonna put you down now.” He used his foot to push one of the chairs away from the table and set you down on to the seat gently. The dog was immediately at your knees, whining lowly and attempting to give as many kisses as you’d accept. “Here,” he said gently, crouching down in front of you and holding a glass out. “Drink what can, but not too fast. There you go, that’s it,” his large hand clasped over your knee, thumb rubbing circles on the side. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” you rasped out, voice raw from all the crying earlier.

Johnny smiled softly. “Good, that’s good. Okay, I think you need to get to bed, yeah? Or do you wanna take a shower or something first?” You shook your head. “Okay, just washed your face then?” You nodded. Your conscious monologue was returning, but bringing words from your mind to your mouth was still proving difficult. Johnny didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he offered you his hand. “Need help getting up?”

You answered by gripping on to his hand and using his shoulders to help you stand up. Johnny walked you to your room, holding his arm out for you as a guide. You were able to bear weight on your feet now, and though your steps were slow, you made it to the bathroom to wash your face and and change into sleepwear. Johnny waited by the door, averting his eyes for privacy for you, and returned to your side to help you into bed.

When he leaned over you to pull the sheets up, you reached for his wrist and asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

His face went blank before it softened into a smile. “Because. I told you earlier, didn’t I? You’re a good person. Should be simple as that, yeah?”

You didn’t have a response for him, only shifting deeper into the pillows. He turned off the light and retreated to the door frame. “Try and get some rest. Call me if you need me, okay?”

Your head managed a nod, and Johnny finally left, leaving the door to your room slightly ajar. You listened for the sounds of him milling about the house, his footsteps softly shuffling against the floorboards, a few mumbled words to the dog that followed at his heels, until you finally fell asleep.

When you dreamed that night, you dreamt of him, the sound of his voice, and the way your blood felt on fire whenever he looked at you and smiled.

✧ ✧ ✧

Johnny never asked you about the panic attack.

He didn’t bring it up, he didn’t ask what caused it, he didn’t even allude to it in any conversation over the next week. The next day he was just a little bit more gentle with you with the tone and volume of his speaking voice, but when you showed no signs of still be affected from the previous night, he let it go and didn’t bother you about it.

You couldn’t tell if you loved him or hated him for it.

Confusion on your feelings aside, as June came to a close and the morning of July 3rd came, you woke up to the sound of the espresso machine running. Johnny had very quickly proven that he was worth his salt as a barista, even though it had been several years, and had a very nice shot pull. He even figured out the steamer, which was the most finicky part of the machine, and had been making you cortados every morning. That’s what you were sipping now from a metal camper mug, as you walked with him to the shed.

“I think that all that’s left is nailing down that last sheet of roofing and then we’re done,” he hummed cheerfully, inspecting the building. It looked brand new, a marked improvement from the broken windows and bleached paint job it had sported two months ago.

Two months. Was that really how long he’d been here? You didn’t want to think too much about it, about how those two months gone meant you had reached the half way point, and that there were about two months left.

Two months…

“We should celebrate,” he said suddenly, and you looked up puzzled.

“We?”

“Sure!” He exclaimed, “I had no idea what I was doing. I just did what you told me to. This was one of the biggest projects for the summer, right? And plus, not that I care too much for the holiday, but won’t there be fireworks and stuff for the Fourth? Come on, this house has been dry for weeks, let’s go get some booze and live a little, huh?” He prodded your side with his elbow and began needling at you, saying huh, huh, huh over and over until you groaned and relented.

“Fiiiiiine, let’s go before the stores get crowded when everyone realizes everything’s gonna be closed tomorrow.”

The dog was less than pleased that you’d sent it back into the house when you picked up the keys to the jeep. Usually you took it with you, but this time you decided against it, since you weren’t sure how the liquor store would feel with you bringing the stray dog off leash into the store with you.

“All you, big guy,” you said to Johnny as you tossed the car keys at him.

“Aren’t you gonna ask if I know how to drive first?” He quipped back quickly while walking to the driver’s side.

“Nah,” you shrugged comically, hoisting yourself up by the frame of the car. You buckled yourself in and watched as he did the same and adjusted the mirrors for his height. “Besides,” you looked down to inspect your fingernails as if they were the most fascinating thing on the planet, “I trust you, or whatever.”

“Bit of a stupid thing to do, but alright,” he smiled, echoing your words back at you. “Kidding, I’m an excellent driver. Alright, co-pilot! You have the most sacred duty bestowed upon you—”

“Navigation?”

“No, music selection, duh,” he scoffed and handed you the aux cord and pulled out a cell phone you’d never seen him hold before. You stared at the device as he unlocked it and pulled up his music library. Johnny noticed your surprised expression out of the corner of his eye. “What, it’s not like I have a use for it out here. Your wifi sucks and I’m not about to rack up a huge cell phone bill, so it stays off in my duffle bag most of the time. Anyways, this is a test! Pick whatever your heart desires.” The smirk on his face was beyond mischievous as he handed it to you.

You sighed and settled into the seat and began scrolling. What to pick, what to pick…

Surprisingly, there was a decent number of songs you recognized, and one album in particular you were a fan of. You scrolled down the track listing to about the half way point and pressed play.

The sounds of The Killers and the familiar guitar chords that were practically sewn into your DNA began to filter through the speakers. Johnny smiled and started clapping as the car reached the bottom of the driveway and he flipped on the turn signal. “Oh my god, Mr. Brightside, excellent choice! Okay, you passed the first test. But do you know the words?” He teased.

You gasped in feigned offense as the lyrics came to the chorus, and as he accelerated up to speed you began to belt the words out as loud as you could manage. For once you weren’t thinking about how you hated that the jeep had no top while the wind whipped past you on all sides as Johnny sped down the highway. As the song played, the magic high of belting the words to something fifteen years old that were still imprinted in your brain didn’t seem to wear off like you’d expected it to.

“Alright, chop chop what’s next maestro!” He called over the sound of the wind as the song came to a close. You already had something queued up, something a little more recent, and you smiled as the words to the next song began filtering through the speakers, letting the music carry the drive and not belting along with it this time. You tried to not think too deeply about the lyrics of the chorus as it played.

'Cause you're the last of a dying breed Write our names in the wet concrete I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me? I'm here in search of your glory There's been a million before me That ultra-kind of love You never walk away from You're just the last of the real ones

As the bridge played and you neared your destination, Johnny tilted his head towards you while keeping his eyes on the road. “Growing up, it was like, a badge of honor as a Chicago kid to have gone to a Fall Out Boy show when they still played the smaller clubs. I snuck into one when I was 16— it was an 18 and over show— felt like I was hot shit when I got away with it.”

“Don’t know why, but you don’t strike me as a Fall Out Boy fan,” you admitted. From your scroll through his music library, you saw most of their discography saved to his phone.

“Hey, I had my embarrassing wannabe emo phase too.”

“Had?” You couldn’t stop yourself from teasing. Johnny didn’t give a response to that one, and as another Fall Out Boy song played through the speakers you let yourself rest in a comfortable lack of conversation, instead sharing the music with him as he drove. It only took to the end of that third song to reach your destination and based on how he handled the drive and parking, true to his word Johnny was an excellent driver.

Johnny followed you closely once inside, his eyes scanning up and down the shelves of the tiny liquor store before he reaches and picks up a six pack of pilsner. “You ever try this one?”

Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “I don’t do beer.”

Johnny blinks twice in response and plops the six pack back down on the shelf. “Noted. What do you drink?”

“If I’m picking?” He nods. “I’m a slut for rosé or champagne. Any sparkling wine, really, it makes me feel fancy and you get to turn basic days into little celebrations.” You follow him as he walks down the aisle to where the selection of wine was shelved and starts looking through the options. “Hang on, you’re not gonna grill me about the beer thing?”

“You say that like your friends usually give you shit for it.”

You crossed your arms and shuffle your feet underneath you. “Well, yeah. Usually.”

“Then I would say,” he trails off for a moment, bending and squatting to see a label on a lower shelf before picking up two bottles of the same brand, “You need new friends. Or that your current ones need to learn boundaries, take your pick. How’s this look for one option? Since this is a celebration and all,” he says with a wink.

Leaning forward, you study the label on the bottle for a moment before nodding in approval. You agree to his point that since they were 15% off if you bought six or more bottles, it only made sense to buy more, and besides, “It’s not like you won’t drink them eventually when you’re on the phone with Wendy.”

Your eyebrows shot up at that. “How do you know her name?”

“I’m quiet not deaf, and you’re louder than you think you are,” he says matter-of-factly before heading to the cashier to pay for your selection. You bite your tongue then, hoping to whatever deity was watching you (and probably laughing) that he’d overheard one of the conversations that wasn’t about Wendy insisting you should bone him.

Johnny picks the music on the way back, opting for some Bleachers and Paramore now that he knew at least part of your music taste and how it aligned with his.

Your new selection of wine goes into the fridge as soon as you get home, and Johnny heads to the shed with a ladder in hand to climb on top and finish nailing down the roofing. You opt to help with this task, spotting from the ground and continuously yelling for him to ‘be careful’ and ‘you better not fall and break your neck while I’m watching’. It takes a little over an hour, and it’s late afternoon when he finishes, but when you climb the ladder yourself as he holds it steady from the ground to inspect his handiwork you have to say you’re impressed.

“You sure you never did construction work before? You’ve got shockingly good craftsmanship for a newbie.”

“My dad’s pretty self sufficient so he was always doing the handiwork around the house. Picked stuff up here and there from him growing up, but anything I didn’t know I could just look up on the internet.” You shoot him a pointed look. “What! I said your wifi was shitty not that I didn’t use it every now and again. There’s a YouTube tutorial for everything these days.”

Johnny insisted on cleaning up the last of the debris on his own while you worked on dinner— another pasta dish, orecchiette broccoli rabe, and while that was cooking you boil a pint of blackberries with water and sugar to make a flavored simple syrup. Since you were celebrating tonight, it only felt right to put in a little extra effort even to the drinks of choice. Kir Royales were typically made with a blackcurrant liquor, but it was a niche product you hadn’t found in the store, so the syrup and a slice of lemon for garnish would have to do.

While you waited for Johnny to finish up and take his shower (after the last time, you gave him plenty of space out of an abundance of caution whenever he showered), you started rummaging through the pantry cabinets and making sense of the dry ingredients you had on hand. You had time to kill, why not make a dessert with it?

You hadn’t talked about it much with Johnny, but you actually did enjoy cooking and baking. Something about spending time and energy making something and having someone consume it and tell you they liked made you feel good. You still remember the first time you made breakfast for a hungover Wendy in college and she raved about it for days, though you were pretty sure back then it was because the carbs soaked up the remaining alcohol in her system and stopped her from puking.

Dinner was finished when Johnny finally came out of the shower, this time fully clothed and his hair more dry. You explained that you’d gotten bored and made cookie dough but the oven hadn’t finished pre-heating yet so nothing was baked.

“Fuck it, cookie dough is always better than the cookies themselves,” he shrugged.

“But salmonella—”

Johnny held up a hand jokingly as he stopped your interjection and turned off the oven. “Still convinced that’s a myth parents made up to stop kids from actually enjoying childhood. Plus it’s hot as balls, chill the dough while we eat and then it’ll be even better after. Plus, you haven’t poisoned either of us yet, I think your track record is pretty good so far.” (There he went again, referring to you and him as an ‘us’.)

So you did just that, putting the cookie dough into the fridge and taking your dinner outside with the cocktails you’d made. You didn’t have any wine glasses here at the farm house— after breaking one stemmed glass during your first phone call with Wendy you’d moved the rest to the condo and replaced the drink ware with mason jars because the clean up was too annoying. Plus, you didn’t want to risk the dog stepping on stray shards of thin glass and getting them stuck in the pads of its paws. (You were still decidedly apathetic towards it, but that didn’t mean you were cruel).

So it was in the wide mouth Kerr jars that you poured your blackberry syrup and a half a bottle of champagne, after a comical exchange of Johnny insisting he wasn’t scared of the pop! that corks made coming out of pressurized bottles and the yelp he let out anyways when it happened as expected. The lemon slice garnish was more of an aesthetic touch than anything but you liked it nonetheless.When Johnny pulls out his phone for the second time that day and insists on playing music and making a dramatic toast before you could drink, you could only laugh and agree.

“To the best Boss I’ve ever had,” he said with a raised glass, “Even though you used me for cheap labor and to do all the hard shit.”

“Rude! I cook every day, look at all the chances I’ve had to poison you and how many times have I done it? Absolutely none because I am a saint and you know it.”

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the music, the low hum of crickets, the starry night sky, or the summer heat that did it, but time flowed so easily, and so did the conversation and teasing banter. Over the course of one meal you’d exchanged more words with Johnny than you had in the whole two months you’d known each other. Two hours later and you’d finished all the dinner (of course there were no leftovers, Johnny was still Johnny, but the amount of manual labor he did in a day made sense of how much he usually ate, you’d come to realize). The bowl of cookie dough was now sitting on the step of the lanai and you and Johnny were side by side on the deck, looking out over the farm and taking the occasional spoonful of dough into your mouths. He was right— the dough did taste better than the baked cookies probably would have, especially after it had chilled for a bit. With the way the stars and moon were hung in the cloudless sky, you could see the soft glow of their reflection in the water beyond the highway and the cliff leading to the beach.

“You ever go down to the shore?” He asks suddenly, and it feels out of nowhere and like he’s inside your head because how else would he have known you were just thinking about the ocean? But then you register that Andrew McMahon’s voice has just crooned something about Venice Beach and the California summer in the music that had still been playing through the speakers of Johnny’s phone.

You hummed for a moment before answering. “Not really. I should make more time for it, but I rarely ever leave the farm, as you probably noticed. I know this place is paradise for so many people, the vacation destination on a lot of bucket lists, but I think my… circumstances made me bitter towards the island, conceptually speaking anyways.” You watched the water with a bit more focus as a few waves crested, but you couldn’t see enough of the shore to see them actually crash. “I know I don’t talk about it much but, I needed a break from my work too. That’s… part of the reason I’m here, why I was waiting for my sister and Yunho to come out. It’s a much less interesting story than yours, so I won’t bore you with the details,” you wanted to reroute the subject before any questions started getting asked, but deep down you knew Johnny wasn’t going to press you for anything you weren’t ready to share. He’d figured that much out about you anyways.

“Anyways, maybe you’re on to something, Seo. Maybe I should take some time to actually relax a bit, seeing as now that I’ve tricked you into finishing the most difficult and time consuming of the summer projects Yunho had planned,” you stuck your tongue out between your teeth jokingly in an effort to mask the vulnerability you’d briefly shown.

Johnny took the hint and changed the subject. “The Killers, Bleachers, Paramore, Fall Out Boy… not saying I don’t like your taste in music, but I’m surprised it’s your picks were so astoundingly pop-punk-rock. Woulda taken you for a—”

“If you finish that sentence by saying ‘country kinda girl’ I’m locking you out tonight and taking the cookie dough with me,” you warned.

He laughed and shook his head. “No, you strike me as too high strung to enjoy country. Like it’s typically too slow for your tastes, or something like that.”

“Oh I’m obnoxious about my taste in media, if you couldn’t already tell. I’ve listened to mostly the same artists for the last ten years. In high school I was that kid that thought making it known that I ‘didn’t listen to the radio pop main stream’ was a personality trait, whatever that meant.”

“Oooh, so edgy and mysterious, did she used to cut her own bangs too?” He giggled into his mason jar, taking another sip.

“Nooo, that was only one time and I swear it was on a dare and not because of a break up!” You jokingly wailed out, throwing your head back in exaggeration. “Although I do regularly trim Wendy’s bangs for her because she can’t be trusted with sharp objects. Knives, needles, scissors, none of it, girl’s a total klutz,” you took another sip and uncorked the bottle again to refill your jar. You held the remainder up for Johnny to see, silently asking if he wanted a top off to finish the last of the second bottle you’d opened.

Johnny was a big guy— tall and muscular, you were sure it would take him a bit more than a bottle or two of shared champagne to get him tipsy. That’s why you didn’t think too much of it as he stared into the reinvigorated fizzing bubbles as he quietly said, “I’d like to meet her someday. Wendy, I mean— you talk about her so fondly, she seems like a great person. Like she’s good for you in your life.”

Why did you feel a little uneasy at the way he spoke about Wendy? He had no idea what she looked like, it was only from the stories you’d been telling that he knew anything about her. And it wasn’t even the real her, it was just her as she existed to you, so what was there to be uneasy about? You were overthinking again, so you had to come up with an answer to fill the silence you’d created— “Yeah well, Wendy’s sick of dick, she’s very bisexual and I’m pretty sure she’s head over heels in love with this Joohyun she started seeing recently, she’s just too much of a chicken shit to tell her how she feels,” you hid behind you glass and drank deeply, not minding as the floating slice of alcohol soaked lemon rested against your nose.

“Sounds familiar,” Johnny said quietly. “I… can relate, I think,” he mumbled out, and you glanced over in time to see him place his now-empty cup on the wood beside him. “Sometimes you just feel the way you do and you don’t really have a reason for why, but you can’t even put it to words to the person it matters to.”

This time when your breath caught in your throat, it wasn’t because of a mounting attack, but in anticipation of what Johnny would do next. The space between you had slowly waned as you’d been drinking, your bodies inching closer to each other without you even realizing it, almost like the way the moon pulled the tide to the shore over and over again. When your eyes traveled from where his hand was pressed into the deck flooring up to meet his hooded gaze, you don’t really know what you were expecting, but Johnny’s parted lips shining slightly (probably from that last drink of wine) was not it.

You knew this feeling. This was when you were supposed to lean in, right? That’s how this usually went. Your hand shifted closer towards his for a moment and then pulled back, and the end joint of Johnny’s fingers flexed as he pressed his fingertips into the deck.

You didn’t lean in. Your heart was hammering in your chest far too loud for you to be able to do so; instead, you look away, his eye and his lips and his face and his everything suddenly too much, and your turned your cheek to him instead.

Instead, he leaned in, and for just a brief moment the crickets stopped chirping, the distant ocean stopped moving, the music stopped playing, and your heart stopped beating as Johnny’s perfectly pouty lips pressed against your cheek, and then your temple, and then your throat. And then his head tilted down and his nose brushed against your skin delicately, leaving a trial of burning in its wake, and time didn’t start turning again until the snort of his laughter broke the silence and he fell into your shoulder in a giggle fit.

It took all of your patience and self control to make your lungs continue to function as you listened to Johnny giggle so much he stopped making sounds until he was spewing out between fits of laughter ‘The bubbles make everything funny, why is everything funny with bubbles?’

‘Why indeed’, you wondered silently, letting the clearly tipsy Johnny rest his head on your shoulder as he continued his giggle fits, stroking the palm of your hand against his back as he’d first done for you under far different circumstances, trying to not think about how much faster your heart was beating while doing so, and how if your accelerated heart rate was from his proximity to you, you didn’t mind.

How long did you stay like that, in such a familiar embrace with Johnny? Long enough, it seemed, for the playlist on his phone to come to an end and for him to start dozing off while resting against you, his light snores the thing that finally made you disturb him so you could go back inside. It was late anyways, nearing midnight you said softly and you tried to wake him gently—

A surprisingly loud boom shook the sky followed by a burst of light and color. Immediately the dog inside woke up and started barking, and Johnny bolted upright, eyes darting around in search of the source of the noise that had disturbed his snoozing.

“Fireworks,” you breathed out, more to yourself than to him. “Guess it’s midnight already.” Johnny didn’t say much, but his eyes twinkled as he watched in earnest as a few more went off before you tugged on his sleeve and insisted that he needed to make his way to bed and sleep. There were sure to be more tomorrow, and he could watch them then.

You didn’t sleep for hours that night. After helping the mildly intoxicated Johnny to his bed, you sat on the floor of your room, knees pulled into your chest and a hand laying flat against your cheek where he’d planted his trail of kisses. “He was just drunk, he’s just a flirty drunk, that didn’t mean anything,” you repeated to yourself over and over again.

But something about the way Johnny’s lips felt against the apples of your cheek and the hollow of your throat when he’d been nuzzling against you stayed with you all night long, sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a flame where your heart lived. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes and inhaled deeply, breath shuddering on the exhale.

Against all your hopes and intensions, Johnny Seo had slowly chipped his way through your armor and into your heart.

You had to get him out. Fast.

tbc.

—

author’s note | Me: this first part is gonna be like, I dunno, 5k? 6k? Also me: writes 19,000 words. We call this ✨processing your own trauma through writing as an outlet✨ Originally this was going to be one really long one shot and then I decided to split it up for ratings purposes because I am a thirsty whore for Youngho. The ending is rushed but honestly I was so sick of editing and overthinking this lmaooo. No I have not spent a summer living in Kona working on a coffee farm. Most of my coffee knowledge is second hand from the time my brother in law bought a coffee farm and started a roasting business because my sister dared him to by saying “do it you won’t” (an exact quote I shit you not). There’s more to this story and uh I dunno I’ll maybe post it eventually if people don’t hate this one *shrugs*

#Johnny x Reader #Johnny Seo #Johnny Seo x Reader #Johnny Seo fanfic #NCT fanfic #NCT Fluff #NCT Angst #kinda lmao i dunno leave me alone #panic attack tw #mental health issues tw #anxiety tw #idk if i'm even happy with this or if I'm gonna go back and edit that last 5k i wrote tongiht w/e #shrugs this is fine #johnny: bitter brews #swamp witch writes

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dameronology · 5 years ago

Text

rockstar {s.r x reader} - 3

you and steve rogers are famous for two extremely different reasons - you’re a famous rockstar, and he’s a superhero. your main personality trait is sarcasm and he’s a squeaky clean super-soldier. it takes him exactly one night to fall in love with you. what could possibly go wrong?

summary: you and steve officially introduce your friends to each other & you also have to start dealing with inevitable public interest in your relationship

part 1/part 2

also ft. bucky barnes + sam wilson, and some more damian/alex content. they are important to the story line but pls let me know what you think of them + if you’d like to see more/less of them`<3

warnings: language

‘Is he good in bed?’

‘Do his abs feel real?’

‘Did the super soldier serum work on his-’

‘- I am not answering those questions!’ You snapped, nostrils flaring as you jabbed your finger towards your bandmates.

The three of you were stood outside your usual bar, sheltering under an old awning in the smoking area to shield yourselves from the rain. It was coming down heavy now, covering the whole of New York in a bubble of wet humidity as evening began to settle across the grey sky of the city. The bar was your usual hangout; a small hole-in-the-wall pub in a desolate part of Midtown; the beer was stale but the company was good.

You were anxiously waiting for Steve to arrive with Bucky and Sam. Naturally, you felt nervous about formally introducing your respective group of friends - it marked the pair of you becoming official official. Plus, your two best friends were capable of acting like a pair of clowns when they were excited, and they’d barely shut up about meeting the two heroes the entire day.

‘Hey, doll.’ You felt a pair of warm, familiar arms wrap around you. You hadn’t even notice Steve’s cab pull up.

The super soldier pressed a kiss to your lips, and you naturally responded to his touch. You knew that there were people around you who could have seen, but you were beyond the point of caring. You were on a relationship high; the pair of you had gone official and you were introducing your friends to each other. What did it matter who saw?

‘You remember these oafs from yesterday morning,’ you pulled back from Steve’s embrace, ushering your bandmates over.

‘Steven,’ Alex greeted him.

‘I didn’t recognise you with a shirt.’ Damian added.

Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention to Sam and Bucky. They were shyly stood behind Steve, almost like two small children. Ironically, Damien and Alex had been over-excited about meeting them.

If only they knew.

‘It’s good to see you guys again.’ You pulled them both into a hug. ‘I’m just gonna get it out the way - Alex and Damian are super excited about meeting you, so there’s no need to be shy.’

‘Us?’ Bucky’s jaw dropped. ‘You were excited about meeting us?’

‘And you were excited about meeting us?’ Alex’s tone was just as accusatory.

You intertwined your hand with Steve’s, dragging him inside the bar. The smell of stale beer and old tobacco initially made him draw back, but the air was warm and the atmosphere welcoming. The pub was filled with plush, red booths and the carpet looked like it was straight out of a nineteen-eighties adult film.

‘So, why this place?’ Sam asked, eyes darting between the ugly floor and aged decor.

‘There aren’t many places in New York that one of the world’s biggest bands and half of the Avengers can hang out.’ Steve replied. He was leant against the bar beside you, arm tightly around your waist.

‘Everyone in here is either too drunk to care or too old to know who any of us are.’ Damian added. ‘But now I think of it, we could have just hung out at Y/N’s.’

‘Yeah, but that would involve having to tidy up.’ The super soldier muttered under his breath. You elbowed him in the ribs, pouting.

After getting your drinks, you moved to a booth at the back of the bar. You and Steve were sat on the outside; he had his arm slewn across your shoulders, holding your hand in his. That was sort of your natural position now - it was the way you sat when you on the sofa in your apartment, and the way you dozed off at night.

It was odd to see your friends interacting so easily. Damian and Bucky were chortling about something, whilst Sam was grilling Alex with questions about your upcoming album. The fact that they’d initially been starstruck by each other had definitely helped to break the ice, and it wasn’t long before you were all lost in conversation.

‘So, you know that song from your first album?’ Bucky tapped your hand across the table to get your attention. ‘The one titled You Suck, You Bastard?’

You groaned. ‘Yeah?’

‘Who was it about?’

‘My high school boyfriend.’ You buried your head in Steve’s shoulder, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. ‘He might have fucked my best friend but the royalties from that song paid for my first car.’

‘Our Y/N is a bad-ass.’ Damian ruffled your hair. ‘And that should be a warning to you, Rogers.’

‘Definitely,’ Alex chimed in. ‘You hurt her, and you’ll have us to answer too.’

‘Alex is asthmatic as fuck and Damian has the structural integrity of a piece of spaghetti.’ You casually commented, taking a sip of your beer. ‘So really, you have nothing to worry about.’

The six of you continued to chat as the evening passed; Sam and Bucky had many questions about your music and stories from touring, whilst Alex and Damian were asking for 411 on superhero life. You and Steve, however, were engrossed in your own little bubble, simply watching them chat and laugh as you absent-mindedly worked your hands across each other.

Steve’s fingers were gently tracing the lines of the tattoos on your bare arms, warm hands working from your shoulders and down to your wrists. You, meanwhile, were occasionally playing with his fingers or nuzzling your head into his shoulder, barely even thinking about it. That was one thing you’d never get over: your bodies just kind of fitted together, like two pieces of a puzzle.

‘You okay, sweetheart?’ He murmured quietly into his ear.

You glanced at the group of people around you. It wasn’t something you’d ever imagined happening, but the energy between you felt right. Between Sam’s seriousness and Alex’s terrible jokes, and Damian’s constant questions and Bucky’s interest in your music, they could all bounce off of each other. It was like a group of old friends hanging out.

‘Never been better.’ You smiled.

The following morning, you woke up underneath Steve. His legs were tangled between yours and the sheets, strong arms holding you to his chest as he quietly slept. His hair was sticking up in a thousand different directions, and you couldn’t help but pull a face at the large purple mark on his neck. Neither of you had been drunk the night before, but the intake of alcohol had certainly made you friskier than usual.

‘Mornin’, gorgeous,’ He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, barely bothering to open his eyes. He let go of you, rolling over to bury his head in the pillow on the other side of the bed.

‘Coffee?’ You asked, gently running a hand through his blonde tufts.

‘Coffee.’

Pulling his shirt over your torso, you fumbled around for a pair of leggings. You rubbed your eyes as you headed out into the living room, sliding open your bedroom door. The early morning light was streaming through the windows, washing the room in a dull, yellow glow. In addition to the blinding lustre, there was also a six-foot musician in your kitchen, preparing three mugs of coffee.

That was when you remembered that Damian had stayed over at yours. He often ended up crashing on your sofa, especially if he was having problems with his boyfriend - which was always (but it made for some good song writing material). He had his phone in one hand and a spoon in the other, and he was too engrossed in the device to notice your presence, so you cleared your throat.

‘Y/N!’ He jumped at the sound. ‘You’re trending!’

‘What is it this time?’ You snorted, reaching into the fridge for a carton of milk. ‘Last time it was because I accidentally trod on Harrison Ford’s foot at a red carpet event.’

‘It’s a bit more serious than that.’ Damian bit his lip. ‘Pictures of you and Steve have been all over Twitter.’

You let out a groan, head dropping into your hands. You knew it was bound to happen - you were both figures of public interest, and all of your previous relationships had been under the microscope of every gossip column in the city. Still, this was relationship wasn’t like your other ones. It was so much closer to your heart, and so much more personal. It had taken enough for you to tell your two best friends about it, let alone the entire world.

‘Perez fucking Hilton.’ You muttered under your breath, scrolling through an article titled Beauty and the Beast. ‘Why am I the beast? Have they seen Steve’s arms?’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’ Damian took the phone from your hands, pulling you into a tight hug. ‘People love you, and they love Captain America.’

‘Yeah, but probably not together!’ You grumbled. ‘It’s like...the most random pairing ever.’

‘So? When have you ever cared what people think?’ He reasoned. ‘Trust me, Y/N, you and Steve are good together. I’ve seen you with people before but not like this.’

‘I better go tell him.’ You pulled from his embrace. ‘Thanks for making the coffee.’

‘Anytime, sweetheart.’ He pressed a kiss to your temple, before handing you the drinks and pushing you in the direction of the bedroom.

You were more worried about what Steve was going to think. You’d dealt with public relationships before, but he hadn’t. He had no clue what it was like to live under the intense watch of modern day social media. It wasn’t something you’d considered when you’d got involved - you’d been so entranced by him that you hadn’t stopped to think about the consequences.

Still, that wasn’t going to stop you. You’d made it this far, and you were happy. Whatever obstacles it was going to create, you felt confident in overcoming them.

‘I have news,’ you announced, dropping back into bed next to Steve.

He sat up, looking momentarily adorable as he rubbed his eyes. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Steve took the mug from your hand, frowning at your worried expression. You were chewing at your lip ring, something he knew you did whenever you were anxious.

‘What’s up, sweetheart?’ He asked gently, softly rubbing your shoulder. ‘Talk to me.’

‘They know, Steve.’

‘Who knows?’

‘The internet!’ You replied. ‘Someone saw us at the bar yesterday, and it’s gone viral.’

‘Oh.’ Steve’s brow furrowed, and he thought for a moment. He reached for the bedside table, grabbing his phone. He scrolled for a minute, examining some of the tweets and articles. ‘Yeah, they definitely know.’

