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fanmoose12 · 4 years ago

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at the coastline of memories

For the longest time, Hange had been lost.

(or a fic about amnesiac!hange, based on that one ask i’ve received ages ago)

Hange wakes up, and the world is still dark. She blindly reaches to the bedside table, lights up the gas lamp on, grabs her glasses and puts them on. The world comes into focus and Hange glances at the opposite wall, checking the time.

4:32

She curls her lips in a slight smile. She woke up just in time.

She swings her legs of the bed and yawns, stretching her limbs. She gets up and heads to the kitchen, putting a kettle on a stove and firing it up.

While the kettle heats up, she moves to the bathroom, grabbing a soothing balm on her way.

Once there, Hange takes off her glasses and starts applying the balm, carefully smearing it all over her face.

The burns don't hurt anymore, at least not as much as they did in the beginning. Hange learned how to live with it just as she learned how to live with not knowing how she had received these burns or how she got there - to the middle of nowhere, on a coastline next to a ruined structure that she could only guess was once a port.

Finished with her face, Hange moves to her hands, applying the balm to the inside of her fingers and the backside of her palm. The balm cools her still tender wounds and Hange softly signs, relishing in the pleasant feeling.

The whistle of a kettle shakes her up and Hange whirls around, hurrying to turn it off. She gives another look at the clock, worrying her lip between teeth as she sees that it's past quarter to five. It's only the beginning of spring and the sun doesn't raise up that early at this time of year, but Hange feels a pressing need to hurry. She can't be late, not today, not after she spent weeks, chasing the mysterious man.

The man that had been visiting Hange's cabin for as long as she was living there. He brings her food, medicine, clothes and other supplies. Sometimes he even goes as far as to bring her little gifts - books, flowers and sweets.

He never shows his face, though. He never approaches Hange, never talks with her. Whenever she attempts to catch him, he disappears without a trace. She has only ever seen him from far, in the rare moments when she was lucky enough to catch him leaving her cabin. Frustratingly so, he does his best to remain hidden.

Hange doesn't understand it. The man - for whatever reason - obviously cares about her. Then why is he so dead set on staying away? Why doesn't he let her express her gratitude at least?

She thinks every night about it. She curses her mind for forgetting.

Her previous life exists only in the flashes of sound and images. They're bright, loud, blurry and swift. Hange can't make sense of them no matter how hard she tries. It frustrates her to no end, makes her want to tear out what little hair is left out on her scalp, but nothing comes back to her.

She's sure that the man is important, she's almost sure that he was a part of her old life. What reason does he have to help her now after all?

But the man doesn't want to see her, and Hange needs to see him, so she resorts to different methods. He won't be running away from her anymore, she is going to make sure of that.

With that in mind, Hange pours hot water in two cups, adding tea leaves to it. She throws some sugar in her cup, but hesitates to do the same with the cup she's preparing for that man. She doesn't know why, but it feels wrong.

Your sugary shit destroys the true essence of tea, she suddenly remembers. For the life of her, she can't recall who has said that to her. Or when. Or why.

Deciding to tackle this issue some other time, Hange goes back into the room, wraps a blanket around her shoulders and then takes the cups with steaming tea.

Pushing the front door open with her leg, she comes out on a porch and breathes in deeply, savoring the fresh, crisp air. She puts the cups down on a small table and settles down in a rocking chair, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. Hange shivers slightly, the morning chill freezing her fingers and toes.

She hides them inside the warm cocoon of a thick fabric and turns her eyes to the horizon. The stars slowly disappear, showing a narrow strip of golden light. It paints the sea below it in a gentle purple color.

A smile pulls on her lips as she continues to watch the sunrise. Hange sits back in a chair, rocking slightly. She glances to one side, then to another. Confirming that the coast is clear, she allows herself to close her eyes for just a second.

Just a second, and the world around her is dark again.

***

Hange groans, shielding her eyes from a light shining right at her. She looks up and nearly jumps. The sun is high in the sky. She was going to rest just for a bit. For how long that bit had lasted?

She swirls her head from side to side. The coastline is clear. Already clear. There is no one there, and she is alone.

She looks down then and sees a small package by the door. She glances at the table with teacups on it. One of them is empty.

Despite her failed attempt at catching the mysterious and annoying, but extremely nice man, Hange smiles.

"Have you enjoyed the tea at least?" she asks, hoping that he listens.

***

Hange spends the next couple of mornings, watching the sunset and anxiously waiting for the man to show up. She slaps her face and pinches the skin of her arm, stopping herself from falling asleep. It bears no result, however, because the man doesn't show up.

It is only when Hange finally gives up, returning inside her cabin that the man returns. She disappears for just a moment, going inside to make another cup of tea. When she comes back, a package with fresh fish, a journal and a few quills is already awaiting her. Hange sighs, annoyed at the man, despite his gifts. She needs another plan, it seems.

***

She has more than enough time to think about it. Hange’s life is dull and uneventful to a point of making her feel weird. She doesn’t know what life she led before she was found on the coastline near the port, with severe burns and wounds and before she stumbled into abandoned, old cabin, but this— this peace and quiet that defies her every living moment now, it’s— it’s not unwelcome. But it seems wrong. There is a need, a desperation set deep in her bones. It torments her at night, nudging her to do something, anything. It always keeps her on edge, pushing her in the unfamiliar direction.

That direction feels a dead-end.

***

Not every part of her life is lost. There are some memories that persistently linger in the depth of her mind. She still remembers her childhood - the bright, sunny days, filled with carelessness and wonder. The way wind blew through her hair, the way sunlight danced on her skin and kissed her cheeks, these memories don’t fade. On the contrary, there is more life in them than in Hange herself.

She knows the gentle touch of her mother and remembers the strict face of her father. She can close her eyes and see her puppy, running towards her every time she came home from the never-ending adventures, greeting her with loud, happy barking and wiggling tail.

Her school, a grand beautiful building with big windows and polished floors, still lives in her memory. And the image of the school’s library – the favorite place in the whole world for little Hange, where she spent countless afternoons – fills her with happiness and content even after all these years. She remembers the displeasure and annoyance she felt in the moments when she couldn’t reach the higher shelves. She jumped and stretched out her hand and balanced on the balls of her feet, huffed and scoffed, but nothing ever worked out, until she let go of her pride and went to fetch a chair. She still recalls the wonder and excitement every book evoked inside her. Her fingertips, although scarred and burned, didn’t forget the feeling of yellowed pages. The voice of her teacher, scolding her for reading without proper lighting, still echoes in her ears.

However, everything after that, past the playgrounds and school yards, is nothing more than a blur.

She remembers the cold, dark nights, spent by a fire, surrounded by merry laughter. She remembers the feeling of adrenaline, of excitement and agitation, yet can’t recall what exactly had caused these emotions. She remembers the parchment and a quill, remembers that she used to write, write, write. Not a single written word comes back to her, though. She remembers a bright, imposing figure right ahead, a reassuring, calming presence just behind her shoulder, and someone standing right next to her, their hands almost touching.

These people were important, Hange knows that. She wants to remember them so desperately.

But no matter how much she tries— she can’t.

***

Whatever life she used to have, it most certainly couldn’t have been easy. It was not a life of leisure and prosperity, because her body, despite its weak and injured state, still isn’t used to lazing around.

The spring only just began, and the earth is too cold yet for gardening. As long as the cool weather holds, Hange has nothing to occupy herself with. There are no seeds to plant, no weeds to pull out, no crops to look after. She has all the time in the world.

She can sleep as much as she wants, yet every morning she wakes up at the very break of dawn. Still exhausted and weary, she forces herself to sleep for a little bit more, but she can’t.

So she walks out on a porch, a cup of tea in her hands, and watches the sun slowly rise up over the sea. The sight is mesmerizing, Hange watches it every morning and yet she’s not bored of it in the slightest. She feels like she will never get bored of it, she drinks it more eagerly than the hot tea.

Watching the world growing from black to light, cold blue, before settling into palette of bright yellow, orange and pink never fails in making Hange sigh in wonder. The crush of waves across the shore, the sun beams illuminating the dark green water, the white foam swirling around evoke a warm, tender feeling inside her. It’s a confusing bundle of excitement, pride and happiness.

It makes her think – maybe, it was all worth it.

It makes her think – maybe, we can finally be free.

*** There is nothing much for her to do, so Hange concentrates on getting her memories back. It’s not an easy task, and it proves to be even harder, when Hange comes to conclusion that she has but a single clue, nothing more than a thin, uneven string that connects her past and present life.

That man.

So she thinks long and hard about her next course of action, writes one plan after another in her recently received journal. The process is oddly familiar, it brings her a sort of nostalgia, although Hange doesn't know the source of it. Still, it's comforting and she spends long mornings, days and nights, sitting at her porch under the light of sun, gas lamp and stars, thinking how to get closer to that kind, but irritatingly distant man.

In the end, she can't come up with a decent enough plan, and so Hange resorts to leaving a note to him. She wants to show her gratitude, and if she can't do it face-to-face, if he wishes to continue hiding from her, then so be it, she'll play by his rules.

It frustrates her, she can't deny it, but she needs to do something, and it’s the very least she can do after all the kindness this man has bestowed upon her.

***

The next time, when a package is delivered to her doorstep, it contains fresh apples and seeds. With a smile on her face, Hange brings it all inside and sets out to work.

She washes her hands, puts the apples on the counter and fires up the oven. Next she takes a bag of flour and pours it into a bowl. She adds water and sugar and mixes it all up. She opens the oven, places the bottom crust and spills the contents of the bowl there. Then Hange moves to the basket, delivered by a man. She grabs a few apples, washes them thoroughly and starts cutting them.

It takes her a while to finish, and so Hange starts humming under her breath, losing herself in the routine of gripping one side of apple with the fingers of her left hand and then slicing it with a knife she's holding in her right one.

The quick chop-chop-chop sets a tune to the melody she's humming and Hange smiles, enjoying the mundenity of it all.

At least, nothing will explode this time...

The thought is so bizarre, it appears completely out of blue. Hange freezes for a second, ruining the rhythm of her work. She looks up to the celling and repeats that thought, muttering it under her breath.

Explosion, explosion...

What could it possibly mean? Why does it fill her with anxiety? And what is that another feeling? Fear?

Tree branch hits the window in that exact moment, and Hange jumps. The sudden sound rings unusually loud in the silence of her little cabin.

It sounds almost like a gunshot.

This thought leaves Hange feeling even more shaken that she was before.

She exhales nervously, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles go white. She feels dizzy out of sudden. Like there isn't enough air in the room.

Like she's swimming underwater and struggling to take a breath.

Why does that feeling seem familiar?

Hange shakes her head, wipes her forehead with the backside of her palm, hoping that it would help get rid of those ridiculous thoughts.

"I should spend more time outside," she mumbles, her voice still trembling. With unsteady hands she returns to the apples.

She quickly finishes chopping them and then puts it all in the oven.

Now all she has is to wait, and so Hange heads into the bedroom to get a paper and quill from there. After all, the pie is worth nothing, if she doesn’t write a note.

***

When the pie is ready, Hange puts it on the best plate she possesses. She covers it with the only napkin she has and then she takes it outside, setting it on a table at the porch. She brews a cup of tea and puts it next to the plate. Then she lays down a note.

Since you don't let me thank you any other way, it reads. Hange hopes it won’t go unanswered.

***

Next morning she wakes up and immediately dashes out of the house, stopping only to put her glasses on and get her warm robe. She forgets about her morning balm applying ritual, too excited to see the results of her little experiment.

Just as she hoped, the pie and tea are gone. Her note is gone too and another one lies instead.

Grinning from ear to ear, Hange eagerly snatches it in her arms, grips it tightly with her fingers and squints slightly, quickly reading it.

Work on your cooking skills, four-eyes. The pie was awful. Try adding less sugar next time. I think just a piece of this shitty pie could give someone cavities. Tea was good, though.

Hange rereads the note a few times, struggling to understand. She can't quite decide if she should be angry or amused. She settles on a mix of something in between.

Her experiment produced an unexpected results, it seems. It helped her realize that her assumption about that man was a bit wrong. He's kind, yes. Caring too. But he's not nice. Quite the contrary. He's a little piece of shit, Hange decides with a gleeful smile.

How curious, she thinks and lets out a happy snicker.

***

Hange's shirt rips at the seams a few days later. It's not her only shirt - the mysterious man has made sure of that - but it's her favorite one. So Hange searches the house, turning it upside down to find a needle and a thread.

Her hands tremble as she tries to fit the thread into the needle and Hange curses, as she misses the small aperture once again. She pushes the glasses up on her forehead and squints, struggling to get the thread inside.

After a few failed attempts and more than a few colorful words, Hange succeeds. She celebrates it with a wide grin and grabs the shirt, starting to stitch the torn parts together.

The stitch is even and neat, Hange wonders if she has been taught that. As far as she remembers, her mother tried numerous times to teach her how to do embroidery, but little Hange always refused, running away and hiding in the library. Evidently, she changed a lot since then.

I managed to stitch his face just as perfectly.

Hange blinks as that thought appears. She closes her eyes and instead of a shirt, she sees a bloody mess of ripped skin, muscles and tendons.

She blinks again and that vision is gone. Hange closes her eyes, tries to recreate the image, but she's drawing a blank this time. She is greeted with nothing but darkness.

She growls in frustration and throws the goddamn shirt away.

She was so close to remembering something, to getting back a part of her life. But, as before, it had ended in a failure.

The feeling is strangely familiar to her.

***

She spends the next week, writing little notes to the man. Sometimes he answers, granting her with more of his crude and sarcastic comments. Other times, when she attempts to ask a personal question, when she begs him to tell her his name or when she laments about wanting to get to know him, the messages go unanswered and her note stays exactly where she laid it, fluttering in the wind.

The frustration gets to her after a while and Hange starts to feel bored. The routine is pressing onto her and so she packs what little provision she has, grabs one of her warmer sweaters, puts on a patch to hide her missing eye and decides to go exploring.

There is a town near enough that it takes only a couple of hours to get there. Hange visited it once, before the winter came and the snow made the trip impossible. The town isn’t big – truthfully, it’s hard to even call it a town – the place stands in ruins with only a few houses rebuild and ready to let people in.

Now, as Hange enters the town after three long months, she sees that it’s changed. Not much, but enough to attract attention, enough to make Hange marvel at the additional buildings and appreciate the hard labor done by the townspeople.

She walks through the town slowly, gawking at everything and everyone. Despite the chilly weather, the people are working hard, rebuilding what was once lost.

When she came to this town for the first time, she asked about the cause of this ruin, thinking that it could be linked to her own wounds, and, consequently, to her old life.

The answers she received, though, didn’t satisfy her. The tales of giant people, destroying everything in their path sounded familiar, almost similar to the stories her mother used to tell her. It reminded her of the tales about titans Hange read in the school’s library. She was scared of them back then, and at the same time excited too. She always wanted to see one up close, and so she felt something close to regret when the townspeople informed her that there are no titans anymore.

“Those island devils got rid of them, thank gods,” one woman said to Hange back then. “Everyone now calls them heroes, but do you wish to know what I think? We should have destroyed them all along with their damned island.”

Hateful words left a bile taste in Hange’s mouth. They made her angry for a reason she couldn’t even understand. She left quickly after, her mind even a bigger mess than usual.

Now, as she strolls through the narrow streets, Hange thinks back to that conversation. Is it true that those islanders are to blame? Could it be that they’re the reason for the burns on her body? For the memories she lost? Maybe, Hange should hate them too?

It’s easy to hate someone when you don’t know them, she remembers words from one of her teachers at school. Hange finds it hard to agree with that statement. She thinks the contrary is true – it’s impossible and irrational to hate someone, when you don’t even know them.

She banishes these thoughts as she turns a corner and sees a man struggling to carry a large wooden pole. Hange isn’t that strong herself, the wounds taking its toll on her, but she rushes over to him, ready to help. She grips the pole with her hands and lifts it up, putting it on her shoulder to support it.

The man slightly turns his head, probably with intent of thanking her. Their eyes meet and he drops the pole almost instantly.

“You!” he gasps, his eyes wide. “It’s you!”

Hange puts the pole down and frowns. She wants to ask the man so many questions. What does he mean? Does he know her? Did they meet before? When? Who is he? Who is she?

Before she can at least open her mouth, the man grips her shoulders and stares at her face, his eyes running up and down frantically, as a wide smile pulls on his lips.

“It really is you,” he concludes happily. “Captain— he was right! He didn’t imagine it all, oh god, it’s a miracle!”

“I’m sorry,” Hange says slowly. “But who are you?”

“Oh.” The man lets her go immediately. He takes a step back and fixes his shirt. His eyes fill with sadness.

“So he was right about this as well,” he whispers more to himself than to Hange. “Forgive me, please,” he adds, and he does look apologetic, but Hange suspects it’s for entirely different reason. “I mistook you for a good friend.”

“Onyankopon!” someone calls from inside the house. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Sorry,” he repeats, flashing her a painfully forced smile. “I need to go.”

He leaves before Hange can reply and ask him to stay and explain.

“Onyankopon.” Hange mutters, pronouncing each syllable.

The name doesn’t seem familiar. But it spreads a wave of warmth through her chest.

***

She keeps muttering that name under her breath on her way home. It results in absolutely nothing, but Hange is nothing if not persistent. When she comes back home, she finds a few hyacinths planted in a pot that stands at the table at her porch.

Hange’s heart swells at the sight of it. The flowers are purple, and it’s her favorite color. She wonders if the man knows that little bit of trivia about her and if the choice of color was purposeful. She writes a quick note, asking him exactly that.

At the bottom of a page, she asks if the man knows a guy, named Onyankopon.

As always happens with that kind of questions, she doesn’t receive an answer.

***

Too soon, life returns to the world. The trees become greener, the sun shines brighter, and the water in the ocean gets warm enough for Hange to dip her toes in it.

The birds return back to the coastline too, the seagulls filling Hange’s quiet life with cheerful squeaking. When she isn't busy with crops and flowers in her little garden, Hange walks out on a beach and spends her days, watching the little things fly around. The sight is strangely calming, soothing her weary soul.

It’s during one of those perfect, peaceful days that it happens. There is not a cloud in the sky and a soft breeze moves through the air, entangling in her hair and moving through a thin cotton shirt she’s wearing. She curls her lips in a smile, squinting against the bright sun.

In that moment, Hange feels blissfully content.

It happens faster that she can react. She looks up, shifting her eyes from the sea to the flock of seagulls, flying high enough that Hange needs to raise her head.

There are eight of them – two bigger ones are on the front, leading the others, while the rest is flying behind, keeping close to each other.

Hange’s smile widens at the sight of the small family.

And it slips from her face, as she sees that one of birds, the one of two at the front, starts falling. Hange watches it as though in slow motion, staring at the sudden descent with wide shocked eyes.

The seagull’s body hits the ground with a soft sound that isn’t loud enough to be heard over the ocean’s hissing or the beating of Hange’s heart.

The other birds halt their movement but don’t dive in the sand. They hover above the body on the ground, silently mourning one of their kind, before continuing their flight.

Looking at it hurts.

Hange stares at it for another long moment, and then scrambles onto her feet, gathering the little bird into her trembling hands. She can feel the faint heartbeat beneath her fingers and Hange rushes back to her cabin, desperate to help the injured creature.

***

She spends the whole day, nursing little one back to health. After all of her efforts, it lives and breathes, but it’s too weak to fly or even move yet. Hange prepares a makeshift nest for a bird and leaves it there, watching closely.

She falls asleep right at the table, where she left the seagull, using her own elbow as a pillow.

It’s there, where, later that night, Hange has a nightmare.

She had dreams before, always blurry, filled with silhouettes and shadows, always disappearing from her mind with first rays of sunshine.

This one is different. This one is terrifying as it is vivid. It still isn't concrete enough, but it evokes something inside her— something that hurts.

The dream – it was full of desperation. It was full of confusing feelings, of ‘there is no one, but me, who can do this’ and ‘I don’t want to go, not right now, not from him’. The thing that feels the most real, the thing that makes her heart ache is a feeling of a hand on her chest. It’s warm, so warm that it burns. It gets through a few layers of clothing, marking her skin, before finally reaching her heart.

And before she can enjoy it, before she can savor this sweet torture, the hand is gone. The hand is gone, and she’s still burning, but this— this fire that spreads through her veins is different. It kisses her skin, but not gently, not like a lover. It kisses her with dispassionate hatred, with apathy that is set to destroy her. It kisses her, sucking all the air out of her lungs.

And then— then Hange is falling.

***

She wakes up before her body hits the ground. A loud, annoying noise stirs her sleep. She lifts her head and the sound doesn’t stop.

Hange groggily looks around, confused and disoriented. It takes her another few seconds to locate the source of the commotion.

It’s the window at the far side of her cabin. Someone is knocking on it. A sound between a gasp and laughter bubbles out of Hange’s throat as she takes a good look at the intruder.

It’s a seagull.

She slowly rises to her feet and approaches the window, opening it. The bird instantly flies inside, and Hange isn’t at all surprised to see that it stops in front of the nest she made for her winged patient.

From across the room, Hange watches the birds interact. The newly arrived seagull approaches its friend cautiously, slowly. When it reaches to wounded seagull, it opens his beak and puts a small fish down, so the other bird could reach it.

Hange almost coos at the sight.

The caring seagull doesn’t stay for long. It waits until the wounded one finishes the fish, and then it flies away, leaving Hange’s cabin through the still opened window.

“I’ll call you Sawney,” she whispers, as the bird flies past her. “And you will be Bean,” she grins, approaching the wounded bird.

As she checks the state of the bird, the strange dream continues to linger at the back of Hange’s mind.

Is that what had happened to her? Did she almost burn alive? Whose hand was on her chest? Who was the person she didn’t want to leave? Where are they now?

Why just thinking about it hurts so much?

She’s desperate to get her answers, and she knows a person, who most certainly has them.

In a last, almost definitely futile attempt to find the truth, Hange sits down and writes a letter. She writes about her dream, about lost memories and torn connections. She writes, asking, begging the man to let her know who she was. Who she is.

The next day, she receives her answer. It’s a disappointingly short one.

Forgive me. It’s better this way.

***

After that, Hange tries to forget about her forgotten life. She lost her memories. She’s still alive and able to make new ones.

The life goes on, and so does Hange.

The summer rolls around and suddenly she's constantly busy, tending to her crops and garden.

She continues to look after the injured Bean. The progress is slow, but Hange's patient. The bird's family is patient too, and they frequently fly inside Hange's cabin to bring more food or simply to visit. Suddenly, it’s not just Sawney and Bean. It’s a whole flock of seagulls.

When the mess inside gets too much even for Hange, she moves the nest outside and the rest of the flock starts living there, caring about the injured bird in little ways they can.

The birds can be loud, but Hange doesn't mind. They provide a company in her quiet life, they help keeping the loneliness at bay.

Birdwatching becomes one of her favorite past times. There is a certain appeal in studying the winged creatures. Hange notes different kinds of movements and habits each bird exhibits. She watches them hunt and eat, watches them interact with each other. Sometimes she even brings out a journal, cataloging everything she finds peculiar about her small test subjects.

It’s comforting in some way. It almost fills the void inside her chest.

***

One day, she receives a bag of sweets. On top of it lays a note that says:

Are your hobbies so boring that watching the birds is somehow fun for you?

Hange giggles, as she reads it, and quickly writes a reply.

It's much more fun than you think!

***

Something changes after that small exchange.

The man starts leaving her messages more frequently, and Hange, now that she let go of her attempts to get her memories back, answers each and one of them.

Her mysterious friend is actually funny, Hange realizes after his secrecy stops annoying her. He’s sarcastic and crude, and has quite a foul mouth.

Hange enjoys that aspect of him more that she probably should.

She enjoys their little conversation too, even though they’re not particularly lengthy. The man doesn’t visit her every day, but when he does, he always leaves a small note, asking how is she doing and what does she need him to bring. Hange answers him with more varied questions. She asks about his favorite color, his favorite season and if he sleeps on his back or on his side. She etches every answer into her mind, collecting bits of trivia about him like it’s the most valuable treasure.

Despite never seeing his face, Hange likes him. A lot.

His notes always bring a smile to her lips. Hange starts to miss him when he doesn’t show up for a few days. And after a while she realizes – she starts caring about this man. Not as an acquaintance from her past life, not as a means to get her memories back. He becomes something more to her.

He becomes a friend.

***

It all happens in almost unbelievably mundane way.

A vicious storm catches Hange unaware. The weather was sunny and warm one moment, and in the next – the wind picks up, throwing sand in her eyes. The rain starts a mere seconds after, drenching her clothes in a record time. The seagulls she was watching don’t waste a single moment and soar into the air, hurriedly leaving to seek a shelter.

Hange needs to find a hiding place too. She gets to her feet and starts walking. Her steps aren't swift or hasty, she slowly strolls back to the cabin. Despite the harsh rain and wet clothes, she doesn’t shiver.

The rain turns into a downpour, but Hange enjoys it nevertheless. The droplets that persistently hit her face feel warm. They soothe the burns that still ache. They elevate the pain that hides deep in her bones.