‘I’m sorry.’ You flopped back into the pillow. ‘I know this probably isn’t what you wanted-’

‘- hey, baby, stop.’ He grabbed you by the waist, softly pulling you into his lap. He gently brushed his lips against yours, pushing a few strands of hair out your face. ‘You are the thing I want, and I’ll stick by that whatever crap is thrown our way.’

You paused for a minute, holding his gaze. ‘Does that mean I can post you on my Instagram?’

{taglist: @sp2900 @whenpugzfly}

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partyinthemysterymachine · 4 years ago

Note

Harry + betrayed (looks at a&s au stuff like :3c)

looks at you like 🔪

===

Every time the mug came out of the steaming hot dishwasher, Harry clasped it in both hands. The ceramic was always scalding, and his palms always threatened to blister. Clouds reeking of dishwasher detergent lifted and swept over his forearm, humid as a summer’s stifling rain, its pungency sickening his heart.

He hated to wash this mug.

Bright and early at six o’clock every morning, Harry made coffee. It steeped dark and bitter, just how they liked it. The first pour went into his mug; the second filled his own. Then both were taken to the small, round table in the corner of their kitchen. Harry set the mug down on the wood itself to the right of the round, rattan woven placemats they’d found in a bargain bin at Williams-Sonoma. Harry’s coffee went on the placemat itself, edging the rim, at his left.

How charming it was to have their mugs across from each other like that. He always liked how they seemed to be having a conversation through the coffee’s dissipating flames of white steam. As they drained their caffeine and burned their throats, the heat shocking their stomachs, they’d talk.

Talking didn’t necessarily mean words were used. No, words weren’t his forte, though he relished every sound that rolled off his tongue. He spoke with his face and through his hands, and if Harry ever had his way, he’d spend the hours morn to midnight simply gazing at his face.

Two hours later, Harry stood and took the cold, untouched mugs to the sink. Down the drain went the wasted coffee, dumped out at the same time. A swish of water from the faucet did a quick and fine job of cleaning them out, and Harry’s went, dripping, onto the counter. Then he ran the water again to piping hot, abusing skin rough and chapped from this daily ritual of cleaning, cleaning out his ice cold coffee, cleaning, cleaning out the dots of mold he’d let grow for two weeks because he couldn’t let that go, cleaning, cleaning out that damn spot, that damn spot, that damn spot.

The mug was as hot as it was when it came out of the dishwasher, and Harry clasped it in both hands. His teeth tried to send their roots into his skull with his jaw clamped like that, and he wished his tongue, sucked hard to the roof of his mouth and tastebuds rough as sandpaper, would swell and choke him. Every time it didn’t, which was every morning, every single morning for the past three years, Harry called it betrayal.

His kiss held tender on the warm rim. It was the last place his lips had laid where Harry could kiss him, for he couldn’t kiss his own cheek. Like every morning, his eyes slipped closed and he thought of their daily coffee date at their kitchen table. Autumn was in full golden, fiery bloom. People swarmed to Vermont to lose their breath to the vast garden of nature’s heavenly, untamed wildfire that never burned.

Every single fucking morning it was autumn again, the mug had been scorching hot, then chilly, the phantom pressure of his kiss lingered on his cheek, and Harry tried to kiss him back too on ceramic that had been the last tangible thing to experience his lips.

Today, he set the mug down on the counter alongside the one in its puddle. The water brimmed its mismatched mate immediately and would leave an incomplete circle in its wake after Harry would take it up and wrap it in a soft towel. That puddle would dry on its lonesome over the course of as many minutes; Harry wrapped up his personal mug, too.

Remaining coffee got poured and locked in a thermos. They were placed in the coveted seat beside the driver’s - shotgun! one’s supposed to yell to reserve it for themselves - tucked safely behind a plain old box.

The ignition chittered on. Rancid boomed and rattled the Jeep’s speakers. Harry absently wiggled the shiny, custom-made Magic Eight Ball fortune teller stick shift knob. He glanced down. ‘It is decidedly so,’ promised the triangular face washed behind blue, its text pressed on the circular window.

A draw; and exhale. The YJ Wrangler shifted into gear, easing back out of the driveway, Harry’s arm slung around the shotgun seat and head turned to watch over his shoulder as he safely maneuvered to their personal gravel road leading to and from their remote, comfortable Vermont hideaway.

It’d probably take five, six hours, give or take, to get to Maine. He was looking forward to their coffee date. Five out of the seven days of the week Harry drove to Maine to hang out on the shore of Toluca Lake. Coffee was served into their mugs; he kept his at his side, and his tucked into the sand and mud at the water’s breach.

Sometimes he’d talk, update his husband on his books, their daughter, the latest news that did and didn’t matter. Other times he’d sit in silence, listening and watching the new face of a man he loved. Harry was there in rain, sleet, and snow. He’d all but frozen his ass off before out there and sweated buckets in the heat. But they had their spot, and that’s where he’d always sit.

Silent Hill rested to the south. They took a vacation there once. Harry hates how it looks out across Toluca. Take your fucking eyes somewhere else, he regularly thinks. Don’t fucking look at him.

It oversees. One day, Harry’s promised five days out of the seven in the week, he’s going to tear that town asunder by his own bare hands.

Tomorrow might be that day. Harry rises to his feet. It is decidedly so. He fetches the Jeep’s constant tenant for the last three years. It is decidedly so.

“I hope you liked your coffee, honey,” he says to the lake lapping at his boots as he wades into snapping cold. “So, I asked the eight ball if I’d see you today,” Harry Mason offhandedly tells his husband residing in the lake. “Guess what it said? ‘It is decidedly so.’ Take that as you will. I know you know what I’ve planned to do, honeylove. Don’t get up in my tits about it,” warns the older man, now appropriately submerged mid-chest. “I’m not gonna do it today. Doesn’t feel right. But I thought it’d be nice to see you, anyway.”

“So you’re wondering why I brought the box in with me? Well, I’m glad you asked! For one, I fixed it up and made it waterproof,” he smirks, cradling it in his arm and popping it open. “And two.. c’mon, now. You know I’d lose these if I didn’t keep ‘em in here.”

Two pendants, no bigger than his thumbnail, each on their own thin chain, dangled just skimming the water’s surface. Two pendants, amber and glinting, somehow even in the thick grey mist rolling in from Silent Hill. “Check these out. I got ‘em made a few months ago and I’ve just now had the balls to bring ‘em out. It’s because the eight ball said I’d see you today. So.. here. One of them’s for you. I figure you can make yours glow in there, firefly. You have a knack for lightin’ up the dark.”

Harry chuckles, wagging his head back and forth, mocking himself. “Yeah, yeah, mushy, whatever, I’m a dork. Thbhtghbh. What’re you gonna do, divorce me? Shoulda thought about that before you went fishing, babe.” He collects the chains and their sculpted fireflies into his fist. One kiss is enough for both. Then he smiled, looked into the lake, and felt comforted by the thought that that sweet, pale man with yellow wheat field hair was watching him.

Projection is a very real, very psychedelic thing, for sometimes, Harry thinks he can see his face.

The water sways around his wrist. He gazes into Toluca Lake and waits, and hopes that the magic of the eight ball is true.

Will I get to see James today?

It is decidedly so.

If he were to do it all over again from the top, do you think he’d still do it this way?

It is decidedly so.

Does he know I love him?

It is decidedly so.

Does he know I’ll never forgive him?

It is decidedly so.

When the day comes, I’ll kill that motherfucker myself. I dunno how it’s gonna happen, but it’s gonna happen. Fucking asshole. He knows that, right?

….

.. right?

“I gotta go soon, babe,” Harry murmurs to his husband, James Mason (formerly Sunderland). “I’m gonna leave one with you. I’ll be back tomorrow. If you wanna trade, we can. Fuck, I don’t wanna get a fuckin’ yeast infection out here,” he gripes, turning to wade out of the lake. “Seriously, James. Not like a yeast infection wouldn’t stop me from comin’ out here but you bet your ass you’re gonna hear all fucking about it, because it will be your fault, and I fucking hate you, so goddamn fucking much, honeylove.”

Harry makes it out to the shore. He takes the box to its honored seat in shotgun! James’s coffee gets thrown into Toluca; he pours his out where he’d sat. Then the mason with rusted tools scans his exhausted, old, heavily lined eyes across the scenic lake where an orange (rare, so rare, extremely rare and mean everything) firefly swims. He’ll never get over the betrayal. It doesn’t matter if he understands it. It doesn’t matter that he’s (and he’s) been waiting for it long before they’d met.

After all those thousands of years of looking for each other, this is how he chooses to betray him: like Judas, with a kiss.

A kiss on a ceramic mug that is going to be washed again today, and tomorrow morning, and will scald his hands.

A kiss, a kiss, a kiss from a man whose lips promised I love you with a simple brush. Lips Harry hasn’t felt in three years; his heart can break even more.

Will I ever get to kiss him again? Harry asks his stick shift as he drives towards his six (give or take) hour journey home to Vermont.

It is decidedly so, replies the eight ball.

Will it be soon? inquires a widowed man, widowed for the second time.

It is decidedly so, soothes the inky window.

When?

Turn right off this street, guides the knob too small to say so. Fifty miles out. It won’t take long.

Huh? I can barely see with all this fog. Where am I going?

To see James.

James? What’s he doing all the way out here?

Waiting for you.

.. waiting for me? I’ll get to see him again?! Jeez.. damn, I’ve got a splitting headache all of a sudden .. fifty miles to Silent Hill.. hrm, seems farther than I remember, but..

He’s waiting for you.

.. forgot to clean up the coffee at home.. m’sure it’ll be fine.. Cheryl’ll be over at some point.. heh.. can’t believe he wants to spend our anniversary in Silent Hill.. fuckin’ weirdo.. a vow renewal? And he calls me disgusting..

He’s waiting.

I’m comin’. I’ll be there soon, James. It’s gonna be alright. I can’t wait to see you. We’re gonna have a great vacation, just the two of us, aren’t we, sweetheart?

It is decidedly so.

#ches writes #a&s #HRM WHOOPS UHHHHHHHHHHH #how many hours did i just fucking spend writing this #oh three? cool #welp #anyway!#rootdootdoodootdoooot i'm leav-ving #magnolian-gold #so much for a fucking drabble amirite fellas #just zoned the fuck in bc god i love that fuckin sad shit #not even sorry for revisiting the same a&s plot point over an over #can't be bovvered #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#anyway this new revised au is living in my head rent free and that's very sexy cash money of me to write asbout

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

Note

From the cliche list ‘There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close’ with whoever your muse chooses 🤗

@sherlollydramoine‘s Drunkenly confessing feelings + Josh?

I am going to combine these two because I think they work really well together!

* * * * *

“Jesus Christ Josh! Run!”

“I’m not,” Josh panted, “as spry as you!”

“Stop playing video games and go for a run!” you shouted over your shoulder, the sound of your shoes slapping on the pavement suddenly growing louder to your ear as you ducked into an alley.

The sound of Josh’s shoes was damn near cacophonous as he rounded the edge of the building and followed you.

“Come on,” you begged, bouncing on your toes and waiting for him.

Josh jogged to catch up to you, his cheeks red and his hair puffing out as it sucked up the humidity of the drizzling rain. He stopped in front of you, bending to rest his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“They went this way!” sounded two deep voices from not nearly as far away as you wished they were.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned.

“If you get us caught and we lose, I swear—”

Josh cut you off by yanking on your arm and pulling you into an even more narrow alley, one that you hadn’t even noticed behind the large dumpster. You were chest to chest as you attempted to even out your breathing, your ears straining as you listened to see if you were followed.

Josh looked down at you, his eyes bright but more grey than green in the darkness of the alley. He studied your face, his pupils widening slightly as time passed.

“Do—mmf—”

Josh’s large hand cut you off before you could really speak, his elbow now resting beside your head as he pressed into you.

“They’re not here. I told you they turned at the corner of Watson and Grotts.”

“Fine—but if you’re wrong, you’re paying for my share of the booze tonight.”

“I’m not wrong, asshole. Let’s go.”

Josh cocked his head to the side, listening intently. You tried to move, but he held you in place, his hand adjusting so he was now shushing you with just his finger.

Another set of feet came thundering into the alley, immediately followed by a raucous bout of laughter and screeching as yet another pair of people were caught.

“Damnit!” a feminine voice rang out. “We just eliminated Meegan and Ted.”

“And now WE got you,” one of the deep voices that had been chasing you rumbled.

“Who’s left?”

“Josh and Y/N. We were just heading back to check another spot for them, but first, hand those over.”

The girls who had been caught groaned and you inadvertently clutched at the tag hanging around your neck. The object of the game was to seize your opponents’ tags—the pair left with their tags intact got to drink at the Goog, your favorite bar, for free for the weekend.

It was a marketing ploy you and Josh were trying out for one of your classes. You had met the semester before at a party and became fast friends, even though you two couldn’t be more opposite at times. Since you had started the Tag-Taking game, business was up by 15% and you were absolutely not going to lose your own game.

At first, you and Josh advertised and then watched the fun game from a distance to collect your observations, but when enough of your friends realized that the two of you had never actually played the game, they guilted you both into it.

So, here you were, scrunched in a tiny, starting to smell quite ripe, alley, almost nose to nose with Josh Washington.

You nipped at his finger and he pulled it away, grinning down at you while you rolled your eyes at him, except you had never really noticed the cute smattering of freckles that dotted near his temples and across his nose. He was really very pretty, and it was no surprise that he seemed to have a new girlfriend every few weeks.

Josh’s eyes were now locked on yours and you felt that familiar pull of longing, of wanting someone to kiss you, but this was Josh! No way were you about to go there.

“I think we’re good,” you whispered, breaking the moment.

“Yeah,” Josh agreed and slid his body from yours, slowly peeking around the edge of the building.

He gave you a signal for the all-clear, and as soon as you were free from the alley, you broke into a run, calling for Josh to get his ass moving back to the bar.

* * * * *

You laughed and clinked your glass with one of your best friends, Jayna, as you then downed what you thought was your fifth beer. Fifth or sixth—what did it matter because you didn’t have to pay!

“Can’t believe you and Josh won the first and only time you ever played!”

“We do make a great team,” you said, smiling as you poured another glass from the pitcher.

“So, are you gonna be more than a team?”

“Huh?” you said, your lip turning up in confusion.

“Don’t play dumb. I see the way you two look at each other.”

“Noooo,” you scoff. “We’re jus’ friends!”

“Mmhmmmm.”

“Don’t you ‘mmhmmm’ me. I swear!”

“Look at him, Y/N. He’s been watching you all night.”

Josh had been watching you all night, which you only knew because you had been watching him all night.

“He’s not,” you counter into your glass as you take another drink.

“I’m gonna go start the shot tray. And you’re gonna go take a shot with him,” Jayna said.

“Noo, ohhhh no,” you tried to argue, but she was already up and halfway across the bar.

When she returned with the shot tray, she said, “To you and Josh!”

“Jay! Seriously—not gonna happen.”

“Drink. I toasted and it’s rude not to drink your toast!”

You tossed back the shot, knowing it meant that it was now your turn to deliver a shot and Jayna wasn’t going to let it be to anyone other than Josh.

With a sigh and dramatic circle off of your comfy stool, you took the tray and made a beeline for Josh. A very cute blonde was tucked into his side, and you almost balked.

“Y/N! The reason for my success! Brought me a present, I see,” Josh said, taking a shot from the tray.

You smiled, a tight smile and clinked your shot glass with Josh, neither of you ever taking your eyes off of each other as you tossed back the drink.

“Here, Kiley. Take this on my behalf,” Josh said as he passed off the shot tray to the blonde.

She giggled and took it, turning in a cute little circle as she decided which person she’d pass it off to.

“Come on,” Josh said, taking your hand and pulling you out of the bar.

“Needed some air,” he said as soon as you were outside.

“Who is she?” you blurted out, clapping your hand over your mouth at your own blunt question.

“Whoa there,” Josh said grinning. “Ask it like that and I’ll think you actually care.”

“I don’t care,” you said lightly, looking at the ground.

“We hooked up a few times. Nothing serious.”

“Oh.”

Josh swayed on his feet, and you knew that he was at least as drunk as you. Josh Washington rarely ever got sloppy. It was almost scary how put together he could seem on the surface, but he had his little tells.

“How much did ya drink tonight?”

“Enough,” he said with that same grin as earlier, the one that made you feel like the room was spinning—or maybe it kind of was.

“Wanna get outta here?”

“Huh?” you asked in the same eloquent manner as you had earlier with Jayna.

“You’re cute when you’re shitfaced,” Josh explained, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking on his feet, except that he wobbled a bit again.

“You’re not exactly sober-faced, ya know.”

Josh shrugged, the remnants of his grin still playing with the corners of his lips.

“Jooosh,” came the sing-song voice of the blonde named Kiley. “I’m all outta shots!”

Josh reached into his back pocket and pulled out a twenty. Kiley hopped over to him and plucked it from his fingers, leaning in for a hug before bouncing away.

“Think I’ll be going back in now.”

“Wait—not yet,” Josh said, reaching out to grasp your arm.

“I really think—”

“That’s just it, Y/N. You’re always thinking. And if you’re always thinking, you’re never gonna give me a chance and all I want is a chance just one. I’m not—I’m not who you think I am.”

“Who do I think you are,” you said turning to face him.

“A player, I’m guessing. And you’re not . . . wrong. I just hadn’t met anyone I really liked.”

“So you’re just taking half the campus for a test drive. Tryin’ out as many models as you can. I respect an informed buyer.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t brush me off when I’m trying to be real with you.”

“Look. We’re both feelin’ pretty good—”

“Exactly. We’re both in a place where we can speak a little more freely. Openly.”

“What exactly do you want, Josh?” you asked, suddenly afraid of his answer.

“You,” he breathed and stepped forward, recreating the distance that was between you and him in the alley. “I want a chance with you.”

“You gonna want that chance when you’re sober and Kiley’s sprawled across your bed?”

“No more Kileys. Just want a you,” Josh said taking a step forward so now you were looking up at him. “Question is . . . do you want a me?”

There was only one way to find out. With a sigh and your liquid courage, you stepped up onto your toes and kissed Josh, his lips warm and pliant, tasting sweet like the last shot the two of you drank together.

“That a yes?” Josh asked as you flattened out your feet.

“It’s a maybe.”

“Wanna go someplace and talk?”

“Just talk?”

“Duh,” Josh said, that grin back on his face.

You smiled, unable to not when he was looking at you like that.

“All right, Josh. One chance.”

“That’s all I’m gonna need,” he said as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

You hoped that he was right.

#josh washington #Josh Washington x reader #female reader (but it is pretty ambiguous)#FLUFF #chaotic thursday #Josh Washington fluff

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impala-dreamer · 5 years ago

Text

Play of Shadows

SPN FanFic

~A storm keeps the Impala off the road for the night, but you and Sam find a way to keep entertained~

Sam x Reader

2,382 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Smut in the front seat! Lots of feeeeels

A/N: This is for my Impala Sex square for @spnkinkbingo 2019. Do hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

2019 Kink Bingo Masterlist ~ Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

Raindrops snuck through the cracked window above your head, carried by the storm to trickle down upon you. They misted over your cheeks and stuck to your eyelashes; a welcome coolness against the humid air inside the Impala.

The road had been too wet, oil-slicked and dark, and the storm was steady for miles, unlikely to let up for a while. He wasn't happy about it, but Sam didn't want to risk it and pulled off the highway to park in a rest area. They were surrounded by trees that bent in the heavy winds, leaves howling like wolves in the dark. The lone car parked under a broken streetlight, lost in the night, stranded by a spring monsoon.

“It's not like I can't,” you laughed, passing the bottle back to Sam, “it's just...I haven't in a while.”

Sam took a swig of whiskey and eyed you hard. “How long is a while?”

Your eyes lifted to the upholstered roof as you tried to calculate without using your fingers. “Well…”

“That long, huh?” Sam laughed softly around the bottle and took another drink.

“Shut up,” you scoffed, grabbing the booze back. “Fine, I think the last time was like two weeks ago.”

"Two weeks!" Sam nearly choked on his swallow.

You licked a drop of whiskey from the corner of your mouth and shifted to face him, the leather squeaking a bit under your ass. "What? It's not like I can do anything with you guys around all the time. When was the last time I got my own room? Never?"

Sam shrugged bashfully and looked at his knee. "I mean...that doesn't have to stop you…" His cheeks turned hot pink as he kept his eyes down, fiddling with a tiny rip in his jeans.

You couldn't help the absurd laugh that came out of you along with a tiny hiccup. "Are you kidding me? Dean would never let me live it down." You covered your lips discreetly as another hiccup popped in your chest. "Could you imagine Dean walking in on me...like...oh my god. No."

Sam's cheeks were full-on burning as you laughed, and while he did smile at the thought, it was clear that another one was busy churning in his mind. "That would be something," he chuckled, finally lifting his eyes to look at you. "But…" He stopped as you met his gaze, the words failing as his heart raced.

The laughter died and you softened as he stared at you, hazel eyes bright even in the dark of the storm. "But what, Sam?"

He drew in his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and bit down, deciding. "But," he said again, with a little more confidence in his voice. "...I wouldn't mind."

Fire sparked in your gut and you clenched your teeth to hide a ridiculous smile. "Is that so?"

Sam leaned towards you, his eyes locked to yours, lips wet and parted slightly. You held your breath as he came close, suddenly flooding with heat from head to toe.

He leaned in. You sat forward.

He puckered his lips. You closed your eyes.

You let out a breath. He snatched the bottle from your hand and sat back with it, proudly grinning as he watched you flounder; kiss unmet.

"You jerk," you huffed, sitting back and kicking your left foot up on the bench seat. The toe of your sneaker nudged his leg and Sam grabbed it, pulling it to rest on his leg as he turned to face you.

"Sorry," he teased around the mouth of the bottle.

"No, you're not."

Whiskey sloshed in the bottle. "You don't know what I'm thinking or not."

You narrowed your eyes, studying him, and then sat back, resting against the cold window. "I guess not," you sighed and crossed your arms. "Wish I did though."

Sam laughed and took another drink. "You can't tell?"

You batted your eyes innocently. "Never. You're a complete mystery, Sam Winchester."

He slung his arm over the backseat, long fingers curling around the vintage leather. He dipped his chin and looked up through dark lashes just as a bit of hair fell forward into his eyes. "Never?"

"Maybe sometimes," you admitted, caught in the beauty of his face, stunned by the casual sexuality he emitted just lounging in the driver's seat, just being so close, quiet, warm.

He smiled gently. "What about now?"

"I know what I'm thinking," you whispered as you lifted your fingers to hover over his temple. When he didn't flinch away, you swept the hair from his eyes and tucked it safely behind his right ear, lingering there for the longest moment, enjoying the feel of his soft locks between your fingers.

"And what's that?"

His voice had dropped to a faint breath, barely audible over the heavy rain smacking the windshield, pelting the roof like so many angelic water balloons. They flooded the windows, sheeting down and distorting your view, but the only view that mattered was the one right in front of you.

Sam blushed through your silence, letting his eyes float over your lips. Maybe it was Dean's secret whiskey stash or the rhythmic rain that made your head fuzzy, but it was definitely Sam that made you warm. Sam that made your stomach somersault every time he blinked at you. Sam who made your heart ache and your body shiver. It was all Sam.

"Huh?"

He laughed at your murmur and brushed your arm with his thumb. "I said, what are you thinking about now?"

There was a lump in your throat and a buzzing in your ears, but you pushed through them, leaning dangerously close to his lips. "How it's been two weeks since I've cum…and how much I want to do it with you inside of me."

He took a breath that filled his entire chest, lifting his shoulders, lengthening every inch of him. You could hear him swallow hard, caught off guard by your boldness. He took a slow breath and turned his head just enough to catch the edge of your lips with his.

His breath brushed your mouth and you closed your eyes, lips reaching, seeking his, but never quite making contact. Sam pulled away just enough to watch you follow, caught in his aura.

“What are you thinking?” you whispered, desperate to have him say he needed you too, needing so badly for him to touch you.

Sam smiled and pushed his forehead against your temple, letting his eyes fall closed as he found the courage he needed. “About how bad I need to fuck you right now.”

Lightning lit the windows as your lips finally met, tongues clashing like the storm clouds above.

If that first kiss was thunderous, the moment his big hand snuck up beneath your shirt, fingertips burning on your skin, was like lightning striking a tree. Your insides burned for him, sparks lit your spine, making you arch up into him, pushing your body against his.

He was solid, not an ounce of give, but his lips were soft, his hands gentle as they squeezed your flesh.

"We...should...stop…" you panted, looking your grip on reality as Sam's teeth scraped at your pulse.

He licked at your ear as he pinched a nipple through your bra. "What? No…"

"I just.." Moans took over as he held you tight, mouth hot on your throat, long fingers reaching over and around you. "We...the...steering wheel."

Sam's lips left your neck with a wet pop and he looked around, realizing where he was. Hazel eyes flit around the Impala's front seat and then back to you. "Don't care," he breathed, "We'll make it work." He came back to you, shoving up your shirt with hungry fingers and closing his mouth around your right breast. His tongue swirled around the fabric of your thin bra and you pushed a hand through his hand.

"Backseat?" you suggested, gasping as he bit through the cloth to pinch your nipple with his teeth.

"No," he growled, "here. Ride me."

It took a moment to kick your pants away; Sam helped with your shirt once his jeans were down. The leather squeaked beneath his bare ass as Sam slid into the middle of the long bench seat, clear of the wheel, fisting his cock as he watched you climb to your knees.

"So fucking hot," he whispered, lust and awe clear in his voice. "Look at you…"

You bit your lip and smiled. The chilly air dimpled your skin but Sam's gaze made you shiver.

A truck passed on the highway, speeding through the downpour. Headlights lit Sam's face as you climbed into his lap and the play of shadows nearly made you cry. Pink lips, warm skin, stubbled cheek, sharp nose, fine jaw. His hair was loose as always, strands falling wherever they pleased; his eyes were a tangled gray, blue and brown fighting in the corners. He was a masterpiece.

"What?" he asked with a blush, delicate lashes fluttering as he blinked up at you.

You cupped his chin and bent your lips to him. "You're fucking beautiful, Sam."

Big hands grabbed your back, arms wrapping around your middle and shoulder to pull you close. Sam moaned into your mouth as he kissed you, gorgeous eyes falling closed at your taste. You sank down on him, gasping at the unexpected size of him. It hurt, but God, it hurt so good.

"You OK?" he panted against your cheek, deep voice filling your head.

You hummed, biting your lip as the delicious burn of him subsided into a dull ache. "Yeah...fuck...yes."

Sam sucked your tongue into his mouth and jerked his hips upwards, urging you to move.

The rain beat down, the shocks rocked gently, the roof bore your outbursts as you slapped at it, clawing at it and the dash, reaching for anything to hold onto.

Sam stared up at you, shadows dancing across your body as you fucked yourself hard and fast down onto his dick. He clung to your hips, guiding you up and down when your thighs began to burn and your breath became ragged.

“You gonna cum, Y/N/N?” he asked suddenly, all shyness gone from his tone.

Dropping your chin to your chest, you nodded, lips slack and wet, stomach tightening as the pressure grew. “Mhm. Wanna cum so bad, Sam.”

“I think you need to,” he growled, dropping his right hand to rub over your throbbing pussy.

The scream hit the back of your throat before you knew it was coming; his hot fingertips circling your clit made everything inside of you cry out. “Fuck, Sam!”

He thrust upwards, rubbed faster, watching with wide eyes as you struggled to hit the edge. You could feel your cunt dripping, leaking around him, but you simply could not let go. This was Sam, one of your best friends, the man who’d saved your life more times than you cared to admit. The boy who fought by your side, helped laugh away your nerves, wipe away your tears. Sam Winchester, the man your heart had claimed for your own the very first time you laid eyes on him.

Sam.

“Sam!”

He kissed you hard as you came, that big hand at the nape of your neck pulling you down, holding you to him as your legs shook around him. You dug into his shoulders, nails pushing through the worn flannel, picking up speed once your breath returned.

“Need you to cum, Sam,” you whispered harshly, grinding down on him, rocking the front seat.

His head slammed back against the seat, eyes rolling, jaw slack, lips swollen and beautiful.

Leaning forward, you sucked on his throat, drawing a line of wet kisses in the shadow blanketing his face.

Lightning struck as he came, hips bucking up into you and shaking as the thunder rolled.

Raindrops pelted the window, sneaking inside to mist over your sweaty faces, tickle your naked skin. You lay on Sam’s chest, barely able to move and wishing you never had to.

Sam brushed the hair back from your forehead, tender fingers dancing behind your ear and downwards, settling in the small of your back. “So what are you thinking about now?” he asked, voice cracking over the storm.

You sighed and wrapped your arm around him, squeezing as tight as your tired arms could manage. “How glad I am Dean let you drive for once.”

Sam laughed, you could hear it echo in his chest. “Yeah, he’s gonna kill me for taking all night.”

You sat up and feigned a frown. “I’ll kick his ass if he gives you trouble. Besides, you can’t control the rain, Sam.”

“True,” he agreed with a sweet smile, reaching to run his finger across your lips. “But I wish I could.”

“Why?”

“So we could stay here forever.”

Lightning cracked but the thunder took a while; the storm was passing.

He waited until the rain let up, content to hold you in the front seat, wrapped in comfortable silence, but all good things must end.

“I guess we should get going,” he said sadly, rubbing his hand down your arm, shifting a bit beneath you.

“Do we have to?”

Sam kissed the top of your head. “Yeah.” The windshield was clear, just a few droplets now and then coming down from the night sky. “We gotta get back.”

Sitting up, you grabbed your shirt from the footwell and sighed. “Listen, just...don’t be weird tomorrow, OK?”

“What do you mean?”

You turned back as soon as your head was through your shirt. “I just mean...look, if this was just a ‘ride out the storm’ situation, it’s cool. I just don’t want to not be friends tomorrow, OK?”

Sam left his belt buckle open, looking hurt by your words. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close, eyes narrowed and serious. “Do you want this to be over?”

“No, I just-”

“Then why does it have to be?”

The road was wet but the sky was clear. The windows were down and the night air was fragrant and cool. Sam held your hand as you sat side by side, more thankful than ever for that long bench seat.