The lightning strikes, the sudden booming sound ringing over the empty beach. It startles Hange, but she doesn’t cry out – she laughs, louder than rain and thunder. She spins around, yelling in pure joy.

In that moment, Hange is happy. In that moment, she is free.

It’s with laughter still bubbling out of her throat that she sees him. His hand shielding his head from a downpour, he descends from the porch. His eyes are cast down, watching his step.

Hange freezes in her spot, watching him.

He lifts his face, their eyes meet, and— and everything makes sense now. Everything comes back, the memories return as though she never lost them.

“Levi,” the name stumbles from her lips unprompted, unplanned. “Levi.” She repeats it again, because she likes the sound of it. Without realizing it, she missed saying his name, she missed him. So she calls his name again. And again.

Levi watches her, clenching and unclenching his fist. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head and then asks. “So your memories returned?”

“They did,” Hange nods.

“When?”

She shrugs. “Just now.”

“And you…” he clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His eyes don’t leave her face. “You aren’t freaked out by this?”

She shrugs again. “I guess I’m still processing. Would you like to… help me with it?”

And before he can answer, Hange adds. “I know I’ve talked about living in the forest but… will the coastline be good enough for you?”

“You’re more than enough,” he says and takes a step closer. Hange takes a step too.

They meet in the middle.

#is this thing too weird? probably!#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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cursestothemoon · 4 years ago

Text

A Bench And Piece of Parchment’s Length Away

requested: yess

Cedric Diggory x Ravenclaw!Fem!reader (i just noticed you hadn't specified fem! or not in your request so you’d like me to change it please let me know ill be more than happy to do it!!)

Summary: Cedric likes Y/n, a lot. But every time he tries to talk to her the universe just seems to have other plans, maybe this time he's found a loophole...

Warnings: mentions of vomiting

Word count: 2571 (i got a tad carried away)

This one is sO cute I really love this one, thank you for requesting

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The first time Cedric tried asking you out didn’t go over so smoothly. It had been a month or so before the Yule Ball and he needed a date, naturally you were first to come to mind. The Hufflepuff had harbored an intense, often even painful, crush on you ever since McGonagall pulled you up in front of the transfiguration class as a ‘model student’. That was third year, now halfway into his sixth, he had to do something about his feelings.

You were sitting with Cho Chang, a housemate of yours, and he couldn’t help but think obviously the universe wanted this to happen because why else would you be sitting, practically alone, just waiting for him to come sweep you off your feet.

He had gotten a bit too cocky.

It was on his way to you, stepping with the utmost swagger, that he noticed Lee Jordan also seemed to be sauntering in your direction and he was significantly closer than Cedric was. Suddenly his walk seemed to lose all of its swagger and he picked up his pace, glaring at the Gryffindor.

Cedric still had hope when Lee reached you first, maybe he wasn’t going to ask you to the ba-

Why were you smiling?

You were being polite right? That’s it you were just polite, he still had his chance.

Not nodding, why have you started to nod your head?

Cedric knew he should’ve turned around but he just couldn’t, his feet wouldn’t let him. His was within earshot now and people had noticed him, he couldn't just turn around now.

“-love to go with you Lee.”

Oh how he wished he’d just disappear, transfigure into a leaf or something and get carried away by the wind.

And Merlin, now you're turning to look at him

Think Cedric

Thin-

“Cho!” He all but shouted, gaining the attention of not only you and Lee, but also anyone else within a five foot radius.

“Cedric, you alright?” Cho smiled up at him kindly.

That was how he ended up asking Cho Chang to the Yule Ball. He felt terrible about it, really, Cho was beautiful, and she was smart, and kind, but she just wasn’t you. Cedric had rushed away from the scene so fast, rather embarrassed, he failed to notice the way your mood had dropped and the look Cho gave you after Lee had left.

From that point on he was sure talking to you just wasn’t meant to be, now preferring to watch you from the sidelines. It was a rough week for him following the Yule Ball when Lee seemed to always be just right beside you, luckily Cedric hadn’t had to endure it long.

It was a sunny Wednesday, rather warm, when he got his bright idea. He and his group of friends had been lounging, quite ungracefully, at a bench in the courtyard. It was only when you walked over to them that he popped looking a bit disheveled, his robes a tad askew.

“Hey Y/n.” He put on his most charming smile.

You met his eyes and Cedric swore you grew more beautiful by the day.

“Hi Cedric, sorry to bother but I left my book under the bench yesterday. I just wanted to grab it and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Cedric realized what had happened immediately. They had sat on your bench, well not yours, but there was an unspoken agreement between you and your friends that this bench was the bench you’d all meet at and now he had parked his own behind on it.

“Oh, oh, right.” He was quick to reach down and grab your book scolding himself in the process. He should’ve known it was your book, let alone your bench, he had only watched you sit on it and keep your book under for picking it up on your way to class the next day (lightens the load he presumes) for months now.

He handed you the book and it seemed as if a lightbulb went off. You left your book here, in the courtyard, it was perfect.

Cedric was up, probably most of the night, writing his letter to you. His dorm mates having retired with grunted goodnights, not really caring who he was sending what seemed like a novel of a letter to.

Three broken quills, five pieces of parchment thrown in the rubbish bin, and one ink bottle spill later...he was done. He sealed it carefully and placed it under his pillow hoping he’d catch at least a few hours of sleep before lessons in the morning.

It was like clockwork really. He made sure his friends avoided the bench, watched as you strutted your way to the bench, met with your friends before your next lesson, and just before leaving, you hid your book behind one of the thick legs of the bench.

Perfect

He told his friends to go on without him, he’d dropped something and he’d be just a moment. His look around your bench with a feigned expression of curiosity and frustration was enough for his friends to believe what he was saying, or they didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t that great of an actor. Either way, they let him be.

Cedric worked quickly, he pulled out the book from its hiding spot with a small smile, he’d make sure to hold your books for you when (he was certain it was destined) you fell in love with him. He tucked his letter behind the front cover and placed it back into its spot, waiting for you to come grab it in the morning on your way to History of Magic.

This morning had been rough for you, your tie did not want to cooperate and now sat crooked enough to drive you mad, and to make matters worse you were late to your History of Magic class. You had grabbed your textbook from under the bench, it was thick and you always hated carrying it hence, the bench, and grumbled your way to class. Upon arrival you were regretfully informed of your five minutes of absence, luckily Professor Binns was feeling generous and let you off with a warning.

You plopped down into your seat and threw open the cover of your book with some dramatics, but you weren’t expecting the book to retaliate and spit an envelope into your lap. Professor Binns assigned reading from the textbook and you were quick to get it done before you examined the letter further.

The front of the envelope was bare, not a scratch of ink present which only ignited your curiosity. Fumbling, you finally got it open without drawing any attention to yourself and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was neat, uniform, and without a doubt, belonging to a boy.

Dear Y/n,

I hope this letter finds you well, and Merlin I hope it doesn’t rain or else this would be a mess. If everything has worked in my favor, and I pray it does, and you are reading this then I would like you to know how incredibly captivating I find you. You’re quite the sight, I must say, but more than that you are kind and witty. You are smart and confident, in the best, most attractive way possible.

I’ve watched you a lot, wait, no that sounds awfully creepy. I swear I’m not some old prat, or one of the professors. What I was meaning to say was that I’ve admired your beauty from afar for quite some time and it seems as though anytime I try to talk to you face to face things never seem to go as I’ve planned them, so I’m hoping this letter is a bit like a loophole.

Regardless, beauty, grace, and brains like yours deserve to be not only noticed, but complimented. And with the barrier of this parchment, I am not as nervous to tell you, but I’ve fallen in love with you, all of you. I do hope one day I’d be able to hear the same confession fall from your lips in my direction.

All my love,

Badger

Suddenly, your morning wasn’t so bad. Your stomach felt very airy and your face hot, you looked around to make sure no one had noticed just how flustered you became. Luckily, no one did and you were able to put the note into your bag discreetly, just before class was over.

On your way to your next class you thought about who it could be, Badger, what an awfully unique name to go by. The gears in your brain start to turn, it had to be a clue, but what did badger have anything to do-

Hufflepuff.

Your secret admirer was obviously a Hufflepuff and your heart leaped at the idea of it possibly being Cedric Diggory. You had strategically picked the bench where your friends meet you to be the one closest to where he and his friends would usually hang out. Of course you two had talked on a few occasions but he always seemed a bit reserved around you, a flirty remark or two (if you were lucky) and that was it so clearly it couldn’t be him. But oh how a girl could hope.

The next few weeks went on the same way, every Wednesday you’d get your book in the morning and you’d find a letter in it. Each one having a small clue as to who it was, the first one being the pen name Badger, next it was ‘...my family is quite small, just me and my parents…’ , then you got ‘...you’re my lucky charm, you know? If I see you in the stands during a quidditch game, I just know we’ll win…” , the last letter, however, was the reason you were so quick to get to your book today.

“...I’ve decided to just go for it Y/n, I can’t stand not being able to talk to you face to face any longer. In the next letter find my name...”

He had put his name in this letter and you were more than excited to see who it was. You had tried to pay attention, really you had, but the person was just far too sneaky.

And Cedric was proud of it. He had watched you open each letter at the bench, every Wednesday, for the last few weeks. He had gotten very good at hiding the letter in your textbook, some days he’d levitate it into the book, other times he’d bribe some first year to slip in his letter while he watched from afar.

He was tired of being so far, finally deciding to just go for it, but his stomach couldn’t handle watching you rush to today’s letter and open it far quicker than he's ever seen you open one. Cedric was nauseous with nerves as he quickly rushed to his next class, mumbling out an excuse of having to ask his professor about something.

You tore open the envelope, no time for sentiments now when the name of your secret admirer was just beneath your fingertips.

Dear y/n,

neRve wracking, isn’t It? if You happen to miraCulously harbour an ounce of the feelings i dO for you, meet me at this benCh tonight duRing dinner. if you fail to show, I complEtely understand and will hold nothinG against you, please don’t feel obliGated to do anything for me.

all my love,

baDger

Of course he wouldn’t make it easy, now forcing you to wait until you could get a piece of parchment out to write out all the letters, undoubtedly they also happen to be in the wrong order.

Professor Binns was as monotone as always, his lecture droning on so you found it an opportune time to find out who this mystery man was.

D R I Y C O C R I E G G D

You huffed, quill ready to decipher the letters that just had to be out of order.

GREG YIRDCOCD

Your hand was quick to scratch that one out.

EGGY CODDIRRC

Well that can’t be right

A quiet groan passed through your lips as you set you quill down, eyes going over the letters again. You looked around subtly before you decided to try your luck, it seemed like it would fit.

CEDRIC

You paused, there was no way it would work.

DIGGORY

It fit stupidly well, Hufflepuff, quidditch, only child, stupidly charming and boyish handwriting. The only part not making sense was that they were to you. Of all people he was writing to you. The gasp left your lips and it was far too loud to go unnoticed by the class.

“Sorry, sorry. I just… get really… into the lesson.” You said awkwardly, Professor Binns not buying it but he couldn’t find it in him to really care all that much.

You shrunk back into your seat, hands getting sweaty. You were meeting him… tonight.

The air was brisk as you made your way to the courtyard, you chewed at your bottom lip as you thought about Cedric Diggory sitting there waiting for you. The negative thoughts were being pushed away, he just wasn’t the type to play a prank this mean...was he? Or maybe it wasn’t him at all, those twins have been rather quiet lately.

The thoughts seemed to dissipate as you saw him, you were still a few pillars away and he was sitting on the bench looking at the grass so he hadn’t seen you yet. He was wringing his hands together as his knee bounced, he was nervous. The notion made your heart flutter and a small smile appear on your lips, but fueling you with confidence as you walked closer to him.

Cedric was beyond nervous, and if you didn’t show up within the next ten minutes he was sure that he was going to puke into the bushed to his right. Fortunately for him, he lifted his head to see you walking toward him, a beaming smile on your face and just like that, maybe he didn’t need to be so nervous after all.

“Y/n, you cam-” He was cut off, really glad he hadn’t gotten sick.

Once you reached him, overcome with the feeling of not wanting to be so far anymore, you pulled his head down low enough for you to kiss him. Cedric was quick to act, having been waiting for this moment for a while now, and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. With no room left between the two of you, Cedric deepened the kiss as he felt your hands run through his hair and tug at the ends. And he for sure thought he was dreaming when he pulled away, reluctantly himself, and watched as your lips trailed after his. He couldn’t help but lean back in, capturing your lips again in another kiss before pulling away.

“I love you, Ced.” Your words were whispered with a smile and his brain went fuzzy.

He smiled big, eyes crinkling as he looked at you, lips swollen, and breathing just a tad quicker than normal.

“Well, thank Merlin for that or else you would’ve been sending very mixed signals, darling.”

His hand came up to brush some hair away from your face as you laughed.

“I am completely, irrevocably, in love with you, Y/n.”

#Cedric Diggory #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x ravenclaw #Harry Potter imagines

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lebguardians · 4 years ago

Text

This will be the first “story” I’ve ever written. Woke up today kinda of wanting to write but definitely scared 😂. Don’t know if this would even go anywhere. I love Charles Brandon’s character development in the Tudors and there isn’t many fanfics on his character so I figured I’d give it a go? Maybe?

Warnings: angst, fluff, eventual smut, feel free to message me if you feel I should add some.

I don’t have a title idea, so if someone does after reading it let me know and I’ll definitely give you credit.

The Lady Y/N Windhelm was sent to court after the rebellion in the north to make sure her father, the Duke of Windhelm, stayed loyal. Y/N never agreed with the rebellion against His Majesty, she begged and pleaded with her father to stop his part in the rebellion. When the fighting was done and over, the only reason he wasn’t hanged as a traitor was because her father was good friend’s with King Henry’s father.

Forever branded as the traitors daughter, Y/N did everything she could to blend in with the crowd towards the back at some feast she was forced to attend. She was a shy girl, not that she had anyone to talk to if she could. No one wanted to be associated with her. It was no surprise she was unwed either. Standing at 5’1, she was a slim woman, dark brown hair that reached her bottom, fair skin, blue eyes. Currently she was pressed against a wall, almost trying to blend it with it as to not be seen, her long hair thrown up into a simple hairstyle, and wearing the plainest dress she owned. She prayed no one recognized her.

She looks around the crowd with a sigh. The king with his wife were at the high table laughing and eating, both of whom were surrounded by His Majesty’s counsel. All seemed to be having a good time besides the King’s best friend, the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon. He seemed to be in the middle of another argument with his wife.

Feeling the air getting too hot, Y/N decided to take a step outside to get some fresh air and maybe sneak away back to her room. If she had it her way. She would stay there with her books and needlework. Y/N stepped toward the edge of a balcony and leaned over, enjoying the feeling of the cool spring breeze on her flushed face. She hated wearing these cursed dresses. They are so hot and uncomfortable. She lost herself in though looking out to the trees. She longed to return to the north. The rolling green hills, the sea, riding on her horse for hours, mostly until the moon was high in the sky. She smilied faintly at the memory of her father being so enraged when she came back way too late for his liking. His face beat red with anger and worry. Then the horror passing through his face when he noticed she was wearing trousers before shaking his head and letting out a deep laugh at his only daughter’s shananigans. Y/N missed him deeply.

Y/N was lost to her thoughts and lost track of time. She startled suddenly when a door slammed behind her. She quickly turned and saw the Duke of Suffolk. He looked very angry, his jaw clinched, fists balled up. He looks up and noticed that he startled Y/N. The Duke had brought her back to court on His majesty’s orders. Quite literally kicking and screaming for her father. The sound of her screams stayed with the Duke. The Duke sighed deeply and said,

“Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

Y/N curtsied, her body beginning to fill with rage at the sight of the Duke. She swore to herself that she would never forgive him for ripping her away from her home and family. “Your Grace.” She replied stiffly. “I was just leaving” she quickly walked past him, wanting nothing more than to run to her room and shake the memories away. The Duke stepped to the side letting her pass, a guilty look passing through his handsome face. The Duke let out a sigh, wiping a hand over his beard. The Dutchess informing him eariler that she was returning to Suffolk with their son and not returning. Rolling his eyes at their argument. He didn’t blame her. Not really. He loved her deeply but he know she would never love him again.

He walked to the edge of the balcony where Lady Y/N stood earlier. He know she was miserable. Who could blame her. He begged for his friend to reconsider bringing her here. He know court would not be kind to the girl. Charles heard the gossip about her around court. The horrids things said to her and behind her back. He heard her soft cries when he passed her room. Taking a deep drink of his wine, he stood straight and headed back into the hall.

Lady Y/N was making her way back to her room, praying no one would see her tears. She heard a group of the Queen’s maidens, laughing about her. Saying thing like she would never find a husband and eventually the King would be bored with her embarrassment and send her to a convent. She finally reached her room and quickly started shedding the layers of her dress, before dressing into something comfortable for the night. She fell asleep crying.

6 months later.

Charles Brandon grew increasingly worried about Y/N. It was noticeable that she has lost quite a bit of weight and that she barley eats a thing, only leaving her room when commanded. Her face has lost all its color and then circles under her eyes quite noticeable. The Queen, Jane Seymour, taking notice as well.

The Queen was kind to Y/N. Most mornings breaking fast with her in private as to not spark more rumors. She worried about her greatly and has tried to persuade the king to send her home with no luck. When she was finally able to get Y/N to open up and talk, y/n spoke often for her love of the north and how much she missed it and her father.

After eating his food, Charles decided to talk to the king about sending y/n back. He worried she would get sickly and die and didn’t want another death on his already heavy conscience. He walked to the king’s quarters.

“His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk”, he heard the groomsmen announce.

“Ah Charles, I was just going to send for you, come sit” the king stated joyfully.

Charles raised an eyebrow at the king’s joyful mood. “His majesty seems to be in a good mood today.” He noted. The king smirked before handing him a letter. Charles furrowed his eyebrows, opened the letter, quickly reading it. His head snapped up to the king, he ran a hand through his grown out curls, and then ran a hand down his face.

“Forgive me, your majesty, but I’m confused” his mind was racing. A million different thoughts running through it. The king finding a loophole, allowing Charles to divorce his wife and marry again if he so chooses. Catherine made it quite clear she wouldn’t love him again nor would allow him to bed her. The King was able to use this and allow for a divorce on the grounds that Her Grace wouldn’t fullfill her duties.

“What’s there to be confused about Charles, it’s clear your miserable. You don’t smile nor joke as you used to my friend. I worry for you” the King replied, taking a bite of some foreign fruit Charles hasn’t seen before. “In any case it’s done and now settled. You are no longer married to Catherine. Don’t think I haven’t already noticed you eyeing another. A certain lady of Windhelm” the king said with a smirk on his face.

A shocked look passed over the Duke of Suffolk’s face. “Your majesty, it’s not like that at all. I’m concerned for the girl. She’s gotten quite sickly and depressed. I came here today to beg of your mercy and allow her to return home.”

A very angry look passed over the king’s face as he stood up. “I’ve already made it quite clear to my wife that I won’t tolerate in meddling and that includes the you as well Charles. The girl is staying here as assurance her father won’t rebel again. They are both lucky I didn’t take their heads. The only mercy she’s getting is me allowing her to marry and not be sent off to some convent.”

Charles was getting very irritated and seeing where the king was going with this. “So what, you’ll force the poor girl to marry me, making her even more miserable? She won’t marry me. I’m the one who ripped her from her home and family and everything she’s ever known. She can’t even look at me without running scared. Forcing me to marry into yet another unhappy marriage? What game are you playing at?”

The king was enraged and slammed his fist down and began yelling. “You’ll marry the girl and that’s the end of it. You remember, you owe me after what you pulled with my sister, Charles. I may have forgiven you but I haven’t forgotten. You will marry her and ensure her loyalty to me and secure that her family remains loyal. The north looks to her family for whatever reason. If they stay loyal the rest will fall in line.” The king stood and stormed out the room. Neither of them realizing some of the Queen’s maidens overheard them arguing about this and decide to make their way to y/n.

Charles stormed out. Everyone moving out of his way seeing just how angry he is. He paced his quarters, his curls a mess from him running his hands through them so often out of frustration. How would he be able to break the news gently to y/n? What he didn’t realize was the women that overheard already telling y/n for no reason other than to be jealous over the fact they werent able to marry the handsome Duke.

Y/n was sitting under a tree working on a needlework, enjoying the sunny spring day for once. She decided to take the Queen’s advice and get out of her room. She was depressed and very home sick. She knew her dresses didn’t fit as they did before and she didn’t have much of an appetite. The Queen was very kind to her. She thought it was apart of a game when the Queen approached her. She quickly realized how kind of a woman the Queen is and began so slowly open up to her. She enjoyed the morning that they ate together.

Y/n heard footsteps approach her. She looked up and saw it was the Queen’s maidens and quickly looked down and picked up her work and stood up to walk away in hopes they would leave her be. She quickly remembered why she didn’t leave her room unless forced to. They called her name and giggled.

“Can I help you with something” y/n said politely. They giggled again.

“Have you heard?” The one on the right asked while the one of the left kept giggling.

“Heard what exactly?” Y/n asked cautiously.

“The king in mercy is allowing you to marry” the left one stated with clear amusement. Y/n grew pale and her hands began to shake.

The one on the right noticed her state. “Yes we heard the king arguing with the Duke of Suffolk not long ago. It seems the king has found a way for the Duke to divorce his wife and has arranged your marriage to him”

A cold sweat breaks out across y/n. She turns and quickly walks off all but running back to her room. Her mind is racing. How is this mercy? Being forced to marry the man that ripped her from her family? A part of her knew that it was on the kings orders and that he was the unfortunate one to have to follow. But she still blamed him.

She barley noticed the people she was passing, not even realizing she rushed past Charles so quickly he almost didn’t notice. She was beginning to hyperventilate, her breath coming in and out quietly, tears streaming down her pale face. Cursing the tight dress she was forced to wear she heard her name being called and a hand on her arm. She looked up to see none other than Charles Brandon himself.

“Let me go” she spit out. All she wanted to do was hide in her room.

“Lady y/n, wait, what’s wrong?” Charles asked very concerned at her current state. Anger flashed through her eyes.

“As if you don’t know what’s already wrong Your Grace.” Y/n breathing quickened. Guilt passed through the Duke’s eyes before confusion.

“My Lady, please I only just found out myself. How could you have found out so quickly. I was just coming to tell you myself”. Charles tried to reason. Y/n snorted

“You know as well as I that secrets don’t stay secrets for long in this hell.” She was beginning to see black edges in her vision. She was scared and panicking.

“My lady, you need to breathe” Charles told her as she began to wobble on her feet.

“No, I won’t do it, I won’t marry you” she gasped out, shaking like a leaf “I want to go home. I want my father” she cried before her eyes rolled back into her head and she passed out.

“Fuck!” Charles exclaimed, catching her before she hit the ground. “Go get a damned doctor and send them to my quarters” he cursed at a nearby guards. Charles picked her up and walked quickly back to his quarters, laying her down on his bed. He stepped out the room and allowed the doctor to look over her. He sat in his chair in front of the massive fireplace and stared into the fire. Not looking up as the doctor came out.

“Lady y/n will be alright and needs rest and nourishment. She is very thin and has been through. Shock”

Charles said nothing and nodded his head not moving from his spot. He let out a big sigh, running a hand through his hair. He hopes he can one day earn her forgiveness or they will both remain miserable.

Let me know what you think!

#henry cavill x reader #charles brandon #henry cavill #the tudors #fanfic

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yolkyeomie · 4 years ago

Text

Crescendo | Kang Yeosang

summary — The beating of a heart is like a crescendo, screaming louder and louder in one's chest until it's reached maximum capacity, and you’re about ready to burst.

word count — 8.6k words

pairing — yeosang x female!reader

genre —violinist + college au, band au there if you look around a little bit, fluff with like a hint of angst in the later parts

disclaimer — SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT,,, this is more of prologue than anything tbh. also I have almost zero knowledge on college and violins so if this is horrible I’m so sorry. also typos. lots of typos.

part I | part II | part III

There was just something about summer that you liked so much. You just couldn't exactly put your finger on what.

Maybe you liked the sunny days that it would bring? The giant ball of light in the sky beaming down at full power onto every human in sight. It would illuminate the world with a golden glow, bringing out the more natural and earthy colors hidden from the other seasons. The heat would call for unplanned trips to the cool waters and hot sand of the beaches or a quickly made dash to the nearest frozen ice cream shop. Perhaps it was because there was no more school, no more time needed to spend on slaving away for hours at a desk just to not retain any knowledge given.

Or maybe you liked it because it was the time you’d see children the happiest. Every time you biked along the sidewalk to and from your home you’d come across a playground almost always filled to the brim with the joyous sounds of laughter. Children scattered around the playgrounds like little ants to a picnic, grabbing whatever they found the most intriguing for the day. Some would be swinging, some would be sliding, some would even be chasing each other around without any of the equipment catching their attention at all.

However, there was a possibility that you enjoyed the summertime because of the theater your town held. It wasn't very big compared to the ones that could be found in the big cities of your country, but it was nice nonetheless.