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanmonandnegansbitch @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysticmaxie @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @pisces-cutie @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnficgirl @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride

#spn fanfic #sam x reader #spnkinkbingo #sam winchester x reader #smuttt #one shot #impala sex

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weispy · 4 years ago

Text

a buncha unpublished wips

(would they be technically considered a single wip rehashed several times? since they were all intended to be the same story...)

anyways. since i never they’re not gonna see the light of the day ever again and i got reminded of them, why not. have some unfinished first chapters of the naruto si i had been talking about.

warning for dubious quality of writing and extremely long post under cut :v

written in 2016/03

The first thing I felt were droplets of water hitting my face and realization hit me that my clothes were soaking wet. I opened my eyes, and as most of you certainly guessed, it was raining. More like pouring, I would say. But my point was said: it was raining pretty hard. I was also probably going to get hypothermia if I stayed outside any longer. The fact that I was laying on the ground with only a short-sleeved shirt and some shorts did not help.

Talking about the outside…

This place had weird looking skyscrapers (Were they even skyscrapers?) just about everywhere. Really tall, kind of ugly, has external waterworks sort of skyscraper. I would have said this place was deserted, if not for the occasional screams.

‘This doesn’t really look like the afterlife,’ I idly commented to myself.

I then completely stopped that train of thought. Why would I say (think) that? Am I dead? Am I supposed to be dead? If so, why can’t I recall any past moment that ultimately resulted in my said death?

I hadn’t noticed that my breathing was becoming erratic, and I couldn’t care less. I had other thoughts to attend to, like…

Where the hell am I?

I don’t remember travelling anywhere. I don’t remember leaving my home. Come to think about it, I couldn’t actually think of anything involving the time before I awoke here.

…

Not a single memory was clear. I couldn’t recall anything in particular, yet I was aware that I knew the answer. Just like the feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t get it out.

Anyways, I should probably find out where this is. No need to dwell on events which you cannot help or change.

(This place looks awfully familiar. Not the ‘I’ve been here before’ familiar, but more of the ‘I have already seen this place in a book’ familiar.)

Standing up from my laying position, I noticed yet another thing off. I had pudgy limbs, akin to a child’s and I’m pretty sure I was taller than this. And I have a distinct feeling that I have already lived past my young childhood. Judging from my arms, my body seems to be around 10 years old.

Talk about inconvenient. And strange.

In fact, I don’t think any of this should be happening on a normal basis, but hey, life happens.

Is that a person I see? Is that… a kid and a dog…? Though I guess help from a random kid is better than no help at all.

I padded on the damp soil towards the two of them, hoping if they could offer any form of guidance. If he can’t, I could always follow them. The boy (at least, I think it’s a boy) has a dog accompanying him. Dogs are loyal and adorable, though I do prefer cats. Cats are a lot more laid-back than dogs.

And again, this déjà vu feeling is back. I really hope my memory will clear up soon, because that feeling is extremely irritating.

The kid –oh my, he has really, and I mean REALLY bright red hair (not ginger, red) – did not seem to acknowledge my presence as I reached him, but the brown canine certainly did. Looking closer (it’s not creepy, right?), the red-haired boy looked like he recently cried. Not that it was that noticeable in the rain.

I wonder, is it normal for people here to ignore strangers? Or is it because he just had a break down and he doesn’t want people to see his tear-stricken face? Oh, and the dog is now growling at me.

He still gave no sign that he noticed me, so I decided to make the first move.

“Er, hello? Can I ask you something?”

---

written in 2016/04

Someone sobbing, pleading for something. A parting sigh, a fading light, and then darkness. Spiralling down a pitch-black abyss, and nothing to grasp on.

The last and only memories about myself I possess.

I awoke in a dark location, somewhere unpleasantly humid. My eyesight slightly cleared out and I realized that I was surrounded by colossal trees. A wandering thought is telling me that they are way taller than any plant I have seen.

Which doesn’t mean much, since I have apparently lost a good percentage of my memories.

Also, did I say that I didn’t have any legs? Or arms? Actually, it doesn’t seem that I have a body at all. Though I’m positive I’m supposed to have one. ‘Why?’ one might ask. Just a hunch. That annoying feeling that you have when you know something, but just can’t get a clear grip on the thought.

So I’m currently just a floating… thing. Or object. Or soul. Actually, I have no idea what I was.

Just a few minutes in, and I spotted something that sent chills up my spine. Something that even if I had my memories, even if I had a body, even if I was as tall as those trees, would still scare the living daylights out of me.

A giant ass spider.

I was pretty sure spiders weren’t meant to be that big. I was also pretty sure that they were not supposed to have 12 legs. And they absolutely were not supposed to be eating a tiger.

It didn’t seem to notice me at first, completely oblivious to my presence as it continued feasting on the giant feline’s carcass. So listen here: curiosity is a good thing, but it can also lead to certain doom.

And guess what I decided to do.

Yeah, I certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

So I decided to approach the arachnid, and to my greatest relief, it still hasn’t taken notice to me. That’s when I started feeling an attraction–not the romantic sort, but gravitational sort–to the twelve-legged beast. I started panicking, because just like any rational person, my line of though was going something like ‘OH DEAR LORD I’M GOING TO GET SUCKED IN BY A GIANT SPIDER AND–‘

Then I realized I could resist the pull. Silly me, huh? All that terror for nothing.

And again, I’ll say that I’m not the brightest lightbulb out there.

Because curiosity is a wonderful thing, I continued my path towards the unnaturally giant twelve-legged possibly highly venomous and definitely carnivorous spider. Nothing could go wrong there, right? Yeah, fat chance with that.

There, I found what caused the pull: an inky black fissure at the base of its head. And still, that didn’t stop me from going nearer and nearer the creature.

As most of you guessed, that fissure got ahold of my whatever-I-was and sucked me in. We could compare it to a black hole, I guess.

‘I guess this the end of the line for me. Such a laughable way to go. Wait, no. It’s actually pretty original. No one ever died because they got sucked in by a mini black hole from a spider’s head. You bet I’m going to brag about it in the afterlife.’

And then I blinked my eyes. All eight of them. I should probably finish my meal now.

‘Wait, WHAT?’

I looked down to see my many appendages, some still plunged deep in the would-be meal, while some others were in the midst of tearing flesh apart. I was positively grossed out by this, and even maybe on the verge of puking what this spider belly’s content, while another part of me didn’t mind at all and just wanted to resume eating.

Wait, scratch that. That part was definitely not me. Maybe a remnant of the arachnid’s feeling? Better not dwell on that thought. Possessing a giant spider’s body is nasty enough for me.

‘Eat first. Think later.’

Even though I really don’t want to touch the carcass, I probably should listen to its thought. This body was feeling hungry, and since it has already hunted down a prey to eat, why not just eat it now?

‘Or maybe we could eat AND think at the same time.’

And before I could do whatsoever, the body moved on its own and went on eating. Looks like I don’t have full control over the body. So while the spider is eating, I’ll have to do the thinking. Because apparently, spiders can’t multitask. Learning new things every day!

Anyways, back to my current issue.

Correction: back to my current issues.

For one, I have no idea where I was. I don’t think knowing that you’re in a giant messed up forest in the middle of nowhere counts as knowing where you are. Two, I have no idea who I am. The memories I currently am in possession of doesn’t help at all. Three, I have no idea WHAT I am. Maybe I’m a ghost hungry for revenge. Maybe I’m a bodiless soul doomed to wander the earth for eternity. Maybe I’m a figment of this spider’s imagination.

‘Urg. How uncool would it be to discover that you were actually not real and just the result of some random someone’s half-assed idea?’

And finally, I have no idea what to do. Maybe I could walk around, question of getting used to this body. Should I call it my vessel? It sounds rather evil. But yeah, I should probably accustom myself with the motor controls if I’m stuck as a spider for the rest of its life. But what happens after? Do I need to find a new vessel after this one withers away? At least I now know how to take partial control of one.

Wow, I sound like an evil overlord. I might just be able to apply for a part-time job for a super villain.

…

What’s an evil overlord? What’s a super villain? They both sound rather evil and villainous.

And better yet, what’s a part time job?

…

‘Humans nearby. Still hungry.’

Looks like it finished eating the tiger, seeing as a pile of bones with still some bits of flesh attached to them on the ground. And now, I have a new goal set for myself.

‘Step one on maintaining a giant spider healthy: make sure it gets enough food.’

I guess it’s hunting time now! What better way to exercise myself to control this body is there apart from hunting? Onwards we go!

Though it certainly went less smoother than I would have wanted. I kept tripping over my own limbs, and don’t even get me started on climbing trees! Controlling twelve legs at once sure is no easy task. You lift one up, and you have to place it so that it wouldn’t interfere with the other’s movements, and dear Lord it’s frustrating.

I got the hang of skittering across the land in a few minutes, and I had this suspicious feeling that the spider was getting more impatient by the second. Better find those humans then. I managed to clamber up a tree without falling down, and from a high up branch, I spotted the group the arachnid mentioned afore.

I must say, they were a bunch of fashionable humans.

One dressed in a trench coat, stick in mouth. Another one wearing overalls and black glasses. Third and final one, wearing a skin tight green jumpsuit and sporting a– whoa, look at that haircut.

‘Though I guess the first one isn’t dressed so bad. On another note, a good self-pat on the back for being able to vomit out some incomprehensible words that seem to match their clothing.’

They looked slightly familiar.

And again, that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, as if I should be able to remember them. Have I met them before? Would they know who I am?

‘EAT.’

Oh great, look at what I then decided to do.

I jumped down from my perch intending to land on one of the humans, and being the big klutz I am, I instead tripped on my own legs (again) and gracefully face planted no further than a few meters away from my intended targets.

‘Don’t I just make the greatest entrances?’

---

written in 2016/06

Death.

Have you ever thought about it at random moments?

Some would characterize it as beautiful, others, not so much. But what comes after death? Are there a heaven and hell? Is there a wheel of suffering waiting at the end? Will there be the nirvana? Questions, questions. No one had a definite answer to that since… well, people aren’t supposed to come back from the dead, whoever they would be.

And I’m apparently unlucky enough to experience it at a young age. Not having even entered university yet and I got a metal construction beam plummet smack dab on my head, more or less reducing it into paste. Fun, huh? At least it wasn’t all that painful. None of my senses were able to register anything about it from the sudden abruptness of the situation. Though I certainly remember hearing a scream, or were they many? Was it my voice, or someone else’s?

And I still had so many objectives to accomplish, so many unfinished tasks left with open ends.

But none of that matters anymore, seeing that I’m dead myself. Shame, I haven’t even gotten the time to wish my sister a happy birthday. And to say that she was going to come back from overseas on the weekend of my own demise.

It was way too early for my end to come, but what had to come came. Somewhat earlier than I had expected, if I would comment. Half a life was behind me, and as sorrowful I had been moments following my death, I progressively learnt to cope with it. I never actually got over it, only accepting that I was now dead and I wouldn’t be able to change anything in the world of living. And maybe bury it deep in your mind to avoid thinking about it excessively.

How unfortunate.

Now would come the question I would ask myself; what comes after death?

The answer, I would respond, is quite simple. Nothing comes after death. It is solely the cessation of being, the end of an individual’s existence. And to confirm that, it is pretty much what I am currently undergoing through.

Nothing, that is. Well, it wasn’t actually the cessation of one’s existence, since I’m still well aware of myself and still able to form coherent thoughts. Just…

A pitch black abyss that I do not even know if it had any color, no odor, no touch, no taste, no sounds. No nothing. I’m not even sure if I have any shape or form, let alone a physical body.

I had no eyes to open, no limbs to struggle with, no mouth to scream with, no nose to smell with and no ears to eavesdrop with.

And wasn’t that boring. There wasn’t even anyone to pass time with here. Here being the Void, the nothingness. Or maybe there was, but I had no way of perceiving them.

But hey, we shouldn’t think of such depressing thing now, shouldn’t we? Such dark thoughts wouldn’t do any good to relieve my boredom. And on the bright side, I get to conserve my ability to think! And isn’t that an awesome skill. Would it be considered as a genetic trait? To be able to think and have self-awareness?

Bah. Life. Moving onto another livelier and less dull topic. Let’s say… the fact that I’m currently being pulled by something and that was the first sensation I have felt for who knows how long.

At first, I was ecstatic about being able to feel again, but as the impression of the touch continued and gradually augmented its pressure every second, I started worrying. Was it dragging me somewhere? If so where? Is the thing having hold of me dangerous?

The Void might have been an awfully mundane and dreary place, but it was safe; nothing could come in, nothing could come out. Just me and my thoughts, aimlessly wandering about. It was almost… comforting. Almost. The loneliness was still painful, and the urge of just screaming your lungs raw and ripping something to shreds was still there. It took a lot of me to remain sane in this darn forsaken barren Void with no ways of movements. Like being constantly in stasis with freedom of thought.

In a single moment, everything snaps back into place and a pair of eyes can be seen hovering in the nothingness. They aren’t exactly glowing, but they gave off a slight shine, reminding me of a silver ring reflecting off the moonlight. How eerie.

After what seemed like an eternity, the eyes finally focus on me, sending a chill through whatever the equivalent of a spine I had.

Whoa.

That was… I have my sight back! This calls for a celebration! Though that would have to wait, seeing that the being positioned in front of me looks to be one to not mess with. First impressions are important, remember that.

“I have a task for you,” it says, its voice being an amalgamate of thousand other voices, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and hissing all at once. I let out an unintentional squeak, the distorted voice seemingly belonging to a beast having ingested the souls of the damned topped with an oppressive, bordering suffocating, presence a tad too much for me to take in in the span of only a few seconds.

“Silence, child.” As I’m about to retort that I wasn’t all that young despite my premature death, a heated glare sent my way shuts me up, and from the look of it, nothing good could come if I tried to interrupt him again.

“I have lost my influence on the human population since my long slumber. Only a few followers are left, and my name has been lost in the past centuries. The sound of it no longer strikes fear deep into the heart of the humans. Eons ago, that same name made the blood of warriors and peasants alike run cold, made them quiver on the spot. I laughed in the face of death time upon time, I drove whole continents into war. I inspired fear and chaos. Now I am but an old myth, left in the dust. My current circumstance is laughable compared to my former glory.

“Here will be where you come in. Your mission is to restore my reputation to as it was, make them run like headless chickens at my name once again. Understood?” The slight narrowing of its eyes dares me to add anything else, as if the simple thought of it would land me with a death wish.

Unfortunately of fortunately, depending on your view of your situation, I am already dead. Figuratively and literally. I muster up as much courage as I could and raise my voice just loud enough to be heard. “But sir…” I start off, voice quivering. I had assumed it as a male, and as he shows no sign of objection, I continue on. “How am I supposed to do that? And why did you choose me for it?”

The creature stares, just as though it is peering deep into my supposed soul. I had to avert my eyes in fear that whatever composes my head would explode from the sheer intensity of the look.

“Ha. Ha-ha.” It sucks in a breath and howls in laughter not even a second later, the eyes curving up to form an upward crescent shape. “You think I chose you?” the being hissed. I can just imagine a face sneering, the nose crinkling in disgust. “Do not think so high of yourself. I had merely happened to come across your pitiful, withering essence while seeking for an envoy. I, regrettably, had already had my energy drained from being imprisoned here, and couldn’t risk depleting it further. You are not obligated to follow my request, but unless you wish to spend the eternity rotting in my insides, you might be inclined to. As for the other matter, you shall find out soon enough.”

It then closes its eyes and draws out a deep, long sigh, as if simply talking has drained him to the point of exhaustion. “Enough time wasted. Go. Failure is not an option.”

Faster than one could blink, the world starts crumbling away at full tilt, replacing the once inky space with stark white, all the while the eyes of the creature not leaving my form.

Just as the last shred of darkness falls, it utters out a few last words, its voice as uncanny as it always was.

“Name’s Jashin. And don’t wear it out.”

And everything drowns in a pure, colorless landscape.

The milky surroundings crack in their turn with vivid colors bursting from the seams, as one could compare them to the fireworks on a first of July. The ceiling took on a light blue hue and various pigments splattered across the scenery, fluorescent lighting dancing around. I shut my eyes close to avoid being blinded by the inordinately bright colors. Spending an excessive amount of time in a colorless environment will do that to you.

Or more like I would have if I had any eyes to begin with. Which I apparently don’t.

On the bright side, I have no need to blink and yet, I can still see. Maybe I just have eye holes and can somehow peer out of them without the organ in place. Or I don’t have any body at all and am defying every law of life about how the dead cannot come to the realm of living.

I guess I could also be in a coma and I’m dreaming this awesome plot line that might get super intense later on. Hell, that would be so rad! Not the coma part, of course, but the other part! Getting myself into a story revolving around the main character—namely me—and kicking butts all around!

But if I die here… Would it also mean I die on the other side too?

And I’m also pretty much certain I have kicked the bucket some time ago. So coma is out of the possibilities.

Another one of the possibility would be that my soul, who was supposed to do whatever a dead soul was supposed to do, got ripped out of that cycle by a scary as hell demon lord that got sealed away by an old wizard to never roam the land again and has been tasked to spread terror in its name so it gets enough spiritual energy to make a giant comeback to the mortal plane to take the throne and proclaim itself as the overlord of the world.

Yeah, that seems about it.

Since I have already bit the dust quite a while ago, why not enjoy myself in the meantime? It’s not like it would hurt to do so, and whatever its name was—Jashin, was it?—gave me a time limit to accomplish my so called ‘mission’.

As I finally adjust myself to the brightness of all this mess, I finally realize how alive everything here feels. From the peacefully growing trees, standing tall and proud, to the occasional small animals that would scurry about, everything nearby was thrumming with vitality. Everything was so lively, so colorful, so… existing. If that could even be said. Not sure if it can, but it gets the point across.

Looking down, I can make out a faint contrast—just a minute distortion in the space—around what I suppose would be my hands, as well as my arms… and well, my body too. Looks like someone even went all the way to procuring me a human-shaped sort of anti-void body. How very thoughtful of… it? him? whatever gender Jashin would qualify as?

And just to test out a certain thing…

I swing my arms around and stretch myself, basic warm up and whatnot. I know there are alternate ways to find it out, but one thing I’ll say is that curiosity can sometimes get the best of us. I placed myself in a standard three-point stance and took a deep breath.

This might hurt a bit. Or a lot. Actually, I have no idea. That’s why I’ll be testing, remember?

Just before sprinting, I raise my eyes up one last time to make sure I was facing the right direction.

And I push myself forward, dashing forward and making a beeline for my intended target: a hollow trunk that might have once been part of a quite sturdy tree. Still not rash enough to take on a still living tree, seeing that most of them looked quite robust. I could have gone for a sapling, but you know… just to not needlessly kill a tree. Life is important, so treasure it and don’t just throw it away carelessly. You only get one of those, you know?

Just milliseconds from hitting the bark, thoughts of regret and why in all the holiness of the underdepths of hell did I think this was a good idea wash over me. Seriously, who in their right mind would run around in a forest smashing trees?

To my pleasant surprise, I simply phase through the dead tree, before tripping over myself and tumbling on the ground. I turn around and sit up to look at the tree somewhat suspiciously. So either I’m not material, or that tree is a made up hallucination of my mind.

I think I’ll just stick with the former one and not ask myself too many questions about my mental health. But would it matter now that I’m presumably a ghost? I guess not.

But what had attracted my attention was that although the trunk had offered no physical resistance while I crossed with it, there was a strange pull at the core of it.

A most curious little thing, no?

And me, being the curious cat I was, I decide to investigate it. We might say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And it’s not like the undead could be killed. Revived then killed, yes, but not killed while dead.

Makes sense?

And that also confirms I regained two and a half of my senses back! How I manage that without a central nervous system, I have no idea. Go figure.

Anyhow. Back to situation at hand, I hoist myself up and pat off the non-existent dust off and gingerly reached my hand to the middle of the hollow trunk. As my arm phases through the trunk, I can’t help but suppress a shudder, seeing the action up close just strikes me as disconcerting. Like seeing part of your arm getting chopped off, yet you can still freely move your hand and fingers.

And then there’s this gaping hole, a vacuum I feel at my fingertips, the small area of it definitely a few degrees colder than the ambient temperature. I curl my fingers around it, and it YANKS—

And suddenly, things change.

---

written on 2016/06

Screams of terror, the laughter of a madman, a searing pain across the torso, and—

Nothing.

oOo

If someone were to ask me “If given the chance, would you relive your life?” I wouldn’t miss a beat and respond without delay.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” would be my obvious reply.

Now don’t jump right up to the conclusion that I’m a conceited edgelord or I have deep issues with myself or others, and ask that question to yourself. Ask yourself if you could stand replaying every single moment of your existence without a single alteration of the course.

Would that thought change one’s perception on the question?

My life was… well, not worth of any special mention. An ordinary one, paired up with a decent education, a decent family and more than just decent friends. Good friends, great friends, best friends, fake friends, you get gist of it.

Then came death. I’ll be frank, my death, or rather the moments preceding right before my death, was the most exhilarating experience I had faced. From the pure adrenaline rush to the unadulterated fear at the absurd situation I had found myself in, none of the past event I have ever lived through, and insist on none of them, not even all stacked one on top of each other, could compare to the sheer excitement I had felt.

Truly, death by ferris wheel wasn’t a common run-of-the-mill occurrence.

oOo

Death is… it’s not exactly silent, it’s not just stillness either, it’s… void, for the lack of better words.

Void from any restraints. Peaceful, free from everything, eternally sleeping in a cradle of nothingness. Nothing to weigh you down, no guilt or regrets, just a companionable mess of nothing to keep me entertained.

Feelings start to dwindle, memories start to crack, everything starts to fade away to non-existence.

With a final resigned sigh, I decide that maybe vegetating in a colorless realm of emptiness wouldn’t bring me much amusement. Not much here would, to be honest. Being dead is boring. Being dead and alone with no one to be around with is even more boring.

Ah, to say that I simply wanted to have some fun in my life.

I let go.

oOo

I drift aimlessly with no particular intention. Pieces break off, and I do nothing to stop myself from degrading into nullity.

oOo

It’s only after a bout of time (but time cannot exist without space, space cannot exist without time, and nothing exists here) that I realize.

‘I don’t want to disappear.’

In a desperate attempt to keep myself as me, I reach out everywhere possible and greedily hoard any fragment of memory, mind and notion salvageable, and fervently organize them. I can’t lose any more, and do not plan to. Make sure to not forget. Repeat everything until you can recite it from the tip of your fingers. Realize that I have lost my corporeal body, but still have a faint feeling when attempting to move limbs.

oOo

The void echoed with half remembered poems and stories, and bits of names, locations and forgotten sentiments.

I continue rehearsing and recounting various broken memories found here and there.

‘Do not forget.’

oOo

‘...first to score 50 goals in one season, played 18 of ‘em, nicely combed hair, great guy-’

I repeat again and again, counting off with a twitch of a finger for every fragment for the umpteen time, and—

Krrrrrk.

Something is pulling. Something is pulling on me.

Something or someone exist in this nonexistent plane aside from me. Excitement rushes in me, thought of ‘Ah! I can physically feel again! I still exist, and now someone else does too!’ runs amok.

Anticipation tingles through my entire being and I curiously await for an entity to pop out from nowhere.

A beat, then two, and nothing. I wait in bated breath, still full of hope. Maybe they’re hiding? Perhaps they’re shy, or are too afraid to show up? Should I call out for them? But if I do, it might scare them away.

‘Anyone hear me?!’ I shout. Or think. Frankly, I have lost the ability differentiate between the two long ago. It is a bit difficult, not being sure if you’re either hearing your own thoughts or voice in here.

Another beat passes.

No one replies.

I let out a sigh in disappointment.

For all that I know, it might have just been wishful thinking, my desire for company acting up.

Back to my typical routine, then.

‘...Praying mantis’ actually have 5 eyes. The central nervous system is composed of…’

oOo

The sensation of the pull didn’t quite leave even as time ticked by and stories had been recounted endlessly.

It was nice at first, as a reassurance that another might have come wandering here, but now it’s just irritating. It is somewhat difficult to concentrate on tasks at hand when some part of you is being perpetually pulled at short intervals.

Then suddenly, the pull increases tenfold in its intensity, and it feels like I’m being violently ripped apart and ohithurtssomeonemakeitstop—

Everything snaps back in place at once and the pain disappears just as swiftly as it came.

I take a quick peek around and find out that instead of the colorless background I became accustomed to over time, the surroundings are now of a dull gray, stretching out until the eye can’t see.

Maybe the afterlife thingy is different depending on the person? Though whoever inhabits this place, they must have some lousy aesthetic taste, I must say. Even mine, a vast emptiness of nothing (plus moi), looks way better than this plane of commonplaceness.

“I can hear you, you filthy disgraceful half-soul. Show some respect to the one who pulled you out of those… repulsive grounds. It would be in your best interest to not insult me,” a low voice drawls from behind me.

And by voice, I mean an amalgamate of thousand whispers of the damned who came crawling out from the depths of the fiery hells, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and whistling all at once.

Talk about disconcerting.

I turn around to the source of the voice, mostly eager and maybe also slightly anxious to meet the mind-reading condescending might-be remnant of a dead esper. That’s what people call psychics, right?

Now face to face with the mysterious creature of esoteric origins and, lo and behold, who I meet isn’t an actual person, and possesses much less a humanoid figure.

I am presented to a pair of tiny eyes, narrowed in probable annoyance.

---

written on 2017/05

The first time Nagato meets him, he’s grossly sobbing and vainly trying to wipe away the unending stream of tears cascading down his face like a waterfall and mourning the death of his parents.

Amidst the sound of heavy pelting of the constant rainfall, a high-pitched voice cut through the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

“Hello! What are you doing?”

Nagato falls down on his rear in shock at the sudden appearance.

In front of him is a stranger no older than himself, his skin pasty white — even paler than his own — almost like the wax of a candle and radiating an unhealthy glow. The child smiles widely, showing a dentition missing over half of its teeth.

Long washed-out blue hair lazily droops over one side of his head to cover part of his face, and Nagato was shortly reminded of the images of the horses he once saw in picture books.

Looking at the half-naked body, Nagato briefly wonders if he ever got cold from only wearing a ragged piece of clothing around the waist and nothing else.

“What’s your name? Where are we? Do you know when it’ll stop raining?” the boy continues, and Nagato scrambles backwards when the child leans in to loom over him.

Nagato tries to crawl even further away from him, but his hands slip from underneath him and he falls flat into the mud. By then, the mystery boy has his face over his, and for an unending second, they stare silently into each other’s eyes, despite Nagato wanting desperately to avert his gaze.

Faced with Nagato’s lack of response — barring the near silent sobs escaping his mouth — the child leans back, finally giving him some breathing space.

“Do you not know then?”

Nagato hears a soft, disappointed sigh. He sits up, rubbing away his tears in the process, and bleary eyes see the boy’s small frown forming, and eyebrows knitting together.

“Looks like it can’t be helped then.” The boy swivels on his heel and turns around, and starts walking away from Nagato. “Be seeing you somewhere, then,” he offers with a wave, not bothering to face him.

But before he can help himself, Nagato clumsily pushes himself up and rushed to catch up with the blue-haired child.

“W-wait up!” he shouts, then reflexively covers his mouth in embarrassment.

He shouldn’t have shouted. Mother had said it was rude, and maybe the boy finds it rude and won’t want to have him around. Maybe he just lost his chance to find a companion in this mess.

“Eh? What’s wrong?”

The next thing Nagato knows, the stranger is in his face and gazing directly into his ringed eyes, despite having hidden them behind his red bangs.

He stutters out a quiet “hieeee” and stumbles back a few steps.

The boy crosses his arms over his chest, patiently waiting for Nagato to regain his bearings.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Nagato forces himself to calm down. He shouldn’t lower his image any more than this. He can’t.

Just as Nagato is about to ask, he finally notices the eyes boring into his own. Dull and grey, devoid of life, yet somehow still terrifyingly piercing.

Regardless of his own insecurities, Nagato forces himself to speak up.

“What’s your name?”

That seems to take the boy by surprise, eyes blinking confusedly and mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out.

A scowl starts pulling down at the boy’s lips, and Nagato worriedly wonders if he has somehow offended him. He really hopes not.

“I don’t… I don’t think I remember,” the blue-haired boy eventually confesses, words gritted out from clenched teeth. He then huffs, hands going to rest on his waist. “Though I thought I was the one asking the questions?”

Nagato pointedly ignored the last statement. “We could find you a new one, if you like,” he offers quietly instead. “A new name.”

The stranger shoots him with an odd look.

Nagato feels his face flush despite the weather and only manages to stammer a few words of excuse before the boy cuts him off.

“I don’t mind.”

“Bwuh?” is his intelligent reply.

“I don’t mind getting a new name,” the boy repeats airily. “In fact, it would be really appreciated. Makes it easier to introduce myself to others, right?”

The boy then lets out a light laugh, almost too soft to be heard amongst the falling rain around them, a stark contrast to the gloomy weather.

Nagato likes the sound of it.

Just then, an idea sparks through his mind.

“What’s your favourite animal?”

The stranger looks to him, then up to the sky, brows furrowed.

“Favourite animal…” He pauses, a look of confusion crossing his face.

For a moment, Nagato wonders if he too has only seen rats and the occasional dogs in his life. Maybe even frogs and salamanders? He has heard there were a few living around the corners.

Or maybe… maybe the boy comes from outside Ame and has seen a lot more. That might be why he didn’t know where he was.

His thoughts stall.

A boy from outside…! If he has been able to come in, he should also be able to leave too, and maybe also bring Nagato with him!

Then maybe, maybe he could finally—

“Capybara,” the boy suddenly announces proudly. “That’s my favourite animal. Capybara.” Another pause. “At least, I think it is.”

“Kapi… bara?” Nagato parrots back the foreign word slowly.

The incredulous expression crossing the unnamed boy’s face, however brief it was, is enough to make him flush slightly.

Despite the embarrassment, he voices out his suggestion.

“Would K-Kapi work as a n-name?” he stutters towards the end, seeing the features of the boy screw up at it.

Expectant eyes shyly meet the unnaturally grey ones, and a small sliver hope wells up in his chest—

“That’s kinda lame.”

—before quickly deflating.

“I-is that so…” Nagato mutters, dejected and head bowed down in embarrassment. He shouldn’t have proposed something as stupid as that. Of course he wouldn’t—

“But I like anyways!”

Nagato’s head whips around so fast he’s still amazed it was still attached to his body.

“R-really? You really think so?” He’s openly gaping at him now, all trace of previous shame disappeared.