There were white walls lined with a fake golden trim along the floors, bright lights nearly blinding one as they walked inside of the theater for the first time. There was a slightly smaller stage than normal, not too tiny but definitely smaller than you’d seen in the more famous theaters. The seats weren't in their traditional curved angles either. They were in neat straight rows leading all the way to the back of the theater where the volunteer tech crew would operate behind the scenes.

Every year your high school would hold recitals for their students in that theater. They would use these performances as a way to showcase their students' growing talents in the art of music or to spotlight their shyer students who never had gotten a chance to show everyone what they were made of. You weren’t in any sort of music group nor did you know how to play any instruments, so you never participated. But you did show up to every recital you could.

When you were in tour first year the only reason you had attended the performance was because your English teacher had promised to raise their overall grade for the year if they did. You were a decent student, overall you had average grades but wasn't the most outstanding person in your class. A few extra points to curve your grades were always appreciated so you had planned on attending the performance.

You had tried to grab a couple of friends to go with you, but all of them coward out when they got the chance. Some would say they were too busy, some would outright tell you they didn't want to sit through a performance they had no interest in. So you ended up simply going with your family, more begrudged than you originally were for the recital.

You had sat through choir members and members of the school's small orchestra and band repeating nearly the same song over and over again. Each song had a different tune, maybe a different style depending on how much creative liberty the singer or player gave themselves. One song was sung a bit louder than the others, another song was played by a small thrown together orchestra than simply a soloist, but they were all the same.

It was boring, and you were growing tired of listening to the same thing constantly. The only thing willing you to stay in your seat the entire time with the arm crushing strength of your mother and your need to get extra points on your grades for the year.

Near the end of the recital was when you had gotten hooked. Your family had finally decided they were going to pack it up for the night, her father had to work early in the morning and you were going to be thrown over towards your grandparents for summer. Just before you could have risen out of your chair to leave behind your parents, you heard it. A different melody than the ones that have been rocking your brain that night.

There was a boy walking on the stage, probably no taller than you was at the time. He was tiny for a first year boy, probably one of the shortest in his class as well. His hair was like a fluffy brown bunny's tail, bouncing and tousling itself around with every step he took. There was a string instrument in his hands, from what you could see was a red-tinged wood violin. You couldn't quite see the expression on his face either though, due to the distance you were from the theater stage.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he plucked one of the strings, letting the note resonate through the theater and bounce off the walls and into their ears. He had played a note, on a different key from the other performers. He was playing a song that his fellow violinists hadn't picked. He was different.

The sound was like a siren's song that grabbed the audience's attention and placed it to the stage. His melody started out soft and somber, almost as if the violin itself was conveying its unspoken emotions. The violinist was trying to use those emotions his instrument lent him to serenade the tears in the audience's eyes to fall and hit the ground simultaneously, creating their own beat to his song.

After a moment of enticing the audience to his performance, he sped up his pace. His quiet song suddenly grew in size until it overpowered every other sound in the room. He strummed each string with a quickness you didn't even believe was possible, his bow striking each note like it was powerful enough to create an earthquake. In a sense, it was like he and the violin had become one being, his string instrument becoming an extension of his arm as he played.

The audience whispered in wonder and amazement of the boy's talents, unable to take their eyes away from his figure. It was an enchanting sound so you couldn't blame them. The violinist had brought you into a world completely different from reality, where every object and plant in sight was made out of his musical chords.

How does a boy, barely over the age of fifteen, have this much power in his hands? You would be cursing yourself if you didn't grant him the title of prodigy right then and there.

Unfortunately for you, you couldn't listen to the rest of his alluring song. Your family had dragged you out of the theater to finally retreat to their humble abode for the night. After that night you had declared to yourself that you’d find the violinist who played that song, whether you had to search all summer for him or dig around your school for him. You’d attend every recital and every performance your school's small orchestra had just to get him to play for you again.

However, you lucked out each time you tried. Your school's orchestra didn't allow students outside of their instrumentalists into the classrooms. The violinist boy was too short for you to find in a crowd at their performances either. You even tried to find someone who might be close to him, but no one seemed to step up to the plate. This went on for the rest of your high school years. The only time you could see him where those days after the school year had ended, listening to him play those high energy tunes and somber melodies for his recital before he disappeared from existence once more.

That was, until now.

Plus you made a little bit of money on the side as well, and who didn't like money? Sure most of it was going to your tuition for college but there were times where you liked to splurged on your own interests every once and awhile.

"You seem tired," a feminine voice commented, making you turn around to face her. It was a girl, around your age, walking towards you, her long sleeves rolled up against her arms to mirror the way her shorts looked. She sat down on the pavement next to you, handing you a water bottle ice cold to the touch. "I would be too if I rode around in this crazy heat. I'm surprised you haven't melted at the mere light of the sun yet."

"I almost did," you responded, taking the water from her hands gratefully. "Today was unreasonably hot... I felt like I was sitting right in the middle of hell. And the fact that my bike is made out of metal, too? It's a miracle I didn't get third degree burns or something."

The girl went quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought before speaking again. "You know I can always do it for you? The delivering stuff. It's my family's business anyway, I should be helping them out, not relying on you to do all of the hard work for me."

"Are you serious?" you questioned, suppressing the unusually strong urge to laugh. "You can't even ride a bike or skate. Nor do you have a car either, it'll take you hours to get from one house to the next. And I like the money I earn from doing this for you, I can't get a job anywhere else so this is just perfect for me."

"But still!" She complained, a pouting donning her lips as you screwed open the bottle cap. "I feel bad seeing you bike along in this hot ass weather for my family! I gotta do something to give you... at least a little relief."

You laughed at her desperation, placing the water by your side to face her fully. "The relief you can give me is not playing your cello so loud in the morning. You play wonderfully, trust me, but it's so loud and I'm so tired." you clarified, reminiscing on every time she'd walk up to her house with the sound of a cello's notes wavering through the air.

The girl wasn't in their school's orchestra, she had picked up on the instrument as a hobby. She didn't have a desire to play it in a school setting or professionally no matter how much everyone would suggest otherwise. Yet she suddenly began to really start practicing more often when her next door neighbor had moved in two years ago. You remembered exactly how frustrated the girl was when she discovered that he played guitar at maximum volume in the middle of the night without any regard for anyone else.

To counteract his annoying behavior, she'd open up all the windows in her house and began to play her cello as loud as she physically could in the morning times. It became a war of the instrumentalists after that and neither of them seemed like they were going to stop any time soon.

"Oh you know I can't do that," She responded, glaring at the house to their left where the guitarist resided. "He'll take it as me surrendering to him. I don't even want to think about what he'll do in the middle of the night once I stop. Probably bass boost his guitar so that it's even louder than normal! Oh god, I won't ever get any sleep if he does that."

You found it funny really. The two had never even met each other face to face. "Right... and we don't want that happening do we?" The girl shook her head vigorously in response to your words, taking your sarcasm very seriously. "I still think you can at least tone it down a little bit... this is our last year, in a few months we'll be dragged off into a bigger city to attend colleges and universities for another four or more years. Are you really going to be playing your cello first thing in the morning in your dormitory?"

"Well..." the girl pauses, taking your words into consideration. "No... I won't really need to since I'm not bringing it with me."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands together and giving the girl a mocking smile. "Now I think you should at least go over to that boy's house and settle this raging war before you move onto better things. Make amends with him, he might even become a new friend of yours for the future. If not, you're not gonna see him again. There's a very high possibility that he's not going to the same college as you, or that he might not be going to college at all!"

She rolled her eyes at your suggestion, forcing herself off of the ground reluctantly. "Fine. I'll go make amends with him or whatever. But I'll only do it if you give up on the violinist boy from the recitals."

You stiffened at the mention of your high school goal, your very unsuccessful goal of finding him and making him play a song for you. "It's like you said, this is our last year here as teenagers. You've been trying to find him longer than I've been waging this musical war on my neighbor. It's about time to lay to rest, you. Seriously, it's more painful to watch than those terribly edited movies from my parents' watch for the "nostalgia"."

"Ouch there was no need to stoop that low," you mumbled, making the girl laugh in turn. "But I guess you're right. I've failed at finding him for this long, I might as well just give up now."

The girl nodded before patting your shoulders in reassurance. "If you really want to hear someone play music so bad for you, you can always ask me. I know a cello sounds nothing like a tiny violin but I can always try?"

"Actually that doesn't sound like a bad idea," you mumbled after a moment of thinking.

"Perfect!" The girl hummed, nearly jumping with excitement to show off her talents and pleasing your several years long urge to have someone play for you. "Usually I only play for my family but I'm very willing to show off what I've been working on. There's this one song I've using to annoy the guitarist boy in the morning and—"

"Go," you reminded her, your smile growing wider at her friend geeking out about her work. "Go get your cello and actually play it for me."

She nodded at your words, skipping on her feet as if she was as light as a feather towards her house. You knew it would be a bit of a struggle in moving her instrument from her room to the outdoors but if the girl was willingly and happily doing it, she had no reason to stop her.

It was a little funny though, how much you were surrounded by people who were gifted and talented in the form of music. Your school's orchestra knew you because of how you’d always try and snatch a peek into their classroom and attended their performances. Your closest friend was a cellist, but only played for hobby and the boy next door was a guitarist. All these connections started happening because a boy you had been chasing after for four years was a violinist.

You'd think you’d pick up some sort of instrument to attract them to you, and trust and believe you tried. You attempted to start playing many instruments after that summer night in your first year. Guitar, flute, piano, trumpet, you even tried to learn the violin yourself. You just weren't musical gifted, you didn't have the patience nor the ears to learn any sort of instrument that passed your way. The best you could do was play a sad tune on the kazoo or laugh into a harmonica.

It's even funnier when other’s learn that your mother used to sing and play the piano while your father played the clarinet when they were in high school. Go ahead and laugh, you knew you were a musical disappointment. Music was practically flowing strong in your blood and you sucked at it. Don't even get started on dancing either, it was a frightening sight to see. Those who could live to tell the tale never told the tale to anyone.

A melody began to float through the air once your friend disappeared into her house, catching you off guard. It wasn't the sound of an electric guitar, shocking the hair and making your skin prickle with its overbearing and booming sound. It was soft and sweet, vibrating through the air as if it was playing with the wind that blew by every few minutes. You could immediately identify the instrument as a violin, it's slightly strained notes from the bow connecting with the strings were all too familiar to you.

You turned towards the guitarist's house where the song was the loudest. To your knowledge, the boy didn't play any other instrument than the guitar. Yet the violin's sweet yet sorrowful song was coming from his house. Without even thinking you rose off the ground, following the song's notes like it was your guide. You had heard the door of your friend's house open again, signaling that the girl had successfully brought her cello from her room to the front of her house. Unfortunately for her, you were walking a little faster than she could drag her cello case.

"Y/N?" The girl called, trying to catch your attention. "Y/N, where are you going?"

You stood in front of the guitarist boy's house, right before where the balcony was hanging. The door to the balcony was ajar, letting the cool afternoon air into the room and releasing the melody of the violin out. "Is that the guitarist boy's room?" you called out to her friend, not taking your eyes off of the balcony. Just as you spoke the violin came to a screeching stop as if the mere sound of your voice was disrupting the flow of its song.

"No," the girl responded after abandoning her cello and running to your side. She pointed to the other side of the house where the window's blinds were closed yet light still shined through them. "His room is right across from mine, I should know I get the brunt of the blow every time he strums his stupid guitar."

Your voices dropped into pure silence when you saw something moving in their direction from the balcony. The door to the outside area slowly screeched open as the figure on the other side pulled on its door handle, stepping onto the wood floor of the balcony and letting the floorboards creak under their weight. Your eyes widened at the sight of a red-tinged violin, it's body scratched from its long term usage and its color dull from the lighting the setting sun had given them.

A boy stepped into view after the violin, the brown hair bouncing on his head like a bunny's tail. His resting face looked like you were staring at a statue, unable to catch any hint of movement in most of his features unless he blinked his eyes every few seconds. Right beside his eyes was some sort of mark, more of a rosy color than the rest of rather pale skin. He must not leave his house that much. After a few moments of silence, he leaned over the balcony's hand railing and spoke, "What do you want?"

The girl beside you glanced between the boy and you frantically, trying to piece two and two together. "you... is that the—"

"I want," you yelled up to him, interrupting your friend's question to respond to the boy above them. A smile began to play on your lips as you spoke, excitement festering up in your chest. You had found him. You had found the violinist from your first year. "I want you to play for me one of your best songs yet."

II.

There was just something about mornings you hated, no matter the day of the week. They'd always leave you more exhausted than you were the night before, whether you had gone to sleep late or not.

Maybe it's because of the dorm room you stayed in, assigned the room the moment you had gotten accepted into your university. It wasn't tiny, but it was definitely much smaller than your room at home. Your belongings barely had enough legroom with your roommate's whole entire area taking up more than half of the room. Despite being rather clean, to an extent, and cool during the day it was also incredibly hot at night.

A few months back the air conditioning unit for the floor you lived on broke down due to age. The university had reassured the students that they'd be looking into the broken unit and the technicians would be coming in and out of the building to fix it. However, they were rather slow with the process. Instead of just moving toward the third floor where the problem had started, they were moving from room to room on each floor the building had.

Apparently, they were just going to fix the problem in one go, however one go suddenly turned into a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks. And a few weeks turned into two months.

Thankfully they were on the edge of the summer season, the crisp breeze of the autumn air in October beginning to blow throughout the city. However that breeze simply abandoned them every time the night fell, the hallways and the common room being filled to the brim with students trying to escape the blazing heat. One would think it would be much cooler around the nighttime, so did they.

You weren't the heaviest of sleepers either, which meant you'd wake up at even the slightest vibration of a phone. One could only imagine your reaction when your alarm clock suddenly blared its ear piercing wake up call. The irritating buzzing of the built on alarm would always shock you out of bed like a cat. Yet even when you knew you were wide awake, you constantly struggled to force yourself up and out of your room. If time would allow it, you would lay in your very warm and comfortable spot in the bed for at least an hour or more.

What's even worse for you was that your dormitory was co-ed, which meant that next door to you was a group of boys who were sharing a room for the school year. They were loud, constantly moving around in the middle of the night, and screaming at random times of the day which usually ended up being the time that you used to study. There were always noise complaints about those students. No one on their floor, or the floor above and below, like them that much. Yet they never seemed to tone down the problem, they made them worse with every noise complaint that was filled to their resident assistance.

Every time they'd get a noise complaint, they'd go and find someone else who was just a little too loud one day and pin the blame on them. It was a way to show that everyone in the building made a commotion and that they shouldn't be the only ones punished for it. You didn't really care about what they were doing until you had suddenly become a target one day.

"I'm sorry, what?" you questioned them, leaning up against the door frame with your arms crossed. In front of you stood the two boys that lived in the dorm next to you, nearly towering over you like the buildings in the city thanks to the monstrous amount of height. They appeared to be up to no good when they had randomly shown up, and you were absolutely right.

"Are you the one who has been playing that music for the past three days? What was it... classical music?" He asked, tugging at his hair as he spoke. He glanced towards his roommate for confirmation, who nodded his head vigorously in response to his question. "Are you a music major or something? Maybe in the orchestra? If not it's been blasting really loudly lately and my roommate here has a majority of his classes at eight am. Right, Jaehyun?"

The boy didn't seem like he was on board with being used as an excuse at first, raising his eyebrow and staring at his roommate in confusion before turning to you. "Right, I have to get up so early for all my classes. I'd really appreciate it if you keep the violins and cymbals and triangles to like a minimum so that it doesn't bother me anymore."

"If not we'll take it to the RA," His roommate quickly added to put their threat in full effect. "And we'll file a noise complaint for disturbing us."

You scoffed at the thought, wanting to slam the door closed and forget about their petty revenge. "Aren't you the same duo that got a noise complaint filed to them last week because of an extremely loud yet unidentifiable thud..." you began before turning on your heels and correcting yourself. "Oh, my apologies. I meant boom, extremely loud yet unidentifiable boom that came from the laundry room. Only for one of the students on the lower floors to go down there and find that one of the washers and dryers had literally malfunctioned and exploded?"

"Listen," One of the boys tried to interject, his ears burning bright red as you kept talking. "That's not... listen, we—"

"Didn't they go on the security cameras to find out who had done the damage? Because a washer and dryer going suddenly haywire on its own is extremely worrisome and dangerous for the students who may have been around during that time. And weren't you two—"

"Classical music is such an amazing genre of music!" The roommate interrupted, yelling over your voice in a panic. There was a pained smile on his face as he hooked an arm around the other boy, punching his arm to follow along as he spoke. "I mean, it has such a clean and light texture to it, simplistic but a great melody nonetheless! God, it gives me nostalgia for a time I wasn't even alive in! Isn't that right, Jaehyun?"

"Oh," the boy spoke, his eyes darting in between his roommate and you. Slowly a smile began to grow on his face to mask his growing embarrassment as he gestured towards the other boy. "Of... of course! Johnny has such nice music taste! So you know when he says a genre is really good it really means something. Seriously love classical music, man. Lulls me right to sleep!"

Needless to say, they choose to not bother you as much as they used to. The strange and loud noises that would echo through the dormitory walls had gotten significantly lower since that day. They didn't stop completely yet but it was enough for you to keep your peace of mind before waking up every day.

Your mornings had gotten relatively calmer after that incident as well. Both of those boys were usually out of the dormitory by the time you were awake to attend classes or work, so you didn't run into them much during the week. You'd have calm enough mornings to where you didn't feel the need to nearly pass out on a car or bus ride to your campus and almost miss your stop. It felt like a dream come true when you would hop out of whatever vehicle you were in and would be right on time before your classes even started.

"Y/N!" A feminine voice screamed, catching you off guard when an arm suddenly slung around your neck. You clutched onto the bag hanging off your shoulder as you nearly tumbled to the ground at the sudden addition of weight, bringing the other girl down with you as you struggled to comprehend what was going on. They got a few stares from the other students who were arriving and leaving the campus but no one said a word to them. Thankfully everyone practiced the art of minding their business. "You'll never guess what I got!"

"Do I want to guess?" You questioned, shoving the girl's arm off of you so you could regain your balance. Once you were stable enough to stand up, you turned around to see who had stumbled into your path. The girl's eyes were wide with innocence and excitement as she stood in front of you, fidgeting in place as she tried to contain herself. Most of the energy she'd originally be exerting into jumping up and down was focused into the beaming and bright smile she couldn't wipe off of her face even if she tried. "Do I have to guess?"

"Yes, you have to," She demanded, holding her hands behind her back to hide whatever got her spirits high. The girl must have ordered some sort of object online again and simply couldn't wait till after your classes to show you. "It's so worth it, I promise! Just... just guess!"

A sigh escaped your mouth as you straighten your posture, reading deep into the girl's expression to try and figure out what it was. "I'm going to guess—"

"Two front row seats to our school's very own band performance!" The girl nearly squealed, shoving two flimsy pieces of paper in your face. You took a few steps back in order to align your sight with the tickets, taking them out of the girl's hands to inspect. Both tickets were for general admission, their names printed on it with the date they were expected to attend the performance. "Aren't you excited? I literally fought tooth and claw to get these before they sold out, and you know these sell out fast!"

"Band? Like the guys who play trumpets and bass drums during school games?" You questioned, glancing up from the tickets to face your friend. The tickets didn't have exactly who was performing written down on it, simply stating that it was a live music event. "Why would you go watch them play? I thought you were more of a... pop genre person?"

The girl rolled her eyes at your response, snatching the tickets from your hands and placing them back into your pockets. "No, not the band. Who goes out of their way to specifically watch our band team play?" She hissed. "I mean like rock bands. You know, the type of people who play the drums and guitars in one big band and perform on stage with a lead singer and everything. That type of band."

"My point with you being a pop genre person still stands," you mumbled in response.

"Yes I do like pop music, I understand that," The girl clarified. "But we're going to see Aurora. Our school's very own rock band! Do you seriously not know who they are? I know you listen to classical and orchestral music and all, but I thought you were at least in the loop with Aurora!"

You scoffed as you began to walk forward, shoving your hands into your pockets and you spoke. "Just because I don't listen to the popular music right now doesn't mean I'm out of the loop! I'll have you know that I am a very big fan of idol groups. I even participated in those farewell events when groups’ oldest members start enlisting in the military."

"Idol groups have absolutely nothing to do with Aurora and you know it," your friend grumbled. "Do you seriously not know who Aurora is? At all? Have I seriously been friends with a hermit crab this whole time?"

"Fine then," you shrugged. "Go ahead, tell me about this Aurora band since you're so obsessed and knowledgeable about this group I've never heard of."

Aurora is a much bigger thing than you had imagined. From your friend's knowledge, it was a group of boys who had gathered around the beginning of the year together, all of them having several different traits and personalities that simply meshed together all too well. They had created the band, Aurora, for fun at first as they were all instrumentalists with different crafts. They had started busking in order to make money as a side job and quickly grew in popularity with the audiences they performed to.

Their university had caught wind of their musical abilities and had asked them to perform during the annual club fairs to help attract more students. After that, they seemed to have skyrocketed in popularity within the college campus. Jung Wooyoung, the group's bassist, Song Mingi, the group's lead guitarist, Choi San, the group's drummer, and Jeong Yunho, the group's lead singer, had become some of the most well-known people on campus.

Everyone seemed to know them and wanted to listen to their music, which is why your friend was so excited to be getting front row tickets to their next performance. You thought it was funny though, Wooyoung was the guitarist boy that lived next door to the girl.

"The past is in the past!" She exclaimed, throwing up her hands as the two entered the university's building. The indoors wasn't very crowded, all the students attending were spread throughout the area either taking a break before their classes began or nearly booking it straight up the stairs in fear of being late. "Sure I wanted to murder him with my cello beforehand, but it's okay because we put our differences aside like you said we should have. And it's good that we did because we ended up going to the same university."

"So..." you began, thinking for a few moments before turning towards your friend. "Does this mean he's your favorite member? I mean you've got the background and chemistry for a nice little love story don't you think?"

"Oh absolutely not," she immediately responded. "We may have made up that summer but I have not spoken to him since. Plus my favorite member is their drummer so if anything I'd like to start a love story with him. Do you think I should plan out of my outfit for the music event? What if I actually start a love story with him like in those tv shows my parents used to watch? We catch each other's eyes during the performance and before we're about to leave I get asked backstage to meet him in person!"

You visibly cringed at your friend's fantasizing, putting four feet of space in between the two of you. "Gross. Go to class before you contaminant me with your fantasies."

"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes, stopping in her tracks so that you were forced to wait for her. "Everyone likes to fantasize about their love life every once and awhile. It's natural to want something grander than reality to happen to you."

"You are the most cliche woman I have ever met," you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder to look at the girl. "You just told me you want to make eye contact with him and immediately fall in love just like that! Have a fun time dreaming about that while you stand in a crowd full of people in your general direction."

"You're so mean to me!" She yelled, causing everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare at the sudden commotion. "You're just mad that the violinist boy from freshman year refused to play music for you even when you got on your knees! And you were looking for him your entire high school career!"

You sprinted towards the girl at full speed, clamping your hands over her mouth to silence her. She screamed into your hands as you dragged her away from the public eye and muffled her voice. "Heejin, are you out of your mind?" You growled, looking behind you to see if anyone had heard her. "I thought we had both agreed to pretend like that never happened?"

The girl pried your hands away from her mouth and smiled innocently up at you. "We did promise. I just never forgot."

You shoved the girl towards where her lecture hall was located, a frustrated frown growing on your face as a pinkish flush began to creep across your face. "Go to your stupid business math class. Go before I chase you all the way there!" you threatened through gritted teeth. Her friend laughed at the girl's response, skipping like a child to her class for the day.

You really did get rejected that day, it was too ingrained in your brain to forget. The boy had stood on the balcony staring down at the two with a bored and uninterested expression in his eyes, tilting his head like a dog's when you screamed your demands up at him. Honestly, you didn't know exactly what you were expecting. Did you really think that he was just going to pick up his violin and start playing whatever tune he knew just because you asked him to? You didn't even say please!

You had spent a good ten minutes arguing with the boy about how you had been searching for him for years just to make him play at least ten seconds of a song for you. Each time you'd explain your situation to him, he'd immediately give you a dry response of why he kept declining you. He didn't even say it politely! He stared at you straight in the eyes and told you," I don't want to play for you because you aren't worth it."

You swore if you could jump high enough, you would have bounced onto the balcony and strangled him for his rude behavior. It was truly a sight for sore eyes watching an angry and frustrated high school senior scream up at an innocent looking but totally uninterested boy on the balcony. The argument was always almost completely one-sided as well, which made it slightly embarrassing to watch from the sidelines.

You had forced your friend to promise you that she'd either forget the whole incident or pretend like it never happened. Either one was good with you since your friend was known to tell everyone's stories when you weren't paying attention. She had gone this far without saying anything so the urge to talk about it must have been truly bubbling up inside of her. It's been a few months since the incident occurred and the memory is still fresh in your minds.

"God, I'm never gonna live down that stupid incident am I?" you grumbled, practically stomping towards your end destination. "Just when I thought maybe I was finally growing past it, she has to go and bring it back up again. Doesn't she know I'm still healing from that embarrassment? It took a toll on pride and this is how she helps mend the wound? By opening up again?"