“It’s pretty catchy,” the boy — Kapi — admits with a shrug. “I guess it has a nice ring to it too.”

Kapi stands up and Nagato follows the action — when have they even sat down? — hesitantly.

Now what?

Suddenly remembering why he came up to him, Nagato makes a small gesture of his hand at the overcast skies.

“We’re in Amegakure,” he says, answering Kapi’s previous question, “and I don’t know if the rain ever stops.”

“Huh.”

The boy tilts his head sideways, straightens it up again, and tilts the other way.

“Amegakure…?” he mutters, crossing and uncrossing his arms over and over again. “Now where have I heard that…”

A small thought pops up in the back of his mind, and he tries to dismiss it.

But he can’t.

So he tries to think about something else, anything but it, because it was starting to hurt his head from how much he kept thinking about it.

It’s a scary thought, Nagato thinks, so he’d rather not think about it too much.

By the time he actually comes back to, a pale face inches closer to his.

Nagato squeaks weakly and stumbles back a few steps once again, surprised by Kapi’s sudden closeness.

“Hey, you were spacing out, are you—?”

“Did you forget everything about yourself?” Nagato blurts out, rudely interrupting Kapi.

Because he knew there were dangerous people who could enter minds and erase memories, and Kapi doesn’t remember anything and looked really confused about a lot of things, so Nagato just assumes.

He knows he shouldn’t assume things because it’s rude, but he’s also worried. Because maybe Kapi also lost his parents too, and he doesn’t want him to be sad.

The boy hums lightly and shrugs.

“Perhaps,” he replied, taking a few steps back and letting Nagato have some breathing space again. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

As Nagato opens his mouth to ask how he couldn’t know,

---

written on 2018/04

I shuffle my transparent feet around the seemingly invisible floor.

Yep, there’s a solid ground underneath. Nice to know.

I peer at the black surrounding. An endless inky sea with a few specks of light littered here and there, some bigger than others, but none close enough to touch. My bed sits a few steps away, pillow, blankets and some miscellaneous trinkets arranged on top of it.

Walking over to the single bed, I gingerly clear out a small spot to sit on, careful to not damage any of the fragile items.

I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen. Usually my dreams are a lot more eventful, not to mention I usually have an opaque body of some sort.

At least the view’s nice. Someone could probably meditate here, or have a philosophical debate with oneself. Or take a smoke and ascend to the sixth dimension, whatever rocks your boat.

Just as I start contemplating on the possibility to sleep within a dream, something pings inside my mind. A mind within a dreaming mind. Whoa.

{Harder than expected…} eventually grumbles a silky voice. {In any case, yadda yadda yadda, you are dead and I am here to employ you for the entirety of the afterlife and exchange you get some boons. You know, the usual. Now sign the paper.}

Wait, what?

A stapled document pops into existence before me, as well as a red pen.

I take both into my hands, leafing through the papers and distractedly spinning the pen. Sure is a strange dream, this one. Was it due to the last finance exam? Who knows.

{This isn’t a dream, child.}

“I’m not that young,” I mutter on reflex, reading the contract closely. What else could it be? Terms, length of agreement, compensations, benefits, risks, responsibilities… This is too early for all of this. Couldn’t I just get some good old fantasy nonsense at least?

{You still think of this as a dream.} At my hum of confirmation, the voice released a long-suffering sigh. {Always the same with you humans, it seems. As long as you take the job seriously and are not actively seeking an early demise, I could overlook it.}

“No worries, I take my dreams very seriously,” I attempt to reassure the voice. Dream or no dream, near death experience is something I never wish to reproduce. That shit’s scarring on the mental.

Reading over the ‘Risks and compensations’ part, I frown minutely.

“Hey, Void Voice,” I call out, squinting at the printed text to make sure I read right, “what’s that about the ‘selling my soul’ thing and ‘physical body not provided’? And what about all those dubious work conditions?” I slowly lower the document and gaze at the absolute nothingness in front of me. “I don’t think you’d make a good employer, Void Voice.”

{Void Voice…? I do suppose I have been called worse.}

I raise an eyebrow at the non-answer to my unspoken question, prompting the voice to continue.

{Well, what are you waiting for? All relevant information has been included in the contract.}

I try to convey my dissatisfaction through my passively disappointed face. When that doesn’t work, I release a sigh and stop spinning the pen.

“At least give me a black or blue pen to sign.” I wave the red one by its cap. “I have no intention of cursing my name on my first day of my dreamverse job.”

A vague feeling of exasperation ripples through the air, accompanied by some mutterings about strange human customs.

---

currently, the 2017/05 one is the closest to the current draft i have :’v

#mentions of death #aaaaaaaaa rereading them makes me feel so embarrassed #sometimes it's 'i wish i could sink into the earth' sometimes it's 'oh this is p neat did the author write any more?'#(i'm the author)#current plan is to make the fic a collection of interconnected snippets #'very little plot mostly vibes' kinda fic #can't have plot holes if there's no plot :^)#it's just gonna be the daily life of three orphans and a ghost #prob gonna try to seriously restart writing this once i get my uni applications done #my writing

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cherryyharryy · 5 years ago

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Burning Words

Chapter Three: I’m the one who grades you

WC: 6.4k

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The air is sticky, humid, suffocating. The sun barely crosses the horizon, but it feels like it’s been on duty for hours. I tug at the collar of my sweatshirt to circulate some air between my skin and clothes, but I think it just makes things worse.

My apartment isn’t too far from class. Technically off campus, but close enough that I don’t have to worry about owning a car. But days like these make me wish I had one. I run my sleeve over my forehead and slow my gait once I’m in view of all the early risers who are scrambling to get to class on time.

I reach the English building, rounding the corner once I’m inside to see Harry and Danielle arguing beside the door to our class. I swallow past a dry throat and take a few steps back so I’m out of sight, checking the time on my phone. It’s two ‘til eight. My nerves prickle with the idea of being late, but each time I think about walking by those two, my legs refuse to move.

He’s animated, gesticulating with purpose, brows knitted together, ascetic, defeated. Despite the empty halls, I cannot decipher a single word, only strings of half-bitten syllables coming from the both of them. Something about manipulation and did you seriously think and you owe me. Danielle remains calm, at least from what I can tell of the back of her head, while Harry’s face grows red.

I only watch for a few minutes until someone exits a room opposite our class. Harry and Danielle separate on impulse. She’s the first to leave, storming off down the hall with her hair flowing behind her. Harry stays put, his head bent at the neck, staring at the ceiling. He’s frozen for a moment or two, and then he shakes out his shoulders, sucks in a breath, and heads into class.

I slip inside, and take my usual seat not long after, and fan myself discreetly with the note cards I made last night. Dr. Pierce begins class today, straying off topic as I’ve found he’s keen on doing, until Harry redirects the discussion by clearing his throat.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Styles has your graded reports to hand back.”

“Most everyone did exceptionally well.” Harry steps back to the desk and gathers a stack of papers. I gulp. “Some of you however, didn’t seem to grasp the instructions...I hope you can learn from this mistake before any future assignments.”

Was he looking at me? Was he talking to me? Surely the shake of his head was intended for someone else. Maybe the guy in the back who falls asleep each class, or the girl who’s missed three weeks in a row. Maybe—

“As I was saying, if you have any questions or concerns, drop by my office sometime this week.”

He straightens his posture and begins reciting the names of everyone in the room. One by one, students shuffle to the front. When my name is called, I might as well be marching up to a guillotine.

I know I did well. Jessie read it, my mom, Ms. Bortnick, the student writing center...other than a handful of grammar mistakes...this was just a book report after all. Why am I so nervous?

“Remember, if you’d like to discuss your grade you can see me during my office hours. And my office hours only.”

Don’t expect a perfect score, don’t expect a perfect score...

Fuck. Red marks are everywhere, between the lines, in the margins, and topping it all off is a giant 27 circled at the top. No. Fuck no.

I look up and Harry is already pulling up a powerpoint, ready to continue the discussion on The Catcher in the Rye, but I can barely make it back to my seat. Where is my seat? What planet am I on? What the hell is happening? Hypothermia, suffocation, immolation...which one, pick one, it doesn’t matter anyway.

I find my chair and sink down. He’s cruel, possibly morbid, because this is a sick joke. And I don’t want to hear him or see him or feel his movements through the vibrations when he’ll undoubtedly find his way to my row and tap on the desk, so I pull out my headphones like the kind of student my grade represents and pretend the last five minutes did not just happen.

***

It’s the guy who chews his gum unreasonably loud that nudges me awake as he’s leaving. He looks back over his shoulder, smacking away, to see that I get up. Everyone’s just an ass today. And there to greet me upon knuckling away the fogginess in my eyes is Harry’s handwriting in what might as well be my blood. I don’t even want to know what horrible thing I did to deserve this.

“Excuse me, Dr. Pierce?”

He’s cleaning up his desk, smiling when he looks up to me. “What can I help you with?”

I look down at my report, and hold it out between pinched fingers like it’s toxic. “M—my grade. It’s...bad. Really bad,” I dry laugh. “I’ve never done this...bad.”

“Well, Mr. Styles graded these reports so you’re better off asking him. You can leave it with me, but it’ll be awhile before I get a chance to look at it. I still have last week’s quizzes to finish up for you all.” He’s still smiling. This is just a joke for all of them, isn’t it? “But he’ll have whatever answers you’re looking for.”

I turn, slowly, like a child in trouble, to see Harry standing by the door. His shoulders slouch unusually low and rigid, and his nose is a hot red. He’s toeing at the ground while students file out of the room.

I’ve only ever approached him one other time, and it was just because Dr. Pierce had to step out for a phone call. A couple of weeks ago, we had to partner up for a writing assignment, and to no one’s surprise, our uneven numbered class left me standing alone by my desk, flashbacks from middle school invading my brain.

With great reluctance, I inched my way to the front where Harry was sat at Pierce’s desk, busy grading some of our work. I cleared my throat which earned his attention, and bitterly told him of my dilemma, and how I had no problem in working alone.

“No, that’s not necessary. We can find you a pair to work with. You can just divide the work up between three people.”

He wore a smile as he led the way back towards the class, clapping his hands to silence the chatter.

“We’re going to have one group of three, any volunteers?”

If a meteor had been headed for Earth in the very place I was standing, I wouldn’t have moved.

“Anyone?” He asked, when not a single pair made a move to accept me. “It’ll be less work on you individually,” he bargained.

He had turned to me, keeping his smile up as best he could and motioned for me to follow him. If I was someone else, someone who didn’t fight off a panic attack each time I had to type out an email or place my order at a restaurant, I would have spoken up. I would have told Harry—Mr. Styles—that I didn’t need his help. That I was fine by myself. Or that I could have found my own group. That I really, really didn’t want to work with Danielle, despite not having a reason.

But I am me, unfortunately, so in a blur of a memory I want to forget, the next thing I remember is sliding in a desk beside the girl who kissed Harry on the cheek when he bent down to pick up her pencil.

He blushed and told her to stop. She didn’t, going in for another before he could say anything else. The other girl just cooed at them like they were puppies, and for once I was thankful no one pays attention to me, or else my eye roll might have rubbed them the wrong way.

“This is due before class is over, so get to work.”

And, as expected, as my life typically turns out, I was responsible for the entire assignment. I wrote nearly three pages worth of quotes from To Kill a Mockingbird while Danielle talked about Harry and how cute he is, and how good of a grade she’s gonna get, and how he’s just too sweet for his own good.

“Do you need anything, y/n?” Harry’s voice shakes me from my thoughts.

I look around to see we’re the only two left. He’s closing out of the powerpoint, raising his brows at me from behind the desk.

I shake my head. No. This is not what I want. Fuck. I’m back at my seat, shoving this wretched report into my bag. He says my name as I’m leaving but I don’t bother looking back.

•••

I stuff my change into my purse and bid the cashier a soft goodbye. My steps heading out of the grocer’s are timid, avoiding slick spots of water that customers drag in from the rain. A woman steps through the door, the bell shrieking in her presence as she shakes the rain off her coat. I brush what I can off my arm. She sees me but doesn’t say a word.

A clap of thunder greets me once I’m outside. It’s chilly, and yet I still feel like it’s summer. And here I thought that Georgia weather was crazy.

Bustlings of mothers and their small children, college kids, and an elderly man hurry past me while I secure myself under the green and white striped awning. Curtains of water pour down from all four sides; it disrupts my view. I have four plastic grocery bags gripped in my hands, a headache looming at the base of my neck, and the growing acceptance that there is no way I am going to make it to the student lounge unscathed by Mother Nature: I had forgotten my umbrella.

With a grumble I’ll share with Jessie tomorrow, I burst through the shroud of freezing rain, only to plow right into a hard body.

“M’so sorry, sorry,” I throw out. I earn a slew of curse words from the old man, and with nothing more in return, I am left to scramble along the sidewalk for the contents of my bags alone. Thick, icy drops hammer onto me.

Until they’re not.

A veil of rain encloses around me. When I look up the clouds are gone, but a large, leopard print umbrella has taken their place.

What pains me more than the source itself, is the tingling electric shocks pricking me from the inside-out at the sound of a deep, British accent. It vibrates, I conclude, and I feel it in my ribs, strumming, burning, like making a snowball with your bare hands. The sound is conflicting. I don’t know if his voice is noise or not. I swallow and yank a box of tampons off the gritty sidewalk. He says my name.

And I don’t bother to look up, hoping he’ll carry on and leave me to endure the rest of this embarrassing moment by myself. I’ve had practice. I’m good at it. But then he’s reciting my name once again, and I don’t know how I feel about a man using what is mine to get my attention. I sigh roughly, and peer up to Harry hovering over me.

He’s in nice clothes, hair plastered to his face, translucent skin, red nose. His mouth moves, but all I hear is rain. Lightning strikes off in the distance and I wonder what his eyes would look like in the heat. I’m still kneeling on the ground when he crouches down.

“I’m busy, so if you don’t—”

“Do you need help?”

“No.” I have to crawl and stretch my arms in different directions to gather the rest of my things. He does the best he can to follow me with the umbrella, and once I’m back on my feet with my arms full, he steps forward so I’m protected once again. I want to cry.

“Do you—would you like a ride home?”

“No.” I make it three steps before he’s back by my side and shielding me again.

“It looks like you do.”

“Then you’re obviously not looking hard enough. I don’t need your help.” I linger for a second, my face scorched with a black heat, realizing those are the words I chose, before attempting to step away.

His cologne persists even through the downpour, growing stronger as he repeats his actions and brings the two of us together once more, only this time he cradles my elbow with his free hand and urges me to move out of the way of two teenage girls. “We’re blocking traffic.”

“You are. I need to go, so if you don’t mind…” I wriggle my arm and he slips his hand off my skin.

“The walk back to the dorms will take you twenty minutes.”

“That would be a problem if I was going to the dorms. I have my own apartment.”

“Where—wait—Stone Bridge? By that small park? That’s even farther.” His accent is thicker, ellipsed and coated in syrup. I blame the rain. “Let me drive you over there.”

I’m soaked, so much so that my bones are getting wet. No one looks good in the rain. But he does and I know I do not. And he teaches literature, I do not. He has a car and I do not. He is something and I am... I’m backing up now. I’m confident that my soul has left my body and is hovering over me, shaking her head, not wanting to associate herself with me any longer. I wonder who he would pick to protect from the rain now? Me or her? I can only hope the mascara dragging down my face will be enough to scare him off. Go help her, she’s innocent and I am not.

“There is no way in hell that you’re doing me any favors, okay. I’d rather lightning burn me to a crisp. At least I wouldn’t have to see you in class ever again.”

“Is this about your grade?”

“No! It is not about my grade! It’s about you—”

I lose my footing, scrambling to catch myself, but I fail triumphantly when my entire backside collides with the sidewalk. I wish a flaming bolt of lightning had struck me right there on the sidewalk outside of Jo’s Market; it’d be more convenient. But instead of sizzling away on the pavement, I am holding back tears with every ounce of strength I can summon while Harry abandons his umbrella to fall to his knees beside me. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Here, lemme help you up.”

I don’t have the energy to push away his hands as they find appropriate places to support my body. I rise at an angle, partially because all my things are back on the ground and now I have to start all over, and the more presiding reason is the stifling pain in my ankle. His fingers dig into my arm and my side, somehow strong but not terribly so. Why did the image of small fingerprint bruises cross my mind? Hopefully the rain will cleanse my thoughts.

“Can you stand?” He asks. I haven’t added weight to my leg, and he gets his answer before I can respond. “Your ankle—here.” Smoothly, he maneuvers himself so my arm is draped over his shoulder, his arm wrapping around my back as a crutch. We are stuck together, forming our own three-legged race towards the parking lot. All that big talk I did moments ago, and now I’m not sure if I’m allowed to protest. I forget how to speak anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

The seats of his car are leather, and I am glued to them. It smells like him and I find myself taking deeper breaths, ushering his perfume as deep into my lungs as they allow. It makes my eyes flutter and my cheeks warm. My soul is missing out. The air is a sedative, and she could use the rest.

“I’m goin’ to get your stuff. Wait here.”

I’m not sure if he is trying to be funny, but I don’t laugh. He returns a minute later and tosses my bags into the trunk, folds his umbrella and shakes it out as if that would cut down on the flood the both of us are bringing into his car, and slides into the driver’s seat. He slips his glasses off and uses his shirt to clean the lenses.

“I think I’m okay. I mean I think I can walk.” I try not to wince.

His eyes are different in the car than they were outside, and even more different than in class. “You can’t even put your foot down in here.” He rolls his eyes and suddenly I don’t want his scent in my body any longer. “I’m—just let me take you. It’s a ten minute drive.”

“Not to my apartment.”

“What?” He puts the car back in park after having backed up an inch.

“My roommate’s boyfriend is visiting. He lives in Wyoming.” I pause, but realize it’s not enough information. “I promised to stay out for a bit tonight so they could...y’know...catch up.”

“Well what were you planning on doing then?”

“Was just gonna, I don’t know, hang around campus. There’s a rec room.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can’t go sit, soaking wet in a cold ass lounge for hours with a busted ankle.”

“It’s just twisted, it’ll ease up fine by morning.”

“Is there somewhere else you can stay? A friend’s room?” He starts the car again and I squirm to face him, changing my mind immediately. His eyes are swollen, beaten, a criminal red. I’ve only been high a few times, but I’ve cried enough to hold a record.

“No I’ll be fine, just take me back to school, please. The library is fine, it’s closer.”

“I’m not—I can’t,” he sighs, “Okay, what about the hospital? They can take a look at you.”

“No. No thanks.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you all alone. What if something happens? You can’t even walk, love.”

I ignore the flush of heat making its way from the top of my head to the twinging pain down below. In fact, I ignore a lot of things, like how drops of water take their time crawling down his neck, or how his shirt adheres to his body like a second skin. His knuckles swivel and pulse with each turn he makes. And then I remember I’m moving.

“What um,” he clears his throat and his fingers tighten around the wheel, knuckles no longer dancing. “My—I could take you to my apartment. S’not far from yours.”

I keep my gaze trained on his hands. I need to look at him but his eyes would be too much, his face would be too much. It’s odd, the shift in everything but my focus. He is no longer the man that stands tall in front of a group of people and speaks with purpose. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and before I utter a response, he’s offering up more of his thoughts.

“Only if you want to, of course. I’m not trying—I don’t wanna pressure you, given our...dynamic.”

“Our dynamic?”

“Yeah...you’re my—I mean we’re...fuck. I don’t want you to think I’m implying anything, or that our relationship inside the classroom will be affected either way. My roommate’s out of town with family, so, there’s a spare room. That’s what I’m saying.”

We are at a red light. The wipers squeal and squelch against the glass, back and forth, rhythmic. I grow tired, drowsy in the warmth of his car, and then he starts driving again. We’re moving along below the speed limit, and when he stops at a crosswalk, he turns the heat up.

It no longer feels like we are in New York, everything is so slow. It feels like I’m in a movie, only I have to come up with my lines all on my own and Harry is actually sad, not acting, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and remember the way he looked under an umbrella.

“Um, I guess that would be okay.” My voice barely presides over the wipers. His fingers relax, and his knuckles swim again. “As long as I’m not bothering you.”

“No, not at all. Like I said, roommate’s gone, so it’s just me.”

***

His apartment is foreign. Metallic and earthy, a serene jungle, much more aesthetically pleasing than mine. I feel a syringe filled with tree bark and old books and mint shoot into my veins when he looks at me. This is his territory, and I feel intrusive.

It is dark and navy, indigo, washed woods. Copper pots hang from a rack over the sink. The rugs all match one another, and a painting of a mermaid hangs on one wall. The outdoors are brought inside, almost like a fairy god from a damp forest had decorated this space. The splash of color is a mustard gold.

A secretary’s desk sits under the window, abruptly capturing a 1940’s moment. Books and papers litter the top. It is the messiest part of the room, and I wonder how untamed he might be with early morning light striking his unwashed face while he makes notes in a book we’d be discussing in class. I wonder if he jots down the questions he fires at me in class, scribbles my name in red ink and underlines it three times, bulleting a list of possible things I’ll say.

The rain beats against the window, and yet somehow I can still see with my eyes closed.

He stands at the sink in nothing but boxers, sipping on coffee much too strong for me while thumbing through a newspaper.

He sits poised in the navy armchair, reading 18th century literature I never would be able to digest.

He leans against the bookcase, strumming the guitar, and only stopping to sip on wine more expensive than me and adding notes to a music sheet I can’t understand.

“You okay?”

My thoughts blurr away and Harry is back in focus. He drips all over the floor, and as I follow a drop of rain down his jaw—it had come from his hair, and landed on his left hand—I remember that I am a mess.

“Yeah, m’good.”

“Let me get you a towel. I know you probably want a shower, but I’d feel better if you didn’t. You’re still pretty wobbly and I’m not the best in emergencies.” He speaks over his shoulder with his back to me while he rummages through a small closet. I imagine myself arguing with him, because he appears to be the exact kind of person you’d want in an emergency, but figure we’ve done enough of that already.

“Thanks.” The towel is soft and green. He leaves me to dry off in peace, rounding a neck-high bookcase that works as a divider between the front entryway and the kitchen.

I shuffle closer to the living room and rub down my body, although it does little good. My clothes are suctioned to me. I pick at the fabric and pry it off my skin, which only erupts another round of chills.

I take a moment, while I’m unattended, to scan my eyes over his home. It’s cozy and lived in. If I take a few steps I can see around the bookcase. Harry’s hunched over the sink, his hands gripping the counter’s edge. His shoulders shake slightly, which reinforces the cold I feel on my own. Head bowed, I see him suck in a deep breath before straightening his form, sighing at his phone. He starts to move and I jump back out of sight.

“Ow—shit!”

“Y/n?” He hurries around to see me in all my fine glory. “What happened?”

I look up at him from the floor, sighing defeatedly. “I—I just tripped. I’m fine.”

“Okay, your ankle is worse than I thought. I’m taking you to the h—”

“No, really. It wasn’t my ankle, just, I’m a klutz.”

“The student clinic is still open. I can have them take a look at you.” He grabs his keys off the counter and pauses, tossing them back. “Sorry,” he sighs, “I—I don’t know where my head’s at today.” He bends down and hooks his arm under my back and lifts me up so I’m standing, well, leaning into him. “I’ve got some clothes for you to change into.”

“No I’m fine.”

“You want to stay in your wet clothes?”

He doesn’t sound accusatory. Sad, he almost sounds sad. I shake my head, my mouth fumbling over silent words as I scream at myself from the inside. “I, I just mean, I don’t wanna be a bother and—”

“I wouldn’t have offered.”

I gulp and nod, our conversation ending there as he helps me sit in one of two chairs at a small metal table that divides the kitchen and living room. He disappears behind me, and I’m left alone to summon whatever force I’m capable of to prevent any tears from escaping.

My efforts are distracted when his phone vibrates on the counter. Again and again it goes off, working its way to the edge. I’m sure it won’t fall, but with each round of movement, that seems increasingly untrue. I grip the seat of my chair and shuffle over the foot or so I need to be able to reach up and push his phone further back, but then I pause, and peer over my shoulder, still no sign of Harry, and selfishly slip his phone into my hand.

His screen is filled with Danielle’s name. It’s enough to make me force the phone away, back on the counter where another message rolls in. I didn’t see much, only the most recent of texts—you're being a dick about this!!!

“Here, think this might fit you. And I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer.” Harry returns, having changed himself, and sets a hoodie with our school’s name on it and a pair of grey sweats on the table.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

He helps me up, but as soon as we turn around he freezes. “Uh, why don’t you change here. In the kitchen. That’s where my dryer is anyway.” He nods to a little alcove homing twin laundry appliances. “I’ll wait in my room. Once you’re done we can head out.”

After assuring him I’m capable of dressing myself, he leaves. It feels wonderful to finally get my soaked clothes off, but once they are, the panic starts to creep it’s way up my spine. Despite his eyes not being on me, I feel exposed. And inappropriate, perhaps, for me to be standing stark naked in my TA’s kitchen.

I scramble to get dressed, thankful for the loose clothing since my bra and underwear will have to be dried too. I shove my things into his dryer and set the timer, holding my breath while I call for Harry.

“Don’t—I’ll come get you,” he rushes over to me and takes what is now the usual position of his arm around my back to help me walk. “Go slow, we don’t have to hurry.”

Without a layer of wet fabric drawing my attention, his touch feels that much more warm. I tentatively raise my arm to rest right below his neck, my hand using his shoulder for support.

And if I said I was able to ignore how his muscles felt beneath my fingers or how his rough voice sounded in my ear, I’d be a liar. But I try anyway, and lie to myself the whole way back to campus.

***

“You guys are cutting it close,” I hear the nurse tell Harry. He looks over his shoulder at me and turns back. I’m slumped in one of the waiting chairs while he signs me in. “We close in about ten minutes.”

“You’re still gonna see her though, right? She’s...in a lot of pain. Please.”

The nurse sighs and gives Harry a tempered look. “Have her fill these out. Quickly.”

“If we’re too late it’s fine,” I tell him when he sits down beside me. “And since we’re here, I can just go to the library like I planned.”

He turns to face me, a smile creeping its way onto his face. “Let me think about that...no.”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you plan on getting there?”

“Well, you.”

“Nope. My services are for trips to my apartment. Or yours. If you wanna hobble your way, allll the way to the other side of campus, to wait in a cold, dark library all by yourself and—”

“Okay, okay. I—”

“Are you filling out your paperwork or chatting?” The nurse interrupts.

I’m filled with heat at being caught, but stifle my laugh nonetheless when Harry rolls his eyes. “Fill that out before we get in trouble.”

My name is called minutes after Harry turns in my clipboard, and we’re led to a small room in the back. I refuse the exam table, knowing he’d have to help lift me to get me up there, and opt for one of the chairs in the room instead.

In less than a breath, a tall woman donned in a white coat comes in. Her demeanor serves opposite places with the nurse up front, smiling big and wide as she shuts the door and shakes both mine and Harry’s hand.

“I’m Dr. Reynolds,” she introduces herself before taking a seat on a rolling stool, eyeing the paperwork I filled out earlier. “So, looks like you’ve twisted your ankle.”

“I tripped and fell on the sidewalk...I’m not even sure what I did to hurt it.”

“Can you put weight on it?”

I look to Harry, for whatever reason, as if he has the answer. “Uh,” I clear my throat, “not really. It hurts to do so.”

“Okay, well—do you mind?” Dr. Reynolds rolls over to me and reaches down, waiting for my nod before she slowly pulls up the leg of Harry’s sweat pants to the middle of my calf. “Yeah,” she sighs knowingly, “you’re pretty swollen.”

“Could it be broken?” Harry chimes in from beside me, his voice thick and rough.

“How did you fall exactly?”

I blink a few times, recalling the memory, but I have to force my way through images of Harry in the rain with red eyes and an umbrella. “I kinda fell backwards. On the edge of the sidewalk, like I lost my footing.”

Dr. Reynolds hums and wheels back to the computer. “I’m leaning more towards a sprain or strain—but we can’t rule out a break until we get you x-rayed.”

“But, aren’t you about to close for the day? Do I have time?”

“We’ll run over a bit today, but it’s not a problem,” she smiles. “We have a wheelchair in another room I can get you. Then we’ll take the x-ray, and hopefully send you home without a broken diagnoses.”

***

“Lemme get you a towel.”

I don’t have time to protest before Harry dashes out of the bedroom. My knees pinch and sting when I lean over my legs to adjust the bag of ice sitting on my ankle. The cold burns already, and I’m not sure if I’ll make the full twenty minutes of icing before ripping the bag off my skin.

Harry stays silent when he returns, folding a dish towel and placing it between my ankle and the bag.

“Thank you.” I start to shift on the bed, but regret it immediately when Harry jumps in place and then bends over me to straighten the pillows behind me.

“This alright?”

“Yeah, I’m uh, I’m good.”

“Okay—” he stops his own sentence, pinching the air before he’s out of the room again.

I sigh and try to move my attention away from my ankle. It’s only a sprain, and a minor one at that, but the swelling hasn’t ceased any, and the weight I put on it after Harry got me back into his apartment earned me a sharp twinge of pain and a disapproving glare.

I scan my eyes over the room. It’s a little too dark to make heads or tails out of anything other than the furniture. I hiss when I try to shift again, and yank the ice off my skin. I wrap the bag in the towel to keep the water from dripping anywhere, and set it on the nightstand, nudging a copy of 1984 out of the way.

Harry bustles through the door a moment later, kicking it closed behind him. He looks down at the drink in his hands, chewing on his lip. “All I have is lemonade.”

“Thank you.” I hold back the smile I am supposed to offer. He looks relieved when I take the glass and a sip, nodding and relaxing his shoulders. “I uh...I did want to ask you…” I test the words, wait for the line to appear between his brows before finishing, “about my grade.” He does nothing more than narrow his eyes. I swallow and push my thoughts out. “You failed me.”

He blinks, rolling his lips in. “I did. But we can discuss this later. I—you need to rest.”

“O—okay.” I clear my throat and change the subject. “You play the guitar?”

“A bit.” His lips curl a little like he wants to smile, but they don’t quite make it.

I hum and bring the covers close to my nose.

“Can I get you anything?”

He stands over me as I sink further into the bed. I shake my head.

“Okay, well—why is this not on your ankle?” He picks the ice up and tries to return it back to my leg, but I move too quickly, letting my foot hang over the bed. “Intervals of twenty minutes,” he hums. “C’mon.” He nods to my leg.

I manage to hold back any sounds when I settle my foot back on the bed, but judging by Harry’s tsk, I know my face is a dead giveaway to my pain.

“See? Gotta keep this on here,” he’s particular when adjusting the towel and bag, “you won’t get better, love, if you don’t take care of yourself.”

My mouth fills with heat, so all I’m capable of doing is nodding. He makes a show of setting a twenty minute alarm on a clock by the bed, clearing his throat as he quickly scoops up the contents of the nightstand; the book, nail polish, and a cherry chapstick, shoving them into a drawer in a dresser across the room.

“You can, well you can stay as long as you’d like. Overnight I mean.” He coughs into his fist. “Just yell for me if you need anything. I’m listening, always. I’ll be...I’ll be in my room. Stay off that ankle.”

I nod, but make plans to wobble out of here as soon as I can. I’m not exactly an invited guest, and for all I know, I could be ruining his schedule...working or studying. A date. He clearly wasn’t in the best mood when we ran into each other this afternoon, and I’m sure having to babysit me doesn’t help any. My skin crawls; how could I have been so careless to not see when I’m being a burden? I’m usually pretty perceptive, or at least, I assume the worst anyway just as a precaution. You idiot.

He looks over his shoulder, his glasses reflecting what little light fought through the clouds and rain. “Okay, well, I’ll let you be.” he faces the door again, but when he looks back his lip does curl this time. “I’d offer you a book...but I know where that’ll get us.”

***

My ankle stings, but not enough to where I can’t stand on it. I still make sure to occupy my weight on the opposite leg as I crack the door open and peer into Harry's living room. It is early, still dark, and the quiet has me kicking myself for falling asleep last night, forcing me into this twisted walk of shame I am about to endure.

Would he be awake? Dressed? Annoyed that I am still here? His courtesy had been offered out of pity, this I am sure of, and I have foolishly overstayed my welcome. All that is missing is the bed sheet draped over my naked body while he asks me to step out so he can put his clothes back on.

“Harry?”

I can taste the silence. It is unnerving. A few more utterances of his name yield the same result, and I find myself standing in the middle of his living room, dropping the imaginary sheet because he is not there to scrutinize my morning appearance.

There is only one other door beside the one I have just came from, and I press my ear against it for any sign of his presence. Again, there is nothing but the sound of my own pulse.

“Harry?”

I tap my knuckles against the wood...still nothing, and when I yank the courage from the bottom of my gut to open it, I am met with a clean bathroom, still humid and smelling of soap. My face twists and it’s not until I spin around to see a thick blanket covering the couch cushions that my brain finally pieces everything together...but surely he didn’t...fabricate a roommate?

What little energy I woke up with escapes my body. I feel weighed down while making my way to the kitchen. My things are sat neatly on the counter. He’s moved my groceries into a canvas tote and laid out a bottle of water and aspirin beside my folded clothes.

When I sling the bag over my shoulder a slip of paper floats off the counter and flutters to the ground. I grab it and smooth it against my thigh.

I was running late this morning, but there's cereal in the cabinet beside the fridge. Please don’t try to walk back. I can reimburse you for an Uber later—remember, I’m the one who grades you.

I’ll be in the library today around 2.

Bring your report.

Harry

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

Thank you @aileenacoustic @fromyourstrulyh and @bathrobesinparadise for beta reading for me!!!!!

#ta!harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles story #burning words

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leonidas-banana-phone · 4 years ago

Text

Let It Pour (Part 2) 694th Battalion

Spooks has to navigate without her eyes and Ven goes on a side mission.

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

She turns over again, sleeping has been useless, she can hear everything going on outside of the tent. The hard ground underneath her bedroll just gets worse and worse the longer she lays there. With a sigh she sits up, she can't just lay here while everyone runs around.

"LT, I just wanted to check on you. You alright?" Someone asks, she has no idea who at this point.

"Get me out of this tent, please." She groans, "Or shoot me."

"I'm not shooting you, Ven would kill me. I'm not even supposed to let you get up. Clove'll kill me if he finds out. That's two people. Though, I think I'm more afraid of Clove." He babbles, she can hear him moving through empty bedrolls as he approaches her. "But, if you're as bored as I am, then we can do something."

She stands slowly, just in case her head decides to swim. "Have we heard from Ven's squad at all?" She asks as she reaches out for the trooper, her fingers connect with cold durasteel, she should have figured it was Tyme.

"Not yet." He tells her, "Sage's squad is in the mess right now. Wanna go join them? Try and get your mind off everything?"

She nods, reaching out to him, "Yeah, that'll work." She loops her arm through his as he steers her in the right direction.

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

Ven looks between the Commander and Captain, and then to the three troopers with them, they slink through the mushroom trees as they get closer to the base's defenses, "Keep an eye out." The Captain orders.

He can't help when his mind shifts back to Cerez, watching her get thrown and laying limp in the mud, Gods, he thought she was dead for sure.

"Everything seems to be in order. No droids to be found." One of the others on the opposite side of the base relays. They're lucky that their comms work out here after Splash managed to fix them.

"Alright, inform the Commander and General and then we will get back to base." Commander Turk orders.

Ven lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, he gets to get back to his platoon.

"You worried, Lieutenant?" Kyr asks his tone light and teasing.

"Just ready to get back." He shuts him down.

"He's probably worried about that pretty little officer of his." Splash elbows Kyr.

Ven doesn't know if they can hear the snarl through his vocoder but he hopes they do.

"Enough, all of you. Let's get moving. The others will meet us back at the base. The rain is supposed to pick up again soon." Commander Turk informs them.

More rain, great.

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

A ration pack is placed in front of her, she reaches out, feeling for the little notch in the packaging before ripping it open and pulling the spork out, "What flavor is this or should I just guess?" She muses.

"It's better as a surprise." Someone says with their mouth full.

"Fine." She laughs.

"You're pretty good at this whole being blind thing," Worm says.

"I spent a good five cycles without my eyes. Just like cleaning a blaster, you never really forget." She tells them.

A hand is laid on her shoulder, "We'll get your eyes fixed soon." Flap tells her enthusiastically, "At least I hope."

"That's not what you tell someone, Dumbass." Oli wacks what she guesses is the back of his head.

"Enough you two." Sage gripes, none of them are in a good mood it seems.

"Can we complain, Sarge?" Clocks asks.

"Refer that question to the Lieutenant, please. She outranks me." Sage says.

"Ma'am, we ask Sage if we can complain before we all complain about something. It's a ritual of sorts." Worm explains.

"Can I go first?" She asks.

Oli shakes her a bit, "Yeah, you can!"

"The humidity sucks, it makes this horrible uniform stick to my skin." She says.

"That's all ya got? Come on." Sage slaps her pauldron.

She sighs, "This planet sucks ass." She deadpans.

"Hell yeah, it does!" Someone shouts from a few tables over. Laughter rings out and it brings a smile to her face.

"Your turn Sarge," Enlo says.

Sage clears his throat, "One of the fuckers in our tent snores. I don't know if it's Bay's squad or if it's one of you. I didn't get a lick of sleep last night."

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

The mushroom trees fly by as they ride back to base. "I've got droids on my scanner. Three squads." Splash relays. Of course, there are droids out here.

"Take 'em out? Or leave 'em, Commander?" Kyr asks.

"Mine as well take 'em out. We're already here." Turk steers towards where the droids were spotted.

Something in the back of Ven's mind tells him this isn't going to go well, why are they even out here? He lets his speeder slow down so he's at the back of the group, he wants to at least get a good look at what's coming before doing anything about it.

"No, make that four squads." There's confusion in Splash's voice, "Wait, there's five!"

"Commander we should leave them," Ven advises. If Splash got the initial number wrong that means there could easily be more.

"We need to see how many are actually out here." Commander Turk orders.

The first few raindrops splatter against his visor, everything in him is telling him to turn away from the droids. Something deep in his chest, but he keeps going.

"Kyr, Splash, you're with me. Dash, you're with Ven. Split up and flank them," Turk orders.

He jerks in the direction of Captain Dash, following him through dense underbrush. When he finally gets a visual he has to look again, three squads of commando droids, and four squads of a mix of B1s and B2s, a full platoon.

One of the B1s spots them, "Clones! Open fire!"

Diving off the speeder and into the underbrush probably wasn't the best idea but when the rocket launched from the B2 hits it just mere seconds after he hits the ground he decides maybe it was for the best. He groans as he tries to catch his breath and work through the pain radiating through his back and shoulder.

"You still with us, Ven?" Captain Dash asks, his voice bouncing around his pounding head.

"Affirmative." He wheezes.

"Whenever you decide to get up we could use some help." Probably Kyr.

He rolls to his hands and knees, coughing and wheezing before he finally gets to his feet. The droids are tight in formation, a well-aimed blast from a thermal detonator would take out a good chunk of them. He crouches digging through his pack before he finds one, his gloved hand closing around the explosive. Standing, he activates it and chucks it towards the droids, they turn and stare at it for a moment before it detonates.

A pained sigh leaves his lips as he draws his pistols, something isn't right, his chest hurts too much for it just to be a broken rib. Spooks was gonna kill him. He aims and fires at the droids, gritting his teeth through the pain. He just has to get through these droids and get back to base where Clove and Smidge could fix him up. It'll be fine.

As the last of the droids fall, he notices he's gasping for air, he clicks on his comm, "Commander, I'm hit." He groans. Spots danced across his eyes.

"Stay there, I'll come and get you." Commander Turk responds.

His lungs burn as he collapses to his knees. He just needs to get back to base, back to Clove and Smidge and her.

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

She paces outside the tent, it's all Flap will let her do, as he watches from the crate he has commandeered as a seat, "I'm sure they're fine." He tries to convince her.

She turns to him with deadly accuracy for someone who's blind, "They're comms should be up by now, we should have got an update hours ago, something must have happened. I'm going to the command tent," She says, before turning in the right direction, walking straight into a piece of equipment, "Kriffin' hells. Can I get some help, please?" She deadpans.

He jogs to her, looping his arm through hers, they've found that this was the easiest way to guide her around, it still looks professional enough and still keeps her relatively safe from any dangers.

It's almost peaceful as he walks beside her, if it wasn't for their environment it might have even been fun, what do the nat-borns do, a Benduday stroll?

When they get to the tent he notices Sargents Bay, Sage, and Clove standing outside, they seem to be discussing something. "Excuse us." She mumbles to them as she walks into the tent, Flap lets her go when Sage motions for him to come closer.

"Everything okay, Sarge?" Flap asks.

"We were called down here, I'm not sure why, the Major was about to comm Spooks but looks like she beat him to it. Just keep on alert." Sage tells him.

"Yes, sir. I'll let the others know." Flap tells him before turning and finding the rest of his squad

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

When he coughs blood splatters against his HUD. No, he can't die. Not like this, not so far away from them, he has to tell them goodbye. He promised them. He curls in on himself as another wave of pain washes over him.

"Damnit! I can't get our comms to work." Splash growls, hitting the device against a tree.

"Alright, calm down. We need to get him back to base. Dash and Ven's speeders were taken out by rockets, which leaves us with Splash's, Kyr's, and mine. Doubling up won't be a problem, the problem is him. None of our speeders are outfitted for a medic." Commander Turk looks over at him, "I don't know how much longer he'll be awake and I can't raise anyone on our comms."

So that's it, they'll leave him here and he'll die alone in the Felucian jungle.

"Splash, Kyr go with the Commander and see if you can get a signal out to base. See if you can get a medic out here. I'll stay with him." Captain Dash orders.

The Captain moves into his field of vision, crouching in front of him and taking off his helmet, his eyes grow wide when he sees the blood dripping down his chin, "Hurry!" He calls. He turns his attention back to him, pulling out a cloth and wiping at the blood, "Just hang in there. We gotta get you back to that pretty little officer of yours."

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

She feels the others shuffle in behind her, she can't tell who they are yet, though. "You wanted to see us, sir?" Bay's voice, the gruff tone gives it away.

"We haven't heard back from the squad Commander Shrike sent out, yet. This was the last comm we intercepted:" She hears him press a button before the feed starts to play:

"No, make that four squads." "Wait, there's five!"

"Commander we should leave them,"

"We need to see how many are actually out here."

"Kyr, Splash, you're with me. Dash, you're with Ven. Split up and flank them,"

" Clones! Open fire!"

"Something is jamming their comms. We can only assume the worst." The Major says, she can hear the false sympathy in his voice, she can only imagine the look on his face.

"Sargent Sage, how many speeders were you able to repair?" She asks, hoping he's one of the ones behind her.

"Six, I believe, sir." He responds.

Static comes from a piece of comm equipment in the corner, she manages to barely catch a few words, "Injured" "Medic" "ARC trooper"

The words fill her with dread, Ven could be injured, and out in the jungle, "Sage get some of your squad to move out, Flap, Enlo, Smidge, Worm, and Pep. I'm coming with you." She decides.

"You can't go out there, you're blind!" The Major insists.

"I am in charge of this platoon and I can only hope that my second in command isn't out there injured and dying. I made a promise, forty men hit the ground, forty come back. I won't break that promise." She tells him.

Major Olden is silent for a moment, "Why would you risk your life for them, they're just-" He trails off.

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

He wishes he could punch the look off of Major Olden's face, the man looks over the three of them like they're nothing more than doormats.

Bay growls next to him, he has to place a hand on the small of his back to remind him not to overreact.

"Why would you risk your life for them, they're just-" Major Olden trails off.

Cerez reaches up and pulls the bandages over her eyes down, letting them hang around her neck. Her dead eyes are eerie in the blue glow as she makes her way around the holo table, "No, finish your thought Major." Her voice has gone dark, "They're just what? Hmm?" False innocence fills her tone as she tilts her head, it makes him shiver.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" The Major tries to reprimand, "Who do you think you are? I am your superior officer."

"Oh, so you weren't going to say they're just clones, then? What were you going to say instead?" She stalks closer.

"I- I..." The man stutters.

"That's what I thought." She turns to Sage and the others, "Get your men ready. We move out as soon as we can." She ties her bandages back into place.

"I'm coming with you," Clove speaks up, "Leave Smidge behind, he can handle the med tent. Just in case Ven is hurt."

She nods, "Okay. Let's get moving."

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

It's getting harder and harder to stay awake, his head swims and his face feels numb, his breath rattles in his chest, his eyelids flutter and Commander Turk nudges him, "Hey, hey! Stay awake for me! We got word that you're boys are on their way." He tells Ven.

Ven coughs weakly, this mission was a disaster, Spooks was blind, Tyme couldn't use his arm and he was dying. Sage would probably be promoted after he's gone, he works the best with Spooks. Enlo or Worm would become the squad's new Sargent. They would be down a man after that.

"How is he?" A faraway voice asks.

"Not good, how far out are they?" Commander Turk asks.

"Not far. Should be here any second." The voice tells him.

He tries to look around but his head just rolls around, his eyes close only for him to be shaken again, "Tired," He wheezes.

"I know but you can't go to sleep, your officer is coming to get you," Turk tells him.

"Not m'officer," He slurs.

"I saw you two out in the rain earlier." Turk laughs. "She's yours."

There's a new noise, a mechanical hum. Speeders, "See, told ya they would be here soon." Turk smiles at him.

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

Turk stands from in front of the injured ARC to address the squad, "Lieutenant, nice to see you again."

"I wish I could see you, Commander." She tells him.

The clone she was riding behind helps her to him, "Sir." He addresses him.

Their medic hops off his speeder and drops in front of Ven.

"How is he?" She asks.

"Fighting consciousness. He was thrown from his speeder. The impact must have knocked something loose inside of his chest." Turk explains.

"Lovely imagery, sir." She crosses her arms and turns in the direction of her squad, "Were the droids headed for the base?" She asks.

"Hard to say, they didn't have tanks with them but they did have B1s, B2s, and Commandos. It could have been part of an attack force." He explains.

The medic transfers Ven to a hover gurney, "You should get going, we'll find our way back to the base." He tells her.

She nods, "Thank you for not letting him die, Commander." The woman reaches out, touching his pauldron, "It means a lot to us." She gestures to the rest of the squad.

One of her men links his arm through his and drags her over to Ven, she takes his hand and takes off his glove, she whispers something to him. Not his officer, his ass.

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

Ven reaches for her, now that he's laying down his head feels a bit clearer. "Spooks," He wheezes.

She wrestles off his wet glove and takes his hand in hers after she tucks it into her belt, "Shh. It's alright. Save your strength." Her fingers are warm even in the rain.

"Worm, give me a sec with him please." She asks. Worm walks away and she shifts her hand up to his face, her thumb stroking over his stubbled cheek, "You had us worried, Lieutenant. Had me worried." She tells him. "Let's get you fixed up and off this miserable planet, alright?"

He nods, his brain sluggishly not realizing she was still blind.

She smiles, "Good. Get 'im outta here, Clove. We'll see you back at base." Her hand leaves his face as she steps back, he wants to reach for her again but he doesn't have the strength.

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

"You were being awfully touchy with Ven back there," Sage shouts over the wind and rain.

"It's easier to gauge someone's emotions when you can feel their face!" She shouts back.

"Whatever you say, LT!" He laughs.

She doesn't tell him just how worried she is for Ven. She knew they were keeping his actual condition from her, his hand was freezing and clammy. She wondered just how pale he was from blood loss, and how long he had been trying to stay awake. Internal injuries were no joke.

She clutches harder onto Sage as the rain picks up.

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

"OW!" She cries out when the medic smacks the side of her head.

"Hey, sometimes it works." He says.

If she could glare at him she would, "You don't think I haven't tried that already?" She asks.

Pep snorts before he catches his laugh with a cough. "You're on thin ice there, buddy." She growls at him.

"Stay put, I'm going to go grab the doctor." The medic announces.

Pep clears his throat, "I'm going to try to get an update on Lt. Ven. I'll be right back."

When the door swishes shut behind him it leaves her in a silence that makes her ears ring. A wave of pain hits her, suffering, and anxiety. There's so much of it at these med stations. It feels like it's trying to smother her, she takes a few shuddering breaths, curling in on herself. She pulls her knees to her chest and pushes back on the encroaching pain.

"Lieutenant! I'm Dr. Cos." A woman's voice causes her to almost jump out of her skin. "Oh sorry. Didn't mean to spook ya." She chuckles. "So, what seems to be the problem?"

"An EMP weapon took out my eyes." She mutters, she slowly unfolds, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the table. "Also took out one of my Sargent's arm. How is Tyme?" She asks.

"What's his CT number?" The woman asks, she can hear her tapping away at a datapad.

"Um, forty-eight, thirty-eight. I think. His name is Tyme." She tells her.

"Well since you are his CO, I can tell you that his arm was taken care of and he was discharged. I don't know where he went after that, though. Now, let's worry about you, my dear. Your men will survive without you until we can get those eyes back online. I'm going to remove the bandages and see what I'm working with okay?" She can hear her shuffling around, opening a drawer and pulling something out. "How long have you had this pair?" She asks.

"A couple of years? After I graduated from the Academy they replaced them with a better model," Cerez explains.

"Alright, here come my hands." The doctor warns before she unwraps the bandages. She clicks something, "Alright, a bright light. Let me know if you can see anything at all." Cerez assumes she waves the light in front of her face, "Anything at all? Even if it's just a little."

"I don't see anything, sorry." Cerez shrugs.

Dr. Cos sighs, "That's okay. Let me get one of my cybernetics engineers in here to take a look, we may have to reprogram them. I'll be right back. Stay put."

"Not going anywhere," She mumbles.

The door opens, "Oh, there's a trooper out here. Plant tattoo?"

"Sage. Send him in." She tells her.

"Hey, LT." Sage is quieter than normal. It makes her nervous.

"Everything okay? How's Ven?" She asks.

"Lavender's okay. He's out of surgery and going into a bacta tank." She knows it's bad when Sage uses Ven's full name.

"Sage, stop that. Give it to me straight." Her voice is firm but there's still a tenderness behind it.

"They had to put him back together, broken ribs, a punctured lung, fluid in places that I can't even begin to pronounce." She hears his backplate hit the wall before he slides down the wall.

She hops down off the table and feels for him, he reaches out and grabs her hand, gently guiding her to sit with him, he doesn't let go of her hand, "He'll be okay." She tells him.

"How do you know?" He asks tiredly.

"I don't know. I just do." She smiles at him, gently running her thumb over the back of his hand.

She almost starts when Sage's head meets her shoulder, "What's going on with your eyes?" He asks.

It's her turn to sigh, "They may need to be reprogrammed. Not a big deal but it's certainly a pain. The doc is getting her cybernetics engineer involved now. You should have seen what the medic did," She laughs a little, "Just slapped me upside the head like he could rattle them back to life." Sage giggles, "After that, he walked out, didn't even give me a chance to hit 'im back." Sage laughs, an actual full-bodied laugh and she smiles, this was the Sage she knows, laughing and joking like the galaxy isn't falling apart around them.

The door opens, "Lt. Cerez?" A male voice asks.

She slowly stands, "That's me, sir."

"I'm Dr. Shols, the cybernetics engineer for this med station." He guides her back to the table where she sits, "Now I'm going to try something. Okay?"

She nods waiting patiently.

"Alright. Here goes." He tells her before he slaps the back of her head.

She swears Sage loses it, howling with laughter.

"Dr., the medic already tried that," She deadpans.

"Smart man. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't." She bets he's shrugging. "I brought along some stuff with me to try. Is that alright?" He asks.

"Of course." She turns her head in Sage's direction, "He's going to be poking at my eyes, are you okay with seeing that?" She asks.

"When Clove was training I used to sit in lab with him when he was studying. I'm good." He tells her.

Dr. Shols claps his hands together. "Alright, let's get started."

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

Voices, he can hear muffled voices and drags himself towards them. He pries his eyes open, fighting against the bright lights. "Welcome to the land of the living." A voice mocks.

He groans, coughing a bit, his chest burns as he takes a breath. He rolls his head to see his batchmate sitting in a chair next to his bed, both arms crossed behind his head, the durasteel shines in the light. "Tyme," His voice is rough, and he coughs again.

Tyme stands, grabbing a glass with a straw in it putting it to his lips, "Drink." The cold water feels amazing against his raw throat, "There you go. You're a pain in the ass. I hope you know that." Ven glares at him, "You almost died, you had Sage worried sick. He went and sat with Cerez while they fixed her eyes, you know how much he hates med bay."

Cerez needed her eyes fixed? Why? His brain sluggishly tries to catch up, "Is she okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, she's fine. They got her taken care of." Tyme tells him.

He nods, his eyelids fluttering as he fights sleep, "Thas'good." he slurs.

"Go to sleep." Tyme orders before everything drifts off again.

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

When his eyes open again everything is clearer, the muffled voices are gone and his brain doesn't feel like it's trying to crawl out of his head.

He looks over to see Cerez looking at a datapad, her field uniform is disgusting, she's still covered in mud, the bandages she wore around her eyes still hang around her neck, she looks up and her cybernetics focus on him, "I was doing our reports. Figured you didn't want to wake up alone, I sent everyone back to the cruiser already. Everyone was discharged and they're going to be fine. Forty men hit the dirt and forty stepped back onto the cruiser. Our mission was successful." She tells him, "They said you were fine to be discharged as well, the CMO just needs to look over your latest test results."

He swallows and blinks slowly, trying to take in all of the information. She most notice his discomfort and picks up the glass of water off of the bedside and offers it to him, he takes a small sip through the straw, "Sorry, that may have been too much at once. I got everything taken care of." She looks down at her boots, almost like she's regretting everything she said. She sits back down and looks at her datapad.

"They fixed your eyes." He observes.

She touches the scarring at the edges of her temple, "Yes. They did. It didn't take very much. They just needed to reboot the interface and make sure everything was connected to the optic nerve." She laughs to herself, looking at her lap, "Sage watched them do it. I'm surprised he didn't pass out."

"Tyme's arm?" He asks, thinking of his batchmate.

"He's good to go as well." She nods to him.

He relaxes back into the pillow, his eyes slipping closed as he just breathes, letting himself relax for once. She took care of everything, the reports, his men, finishing the mission, gods everything.

She stands, he can tell she's exhausted, there are dark circles under her eyes and she slouches, he notices his glove is still tucked into her belt, the one she took off to hold his hand, he wants to reach out again, maybe intertwine their fingers together, she was warm, its cold in here. "I'll uh," She blinks several times, "I'll leave you be. I'll go finish reports and..." She trails off, turning away from him.

"Stay!" He blurts, "I mean you-you can stay if you want. I don't mind."

She looks down at his hand wrapped around her wrist, he must have grabbed it. She just stares at it with wide eyes.

"Just- don't go. Stay," He repeats.

She slowly lowers herself back into the chair, her eyes never leaving her wrist, he would say she almost looks scared, like she's never really been touched before and isn't used to the contact. She swallows, it's obvious that she's nervous. He finally pries his fingers from her wrist once he knows she isn't going to rush off.

The curtain flies open, "ARC-4753?" The officer asks.

"Yes, sir," Ven replies coldly.

"You are being discharged. No training for two weeks, keep the physical activity to a minimum, no upper plates, especially the pauldrons, for two weeks as well." The medical officer rattles off, no upper plates, that's practically naked, "If anything gets worse find a medbay, chest pain, shortness of breath, dizziness, anything like that don't hesitate to go see a medic." The officer doesn't even look up from his datapad. "I have to remove your IV and cardiac stickers but after that, you'll be free to get dressed and leave." The medic moves to the side of the bed with practiced ease, snapping on a pair of gloves and gathering supplies to take out his IV.

Ven eyes the medic nervously, medical procedures had never been his strong suit, it must run in his batch, all of them grow uneasy when they see the white medics uniform.

He starts when a gentle touch slides across his hand, turning it over so his palm faces skyward before entwining their fingers.

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

Ven's eyes widen when the medic comes around his bedside, he swallows and ever so slightly shies away from the officer in white. She debates with herself for a moment before she sees his reaction when the guy snaps on his gloves, Ven almost flinches.

She reaches out hesitantly, brushing her fingertips along his tan skin, the contrast between their skin tones striking. She gently flips his hand and slides her fingers across his palm, she looks at his reactions closely, making sure that she was still okay to do this. When she finally laces their fingers together he looks away from the medic to their clasped hands, "Just relax." She tells him softly.

He looks between their hands and her face, his eyes bright. He doesn't even notice the medic when he pulls the tape off of his other hand, he hisses and squeezes her hand, she runs her thumb over the back of his hand to soothe him, he relaxes almost instantly.

The medic reaches over and yanks a cardiac sticker and he tenses, "Seriously?" Ven growls.

The medic barely looks down at him, "The faster there off the faster you can leave." He deadpans while ripping two more off.

When the medic is finished she lets go of his hand, standing again, "I'll let you get dressed. I'll meet you in the hangar, I will flag down a transport for us." She tells him before she turns and slips through the curtain.

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

The hangar is surprisingly calm as he makes his way through it towards Cerez. She stares off distantly as she leans against a crate. She shakes herself out of her head and straightens when he walks up to her. She gives him a nervous smile and moves to stand in the gunship taking them back to the cruiser.

He wants to know why she always looks like someone just got done scolding her, why she doesn't like to look people in the eyes. She always looks on edge.

He stands next to her, reaching for a handle as the ship lurches into the air, the doors closing and basking them in an eerie red glow.

The woman doesn't speak as she reaches for the black and silver canister on the back of her belt, she moves so that she's sitting on a crate and fiddles with it, screwing and unscrewing the cap on it. It seemed to put her at ease whenever it was in her hands. In the dim lights, he sees her shake it near her ear, a slight frown on her face before she shrugs and continues to turn it in her hands.

She attaches it back on her belt when the lights flicker back on letting them know that they were approaching the cruiser's hangar. She stands and moves beside him fluidly. It's odd, sometimes her movements are jerky and unsure, other times she moves with a practiced ease he's never seen before.

When the ship lands with a jolt she looks over to him, "Let's do debrief tomorrow at 1300. That gives everyone enough time to relax and get some good rest, now if you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I need a shower."

He watches her disappear into the chaos, shaking his head, when he steps off the gunship Sage is there with a knowing smirk on his face, "Oh, Vod. You're fucked."

Ven lets his eyes close with a sigh, yeah, yeah he was.

#694th battalion #star wars oc #Star Wars #star wars tcw #the clone wars #clone trooper oc

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kerfufflewatch · 5 years ago

Photo

Think I managed everything but the “too blind to see.” :D

On AO3 | Ko-fi

The first time they wake up together, McCree panics.

He wakes first that morning to a vague sense of unease buzzing in his skull. He’s fairly accustomed to getting up early, body attuned to a military schedule, but he knows before he opens his eyes that this is too early. He feels like he’s burning up, sweltering under the blanket with sweat sticky between his thighs. His shoulder protests angrily at hours of bearing his weight. He swears and tries to roll back, but hits the wall behind him.

Not a wall, he realizes when it makes an annoyed noise.

McCree snaps his eyes open. Hanzo, pressed up against his naked back, grumbles and briefly tightens the arm slung possessively over McCree’s waist before resettling. His face is shoved against the back of McCree’s neck, breath washing hot over his skin. McCree lays there for a while, taking stock of it all. He’s not quite used to being the little spoon. He’s not quite used to any of this.

He slowly turns onto his stomach and props himself on his elbows so he can look at Hanzo. Hanzo slumbers on undisturbed, his arm still draped over McCree’s lower back. His hair is a mess, a spray of black threaded through with those few threads of silver that survived the undercut near the temples. His face is completely lax, absent of its normal severity. McCree can’t help but smile, warmth bursting in his chest. He’s never seen Hanzo like this before.

He wonders if it will be the only time.

The thought makes his heart pick up and rattle against his sternum. His next breath isn’t half as steady at the one before it. McCree flexes a fist a couple of times, but when that fails to resolve any of the building tension, he carefully extricates himself from Hanzo’s hold and tiptoes to the bathroom.

With the door between himself and Hanzo, McCree is free to let out the shaky gasp rattling around his lungs. He sucks in a slower breath and holds it as he grips the edge of the counter, head bowed over the sink. He doesn’t look in the mirror, avoiding his own shameful reflection.