You stopped in place when a melody began to waver in the air, following along the cold breeze of the university's air condition. The music notes hopped from breeze to breeze as it traveled through your ears to the next. The sound continuously grabbed your attention as each note was struck no matter how many times you turned to keep walking. It was hitting you like a rock to the head as your brain immediately identified the music maker to a violin.

You slowly turned around to see a few students peering through a crack in some double doors, staring intently on what was on the other side. "They're at it again," one of the older students spoke, holding the door open for his friends to look through. "They're much earlier this time than usual, we'll only catch a little bit of the performance. Do you think something important is happening?"

"You think they're competing for first chair again?" One of the younger students asked, glancing up towards the boy who had spoken beforehand. He shrugged in response to their question, but he seemed to agree for the most part. "Whatever it is, I bet Hong is about to take the first chair again. He's always the first chair. No one can beat that boy when it comes to the violin."

"Kang is always right behind him though, don't forget that," another voice reminded, trying to get a better view of the inside. "Both of them are musical prodigies, and the conductor has always been fond of Kang's playing style. I think he'll get first chair this time."

You couldn't help but let curiosity take over, standing just a few feet away from the group of friends and trying to peer through the small windows of the door. It was rather dark near the entrance to the room, but farther back was lit up by lights that illuminated the wood floor stage where two performers stood. The doors seemed to have led towards an auditorium from the looks of it. You couldn't exactly see their faces from how far away you were, but you could make out a little bit of what was actually going on.

A boy stood in the middle of the stage, the music coming directly from him as he strummed the violin with his bow, grace and elegance oozing off of him. He seemed rather focused on playing his violin precisely, not missing a single note in the song as he allowed the rich and melodic song to ring through their ears. The opened door seemed to amplify his sound even more, ringing within your brain as if it was trying to engraved its sound into her ears. Hearing a violinist play in person was truly much different from hearing it through speakers.

In a chair behind the violinist sat another figure, holding what seemed to be a violin as well in his hands. You assumed that it was the competition who had played their song earlier before you had arrived on campus. His shoulders seemed to tense as the violinist held his final note, a plaintive sound echoing through the auditorium as he held his form to leave an everlasting effect on his listeners.

The students in front of you held their breath as he finished, staring intently at where you assumed the conductor was sitting for his reaction. There was a moment of silence after the note finally fizzled into nothingness, no longer bouncing off of the walls after finding a home in the audience's ears.

"It's Park," the younger student spoke, standing up from where they originally crouched down. "Park is the first chair once again. Honestly, was I expecting a change? No, not really. He's just that talented."

"I was really rooting for Kang this time," the other student spoke, huffing as they crossed their arms in disappointment. "I wonder what he did to not get picked again this time. Usually, Kang performs wonderfully but we weren't early enough to catch his turn."

"Whatever it is," the older student added, shutting the door to the auditorium and shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure Kang will get over it. I mean that's always next time! But I guess I say that every time this happens..."

When the trio had disappeared from sight, you couldn't help but open the door to the auditorium and peek inside. You had been walking past this exact area how many times and you didn't even notice an event like this happening? Your either extremely stupid or completely oblivious, there's no in between.

You pulled on the heavy auditorium doors, peering in the room to take a look for yourself. The room was chilly, much colder than the breezes nature had been giving you so far. It was like you had stepped straight into the freezer, feeling the need to rub your arms for warm to make sure you didn't suddenly die from the cold. "How long has this place been here? I could have sworn this was an administration office or a classroom... literally anything but an auditorium..." you mumbled to mumbled, your eyes drifting towards the stage.

Only one violinist was at the stage, his instrument dangling in his hands as he sat in silence. The other violinist and conductor were nowhere to be seen, abandoning him to be alone with his thoughts. He must have been the one who wasn't picked by their conductor for first chair, reveling in his defeat by his peer. "Is it that serious?" you mumbled, going to close the door before you zoomed to your class, only just a few minutes late.

Though you saw the violinist rise from his seat in the corner of your eye, approaching the edge of the stage to leave the room. Of course, being the generally nice person you were, you pushed the door back open, holding it open for the violinist to pass through. "Hey, are you about to— Woah! Woah, woah, woah, don't do that!" You yelled at him.

The violinist had raised his instrument high above the ground, a bored and uninterested look in his eyes as he debated on whether he was going to let the violin drop from the height it was at and scar it. It definitely wasn't going to shatter and break, but an ugly dent would be achieved through the notion. Your yelling seemed to stop him in his tracks, preventing him from possibly making the worst decision in his life.

"Don't violins cost a lot of money?" You nagged, forgetting about the door you were holding open and marching towards him. "I know you might be frustrated over whatever just happened but is it really worth breaking your instrument? You should be satisfied with the fact that you even got the chance to be chosen as an option for, what was it, first chair? Whatever it is, I think breaking your violin might be a really bad..." you trailed off as you got closer, slowing down your pace as you got closer to the stage

The violinist stared at you through his long blonde bangs, his eyes gleaming in the dingy and dim stage lights. Despite the horrible lighting it seemed to illuminate him as if he was some sort of statue on display, every curve and sharp corner of his face being highlighted just perfectly. His impassive expression refused to let you in on any sort of emotion or thought in his head, locking you out with every chain known to man. His eyes glanced over you, reading you like an open book before he finally spoke. "Why... do you care?"

Your eyes dropped from his face to his violin, taking note of the bored expression and the red tinged violin in his hands. It seemed like it had been used frequently, it's the color worn from age and usage with scratches scattered throughout the instrument's body. "Oh...," you trailed, dropping your hands to your side in defeat.

How long had he been here? Hiding right under your nose in what seemed to be plain sight. How long were you going to go without realizing the violinist from your freshman year was attending the same university as you? "It's you again."

The boy titled his head curiously, a moment of silence expanding over them like a blanket. You felt like you were going to twitch and squirm under his gaze, the eerie silence of the auditorium and his almost blank stare making the atmosphere uncomfortable for you. All you could think about was the one sided argument you two had; how you had embarrassed yourself in front of your whole neighborhood just because you wanted him to play a song for you. The amount of humiliation that was crashing over you like angry waves could have washed you right of the auditorium if it wanted to.

The violinist crouched down on the stage to look down on you, resting his head on his hands as he began to speak. “Do I... know you?”

“Do you know me?” You repeated, disbelief prevalent in your tone of voice. “Did you really just ask that? Of course you know me! Remember from this summer? Just a few months back?”

The boy nodded his head as you spoke, absorbing all the information you were telling him and letting it process in his brain. He closed his eyes as he began to form his final thoughts, leaning back on his heels before opening them again and staring at you. “Ah... I remember now. You were Wooyoung’s fling for a couple weeks... right?”

“What?” You exclaimed, a rosy pink tint spreading across your face as you spoke. You’ve never even spoken to the guitarist boy when he lived near you, nevertheless have a fling with him. The mere thought of doing something so... dangerous like that made your skin crawl. “No... I don’t... listen, are you serious? You don’t remember who am I at all? Not a thing about me seems to trigger some sort of memory in you?”

“Not to be rude,” he responded, lifting himself out of his crouched position and beginning to walk across the stage to the stairs positioned at the side. “But you don’t look like the most memorable type. I mean if I don’t remember you are, would anyone else be able to?”

His blunt honestly was like a knife to the chest, only he was repeatedly sinking the weapon into your already open wound. Had he always been this straightforward with people? Of course he was, that’s why you never got him to play a song for you. You didn’t even know whether or not you liked the fact that he didn’t recognize who you were because he had formatted his words. You’d much rather be remembered for something embarrassing you did than be forgettable as a whole.

Though by the time you had clocked back into reality, a snarky and rude comment ready to hit the bullseye on the back of his head, he was gone. There was no sign of violinist boy anywhere in the room, as if he has quiet literally disappeared into thin air. “I should have just let him smash his violin to pieces,” you rumbled, now not only late to class but also filled with bitter rage that wasn’t even reciprocated.

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years ago

Text

MonX Hospital | Wonho

Pairing: Lee Hoseok x reader

Genre: paramedic – hospital au / co-workers to lovers

Warnings: naturally given the au of an EMT/paramedic there are more than one reference to accidents, a death and medical terms. Also there is a small fight, kind of a one-night stand but not and I wrote Y/N as on the shorter side, sorry if this offends taller readers.

Word count: 3525

“Hey short stuff!” Hoseok greeted fondly and you rolled your eyes, looking over your shoulder briefly before turning back to cabinets you were stocking.

“You know, if you keep using that term, all the others are never going to stop teasing me for being the shortest here on the force.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it! Great things come in small packages.”

Your gaze fell directly to his loins and smirked. “Do they just?”

“Y/N!” Hoseok warned with a hearty chuckle, helping you with your final gear check in the back of the ambulance.

Truth be told, he liked that he got a rise out of you most days. Hoseok had been in the paramedic industry for four years now and out of all his co-workers he had been paired up with, you were definitely the most compatible. You made the long hours worth it, with the endless banter and the equally deep and thoughtful moments too. Working in such a high-stress, life or death environment was never easy to navigate but you had become a well-oiled machine together. Some of his greatest accomplishments had been at your side.

“Ready to go?” you questioned and Hoseok nodded, climbing into the driver’s seat of the vehicle and moving out of the parking lot. Every day was different on the job. Sometimes he spent more time in the office than behind the wheel, not being on the active dispatch team. Today, however, you were on the road, waiting to be called towards jobs that needed their assistance.

You wound down the window and placed your arm on the doorframe. “It’s too nice of a day to be cooped up in here.”

“You say that every day it’s sunny.”

“The sun will be gone soon and replaced with a busy Friday night, I bet you.”

“How much?”

“You’re willing to give me your money so freely?” you teased and Hoseok shrugged. “Twenty bucks that we only deal with drunk people.”

“Alright, the same if we have at least one sober patient.”

It wasn’t the most ideal thing to be waging on what type of work you would have for the night, but it kept it interesting.

And it made you delighted knowing he had to pay up at the end of the shift. “Oooh, we’ve been around so many intoxicated people tonight I think we’re starting to smell like a brewery!”

“You’re not funny,” Hoseok replied as he pulled out his wallet and handed you the money. You grinned and waved it around, doing a little dance alongside it. “What’s fair is fair.”

“You really do like giving your money away,” you stated, giving him a wink before going into the female changing rooms.

Hoseok waited for you to return out of uniform and jangled his keys. “Want a lift home?”

“You just like driving me around, don’t you?”

“I’m used to it, it’s not often you’re behind the wheel because-”

“Finish that sentence, I dare you,” you implored and Hoseok shrugged playfully, leaping away from your frustrated swipe in his direction. Chasing him out to his car, you just missed your chance to catch him when he slipped inside the driver’s side. Sighing and stalking around the vehicle, you slumped into your seat.

“Buckle up for safety!” he reminded as he turned the car on and you shot him an exasperated look. “Hey, everyone of any height needs to keep safe in a moving vehicle.”

“One day I’m going to get you so good and you’re going to regret every quip you’ve said to me.”

You managed to have him whining two days later before your shift, winning an arm wrestle against him twice. “It’s impossible!”

“Why, because your muscles are huge and mine aren’t? It’s called having a good strategy, you should look it up.”

Ducking his head as the other teammates in the break room laughed at his second defeat, Hoseok dived on the dispatch radio that went off on the table. “Let’s go, Y/N. I’ll show you just how good I am at my job instead.”

After attending a three-car pile up, thankfully all with minor injuries and only transferring one patient to the hospital for follow-up treatment, Hoseok glanced at you instead of pulling out of the ambulance bay.

You gave him a quizzical look. “What?”

“You did really well on that elderly woman’s treatment.”

“What are you talking about?” you muttered, picking up the tablet from its stand to log in more details of the event and close the report. “I just did my job, like you.”

“It seemed as if you got that leg injury stabilised before I was finished dressing the second car’s passenger though.”

“Did I?” You stopped tapping on the device’s keyboard and thought for a moment. “I guess I was efficient.”

“You’re a good partner to have in an emergency, Y/N.”

“What’s with all the praises, still upset about me winning earlier and trying to win me over now?”

“No,” he replied genuinely, and then frowned, trying to search for a reason for his compliment. When he started speaking, he hadn’t felt he needed one. But now, as he continued to look for an answer, he felt hot under his collar. Why were you affecting him today?

You looked at him and then smiled gently. “Thank you. I’ve learned from the best.”

“Me?”

“Chief Jung,” you corrected with a laugh and Hoseok groaned, leaping on another dispatched call and answering that they would take it.