To say they’ve been taking this slow isn’t quite accurate; it would be more correct to say they’ve been taking it careful. Hanzo hasn’t had anything he called a relationship since his teenage years and McCree’s attempts at serious relationships have been half-assed at best, considering his career and general life expectancy. Dates are carefully planned and executed, never too spontaneous. Affection is doled out in measured doses. Sex always ends with a walk to the door and a kiss good-bye, never spilling over into the morning after. It’s not, strictly speaking, better, but it’s safe. Or it had been, at least, until last night, when Hanzo had started to climb out of bed and McCree had stopped him with “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”

And Hanzo had seemed to wrestle with that, but he stayed all the same.

The problem now is that they’ve crossed a line, one they’d never really agreed on but which had existed all the same. Before, McCree could at least pretend that his investment was well-controlled, that he existed at a level where, when Hanzo inevitably left for one reason or another, it may not hurt so much. Hell, he half-expects to walk back out of the bathroom and find that Hanzo’s already gone, or when he wakes up for good in another hour or two. He has no reason to think that will happen, other than his long history of losing people. Now he knows what Hanzo looks like in the morning, knows how it feels to wake up wrapped up in him and he’s sure, like everything else, that it will end.

McCree shudders and rubs his hands down his face. Stupid, he thinks. Jumping to conclusions already, having a breakdown in the bathroom when he should be in bed, taking advantage of this good thing while he has it.

It takes a few minutes before he feels calm enough to go back to bed, if not back to sleep. He splashes his face with cold water and half-heartedly brushes his teeth. When he comes back out, Hanzo is awake, too, his arm outstretched over the space McCree had occupied.

“You were gone a while,” Hanzo observes in a whisper as McCree slides back under the covers. “Are you alright?”

His voice is rough with sleep, but his gaze is focused, bright with concern. McCree’s throat tightens with an emotion he doesn’t dare look at too closely. “Right as rain,” he replies.

“Alright.” As soon as McCree is settled, Hanzo worms his way back into McCree’s space. McCree has his arms around him and his chin resting on Hanzo’s head before he’s even aware of it.

Hanzo falls back asleep almost instantly. True to his suspicion, McCree’s awake for the rest of the morning, but it's hard to mind.

—

The second time, McCree wakes later. Unconsciousness slowly unfurls and falls away, awareness creeping in to take its place. It takes a minute, but he soon realizes that what woke him was not routine or aches or a needy bladder, but the gentle caress of fingers through his hair.

“S’nice,” he rumbles, nuzzling into what he realizes only after is Hanzo’s thigh. The hand in his hair pauses for just a moment,then resumes as Hanzo chuckles somewhere above him.

“Good morning,” Hanzo murmurs. McCree cracks one eye open to look up at him. Hanzo is sitting up with his tablet propped on one knee, although once he meets McCree’s eye, he sets it aside. A frown flickers across his face, some internal dilemma, before he shimmies down in bed to recline beside McCree. McCree immediately takes advantage of the change to drape himself over Hanzo The repositioning sadly necessitates the removal of his hand from McCree’s hair, but he is quick to replace it with his other before McCree has to protest. McCree returns the favor with fingertips stroking along the ridges of Hanzo’s ribs.

"You on the roster today?" McCree asks after a minute or so. He's careful to whisper, afraid of shattering the delicate spun-glass moment between them.

"No." Hanzo is equally quiet, his voice a low rumble. "It seems that we have not had many assignments recently."

"Nah. Seems like everyone's lyin' a bit low right now." McCree pauses, then nudges forward to press a kiss to the ridge of Hanzo’s collarbone. “Can’t say I mind getting a little time off.”

“Surely there is something we should be doing today.”

“Don’t think so. Least, not that anyone’s gonna get us in trouble for. Could probably stay in bed all day, if we wanted.”

Hanzo snorts. “Is that what is done on a day off, then? An entire day in bed?"

"Are you tellin' me you haven't ever spent a whole day in bed?"

The hand in McCree's hair slows, then stops. "No," Hanzo says softly. "I have not.”

Guilt drags down McCree’s good mood immediately. No, of course Hanzo hasn’t done something as simple as spending a day in bed with a lover. McCree may not have a great track record with relationships, but Hanzo barely has one at all.

“Well,” he says with a lightness he no longer feels, “that’s a damn crime.”

Hanzo hums distantly. McCree worries the inside of his lip. “S’alright. Not like I’m much better, either,” he offers.

“Mm.”

The quiet is no longer delicate; now it rests on them like the tense, humid air before a thunderstorm.

“Can I tell you somethin’?” Hanzo hums again. McCree swallows hard, suddenly very grateful to have his face hidden. “I, uh. I’m not so good with this, either. I mean, you know that already, but . . . I keep thinkin’ I’m gonna wake up and find you gone one morning. Or that it’s gonna up and end one day.”

Hanzo’s fingers tighten in his hair. “You think I would just . . . leave?”

“It’s not that. It’s more like I’m waitin’ for the other shoe to drop.” McCree realizes his hand has stilled on Hanzo’s ribs and resumes the touch, focusing on the drag of his fingers along Hanzo’s skin instead of the tightness in his chest. “Not too used to keepin’ good things around, and, well, you’re probably the best thing I’ve had in a while. Hard not to feel like I’m on borrowed time.”

There is silence for a long time. As McCree is starting to fear that he’s overstepped, Hanzo takes a deep breath and says, “I understand. People like us do not have the luxury of commitment, to this or to anything else.”

Hanzo pushes McCree’s hair back from his face and gently nudges him to look up. “I--cannot promise everything,” he says, stilted. His jaw works before he forces the rest out. “But I want to keep this as well. And if something were to change, I would not leave you so thoughtlessly. That much I can be certain of.”

Relief bubbles through the guilt in his chest, though some of the anxiety lingers in his gut. McCree tips his head up for the kiss Hanzo offers, letting the slow presses of their lips soothe away the worst of his distress.

When they break, McCree takes a shivery breath. He gives Hanzo the most playful smile he can manage, though it feels shaky on his face. “So,” he says, “where’d we land on that ‘day in bed’ idea?”

Hanzo laughs, low and rumbling. “I have some ideas,” he responds. He pushes McCree onto his back, mouthing under the line of his jaw. McCree’s answering laugh turns into a sigh as he melts under the attention.

He’s still not sure about where they stand or what might come but for now, this is enough.

—

McCree doesn’t let himself think about it on the third morning, or the fourth, or any of the ones that follow. Those first couple of weeks turn into a solid four months. Eventually, they’re sharing a bed more nights than not, separated more by missions or schedules than they are choice. McCree soon forgets to think about it at all.

McCree wakes up early again. It varies who is up first nowadays. The best mornings are when they both sleep until their alarm, but Hanzo got back later than McCree did last night. He deserves a little more time, or at least to wake up to something other than his phone blaring. It takes some effort to extricate himself from the limpet-like grasp Hanzo has around his middle, but he has some practice in it now and manages to free himself. Hanzo immediately curls into the space McCree vacates, stealing the leftover warmth. McCree chuckles to himself and reaches for a shirt.

Once he’s decent, he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s still early enough that the base hasn’t quite woken up. He doesn’t pass any other agents in the halls and even the kitchen is still empty when he arrives. He starts a cup of coffee for himself, debates the merits of coffee versus tea for Hanzo, and ultimately decides tea might let Hanzo sleep in longer if he chooses. Breakfast is considered, then discarded as well; he’ll wait until the rest of the team is more active. Maybe he’ll get lucky and someone will make something with leftovers. Or maybe he’ll feel generous enough to make pancakes. He’ll revisit the ideas in an hour.

When he returns with coffee and tea in hand, Hanzo is still in bed, but he stirs at the sound of the door. He props himself up and turns blearily in McCree’s direction, squinting in the dim room. McCree’s mostly gotten used to the sight of a sleep-mussed Hanzo, but it’s still such a departure from his normal, carefully manicured look that he can’t help but chuckle.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he slips back into bed. Hanzo’s response is a tired grunt. He shakes out his hair from its disheveled ponytail and ties it back up. McCree watches with fond amusement, offering the tea when Hanzo is done. “What time was it when you got back? Didn’t quite see when you came in.”

“After midnight. Sadly not late enough for me to justify skipping this morning’s sims.”

“I’m sure you could get away with it. Angela’s got a mean lecture about sleep deprivation she can give Winston.”

Hanzo huffs, but shakes his head. “No, it is fine. I have done worse things.” He leans up against McCree, and McCree wraps an arm around his shoulder and tucks him close. “Is there breakfast?”

“Not yet. Still early. Was tryin’ to decide if I liked everyone enough this morning to do pancakes.”

Hanzo hums and tips his head sideways against McCree’s shoulder. “That sounds nice. You should do that.”

“In a bit, then.”

Hanzo hums again. McCree rests his head against his and drinks his coffee.

As they sit there for a few minutes, quietly basking in each other’s company as they wake up, it occurs to McCree that this must be true contentment. He could stand to do this every morning.

Maybe he could have this every morning.

The thought doesn’t startle him the way thinking it has before, instead settling over him like a comforting blanket. He waits for the panic and doubts to barge in and ruin the sweetness of this moment but they never come. He could have this—maybe not forever, but not through any fault of Hanzo’s. And anything else he’ll fight like hell for the right to keep what he has right now.

“What do you think of movin’ in with me?” McCree asks.

Hanzo makes a questioning noise. “We technically already live together.”

“You know what I mean.”

At this angle, it’s hard to read Hanzo’s expression, but he can see his brow furrow. “You want me to move into your dorm?”

“I mean. You’re halfway there already. Doesn’t have to be mine, either, if you like yours more. Not that there’s any real difference, I think.” McCree is surprised to realize he doesn’t feel nervous about this at all. “But I like this. Wakin’ up with you. And our lives are kind of a mess and I don’t see us gettin’ that house with the white picket fence anytime soon, so this seems like the next best thing.”

Hanzo thinks on this for a long moment. Then he lets out a sigh and tucks in closer, settling more comfortably against McCree’s side. “Only if you make pancakes,” he says simply.

McCree laughs. He tries to kiss the top of Hanzo’s head, but mostly succeeds in pressing his grin against his hair. “Fair enough. I can do that.”

#Overwatch #Kerfuffle Fic #McHanzo

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fuckit-hero-of-trains · 5 years ago

Text

Alone Together Ch 3

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22311754/chapters/54522319

Chapter summary:

“The Eyes…” Hyrule’s voice whispers from between clasped arms.

Suddenly, Hyrule throws his head up and away from his knees, eyes large and faraway. His eyes flick left right left right, somewhere or some when else. He reaches out a hand to no one but the rain. Then, slowly, far too slowly to be natural, he turns too bright eyes first to Legend and then Four.

“The Eyes of Ganon are everywhere.”

Somehow, the rain gets colder.

Or: A series of fics focused on Four and his interactions, inside and out.

Four usually enjoys the rain.

Most would probably assume he wouldn't. Rain meant high humidity, which often meant having to crank his fires even higher in order to fight off the cursed moisture that affects the melting point of metals. Rain also meant less people wandering the dirt roads beyond Hyrule Town, ergo, less people coming in to buy or commission weapons.

Some might also assume he hated rain due to his– uhhhm– reduced stature and its apparent susceptibility to the cold.

But the people who assumed that would be wrong. Every single part of Four finds joy in the rain.

Part of him loves it for its practicality; the way he can easily open a window in the forge to let out the hot air, making it easier to breath. A breath of fresh air to cool his lungs from the smoldering heat.

Another loves it on principle, an excuse to get out of the forge and spruce up around the house while they have less people bursting in and messing everything up holy Hylia why are customers the worst? why can't they put shit back? it's all organized by species! they KNOW this sword doesnt go here! why the FUCK would they put it here???

A third likes its soft presence, a gentle staccato heard peripherally as he reads. The way it patters unobtrusively yet universally throughout the house as they go about their separate work. Something unifying even while apart.

The last loves the results; warm, creamy tea by the fire with the others maybe followed by a run through the puddles outside if he’s good enough at guilt tripping them with puppy dog eyes.

All of him loves its smell and the cool, refreshing feeling it leaves in the air, battling away the overly warm winds common to his Hyrule.

So yes, Four usually enjoys the rain.

But not right now.

Right now it sucks.

It is absolutely pouring and has been since they had set off from their cave that morning.

They’re in Hyrule’s Hyrule– Goddesses, that sounds stupid C’mon thats not nice– headed toward what the traveling hero had called a nearby town.

A nearby town that is apparently more than a three hour walk away.

To be fair, he did say ‘relatively nearby.’ Stated plainly. Flat but at least diplomatic.

A fat lot of good that does us now. Sniped back, pissed for the sake of being pissed at this point.

Four sighs, making sure not to let his annoyance pull his face into a scowl. He knows it's no use getting angry at anyone. It was either walk through the rain, or stay in the cave until the inclement weather let up.

One entailed a cold but ultimately painless three hour walk. The other, being in an enclosed space with 8 other versions of himself for an unknown period of time.

He knows which one he would choose any day. No one needs a bored Wind and Wild with access to unlimited bombs. Or Warriors and Legend forced to share close quarters with no end in sight. Or Twilight and Time animatedly discussing farming techniques for hours with no escape.

Not even the Triforce of Courage would make him brave enough to face that.

Doesn't mean I have to like it… Agitated but calmer, the ocean’s surface settling after a storm.

Now if only this storm would let up.

Four swipes a hand across his face for what feels like the millionth time that day, brushing away the droplets of water threatening to drip into his eyes from the ridge of his eyebrows. Pin pricks of not-quite-pain flare across his cheeks as more freezing rain whips against his already cold skin.

There is a dull ache in his head courtesy of the ponytail he has pulled his hair into. It sits at the back of his head, soggy and drooping, pulling at his scalp. However, the smithy makes no move to remove it from its tie. He had gotten tired of tucking away the sopping wet curtains of hair at around the one hour mark of their walk.

He’ll take the slight headache over wet hair perpetually in his eyes and mouth, thank you very much.

He, unfortunately, can't do anything about his tunic. The patchwork cloth hangs sodden and heavy from his frame, slapping against his forearms and thighs as he trudges behind the others. His boots are likewise sopping wet, water squishing up between his toes with each step. It feels like he's walking barefoot through a freezing swamp. Uncomfortable and vaguely disgusting.

To put it shortly– Oh, fuck off– he’s having a terrible time.

But at least he’s not alone in that department.

From his vantage point near the back, Four can see Hyrule as he leads the group, normally fluffy brunette hair slicked back and stuck to his skull as he treads onward determinedly. Even from behind, Four can tell that his arms are crossed tightly over his chest. Whether it’s from concern, habit, or to ward off the cold, he can’t tell.

Legend and Sky walk behind the traveling hero, almost shoulder to shoulder with one another as they plod onwards. An unusual pair to be sure. Well, at least it would be, if Sky hadn’t divulged to Four earlier that morning that he was taking it upon himself to keep Legend in line for the day. The already snappish Link could blow his gasket at the drop of a hat on a good day, let alone their current circumstances.

But even Legend would think twice about losing his cool with Sky, and the chosen hero knew it. Not enough people give Sky credit for his machinations, the short hero muses as he watches Sky throw a disarming smile and an unheard comment to the pink haired hero, who looks like he's grinding his teeth to stumps with the effort of keeping his snark in check.

Weaponized kindness is not something to be underestimated. Four should know; part of him wields it just as effectively against the others– a hot knife through butter.

Come on guys, I’m not that bad. The words themselves indignant, but undercut with a warm tinge of self-satisfaction.

Easy for you to say. You’ve never been on the receiving end of one of your disappointed looks. Breezes back, flashes of the exact face blinking into existence behind Four’s eyes. Warm amber eyes clouded over and brows furrowed. Freckled cheeks drawn in and lips pouted.

Four feels himself shutter and not from the cold. Yeesh, just the thought of it makes him feel bad.

I just don't like hearing him cry is all. Words grumbled.

Oh, you don’t have to convince us. Tone that of pointed indifference. A verbal nudge in the ribs.

For once in your life, shut up! Voice rising quickly like the tide. More embarrassed than actually annoyed.

Softy. Comes the definitive response, three different tones shaping the thought.

Four shakes his head, a slight smile finding its way onto his face despite the circumstances. Sometimes it paid to have four distinctive thought processes running at once, if only to derive enjoyment from three of them ripping the fourth to shreds.

A wet slapping noise draws Four’s attention away from the teasing massacre currently occupying his mind.

Next to him, Four can see Warriors trudging with a weary expression on his face. His normally majestic scarf hangs heavily from his neck, sopping wet. With each step, the cloth smacks into the back of his legs, the source of the noise that had alerted the smithy.

Warriors seems to have had enough of it, because he takes ahold of the part of the scarf wrapped around his neck and swings the cloth around to secure it more tightly against his throat. In his annoyance, Four can see that the older hero has used more force than he had probably intended.

Oh no It’s his own fault There’s no time to warn him This is gonna be good.

Four watches with mounting– excitement? apprehension?– anticipation as the water logged cloth sweeps around and around Warriors’ neck before the end of the fabric reaches the Captain’s unsuspecting face, slapping him with a resounding wet clap.

The older hero freezes in shock, the sodden scarf remaining stuck in place for a moment before slowly sloughing off his face, leaving an absolutely shocked and sputtering expression in its wake.

The Pretty Boy glances around to make sure no one saw that and catches Four’s gaze locked on him. Blue eyes widen into a pleading look.

Four lets the corners of his lips raise minutely.

Oh yes. He did, in fact, see that.

The captain lets out a quiet groan and speeds up his steps, head ducking lower as the tips of his ears turn a faint pink.

Four forces down the laughter threatening to escape his lips. Better to let the Captain stew in embarrassment for the moment and bring it up later, when he’s not expecting it. Preferably with Legend present.

Karma for all the ‘kiddo’ jabs and short jokes.

What goes around, comes around.

Like a wet scarf? Four’s left eye twitches, a wink almost slipping from his brain into real life.

I hate that I’m associated with you.

You aren’t just associated with me. You are m– Shit!

Though his toes are numb from the cold, Four can feel as his left foot slips too far forward, gliding across the rain slicked grass like it’s ice. His right foot sweeps forward automatically, trying to stabilize him, but only succeeding in sliding forward as well.

A jolt of sick anticipation wells up in his stomach.

So much for having dirt on Warriors.

But before gravity has its way with him , a warm hand reaches out and pushes between his shoulder blades. After a moment, Four’s boots finally find purchase back on the ground, stabilizing the short hero before he falls flat on his ass and slides down the small hill they are on.

“Careful,” Time says as he steps past the now steadied smith, words flat with an odd mix of weariness, irony, and humor. “It’s slippery.”

Before Four can thank the older hero for the save, there is a shout of “wait!” and two blue blurs of movement rush past Four’s other side, close enough for him to feel the splatter of water and displaced air brush against him as they do.

A trail of boisterous laughter follows behind the blurs. As the two descend down the hill, the shapes resolve themselves into Wild and Wind, one standing upright on a shield while the other rides sitting down on his like a sled.

“Yeah, Four!” Wind’s voice shouts, giggly and growing fainter as he speeds away. “It’s slippery!”

Wind and Wild’s laughs mingle and fade as they reach the foot of the hill, both boys splashing into more runoff waiting for them at the bottom. Sky and Legend, standing too close, jump back a shade too late and end up with water sprayed up onto their pants.

Well, pants and bare legs respectively.

Thats what he gets for not fucking wearing pants.

Four watches as the pink haired hero lets out a hiss, furiously (and futilely) wiping at his legs while Sky simply leans down and helps Wind up from the puddle with a fondly exasperated shake of his head.

With a roll of his eyes and a grumble, Legend steps up to Wild with a hand outstretched to ostensibly help him up as well. But, as the scarred teen reaches out to take it, Legend’s face scrunches, a smile with too many teeth splitting his face and he stomps down, throwing water into the younger hero’s face.

For a second, the smithy thinks Wild will lash out with a splash in retaliation, but the scarred teen simply wipes a hand down his face and then grins up at Legend.

Quick as a whip, Wild grabs the veteran hero’s hand with two of his own and yanks.

Legend lets out a squawk and goes face first into the water.

Wild scrambles out of the puddle and out of the danger zone of Legend’s flailing arms, laughing as he does. Wind greets him with a high five while Sky watches on with a small smile.

Hyrule steps forward to help his predecessor out while trying to quell the smile on his lips as he does. No need to piss off the pink haired hero more.

As Four watches this all unfold, Twilight finally comes to stand next to him. The man sighs and Four glances at him as they begin to trudge down the hill together. The farmhand’s shoulders slump under the weight of his sodden pelt. He looks exhausted. And he smells like wet dog.

His face is tired but as he looks at the others– Warriors, Wind, and Wild laughing, Legend glaring from over Hyrule’s shoulder, Sky and Time looking on, not offering to help in the slightest– as he looks at them, something about the elder seems to soften and the bags under his eyes seem to lighten, if only a little.

“I swear,” he says, voice airy with an exhale as he shakes his head. “Those kids are going to kill me.”

“Ah, youth,” Four agrees with a sage nod.

Twilight glances down, giving Four a dry look despite the wet hair hanging in front of his eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

…

It only takes a few moments for Four and Twilight to reach where the rest of the group waits for them.

Now that Four is paying more attention to his surroundings instead of keeping his head bowed against the rain, he can see that they are walking down into a small valley between two hill ranges.

What Four had thought was just a large puddle that Wind and Wild (and Legend) had fallen into is actually a small stream that cuts in and out around the mounds of dirt. It babbles lightly, slightly swollen with the newly added run off from the surrounding hills.

Twilight clears it in a single stride.

Show off.

Four follows, but needs a small hop to avoid the water.

Hyrule smiles as they finally draw near.

“We’re close now!” the traveling hero says. He points over the crest of the hill they stand at the foot of. “It’s just at the bottom of that hill.”

“Finally,” Legend spits, futilely wringing out his hat. He slaps the wet cloth over the back of his head with a scowl directed at Wild. The teen smiles back.

Time nods in approval. “Good. That should give us enough time to find a place to stay and gather supplies.” A single eye flicks back to Hyrule. “You said there was a hotel of some kind?”

“Yeah,” An emphatic nod from Hyrule. “There’s an abandoned house at the edge of town. The shopkeeper rents it out to travelers. There should be enough room for all of us.”

“Then let’s get a move on,” Time says, getting a nod from in response.

With the thought of a warm and dry place to stay so close, the group sets off up the hill in brighter spirits. Hyrule in particular, Four notes, strides forward with quickened steps, taking up the lead once again as he practically jogs up the hill.

Before long, they crest the hill top, giving the group the chance to finally see the town that had necessitated four hours of walking in misery.

Thats it What did you expect So small Well you heard how he talked about his Hyrule

… Town was probably too generous a word for it.

Sitting down in a nest of hills at the base of a mountain in the distance, sits fifteen or twenty buildings. They are divided by a thin river, a single arched bridge stitching the two sides of the village back together.

Surrounding the hamlet is a short and crumbling wall, mossy and coming apart at the seams. More for show than actual protection. A semblance of control, a dream of safety.

Running beside the river are small plots of land, measured out and carved into neat rows. Farms. Important for survival, but apparently not worth building houses next to. Better to stay behind the shattered cobblestone than out in the open. Safety in numbers. Not worth dying over a potato.

It’s quiet, no movement of people running to get into shelter from the rain. No children jumping in puddles or parents calling them back in from the cold.

No.

Rather, only a few lanterns are lit at all. Everything else is dark and silent.

Hyrule steps forward, a sheepish, self-deprecating smile on his face. His eyes are downcast. Embarrassed. He sweeps a hand out to the buildings, ducking low as if trying to sink out of their eye line.

“Welcome to Saria Town,” he says. His eyes flick up for a moment before returning to the ground. His painted smile drips a little in the rain. “I know it’s not much… but it’s safe.”

Next to him, out of the corner of his eye, Four can see Time tense, though at what, he can not say. Then the Old Man steps forward. “It looks perfect.”

Hyrule’s head snaps up, hazel eyes wide first in shock, before he relaxes into a grin. Time gives him a nod.

“Lead the way.”

The traveling hero nods, stepping down the hill, head held a little higher as he does. Time follows closely with Legend, Warriors, and Sky not far behind.

Four is about to join them when a voice from behind stops him.

“Don’t,” Twilight groans. Four turns back in confusion, only to see that the exasperated word wasn't directed at him but rather, the two blondes just behind him.

Four glances at the two boys, and instantly sees why.

The two are gazing intently down the hill, sizing it up. They apparently like what they see because the two grin widely at each other. The blue clad heroes hold out their shields to one another, tapping them together in a mock ‘shield high-five’.

“Race you there?” Wind asks, eyes fire bright and face pulled into a grin of challenge

“You even need to ask, Sailor?” Wild replies cockily, already tossing his shield to the ground.

“On the count of three…” Wind says. Wild steps one foot on his shield– not his Hylian shield, Four notes with some relief, but rather a long, steel gray one– and braces the other behind him, ready to throw himself forward.

“One,” Wild says. Wind places his hands on his shield, ready to jump.

“Two.” They tense.

“Don’t,” Twilight interrupts again swiping wet hair from his face as he gives them a hard look. “Someone could get–”

“THREE!”

Wild pushes off. Wind vaults forward. The two fly , twin whoops echoing through the quiet air as they descend. For a second, the two boys are lost in the joy of the moment, voices caught in that youthful inbetween of yell and laughter.

And then that second ends.

The two sober, all business. Wild leans forward on his shield, tucking his arms in to become more aerodynamic. Wind catches on to the others plot and quickly mirrors the older hero, hunkering down and shifting his weight forward to match Wild.

They’re neck and neck.

And then–

“Shit!”

The harsh crack of snapping leather echoes clear and brutal through the air. Wild’s front foot slides forward on the wet metal, no longer anchored down by the arm strap. The scarred teen throws his weight backward, trying to keep himself from falling forward while simultaneously slowing down his now out of control descent.

The metal wobbles precariously beneath Wild’s feet and then jerks sharply to the left, throwing it’s rider. With a cut off shout, he slams into the side of an helpless Wind, knocking the other boy from his shield as well. Tangled together, the two careen down the water slicked hill at a break-neck pace, headed straight for…

“Look out!” Bursts its way past Four’s lips without him even knowing.

Sky and Warriors jolt out of the way, their reaction times impeccable as always. Legend and Time reach out to grab the person in front of them…

Too late.

The two blondes slam into Hyrule’s unsuspecting back, the traveling hero only able to get out a shocked gasp before his legs are swiped out from beneath him and the three tumble in a mass of limbs, wet tunics, and pained shouts the rest of the way down the hill.

Four doesn't even need to consult his disparate thought processes. They’re already in agreement.

His feet carry him down the hill almost at a dead sprint, only the barest of thoughts spared to worry about slipping himself.

Vaguely, he can hear Twilight’s steps pounding behind him. In front of him, he can see the others sprint downward as well, Warrior’s feet even sliding beneath him before he rights himself and continues.

By the time Four slides to a stop, the others are already helping the three groaning boys.

Warriors sits up a groaning Wind. At just a glance, Four can see that the teen looks scratched, bruised, and grass stained but overall fine. Sky hands the boy a red potion that the sailor sips at, unwilling to drink more than he needs.

Wild looks much the same, though, the smithy notes that the champion is clutching at a rapidly purpling ankle. He looks more embarrassed than hurt though, his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck as Twilight chews him out and Time examines his leg.

Hyrule though…

As Legend helps the traveling hero up, Four’s eyes are immediately drawn to the thin scarlet line streaming from the brunette’s temple, the blood mixing and thinning with the rain, snaking across his cheek before dripping down his chin. A cruel mirror of the rain.

“Is he okay?” Four asks as he kneels down, unable to help himself. He reaches a hand out, the need to help and comfort slightly overwhelming, but with no clear outlet, his arm simply hovers without use.

Legend shoots Four a poisonous look that screams ‘What a dumb fucking question’ but otherwise ignores him in favor of brushing a few strands of Hyrule’s hair back so he can examine the wound closer.

Hyrule’s eyes flutter open at the gentle touch.

“M’ fine, I’m fine,” he says dizzily, swatting weakly at Legend’s prodding hand.

The veteran hero huffs out a breath, taking Hyrule’s hand and carefully pulling it out of the way as he leans in for a closer look. “Stop moving. I think you hit your head on a rock. You’re bleeding.”

Hyrule’s eyes snap open, the haziness in his hazel depths igniting with a fever bright glow. Now that his eyes are wide open, Four can see that the teen’s pupils are dilated, one a pinprick while the other gapes wide, a dark hole in a green field.

Well that can’t be good Concussion maybe even a severe one We have to help him He needs a potion now

Four takes ahold of Hyrule’s shoulder to steady the other teen and then turns to dig through his satchel for a potion.

Hyrule, apparently, has other plans.

The traveling hero jerks up and away, throwing Four’s hand off him and almost headbutting Legend in his haste to sit up more fully. He slams a hand up to his forehead, swiping directly over the wound. Pain doesn't even register on his rapidly paling face. He pulls his hand back and inspects it, mismatched pupils tracing the blood that drips from the tips of his fingers.

He stares at the red for a moment.

And then Hyrule collapses in on himself.

Both arms reach other the top of his head, wrists crossing over the back of his skull. His hands run between wet curls once gently before gripping and pulling. Knees snap upward, allowing Hyrule to curl up fully, hiding himself from their gazes.

“No, no, no no no no nonononono!” he whispers, voice and shoulders shaking.

Four’s heart breaks.

“Calm down,” Legend cuts in, voice hard as stone but eyes as soft as the dark clouds hanging over them. His hand hovers over Hyrule’s back, like he’s afraid that a single touch would shatter the boy to pieces. “It’s just a scratch,” he insists.

“No!” the traveler cries, arms dropping from their position above his head. Instead of clutching desperately at his hair, Hyrule’s hands fist into the fabric of his wet undershirt sleeves, using them to frantically scrub at the skin of his face.

With one more vicious wipe, Hyrule pulls his sleeves from his face.

Four sighs sadly at the sight.

Rather than cleaning his skin, the frantic hero has only succeeded in spreading the diluted blood all over his face. The only part of his face that could be considered ‘cleaner’ would be the tear tracks slowly drawing clear lines beneath his eyes.

The injured teen seems satisfied for a moment. But then he looks down at his now bloodied sleeves. With another distressed noise, he tucks his arms under his armpits and throws his head back against his knees, once again curling back up.

Four feels his heart pulled in so many directions. He feels warm, hot, too hot concern churn his stomach. Cool, cold, too cold anger shoves icicles into his lungs. Wind and Wild’s fault. Rain’s fault. His fault. No where to put the anger and so it grows, piercing. The need for action whistles in his mind, a whirlwind of frantic thoughts. A mountain of unfamiliar uncertainty lodges in his heart, dividing it further.

He wants to pull Hyrule into him and crush him with a hug but knows it will only frighten the boy more. He wants to clean the other’s face and hand him a potion and punch his shoulder for freaking him out and laugh about something stupid and not be here right now in the rain with a desperately injured friend feeling so fucking usless We have to do something Please Please Please We have to help!

No, what we need to do is calm down.

calmdowncalmdown Calm down Calm down, Calm down.

Calm down.

Beside him, Four can hear Legend curse under his breath and begin to shuffle through his bag, though what exactly he is looking for, the smithy isn't sure. His hands become more and more hurried as he searches, fingers flicking through his pockets aggressively.

“Calm down.”

Legend’s eyes flick up, hands stilling as he seems to see Four for the first time since this whole debacle started.

“What?” he hisses, keeping his voice low so as not to cause Hyrule more distress with his angry tone.

“Calm down,” Four says simply. “I know you want to help him. So do I. But right now he’s scared and confused. Getting upset will only make things worse.”

The veteran hero glares at Four, and Four stares right back, not challenging but not exactly sympathetic either. He knows what he’s talking about, even if it pisses off the pink haired hero. Right now, there is no room for negative emotion. Only action.

They hold eye contact for only a moment more before Legend looks away, deflating.The veteran takes a deep breath. In… out. Something, the fight, goes out of him, leaving Legend looking to all the world like a tired young man, soaked to the bone, cold, and worried.

“Hey ‘Rule,” Legend begins, voice low as he inches closer to the curled up boy. Four follows his lead, slowly shuffling his way to the injured teen’s other side. Hyrule doesn't react. A good sign.

Or a really really bad sign.

Legend carefully places his arm around the traveling hero’s shoulders. “Hyrule, can I see your head? I need to-”

But the teen shakes his head and tenses up further, looking more akin to a Goron getting ready to roll.

“The Eyes…” Hyrule’s voice whispers from between clasped arms.

“The Eyes of Ganon are everywhere.”

Somehow, the rain gets colder.

“It’s okay,” Legend says, voice the most comforting Four thinks he’s ever heard it. The pink haired man places an open bottle of red potion into the other’s outstretched hand and then helps the injured teen to curl his fingers around the glass. Legend guides Hyrule’s hand up until the bottle reaches his lips, all the while, blank hazel eyes stare forward, unshifting.

Hyrule drinks from the bottle reflexively.

Four feels the other boy’s muscles uncoil little by little as his throat bobs to swallow. Wide eyes blink once, twice, three times and then finally refocus, dizziness replaced with slightly pained confusion.

The cut on his forehead scabs over and before he can stop himself, Four reaches up and brushes the blood from the side of Hyrule’s face with his own sleeve.

“Better?” Legend asks.

“Yeah. Better,” Hyrule replies. And then, with a wince, “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” Legend cuts him off. “Not your fault.”

“Still,” Hyrule says. His eyebrows furrow, confusion easily written on his face. “I… I don't know what came over me.”

“You were injured and confused,” Four says diplomatically, giving his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Part of him still wants to hug the other hero. He valiantly holds himself back. But only just. “It could have happened to any of us.”

“But it was more than that! I felt… It felt like…” Hyrule sighs, shaking his head and then stops, closing his eyes at the surge of pain that comes with the movement. “I guess it doesn't matter anymore.”

The traveling hero gingerly runs a finger along the edge of his scab, displeasure pulling at his lips.

“Do we have any bandages? Or something to cover this up?”

“Sorry, we just used the last of them to wrap Wild's ankle.”

The three heroes start and look up, surprised to see Twilight approaching them. As he walks closer, Four notices that the others are looking at them as well, and though concerned, none of them make any moves to get closer.

Good. The last thing Hyrule needs right now is a crowd.

Four had honestly forgotten that they had an audience. Albeit a captive audience but an audience all the same.

Judging by the slightly embarrassed tint to Legend’s face, so did he.

“It doesn't look like it's bleeding anymore,” Twilight continues, leaning down to get a better look at the now mostly closed wound. “You should be fine without anything, I think.”

“I know. I just don’t like going into town injured is all.”

That seems counterintuitive. Drops like a stone in water in the back of his mind, stirring up a few responses.

Maybe he just doesn't like freaking out the locals. Suggests one.

Based on this place, they’ve probably seen worse. Mutters a second.

Oh hey, guys, I think I’ve got something! Says the last, brightly.

An image flashes in Four’s mind. He nods.

Four reaches back and pulls at one of the loose ends of his makeshift hair tie. Sopping wet curtains of hair fall back around his face, the headband that he usually wears now sitting limp in his hand.

He takes both ends of the green ribbon and pulls it taut. Then he turns and lays it flat against Hyrule’s forehead. Leaning forward a bit more, he ties it gently but securely around the other’s head, mindful of the pain the other must be in.

When he sits back on his heels to examine his work, he realises that the others had fallen silent. Legend and Twilight stare at him while Hyrule sits, a small, shell shocked expression on his face. Four’s eyes jump back and forth between the three. Eventually he settles on a shrug and a neutral face.

“What? He needs it more than me.”

While sweet, I do believe that is wildly unsanitary.

Oh no! I’m sorry!

Don't worry about it! We all agreed.

A spike of annoyance.

Well, most of us agreed and the fourth didn't put up a fight. We’re not that far out of town anyway. We can get him clean bandages there.

Way to ruin the moment, asshole.

Despite the conversation in his head, outside it remains quiet. After another beat, Hyrule slowly runs a finger across the wet cloth now ties to his forehead.

When he brings his hand back to eye level, his fingertips come back wet but clean. No blood.

A small smile lights up Hyrule’s face, some color finally returning to his face.

“Thank you.”

…

After making sure everyone is okay, the group of heroes finally, finally makes it into town.

As they stumble through the gates, Four muses that if anyone were outside to witness them, they would be getting quite a few looks. Because… Well...

We look like shit.

Leading the group is Time, probably looking the least worn for wear when compared to the rest of them. However, Four notes that even the Old Man didnt get out of their absolutely joy filled trek unscathed.

As he strides further into town, head on a swivel for the store Hyrule had described to him, the Hero of Time walks with an odd gait, shifting his hips slightly to the left as he steps forward. Water must have penetrated the underlayer of his armor Four thinks with a wince. Poor Old Man must be chafing like there is no tomorrow under there.

Behind Time stumbles the procession of the wounded.

Or something like that.

Wind and Warriors walk together, the older hero keeping an eye on the younger as they enter the heart of the seemingly deserted town. The sailor keeps tugging on his makeshift sling: Warriors’ scarf looped twice around the young boy’s neck cradling his arm. Though not broken, Warriors had not accepted anything less than making sure it was wrapped and immoble, something that had Wind groaning and whining about being babied.

Twilight and Wild shuffle behind them, the champion’s left arm thrown over Twilight’s shoulders so the farmhand can help keep weight off the younger boy’s ankle. Though no longer swelling after a potion, the joint was still sore. Wild had assured them that after a good meal and some sleep he’d be fine, but Twilight insisted on helping him walk until they found a place to rest.

(“So you can't trip and drown yourself in the river,” Twilight had said derisively as he helped the teen stand up earlier. Said teen stuck his tongue out in response, but Four could see the affectionate smile tugging at the champion’s lips.)

Bringing up the rear is the triad of Sky, Legend, and Hyrule. The latter is not supported between the other two, but both older heroes damn near frog march the poor kid between them, each with a guiding hand on his upper arm.

The still slightly dazed teen walks slowly. He is wearing one of Wild’s hoods– the teen had felt so sorry about the whole incident, he jumped at the chance to make the traveling hero more comfortable, even if only for a moment– making it difficult to tell where exactly he was looking, but he turned his head slowly, searching.

“There!” he said, pointing to a building on the left.

Four follows his arm. The building in question is one of the few with a lantern out front. On a whole, the place looks worn down, like too stiff of a breeze would knock it down. It has a small overhang, probably for shade in the summer. From the rafters of the awning, hangs an old wooden sign suspended on rusted chains. A simple bottle design is painted on the molding planks in what was probably white paint at some point, but now looks chipped and faded into a shade Four would call ‘dirty snow.’

Light streams from the singular window out front, advertising warmth within.

“Do all of the houses have these?” Time asks, finger pointed up at the overhang. Hyrule nods in response.

“Okay.” The Old Man falls silent for just a moment. “Okay, here’s the plan. Hyrule, I want you to lead everyone to the house we will be staying in for the night. We don't want to alarm anyone with our wounded and I’m assuming there won't be enough room in the storefront for everyone.” He directs his last statement to Hyrule, who nods.

“Four, Wind,” Four feels his head tilt to the side at the mention of his name and thinks he sees the sailor do the same on the other side. “You’ll be with me. Everyone else, try to stay warm under the awning if at all possible.”

“Why do the brats get to go inside?” Legend asks sourly, causing Four’s metaphorical hackles to rise. Wind opens his mouth to spit something probably filled with expletives, at the other hero, but Time beats him to it.

“What kind of father would I be if I left my poor, injured sons outside in the rain?” He says, with what Four would call a mischievous smile on his face. If his bad eye wasn’t perpetually closed, Four would assume the Old Man would be winking at them too.

Maybe he is winking and we just can’t see it.

How does that work?

Aww, he called us his son!

Wait a minute…

“Now, hold on,” Four says, drowned out by six distinct laughs.

“I did NOT agree to be used as a prop!” Wind hisses above the din in agreement with Four’s sentiment, eyebrows pulled low and a glower plastered over his face. Yeesh, Four forgot how expressive Wind’s face was. Kid looks pissed.

Time raises his hands in surrender, his smile turning from mischief to frank in a second.

"Look, these people are scared. It’s a harsh world out there. If you were a shopkeep in a small town and nine heavily armed people entered demanding a place to stay, wouldn't that frighten you a little?” He doesn't wait for a response before continuing. “A father with his sons and a small band of injured travelers is a much easier story to swallow.”

“If you want to play the father, why don’t you take Twilight then?” Four asks, his voice somehow coming out both huffy and genuinely questioning. “You two at least look like you have a little bit of family resemblance.”

Time and Twilight share a look.

The oldest hero throws a hand behind his head, rubbing at his neck. Eyebrows up, smile sheepish. “Bringing in a soaking wet, pissed off farmhand wont make for quite as sympathetic a image.”

“You’re a manipulative bastard, you know that, right?” Legend says flatly.

“What? What do you mean?” Wind asks.

“He wants to bring the two of you in because you,” he points at Four, “look like a drowned rat. And you,” he turns to Wind, “look like a drowned rat with a broken arm.”

"Why don’t I break your arm? Then we’ll match!” Wind spits, marching over to Legend, who sports an unimpressed look on his face. Warriors grabs the back of the smaller hero’s sling, holding him back.

Four blows out a breath from between his lips, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

They, unfortunately, have a point.

You would be okay with lying.

If it’s to help everyone else, then yes, I am.

It’s demeaning!

It’s useful.

Four pinches harder. His head pounds.

Guys. Stop.

Please!

A blessed moment of internal silence.

Four can vaguely hear Wind telling Warriors to let him go. Wild eggs the younger boy on while Twilight threatens to drop the teen if he continues. Legend merely huffs, probably daring the kid to make good on his words. Time sternly tells them to keep it down, probably thinking of the townsfolk or Hyrule’s delicate head.

They ignores it all.

They take stock of how they feel. Angry. Loved. Embarrassed. Annoyed. Regretful. Tired. Hungry. Cold. Bruises on their knee, grass stains on their leggings. A friend’s blood on their sleeve. A splitting headache, but thankfully not a Splitting headache.

They’re not in a good place. Fighting will only make it worse.

Fine… I see your point…

Four’s hand pulls at the leather strap securing his sword to his back, pulling it over his head and off his shoulder. He wraps the worn leather around and around the sword, making sure the strap doesn't come loose and then he holds the blade out to a now silent and very confused looking Wild.

“Uhhhhh,” the champions says, “What are you doing?”

“If we are going to pretend to be normal kids, I figured we probably shouldn’t be armed.”

Four holds out the sword more insistently. Wild takes it gingerly, like it will bite him if he handles it too roughly. Or like it’ll break if he looks at it wrong. With his track record, that could actually be an issue.

“If you break it, I’ll break you,” Four hears pour out of his mouth with a hiss, and he wonders if his eyes are flashing cobalt at the moment.

Based on the way Wild’s eyes widen, Four guesses they are. Whatever. If it keeps the champion’s mitts off his sword, it's worth the weirdness. He knows the other teen can’t actually break the Four Sword– he’s too good a smith to make the magic sword that defined his era anything less than perfect– but he sure as hell doesn't want the teen touching it more than necessary either.

What a nightmare that would be.

Wind huffs, seeming to calm a bit. Warriors lets the teen go and the sailor strides up next to Four, roughly unstrapping his own sword and shoving it at Wild as well. It disappears with Four’s own, into the slate.

There is something about seeing his sword disappear, the ever present option suddenly taken away, that makes Four’s skin feel too tight. It’s like when you never realise you’re thirsty until suddenly you're out and about with nothing to drink. He feels itchy and too small. He wants to scratch at his head. No, the seams of his brain.

He stays his hand.

Legend rolls his eyes and turns away from the group, apparently done with the scene they’re making. He places a gentle hand back on Hyrule’s shoulder. The pressure seems to jolt the other hero, who until that moment had been spacing out.

“Lead the way. The sooner we can get everyone out of the rain the better.”

Hyrule nods. Sky takes up his old position at the traveler’s other side, and together the three start heading toward the bridge.

Wild throws his arm back over Twilights shoulder.

“I’ll take care of your stuff,” he says sincerely and then the two turn to follow the others at a slightly slower pace.

“Watch out for them?” Time asks Warriors as the other man turns to leave.

“Will do!” The captain shoots back with a smile and a salute then he’s gone, around the corner and out of sight.

With the others taken care of, Time turns back to look at them. Four keeps his face as stony as possible. Next to him, Wind scowls, tapping one foot on the ground repeatedly, a soft splat splat splat in the mud.

Time moves past them until he stands just in front of the door before he throws a look over his shoulder and beckons them forward.

“Oh, he so owes us,” Wind mutters as he and Four come to stand at the oldest hero’s side. Four nods in agreement.

“I’ll do most of the talking,” Time says. He glances down at Four. “You’re much too mature sounding for your own good.”

Before Four can ask what, exactly, that’s supposed to mean, Time has moved on to Wind. “And you keep your hands–hmm– hand to yourself. I know you have sticky fingers, little pirate.”

With that, the man pushes the door open and walks in.

“Don’t throw out your back opening the door, Dad,” Wind grumbles, sarcasm dripping from the final word.

“You’ll have to speak up, dear brother of mine. You know our father’s hearing is going.” Four mutters back.

They share a sour look for a moment, before small smiles break over their faces. Then quickly, before the door closes, they follow Time inside.

Inside, it is warm. While Four isn't exactly thrilled with the part he is playing, the warmth of the room is definitely an upside to the deal. Inside, it is also cramped. Like Time had predicted, the front room is small, with little room between the door and the counter, very much unlike his own shop.

Behind the counter, a woman’s humming is suddenly cut short at the sound of the door opening and closing. A head of mousy brown hair perks up and glances over the desk. There is a soft gasp and a smack as she drops what she was doing behind the desk and straightens up with wide and curious, amber eyes.

Interesting color.

Please, like we’re one to talk.

“Hello!” She greets cheerfully, though Four thinks he sees her eyeing Time’s sword. Huh. Though he misses it like a phantom limb, maybe it was for the best he left the Four Sword with Wild.

“I haven’t seen you all around here before. What can I do you for?”

Time smiles, charming but not too charming. Less flirty, more the rustic hospitality of a rancher. A real man of the people and all that nonsense.

“We’re just passing through. My sons and I were traveling with a group of merchants when we got caught in the storm. We ran into some problems,” Time says, gesturing to Wind and his slinged arm, “and now we’re just hoping to find somewhere to get us out of the rain.”

The woman gasps, a hand coming up to cup around her mouth.

“Oh you poor dears!” The woman exclaims. She leans over the desk–practically falling over it– to get a better look at Wind, who leans backward in response. “What happened?”

“I, uhhhhh, slipped and fell down a hill,” Wind says, taking a small step back.

The woman’s head snaps toward Four next, and suddenly, the smithy understands the other’s reaction. Her amber eyes are intense, burning with something unidentifiable. Maternal instinct? Maybe? Four wouldn’t know. Never really knew his mother.

“And what about you, dear?”

Four’s eyebrows furrow. He didn't think he looked all that bad. Definitely not visibly injured like the others. He glances down at himself to make sure nothing is out of place and– oh. The blood on his sleeve. Hyrule’s blood. Right.

“I cut myself on a bush,” Four lies smoothly.

“Hmmm, you have a couple of clumsy boys then,” the shopkeep says, eyes still locked on Four.

Okay, she’s freaky, right? Oh yeah Maybe she’s just bad at first impressions I wouldn't say we’re the best judge of normal anyway

Time laughs. Four thinks the Old Man is trying to sound agreeable, but it sounds more nervous. No. That’s not quite right. Uneasy. Ready to be done with the interaction and back with the others.

“They get it from me, unfortunately,” he says, making an aborted motion toward his face, his eye.

There is a beat of silence.

“So,” Time continues, “A place to stay…?”

The woman blinks, finally tearing her gaze from Four and leaning back onto her side of the counter. A kind smile slides its way back onto her face, like it’s her default expression.

“Yes. Yes of course. Just a moment.” She turns away, shifting through a drawer on the back counter. While she’s not looking, Wind shoots Four a look, face scrunched in question and good hand drawing small circles next to the side of his head.

Four shrugs in response.

Time smacks both of them on the back of their heads as the woman turns back around.

“Here we are,” the woman holds out a key, old and rusty. Time reaches into his wallet but the shopkeep shakes her head. “No, no. This one’s on the house. For your troubles.”

“We couldn’t possibly-”

“It’s no trouble at all,” She insists. “Old place could use some life in it after so long.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Time says uncertainly. “Can I at least buy a few of those in thanks?” he asks gesturing to the shelf of red potions.

The woman smiles. “Seems fair to me.”

Time finally pulls out some rupees, exchanging them for five bottles filled with scarlet, viscous liquid and the key.

With their business seemingly concluded, Wind and Four turn to see themselves out, but Time grabs them, holding them in place.

Four restrains a groan. Though he had enjoyed the warmth when they had first entered, now it felt heavy and oppressive in a way that even the heat of the forge never did. There was something about this place that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and his head feel fuzzy. Like he was being watched; watched by something other than the shopkeeper’s piercing amber gaze.

He wants to leave. Now.

“One more question if you wouldn’t mind,” the Old Man starts to Four’s chagrin. “While we plan to stay a few days to rest, we will be heading out at some point. We heard that there were increased monster sightings.”

The shopkeeper's head tilts at this, as though this is news to her.

“We were wondering if there was anyone we could talk to who might have some more information. Locations of sightings and the like so we can avoid those areas.”

She brings a hand to her chin and her eyes angle up and to the left in thought.

“Hmmm, well, you could go ask old Norman. He runs the bar in town. Gets lots of travelers through there. He might have heard of something.”

A smile suddenly stretches her lips. “Though he doesn't often talk for free. He might loosen up if you have a few drinks with him.”

Time nods at the information, sending her a smile in return.

“Thank you for all the help.”

The woman waves him off.

“My pleasure.”

They turn to leave and Four feels some tension leave his shoulders as Time grabs the doorknob and turns it, opening the door wide. Cold air rushes in and the smithy feels like he can breathe again.

“And kid.”

Both Four and Wind tense, look at each other and then turn. Her eyes are pinned firmly on the shortest hero’s sleeve; right over the dark stain of slowly blackening crimson. That odd, default smile still on her lips.

“Bandage that up soon, deary.”

Four nods his head rapidly and then quickly walks out the door to follow Time with Wind hot on his heels.

Though out of the room, Four still feels eyes on his back. He doesn't dare look around. Instead the smithy walks faster until he draws side by side with the older hero. Wind soon catches up, walking on Time’s other side.

As soon as they are far enough from the shop, Wind opens his mouth.

“Soooo, she was freaky right?” Time shoots him a look. “Nice, but like, in a freaky kinda way?”

Four nods, wordlessly.

“She was kind to us. That’s all that matters,” Time says sternly. “Now, let's find the others and get inside.”

…

Thankfully, it is not difficult to find the others. It is, afterall, a very small town.

After a quick debate over who gets the old, musty beds and who gets the floor– all of the injured heroes get beds and sips of Red Potion along with their dinner of Hearty Mushroom and Pumpkin Stew– the heroes quickly turn in for the night, tired from their long day.

By the time Four wakes up, light is streaming through the windows. Huh. It must have stopped raining sometime during the night. Based on the color of the rays, it’s past sunrise. Way past sunrise if their warm, yellow glow is anything to go by.

The smithy sits up from his bed roll, blanket pooling around his waist as he looks around.

Beside him, Sky sleeps peacefully, under his blanket but with limbs sprawled out. His mouth is open and he snores softly, deep, even breaths murmuring through the air.

In the small kitchen, Time, Legend, Twilight, and Warriors sit at the table, mugs of something warm and steaming in their hands as they talk. Their conversation doesn’t appear to be serious or even really a conversation at all. One hero will contribute something every so often, but as Four watches them, more often than not, the older heroes seem content to lapse in companionable silence.

Four disentangles himself from Sky. He's glad he doesn have to worry about waking the elder– the chosen hero sleeps like the dead– so he separates himself quickly and then pads quietly over to the kitchen.

“You let us sleep in,” he says in lieu of a greeting, taking the final seat at the table. Legend pours him a mug of the drink, which he discovers to be tea, and passes it into Four’s hands. Four takes a sip.

Ah perfect Too bitter Needs some milk Maybe a little honey

He breathes in the steam, letting it fill his lungs with herbal smelling air as warmth seeps into his stomach.

“The only thing on the schedule for today is going down to the bar and that won’t open until sometime after noon,” Time replies. “Besides, I thought everyone could use a rest after yesterday.”

“Hear hear,” Warriors agrees with a raised mug. Everyone takes a sip.

After that, the group falls back into a relaxed silence that Four has no trouble maintaining. Instead he sits and sips his tea, drinking in the rare moment of peace he finds himself experiencing.

Eventually, slowly but surely, the other trickle in: first Wild, then Hyrule, and then ending with a yawning Wind who trips over and wakes the still sleeping Sky.

After a quick breakfast, Time sets them loose for a bit of leisure time.

Warriors quickly demands a rematch in BS from Legend, who acquiesces with an easy, confident grin. The two rope in Twilight and Wind and sit around the now empty kitchen table with Legend quickly distributing cards. Looking at the makeup of the group, Four would say that Warriors has approximately a 5% chance of winning. Maybe 6% if he’s lucky.

Time and Wild take opposite corners of the living room, with the Old Man sitting down to polish his armor while the champion taps away at his slate, reorganizing his inventory.

(Wild had told him the night before that taking his and Wind’s swords had made the older hero realise how unorganized everything was. Pumpkins with shields, fish with monster parts…. Four really hadn't been listening, too preoccupied with the familiar, comforting weight being returned to his back)

Sky leans against the back wall whittling… something. Four wasn't sure what it was yet but based on what he saw of the chosen hero’s talent with a carving knife, he was sure it would be great by the end.

Four curls up next to the fire, book in hand to read.He opens the book and leafs through the pages to his desired chapter, settling in. After a few moments and a few pages, a green ribbon flutters and settles itself inside the crease of the book. His headband. The smithy looks up just in time to catch Hyrule as the other hero sits next to him, needle, thread and a tunic in hand to do some mending.

"You kept tucking your hair behind your ear," he says in lieu of an explanation. "You need it more than me."

"Besides," the traveler continues, with a smile. "Now it doesn't have my blood on it anymore!"

Four smiles back, tying the cloth around his forehead, his hair finally tamed once more.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

The small hero leans back over his book. Hyrule holds the needle up to his eye, trying to thread it.

They sit together, chatting every so often but mostly just sitting in each other's company, warmed by the fire.

It's nice. The room is quiet but full of murmuring, laughter from the card table, and the rhythmic sound of scrubbing.

To Four, it seems all too soon that Time calls them back around the table to discuss their plan.

And their plan, unfortunately, is complete bullshit.

“This is complete bullshit!” Wind hisses, voicing Four’s thoughts perfectly. Well, at least one of his thoughts.

“Wind,” Time says, voice that of a tired man who already knows his patience is going to be tried at least twelve more times over the course of this conversation. “You’re thirteen. They’re not going to let you into the bar anyway.”

“That just means I can’t be caught! I can still go on the mission!” he replies vehemently, pounding a fist on the table.

Time rubs at a spot between his eyebrows, just underneath the blue tattoo on his forehead. “First of all, what you are describing is breaking and entering. Secondly, this isn't a mission. We’re just going to get some information.”

“Oh, and I suppose you need four people to gather information?” Wild cuts in, face just as sour as Wind’s.

“Well, we sure as Hylia don't need nine,” Warriors replies in a similar state of exasperation as Time.

“Look, the four of us,” and here Time gestures to himself, Warriors, Twilight, and Sky, “Are the only ones who can get in without any questions asked.”

Wild and Legend let even heavier glowers darken their faces.

“We want to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible,” Time continues, ignoring the dirty looks being thrown his way. “Coming in with a big group or trying to argue with anyone will not help our case.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don't plan on drinking anything,” Sky puts in with a genuine expression of concern. Twilight slaps a hand to his tattoo, shaking his head.

“That’s not the point!” Wind huffs.

Time and Warriors share a look, which is then passed over to Twilight. The farmhand just shakes his head and the other two sigh.

“You were fine with splitting up before,” Warriors tries. “If this was just a run to the shop you wouldn’t fight so hard to come. What’s going on?”

“I’m tired of being treated like a kid. You all laughed at me and Four earlier!” The sailor says, chest puffed out. Four isn't sure if he should feel touched or offended that the younger hero feels the need to stick up for him. Whatever. He’ll figure it out later.

“And! And...” Wind looks lost for a second, like the air just went out of his sails. “I… Something just feels off. I don’t know.”

“I feel it too,” Four puts in, remembering the feeling of eyes on his back and prickling at his neck. Watching. Waiting. “I would feel better if we accompanied you as well.”

“And how do you suppose you do that?” Time asks, not exactly unkindly but with little sympathy in his words.

Well, the smallest hero can think of a way he could sneak in unnoticed. He had felt the presence of a portal near the center of town when they walked in. The others…

Silence reigns over the kitchen for a moment.

“Then that’s settled then,” Time says with finality. No room for argument.

Wind slumps a little, eyes going to the floor.

Without anything more to say, Time and Twilight head toward the door. As he passes by the sailor, Warriors gives the teen a soft punch on the shoulder and a quick smile.

“We’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back,” Sky reassures.

And then, with a swing of the door, they’re gone.

It is quiet for a moment, Wind staring at the now closed door.

Then he turns to face them, the disappointment dropping off his face like water off the back of a Zora. All business.

“So we’re going after them, right?” He asks.

Four feels a slow smile grow on his face and sees it mirrored by the others. Legend nods approvingly.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, kid.”

…

They wait a few minutes inside the house to let the others reach their destination before they sneak out. Hyrule, still feeling sensitive to the light– though Four also senses that the teen is probably feeling a small flare for the dramatic– leads them with Wild’s hood pulled over his head.

Once they cross the bridge into the other side of town where the bar is, the traveling hero pulls them behind one of the houses where there is a large break in the cobblestone wall protecting the town.

One by one, they slip through the crack. It leads them to a small, thin walkway in the space between the edge of a cliff leading up to Death mountain and the cobblestone. They have to sidle, backs against the crumbling stone, to move at all. It’s a little slowgoing, and more than a little uncomfortable, but it lets them move through town unseen.

Eventually, they come to another break and they shove their way through, coming out behind two buildings.

“How did you even know about this way?” Legend asks with a gasp as he squeezes through the gap in the stone.

“Oh you know,” Hyrule says, his smile peeking out from the shade of Wild’s hood, “When you get lost easily, sometimes you gotta find your own way.”

Legend shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the younger’s antics but doesn't comment.

The highest compliment he can give. Dry like the desert and so correct that Four almost nods at the comment.

“Okay, what exactly is the plan here?” Wild asks.

“Wow. I never thought I’d see the day you actually think before you act,” Legend replies with a single raised eyebrow.

Aaaaand he’s back.

Before Wild can grumble out a response, Legend continues. “I’m assuming the plan is sneak in, keep an eye out, and then get out in time to beat them back to the house.”

“Now,” Legend says, sweeping a critical eye over all of them. “How are you all getting in?”

“What about you?” Four asks, picking up on Legend’s odd word choice.

“Me?” he says in response, a cocky smirk on his face. “Well, I’ve got this.”

The veteran hero places his left hand on the wall of the building. Suddenly the golden bracelet on his wrist flares to life, the purple eye engraved on the band flashing brightly. Swirls of green and yellow magic twine around Legend’s body, gently shifting his red tunic. On the wall, green lines draw themselves into what looks like a painting frame.

The vines of magic tighten themselves around Legend pulling him closer, closer, into the wall and in a flash of light, Legend is gone.

Behind where he was standing, on the wall, sits a bold lined, chalk-like drawing of the hero.

The drawing’s oval shaped eyes snap open and a single line cuts across the bottom half of its face, curling up at its edges. A smile.

In a flash of purple, Legend exits the wall. He leans back against it, smug grin still in place as he observes their shocked expressions.

“So back to my question: how are you all getting in?”

Four’s eyes glance around their small group. Hyrule seems to be looking away, hood pointed downward toward the ground. Wild pulls out his slate and holds it up in front of his eyes, head sweeping back and forth, up and down as he searches for something. Wind meanwhile, scans around, eyes squinted.

The sailor’s eyes widen at the same time Wild makes a small noise of excitement.

“There!” They exclaim, both pointing at a spot higher up on the wall.

Sure enough, when Four follows their hands, he can see a metal grate cover what looks to be a small air vent. He has a few built into the back of his own house to help release steam and smoke from the forge without it entering the rest of the home, but can't help wondering what exactly its utility is here.

The two teens share a quick high five and then Wild begins swiping away at the screen. In the blink of an eye, the champion’s sky blue tunic and tan pants are replaced with navy blue leggings and a tight and lightly armored shirt with a red eye in the middle. A slim, white scarf wraps itself around the teens neck, leading up to his face which is partially covered with another piece of navy blue fabric clinging over the champion’s nose and mouth.

Wind, meanwhile, rummages around inside his Spoils Bag for a moment– with an alarming amount of dangerous sounding clanging, Four notices with some worry– before pulling out a grappling hook.

Using one hand to hold onto the slack and the other to spin the metal end, Wind winds up and with a final definitive swing, releases the hook end, launching it upward toward the roof. The hook skitters across the wooden shingles of the roof, a few of the more rotten tiles coming loose before the metal catches and holds.

Wind tests it a few times, pulling on the rope hard before he is satisfied.

“Okay,” Legend says as Wild finishes pulling the metal grate from the wall with his Magnesis Rune. “Three down. Two to go.”

Four glances at Hyrule who stares right back at him, as though waiting for the smithy to make the next move. Though the hood is obscuring part of his face, Four swears the other looks… nervous.

Maybe we aren’t the only one with something to hide.

Either way, this isn’t going to work.

Hey! We’re losing time here people!

You might be onto something there...

Four sighs. “Look, we’re already losing time. You three go in, Hyrule and I will figure it out.”

Legend looks like he wants to argue but with a flash of hazel from underneath a hood, he drops it.

“Fine. If we need to leave, I’ll give this signal,” The veteran says as he holds up two fingers and then flicks them downward twice.

“And if we have to fight?” Wind asks, face serious once more.

“You’ll know that signal when you see it,” Legend says.

With a final nod, the pink haired hero sinks into the wall, becoming a drawing once more. Large, circular eyes, flick over the group one more time before he’s off, walking along the wall until he disappears through a crack between the backdoor and its frame.

Using the rope, the two blond teens quickly make their way up to the vent. Wind delves inside first, crawling easily through the opening in the wall. Wild follows closely behind, throwing a hand out to give a wave to Four and Hyrule before he too disappears from sight.

“So, I’m going to just, uh,” Hyrule starts once everyone is out of sight, pointing to the left of the building.

Four cuts him off. “No need to explain. I’ll meet you in there.”

Hyrule flashes him a thankful smile and then jogs around the corner of the building and away from Four’s eyeline.

“Oh yeah,” Four’s voice says to no one in particular as he turns around the opposite corner of the bar. “Definitely hiding something.”

“Pot meet kettle,” His voice replies in the darkness of the alley way.

…

Four isn't sure whether he should feel grateful or concerned about the fact that the bar seems to have a rat problem.

On the one hand, he muses as he pulls himself up onto a ledge containing a few decorative pots, it had made it very easy to get into the building; simply enter the rat hole and follow the tunnel to an opening out into the main room.

On the other hand, his friends are patrons of said establishment. And even though Four knows rats are relatively hygienic– And cute!– he can't help but shutter as he watches Warriors eat a piece of bread.

Regardless, it had been very easy to enter the bar once he was the size of a minish.

Easy to enter, easy to find his friends.

From his vantage point on a relatively high shelf situated near the front of the room, Four can see almost the entire layout of the bar.

Quietly playing cards near the door are two older men, regulars Four would guess by their relaxed nature and easy smiles. Near the left corner in a small alcove sits an ancient looking woman, slumped over and nursing a half-full bottle of something red.

The people that Four is actually interested in, however, seem to have split themselves up. To cover more metaphorical ground or to appear less intimidating, Four would assume.

Sky and Warriors have taken a small table for themselves, a loaf of bread and some butter between them. There is a half full tankard in Warriors’ hand and a completely full one in Sky’s, with the former jeering on the latter to drink. The chosen hero gives a sheepish smile and takes a sip, foam sticking to his upper lip causing Warriors to break out in laughter.

Though jovial and loud, Four can see that the captain’s eyes are clear and bright. Not buzzed, then, simply acting. Making himself seem like an easy target. Someone to underestimate. Smart.

Twilight and Time, meanwhile, sit at the bar talking. Four can see that they too seem to have drinks in their hands, but neither man appears to have had any yet. Polite purchases then.

From his position on the front wall, Four can also make out the exit of the vent that Wind and Wild were using. Though dark, the smithy thinks he might see some movement behind the grate, but other than that, the two don't give themselves away.

Legend is being similarly sneaky.

While Four had been too late to see the other move into position, after quite a bit of searching, he can just make out a singular outlined eye peeking from behind a stack of crates in the other corner of the bar.

Figures. Four should have known that Legend would be good at this sort of thing.

A soft scuffling sound in the rafters draw’s Four’s eyes upward. At first, the smithy wonders if perhaps there were some Minish up there that he had somehow missed on his first pass through the building. But then, a ball of pink light flashes from between the wooden support beams, moving frantically up, down, and around the rafters.

A fairy huh How did one get lost in here Oh poor thing must be so confused

Eventually, however, the fairy seems to settle down, the pink light landing on one of the beams and simply resting there.

Four leaves it be.

Besides, he has more important things to worry about instead of a wayward magical entity. Notably, Hyrule’s absence.

He should be here by now, right? Crashes into his brain like an errant wave.

Maybe he’s already here and we just can't see him? Flares back, the statement tilting upward into a concerned question by the end

He is the most magically adept. Who knows what he has up his sleeve. A steady breeze. Comforting.

“What? Not good enough for you?” A gruff voice breaks through Four’s mind, bringing him back to the present.

He follows the voice until his eyes land back at the bar. There, the bartender is eyeing Time and Twilight, top lip pulled up in a distasteful snarl. The man is middle aged, pot-bellied and balding, with a thin semi-circle of salt and pepper hair at the crown of his head. Bushy brows are aimed downward as he levels a purposeful look to their still filled cups.

Twilight takes a big sip and then nods his head approvingly. Time merely smiles at the man.

“Sorry, we got a bit caught up in our conversation.”

The bartender grunts in response, and then turns to begin organising the multicolored bottles lined against the back wall. Twilight shoots Time a look and shrugs. The older hero sighs and nods.

Then, the two heroes clink their cups together and throw their heads back while chugging, both polishing off their drinks in a matter of seconds. Twilight's nose wrinkles at the taste and Time’s good eye twitches minutely.

Four winces in sympathy. His grandfather had let him steal sips of beer before. He knows what it tastes like.

Seriously. The things they do to protect Hyrule.

Time knocks lightly but politely on the bar. The man turns back, with first a surprised and then a considering look on his face as he sees the now empty cups.

“Another round, please,” Time says.

“And one here too, if you would!” Warriors calls out, slapping Sky on the back for a job well done. Two empty cups sit at their small table.

The bartender nods, his lips minutely twitching upward as he sets about gathering their cups and refilling them. As the man passes out from behind the bar to grab the mugs from the other two’s table, Time sends the captain a look, which is returned with a wink.

Four settles in against one of the pots, the cool ceramic sinking through his tunic and cooling his back.

This is gonna get interesting.

…

And interesting it was. After the second round of drinks, Sky taps out. Well, he taps out in so much as he slumps over the table, face down and breathing deeply.

After his drinking buddy conks out, Warriors moves to the bar, taking the stool on Twilight’s other side, sandwiching the farmhand in the middle of the two oldest heroes.

It is after the three finish their third round that the bartender seems to warm up to them. Well, at least Four thinks the bartender has warmed up to them. He had gone from outright glaring at the heroes to only offering the occasional huff of irritation combined with polite if stilted conversation.

It’s progress. Kind of.

“So, you four are from out of town then?” he asks, nodding toward the sleeping Sky to indicate him in the group as well.

Time nods, taking another sip from his cup. “My sons and I were traveling the roads when we came across their merchant group.” He says as he shoves an elbow lightly into Twilight’s side, causing the foaming head of the younger man’s drink to spill over onto the pelted hero’s fingers.

Twilight simply glares at the old man, but the action leaves Four staring at the group intently. Only three drinks in and already losing spatial awareness…?

“We thought it would be safer to travel together, what with all the monster sightings,” Warriors picks up, sending a quick look to Time.

“Wise,” the man says with a nod. Then his face darkens and he all but slams the cup he had been cleaning back onto the bar. “Especially now that that damn brat of a hero up and vanished,” he says with a hiss, eye bright and lips pulled back in distaste. “Fucking coward.”

Four feels his blood go cold at the comment. Anger rises in him, an unstoppable tide of emotion roiling in his chest and begging to slam upward and out of his throat with a nasty comment. He beats down the instinct, pressing himself more fully against the pot behind him. Grounding.

Time’s face goes hard and cold. Twilight’s hand tightens minutely on the handle of his cup. The jovial light leaves Warriors eyes for a moment, before the captain plasters an understanding smile back on his face.

Above him, Four notices that the scuffling from the fairy has resumed but the smithy doesn't pay it any mind. Instead, the small Link takes another quick glance around the bar. Same men in front. Same lady in the alcove. Same Sky dozing peacefully at the table. Still no sign of Hyrule.

Maybe it’s better that way.

“He probably has a lot to do, taking care of the other villages and such. I’m sure he’s trying his best,” Warriors grits out with a smile, trying to strike the delicate balance between defending their friend and trying not to appear too contradictory to the man they were trying to get information out of.

The man just rolls his eyes and grunts back.

“Anyway,” Time cuts in, obviously trying to get the conversation back on track , “Have you heard much about these monster sightings? We wanted to make sure to avoid anywhere too dangerous on our way out.”

“Leaving so soon?” The bartender asks.

“Unfortunately yes. My sons and I were hoping to get home as soon as possible.”

“And we were hoping to be headed to our destination tomorrow, providing the weather holds,” Twilight says.

Four watches as a smile pulls at the bartender’s lips. It looks more like a grimace and Four wonders if the man even knows how to express any form of emotion other than irritation.

“Well then,” he says, gathering up the heroes’ cups. He turns to the back wall and pulls out the small barrel he had been using to fill their drinks and pours, filling the cups back up to the brim.

“We really shouldn’t–” Time tries to get out, but the man ignores him, instead sliding the glasses back in front of the three. Then, he quickly turns back to the bottles on the back wall and selects one for himself, pouring the red liquid into a cup and holding it out.

“To safe travels,” he announces.

“To safe travels,” the three heroes chorus back, with less enthusiasm, holding up their own glasses.

And then the four drink.

And as they drink, Four watches as the bartender’s eyes remain locked on the heroes, watching to see them finish their drinks.

Four feels his blood go as cold as the pot behind him.

Shit.

Time and Twilight almost throw the cups from their lips, disgusted expressions on their faces as they do.

Warriors, having stood up to take the biggest swig of the three, slams his glass down and coughs. As he tries to get a handle on his breathing his knees begin to shake. The captain sits back heavily onto his stool, a dizzy expression pulling at his handsome features.

“That one…” Warriors starts before his tongue seems to get tied. His eyebrows furrow and he blinks his eyes a few times, trying to clear them. “That one tasted different,” he finishes, sounding like he was speaking through numb lips.

“Oh it would,” the bartender admits easily, turning his back on the heroes to push the barrel back into place. “A higher dosage will do that to a drink.”

Time and Twilight slam themselves away from the bar, mirroring each other as they clumsily pull their swords from their scabbards. Warriors trips over his stool as he follows them, but instead of pulling out his own weapon, stumbles toward a table. His old table.

“S-Sky!” he slurs urgently, shoving at the chosen heroes shoulder. “Wake up!”

Sky’s face doesn't even twitch. His breathing remains deep and even. Unnaturally so.

In the front of the bar, the two men playing cards have stopped their game, once relaxed smiles going sharp and wide. They stand, cards forgotten as they slowly approach the heroes, hands turning to claws as they close in.

The woman from the alcove straightens and for the first time Four can clearly see her face. Her nose is large and flat against her face, nostrils flared. Her eyes are wide apart and yellow, without pupils. Where her mouth should be is instead a muzzle, full of sharp teeth and dripping the red substance she had been drinking earlier.

Blood. One part of his mind supplies helpfully.

Her once hylian looking ears grow and grow and grow until they are massive, pointing upward and ridged on the inside. She stands on thin, spindly limbs and two wings pull themselves from her back, the membrane between the– fingers? They appear to be keese people so technically wouldn’t those be fingers? But they're on her back? I don't think that's important right now!– the membrane between the ridges of her wings are thin and clearly veined in the firelight of the bar.

The man behind the bar turns back to the heroes, having undergone a similar transformation, a gleeful smile showing off fangs.

Warriors, unable to rouse Sky, instead pulls the young man from the stool and drags his body to Twilight and Time’s side. That accomplished, the captain tries to pull himself to his feet, but his knees fail him, leaving him slumped on the floor with his back against the bar and an unconscious Sky next to him. He grabs the Master Sword from Sky’s back and holds it in front of himself defensively.

Time and Twilight flank themselves on either side of the incapacitated heroes, though Four notes with mounting horror that they are not uneffected by the drink either. Twilight keeps shaking his head,trying to clear his vision and Time’s grip on his sword looks weak, like the blade is too heavy for his arm.

We have to get in there! A tsunami of anger and fear sending his heart jumping from his chest to his brain to his stomach to his ribs.

We need a plan first! Blisters back, a whirlwind of thoughts tearing at Four’s brain as he tries to run through options. He needs a portal. Now.

He focuses on the old magic he knows so well, letting the bubbling feeling of its energy settle in his chest. It crackles under his ribs, a fire sparking at fresh wood, filling him with warmth. Slowly, the sparks pull inward, filling his lungs with popping energy. He breathes out, the sparks flying up and out and leading him forward. And… there!

Down in the alcove the old keese-woman had been occupying, a lone blue and white pot sits, tipped on its side.

Go Go Go Go Gogogogogogogo!

Wait! Screeches a third, a bolt of lightning splitting a tree, the thought spreading through his mind like a forest fire. The others! What about the signal?

Four’s eyes flash down toward the corner Legend was occupying.

The hero turned drawing has pulled himself out from behind the boxes, now his entire head and one arm visible. His hand moves frantically, palm facing out. He cycles through four positions over and over and over again, hand shaking slightly back and forth, as though making sure he catches only the attention of those who might be looking at him.

He holds up three fingers. Then he curls his hand into a fist, thumb resting outside the fist against the pointer finger. His pinky then sticks out, the thumb coming to rest over his other three fingers. Finally, his hand clenches back into a fist, thumb tucked under the pointer finger, it’s tip sticking out from the knuckles of his hand.

W-A-I-T

Screw that! We need to help them now!

No, Legend is right. If we jump in now, we could compromise the situation. Make them angrier. More likely to fight. If they think they have the upper hand, they may let something slip.

And if we wait for the signal, at least we know one other person is jumping in with us. A more coordinated assault.

Four’s hand twitches over the pommel of the Four Sword, a finger tracing the gem there. He draws the blade but just holds it at the ready. A compromise.

“What did you put in our drinks?” demands Time as he levels the Biggoron sword at the bartender. The man? Keese? laughs with a squeaky voice, the sound grating on Four’s ears.

“Just something to help you relax,” he says, amber eyes alight with satisfaction. “It seemed to have worked just fine on your friend there, but you three needed a larger dose. I’m honestly impressed.”

Using two clawed fingers, he pushes the sword away from his face, grin widening as Time’s grip on the pommel falters.

“Stop playing with your food and cut to the chase,” hisses a new voice impatiently.

Across from him, the grate over Wind and Wild’s hiding place rattles. Four clamps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from shouting out.

I knew it Just as I suspected Well shit But she seemed so nice!

And low and behold, the woman from the shop emerges from the back room, nose flat and flared, massive ears back in anger and amber eyes lacking pupils.

“You.” Time says, words coming from between gritted teeth. He brings his other hand up, now using both arms to hold up the sword. Beside him, Twilight’s blinks are getting longer and slower as he faces down the three monsters approaching them from the back.

The Master Sword clatters to the ground as Warriors slumps over completely, practically laying on top of Sky.

The shopkeep narrows her eyes at Time.

“Where is the hero?” She demands, flexing a hand to display her claws.

“I don't know what you mean.” Time replies coldy.

The woman hisses, air slicing between her fangs. “Don’t bother lying! That kid of yours had his blood on his sleeve. I could smell it!”

Our fault...

Without pausing, the woman fishes around in the pocket of her dress for a second before she pulls out another key, the bronze flashing in the dim light of the bar.

“I went to the house,” Four’s stomach drops to his feet. “Your brats weren't there. Are they in on it? Where are you hiding him?”

Time’s eyes widen at her words, the drugs probably muddling his head enough to make it difficult for the man to try to hide any of his feelings.

She tilts her head at his expression and then sneers at him.

“You thought they were still there,” she says voice disbelieving and flat. A sardonic laugh pushes it’s way past thin lips. “Man, you must be a real shit father if you can’t keep track of two injured kids.”

The shopkeep stalks forward, closer to Time. Meanwhile, the bartender loops around the otherside, closing in on the old man’s blind side. The three others staring down Twilight move forward, snarling.

Despite everything telling him to watch his friends, Four keeps his eyes glued to Legend.

Wait. C’mon, c’mon! Stay calm! Ughhh!

“They smell like him,” The bartender says conversationally. “And not just that they’ve been around him. Something about them smells… familiar.”

“If we can’t find the brat, maybe we could just use their blood instead,” Pipes up one of the card playing men as he eyes Twilight, not daring to step any closer with a blade still held pointed at his chest.

“No!” the shopkeeper spits, amber eyes ablaze and lips pulled into a snarl. “It has to be him! For the power he stole from our master! For stealing this world from us! A drop of blood for every monster he ever killed.”

Wait for it…

“I want to see the light leave his fucking eyes as the world comes down around him.”

An eruption of purple and an arm pulling itself from the wall sets several things in motion at once.

A sharp slam echos through the room as a metal grate strikes stone. The skittering from above resolves into a heavy clunk as something heavier drops from the rafters. Four takes a running leap and dives off the shelf, Roc’s cape billowing behind him as he slices through the air, a tiny arrow aimed straight toward the pot.

He slams into the back of the ceramic, and the bubbling, popping, geyser of magic erupts inside him. It jumps from his chest, condensing into blue runes that jump and jive and dance around his head, circling circling circling. The energy still in his chest breathes in, breathes out, and then expands, pushing at his bones, pushing at his skin. Four feels the magic push past his physical boundaries, and the smithy throws himself out of the pot as he grows.

Four brandishes the Four Sword in front of him.

Across from him, Legend stands in the fading purple light of his own magic, flame rod in one hand and a shield in the other. He looks angry. Angrier than Four thinks he’s ever seen the veteran hero look, canines bared in the cruelest smile the smithy has ever witnessed.

Wind stands triumphant in front of the unconscious Warriors and Sky, Phantom Sword held out in challenge for anyone to get near.

Wild, meanwhile, kneels on the bar, strightbacked as he aims his bow at the three monsters who had been approaching Twilight. Three electrical arrows sit knocked against the champion’s string, barely restrained by his knuckles.

And behind those surprised monsters, stands Hyrule.

For the barest of seconds, hazel eyes cloud over with regret. Guilt. But then that second ends. A pink, golden glow seems to blossom in Hyrule’s eyes, a beautiful dahlia growing in his pupils. The smell of ozone fills the air. Sparks of electricity hiss and sputter between the brunets fingers, dancing to an unseen beat.

The traveling hero extends his hand to the shopkeeper.

“You want me? Come and get me.”

And then everything explodes.

The shopkeeper lets out a scream of fury, her wings flapping thunderously to propel her toward Hyrule. Four lunges forward, slashing into the keese person closest to him; the old woman. She lets out a hiss as the blade bites into her shoulder and then a scream as her body seizes up. Her wings twitch and convulse unnaturally, arcs of greenish, yellow energy crawling over her skin.

Wild must have released his barrage, Four thinks, if the two matching screams are anything to go by.

Time dives forward, stabbing one of the card players while Twilight takes a large step forward, letting the momentum of the movement throw him into a spin attack, his sword scoring deep lacerations into the monsters’ stomachs.

Almost makes this too easy. Part of him thinks viciously as Four takes the moment of vulnerability to drive the Four Sword through the hag’s chest. Her scream cuts off as the pain causes her lungs to freeze in their tracks. A claw rakes across the smithy’s arm but he ignores it, pressing the blade in deeper.

She coughs, and blood– her own or perhaps others– splatters into Four’s face and hair. The glow behind her yellow eyes fades and then in a plume of noxious black smoke, she is gone.

A blast of heated air pushes into Four’s face, almost causing him to close his eyes against the warmth. In front of him, a tower of swirling flame erupts from the wooden floor, engulfing the bartender. His screams rise, too high to be human as the smell of burnt hair and skin clogs the air. The light of the flames dances in Legend’s eyes as the screeches slowly fade away, no sympathy in poisonous blue eyes.

Seeing the last two monsters staggered from Twilight’s hit and frozen with fear from Legend’s display, Four rolls to the floor behind them, dragging his sword across the back of their knees as he moves past.

One falls forward with a cry, soon silenced as Wind slashes into his neck with the Phantom Sword. The other falls backward, another arrow sticking from his eye courtesy of Wild.

Legend strides through their fading smoke, fire rod glowing and held at the ready to help Hyrule.

The traveling hero thrusts his shield forward, blocking a wide arching slash from the woman’s claws. The nails hit the metal with a clang. She changes tactics, gripping the sides of the sheild with both hands, pulling Hyrule closer to her gnashing teeth.

While she goes for the face, Hyrule aims low, slashing into her legs with his sword. With a cry, she lets go of the shield and turns quickly, slamming one of her wings into the unsuspecting hero, knocking him back a few steps.

Legend takes advantage of the brief moment of separation, swinging his fire rod in a downward arc. A wall of fire flares between the two combatants, separating the snarling woman from the panting hero.

By the time the flames die down, Hyrule is flanked by both Legend and Four, weapons and shields raised. To the side, Wild raises his bow once more and Wind readies a boomerang.

“Last words?” Legend asks.

The woman doesn't even look at the veteran, amber eyes locked on Hyrule. Her eyes trace a single bead of blood that rolls from the teens bottom lip where the skin has split from the force of her wing attack.

“We’ll never stop, hero,” she says, spitting the last word with all the venom in the world. “You will never know a moment of peace! Not until that cowardly little heart of yours beats its last.”

Her face suddenly lights up with glee, eyes flicking between Hyrule and Legend and then back to all the others, landing on each one of them in turn.

“They don’t know, do they?” She asks, voice squeaky with her giggles, fear mingling with the laughs, making them sound desperate and breathy. Her amber eyes sweep over them. “If you knew what power lies in his blood, you’d be tripping over yourselves to kill him too.”

A sharp, bark of laughter cuts through the air. Legend steps more fully in front of the woman, shoving the fire rod in her face as he cuts off her line of sight from Hyrule.

“Okay, listen here you overgrown piece of guano, ‘cause I’m feeling generous. I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he says.

“Ever heard of the Hero of Legend?” Her flat nose scrunches and her ears flick in confusion. At her tentative nod, the veteran hero pulls at one end of his tunic, as he gives a small mocking curtsey. “A pleasure, I’m sure,” he says with a nasty smile.

"So if you’ve heard of me, then you know what I did?” he asks, staring at her intently.

“You supposedly killed Ganon,” she says, eyes wide. Legend clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Partially right.”

The spherical red orb on the end of the fire rod glows brighter and Four sees the air around it grow shimmery, heat radiating off it as Legend holds it closer to the keese woman. She shrinks away from it, her back hitting the wall.

“See, I’ve killed Ganon three times.” He presses the fire rod closer, the outer edge of the orb now licked with small flames. Blue eyes are locked with amber, an ocean pulling the sun into its depths at the end of the day, drowning it. “I’ve traveled through time, fixing the past to change the future. I’ve changed the seasons with the flick of a wand. I’ve walked through the cracks of the universe and came out fine on the other end.”

“I’ve woken sleeping gods,” he grits out. Legend finally seems to come back to himself pulls and himself back away from the monstrous woman. Four watches as she relaxes minutely as the hero steps away, standing at Hyrule’s side once more.

“I’ve seen enough power. Not interested.” With a small circle of the rod, embers erupt around the woman, a tight circle of small fires pinning her in place. She lets out a sharp gasp as the flames slink in closer and grow like terrifying bright poppies.

“I don’t know where you all go where you die but tell your friend this: if I find even a hair out of place on his head, he won't be the one who has to worry about being hunted, got it?”

Before she can get out a response, the fires converge, twining together first into a cage and then a singular pillar. It flares up up up toward the ceiling, the heat so great that Four finds himself stumbling backward from it, wishing he had his protective gear and goggles on.

And then, just as fast as it had flashed upward, the fire extinguishes itself, only a blackened spot on the ground and a swirl of purple smoke a sign that it had ever existed.

“Good.”

SIlence reigns over the now empty bar, all eyes locked on Legend.

Holy shit. Rises like a bubble to the surface of Four’s mind.

“Holy shit,” says Wind. Four nods at the sentiment. Because really, there isn’t anything else to say.

…

Getting everyone back to the house is a production.

Wind, using his power bracelets, bridal carries the unconscious Warriors the whole way back, a smug smile on the sailor’s face as the captain’s scarf drags behind him in the mud. Legend takes up a similar job, but instead carries the still snoring Sky slumped over on his back in a very awkward looking piggyback ride.

Wild supports a dizzy looking Twilight, in an ironic reversion of the day before. Time, whose legs seem to have failed him completely, is hunched over Hyrule and Four’s own shoulders as the two younger heroes all but drag the older man through the streets of Saria Town.

Once again, Four has to thank the goddesses for making sure not too many citizens witness their procession. Not for the first time since they’ve arrived here, the smithy is glad that this isnt his Hyrule. He won't have to be the one to explain this.

Thankfully, they’re able to get back to the house without incident.

“They’ll be fine,” Hyrule says with a weary smile as he and Legend leave the room they had designated as the infirmary. Four lets a breath of air out through his lips. Beside him, Wild and Wind visibly relax as well.

“They’ll just have some pretty nasty hangovers tomorrow,” Legend puts in, with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

“So, you’re saying I can’t scream ‘Told you so’ as soon as they wake up?” Wind asks, head tilted and face innocent.

Legend shrugs his shoulders. “It would be a real dick move. But we deserve payback so, go nuts, kid.”

“On the topic of what just happened,” Hyrule cuts in, eyes cast down to the floor, “I wanted to apologize to everyone.”

The traveling hero clutches at his chest, hand fisted in his green tunic.

“I told you all it was safe here. And I-I was wrong about that,” the teen’s voice catches in his throat. He swallows thickly a few times and then finally raises his head, looking at each of them in turn with sorrowful hazel eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Wild shakes his head vigorously. “There was no way you could have known this was going to happen.” Hyrule opens his mouth to argue, but the champion barrels forward, voice powerful. “It’s never your fault that people want to kill you for being you. That's not something you can control and definitely not something to apologise about,” he says. Empathy burns in the champion’s eyes, and for a second, Four wonders if Wild is reciting someone else’s words.

Words that he has heard himself a million times and internalized. Words that are etched into his brain.

Hyrule looks like he wants to argue further, but Legend places a hand on the younger hero’s shoulder, capturing his attention. He shakes his head once, eyes intent. The traveling hero slumps under the other’s gaze.

“Thanks,” he manages, a weak smile pointed at them

WIld brightens. “No problem. Now,” he says, changing the subject and trying to lighten the mood. “Dinner.”

Wind immediately perks up. “Soup! Soup! Soup!” He chants, following behind Wild as the older heads toward the kitchen.

“We had soup last night.”

“Not seafood soup! That’ll make everyone better in no time!”

Their voices fade as they turn out of the hallway and into the living room.

Hyrule and Legend make no move to follow them. Neither does Four.

The tentative smile that had fallen onto Hyrule’s face crumbles, leaving him somber. Resigned. There are bags under his eyes, Four notes suddenly with a hint of worry. He wonders how much magic the other hero had just used to make sure their friends were stable. He wonders how tired the other must be.

“I’m assuming you want answers,” Hyrule says, looking more exhausted and sad with each word. “What she said about me–”

“I don't care about that,” Four says, causing Hyrule’s head to pop up and eyes widen in slight surprise. “It wasn’t her secret to tell.”

All of the events from the past two days: The injuries, the anger, fear, regret, all of it adds fuel to the fire burning through Four’s chest and searing into his brain. The fire that tells him to comfort and protect.

We can hug him now, right? The fire asks, bright and hopeful and maybe just a little bit desperate for physical affection.

Yes. Comes a reply, easy as a summer breeze.

Ughhh do we have to? Ever the rain cloud on a sunny day.

Don’t play coy. Says the last.

Four’s arms slowly encircle Hyrule’s middle, allowing the other time to pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn't, the smithy leans into the embrace and squeezes. The traveling hero doesn't respond at first, muscle tensed and breath caught in his throat. However, slowly but surely, warm arms fold themselves around Four’s back and Hyrule’s chin comes to rest on the top of the smithy’s head.

“What information you choose to share with us is yours to decide,” Four says against the other’s chest, the words almost sounding too formal for the situation at hand, but heartfelt nonetheless. “I won’t think any less of you if you want to keep this to yourself.”

Four feels Hyrule nod, the older’s chin leaving the top of his head for only the barest of moments.

They stand like this for a moment. Eventually, Hyrule’s grip on him lessens, indicating to Four that he should let go. Part of him doesn't want to. Hell, actually, all of him doesn't want to. He does anyway.

Legend lets out an awkward cough, that almost has Four rolling his eyes as he and Hyrule fully pull apart.

Really, the vetreran hero had the emotional range of a Deku Scrub. No, less than that. A Leever.

“Maybe a smaller secret would be easier to start with?” Legend suggests, with a raised eyebrow and and a smile. “Namely, how the holy Hylia both of you got into the bar? Both of you seemed to appear out of thin air when I gave the signal.”

Four and Hyrule look at each other and then back at Legend.

“Trade secret.” Four says with a smile as he walks past the older hero and into the living room. Behind him, Hyrule lets out a sharp snort of laughter while Legend makes a mock offended noise at being brushed off so easily.

There was a sound from the rafters and then Hyrule appeared, right?

Hmmmm

Four lets a laugh bubble up from his throat.

Yes. A smaller secret indeed.

#lu alone together #lu four #lu legend #lu wind #lu hyrule #lu wild #everyone has a part tho so like yeahhhhhhhh #this shit is so long holy fuck #I would maybe recommend just reading it on ao3 like thats how long it is #anyway hope y'all like!!!#tw blood #linked universe #train writes

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