The unease Hoseok was feeling towards you was fleeting and within a week it was back to the same constant bickering and comfortable nature you shared. The rapport you had together only strengthened after being faced with a fatal incident as well. It was never easy to be carrying someone in the back on a gurney headed for the mortuary, and the sombre silence in the cab only amplified this after driving back to the base. Hoseok gripped at the steering wheel at a set of lights, knowing somewhere tonight, a family would be grieving over the person they couldn’t get to fast enough to save.

“It’s the worst feeling,” you murmured as he began to drive off. Hoseok glanced at you briefly, your eyes stuck on the road ahead. “Even if it’s part of the job and not my first time, I don’t like it.”

“I don’t think we’re meant to like it.”

“I know it’s selfish, but I never want to be on the other side of the situation. I’ve had to treat friends before and I know it’s my job to remain calm and collected in a stressful environment like that was. However, say it was you; I don’t think I would be able to.”

Hoseok reached over to pat your hand lightly. “Hey, don’t go thinking like that.”

“It could happen.”

“It could,” he agreed softly, images procuring in his mind with coming up on a scene and finding you within it. He shuddered and blinked it away rapidly. “But I know you’ll do your best for me. And likewise, I’d give my all to save you.”

“Ah, we’re so emotional,” you stated shakily, clapping your hands together. “Does everyone crack like this after losing someone?”

“I don’t know, but you’re not alone in this tonight.”

You grew silent again until you climbed out of the cab and grabbed your things. Turning to look at Hoseok, you smiled sadly. “Want to go get a drink?”

“I was going to suggest the same thing.”

Once showered, changed and now seated in a bar with a drink in hand, you seemed a bit more alert. Hoseok smiled as he pushed the bowl of hot chips he had purchased towards you. You eyed the move cautiously. “What?”

“You need more colour in your cheeks.”

“I’m not feeling faint,” you replied sternly, though took a chip and blew on it lightly before chewing it.

“I know, but eating is a vital step in recovery for us.”

“I’d rather drink.”

“It won’t go away with the alcohol,” he reminded and you nodded distractedly. He could tell you were definitely more subdued than usual tonight. Looking around the bar, he pointed across the room. “Want to play a round of pool?”

“You only suggested that since I suck at it.”

“There’s always room for improvement,” he offered and you picked up the bowl of chips and your drink, standing up and gesturing to a free pool table.

It wasn’t until your second game where you had loosened up enough, laughing loudly at sinking the wrong ball than the one you were originally aiming for.

“At least you got one in!”

“I’m so ridiculously useless at this game!” you replied with another laugh, picking up your drink and taking a gulp.

Hoseok sunk the final three balls and you clapped at his triumph. He picked up his jacket and nudged you playfully. “Let’s call it a night, huh?”

“Good idea before you get drunk and start singing out of tune like you did last time,” you quipped and Hoseok reached out for you as you scooted out of his way. Accidentally, he knocked the man at the neighbouring table in the process.

And then, you turned around and let out a string of explicit words. Hoseok was conflicted. On one hand, his heart was thumping erratically at your instant defence for him, but with the way they acted towards him, he wasn’t exactly able to put in his best bid to protect you with the shock still keeping him to his spot.

“Sorry mate, I didn’t-”

A sickening punch came right for him in response and Hoseok was disorientated. He wasn’t expecting it at all and wobbled as he regained his balance. You came into his view immediately, examining his cheek.

He was in a daze, wondering if it was all a dream as he watched you twist the man’s arm who had just punched him now behind his back and made him drop to his knees. Details seemed to remain hazy even when you were helping him into the back of a cab and giving over your address. It wasn’t until you made him sit down on the edge of your couch inside your home and placed a bag of ice over his cheek that he seemed to snap out of his reverie.

“Did you just do all that?” he wondered out loud and you grinned at him.

“What, save your ass from doing something stupid?”

“I think you were a little too reckless compared, don’t you?”

“There was no need to punch you, and he had to apologise for it.”

Hoseok mirrored your grin as you rearranged the bag you were holding against his cheek. And then it faded, sliding forward to kiss your lips.

It had to be the alcohol, he concluded as he passionately continued to kiss you. There would be no other explanation for the hunger that you were showering him in otherwise. You had never expressed a desire for him like this. Although he had confused moments, you were impartial to dating and even frowned upon it in the workplace. So the events of the night and the alcohol consumed could be the only explanation for this.

Not that he needed one right now. He was all too immersed in running his hands along your curves, gasping when you hastily undid the buttons of his shirt. He enjoyed your instant appreciation of his exposed torso, the licking of your bottom lip urging him forward to capture them again, to continue making you his.

And then the fever cast over you caused you to press into his injury, a sudden hiss leaving him and ruining the mood. He panicked. “No, I’m fine!”

“More than fine,” you breathed, tenderly running your hand over his chest. “But you’re injured, let’s stop here.”

“Really?” he asked with disappointment as you puckered up your swollen lips and nodded sadly. You patted him on the chest before getting up, although Hoseok reached for your hand to halt your departure. “Where are you going?”

“To get you some blankets to sleep with, unless you want to uh… share my bed?”

He nodded then, following you down the hallway to your room.

The alcohol couldn’t hide either of your awkwardness now that the heated moment was left back in the living room. You looked at the space and then cringed. “We can’t, you know.”

“I know. Let’s just sleep,” he assured and you nodded, climbing into the bed first before Hoseok followed you in. Tense for a moment, you then rolled towards him, Hoseok slipping his arm after your neck.

Exhaustion washed over you both, pulling you into your dreams before you could question it any further.

When he woke in the morning, you were already up and making breakfast. Hoseok leaned against the doorframe and watched you move around the small kitchen, smiling to himself. He realised he could get used to this type of relationship with you. Those flustered moments and the unease he had felt thus far made more sense now that he had kissed you.

He was certain you could become better partners to each other on and off the clock.

His growing romantic notions were clipped short by your response over breakfast, however.

You smiled at him politely as you spread jam on your toast. “Your face looks a mess.”

“You did a good job of making me feel better.”

“It was a slip-up, it won’t happen again. Alcohol does strange things to people,” you replied and Hoseok’s expression faltered. You continued to eat your breakfast as if the heated embrace you had experienced wasn’t that special. Were you really that unaffected by it? Hoseok was sure you had felt what he had too.

Maybe you were only acting on impulse from the alcohol after all.

So he swallowed back the remnants of his feelings and chuckled. “Right, we had too much to drink.”

“Don’t go getting punched in any more bars,” you added on with a smirk.

And that was that. He had been lucid when it all happened, and he knew you weren’t even tipsy. Yet you both chalked it up as a drunken experience, working together as if you hadn’t had your hands all over his torso as his tongue wasn’t battling with yours all those weeks ago.

He had to admit, he was rather relieved when his planned time off rolled around. For two weeks, he wouldn’t have to endure through the unexpected moments where he’d catch himself thinking back to that night. Little things, such as you tying your hair back, were enough to give him a seconds’ flash of memory from that night.

Yet, you were unaffected, impartial even.

Or so he thought.

It was ironic how life worked in mysterious ways and if this was how he was going to get your attention, he wasn’t so sure he’d be willing to go through with it more than once. The impact of the other car hitting his was deafening, the screech of the wheels across the asphalt causing Hoseok to clamp his eyes shut momentarily.

He had attended far too many accidents but this was his first being involved in one.

When the noise all came to a halt, he opened his eyes again, assessing himself for injury. He had a few cuts on his arm from the glass shards on impact but nothing was substantially painful. Opening the door to his side of the car that thankfully hadn’t been the one to receive the impact, he went over to the driver in the other car, checking them for injuries as he called for emergency services.

Hoseok didn’t even notice it was you called onto the scene at first, too busy applying pressure to the thigh injury sustained on the other driver. However, he knew it was you who called his name out desperately, ignoring the other paramedic who was calling for you to calm down.

You dropped to your knees beside him, shaking visibly as you reached out for his face, looking him over as tears fell from your eyes. Hoseok smiled softly. “I’m okay, Y/N. We need to help Mr Laing here. He’s got three deep lacerations to his thigh and a suspected concussion.”

You merely stared back at him, still holding onto his face. “I told you not to do this to me.”

“Y/N,” he called, shaking you firmly. “Snap out of it, you need to help this man first.”

“I’ll do it,” Curtis announced and pushed you aside, stepping in to stabilise the patient. You seemed to snap out of your initial shock and assisted Curtis with getting the patient into the back of the ambulance. And then you came back to where Hoseok was now standing and took his arm with a tremble. “Come on, you’re getting checked out too.”

“I’m fine,” he told you but you ignored the response, guiding him into the extra seat in the ambulance. You seemed to have regained enough control over yourself to administer the correct care to the patient on the short trip to the hospital, and once you had handed him over to the awaiting medical team at the Emergency Department, you turned back to Hoseok, your knees starting to give way.

Lurching forward, he grabbed you before you fell. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“No, I’m in shock,” you told him simply, staring up at him intently. “How dare you get hurt and be there when I arrive on the scene.”

“I didn’t quite expect the guy to hit me in the intersection when he did.”

You shook your head and thumped him on the chest. “What are you doing getting involved in accidents anyway?!”

Hoseok shot Curtis a helpless expression, who gestured for you to stay with him as he closed the back door to the ambulance. Sighing, Hoseok walked slowly inside to the bed a nurse called him to and sat you down beside him. You didn’t let go of his injured arm, staring at the cuts over his forearm forlornly.

“Y/N,” he murmured and you hummed in response, tearing up. “Why are you being like this?”

“Am I meant to be fine about you getting injured?!”

“No, it’s just…” He paused to take in a breath. “I’m okay, it’s just a bit of soreness settling in from the impact and some cuts. I’m not dying yet you’re acting like I’m critical right now.”

“You mean too much to me to end up here like this,” you confessed shakily, blinking as a tear slid down your cheek. “You’re meant to help those who get hurt, not be the one hurt.”

“I know. You really are in shock, huh?”

“I like you too much for you to be hurt,” you continued and Hoseok nodded and then stopped, widening his gaze upon your face.

“Wait, like me too much?”

“Of course, I do!”

“As your partner?”

“As a man,” you corrected, wincing a little when you brushed your fingers too close to one of his wounds. “I know you didn’t think much of that night but I did.”

“Woah, hang on a minute!” Blinking rapidly, Hoseok then grabbed your chin with his uninjured arm to pull your focus up to his eyes. “You were the one who brushed it off for being intoxicated.”

“I didn’t want to put you in a bind by my feelings,” you mumbled and Hoseok laughed. You gaped at him. “Why are you laughing?!”

“Because we’re idiots! I’ve liked you a whole lot too, I just thought it was one-sided.”

“Definitely not.”

“So it really scared you to find me there, then.”

“If you ever get injured without me being there again,” you started, heaving in a deep breath as you shook your head with contempt. “Actually, you better not ever get hurt in front of me again.”

“You’re really protective, you know? You saved me in the bar and now you’re asserting yourself again for my safety. It’s really adorable.”

“I would hardly call this situation adorable, Hoseok.”

He grinned despite your lamenting statement, leaning over to peck your lips. You froze and Hoseok kissed you again before pulling you in closer to his side. He sucked in a breath when it hurt a little to do and you snapped out of it enough to look at him with worry.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am, I have paramedic Y/N at my side to help me.”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“I might need extra treatment after we’re done here getting this sorted out,” he admitted and you tilted your head to the side in confusion. Hoseok smirked. “With how much you like me, I might end up becoming lovesick.”

“God, you’re hopeless,” you told him despite a smile tugging at your lips. Nestling into his side, you buried your head into his neck and pressed your lips into him.

“Maybe you’ll need treatment too. But that’s okay, we’re medically trained professionals. I’ll save you and you can save me, deal?”

Looking up at him with another smile, you let out a breathy laugh. “Deal.”

_________________

Next: Minhyuk

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281 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: Welcome To Backwater ch.5 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is only trying to help, but maybe it's better to listen to the locals, especially when you're from far out of town.

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Read Chapter Five on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

By the time Red took over at the store for Stretch every day, the sun was at its peak, pouring down waves of heat to bake into the asphalt and the hardpacked ground. It made the whole town look like a sepia-tinted photograph with the old storefronts and their peeling paint, the dust kicking up with every step a person took in little clouds around their feet.

About the only thing that was truly green around was the cornfields, the sudden burst of color so sharp after looking at the monochrome town it almost ached. In a bizarre way, it reminded Stretch of Snowdin, of days spent in nothing but blinding whiteness only broken by the desperate cheer of Gyftmas lights.

A flip-flop from cold to heat was all, and neither temperature was preferable to him. Stretch dealt with the hot the same way he had the chill; by trying to stay out of it.

Still, a guy did need a little fresh air now and again, and after hitting up the movie theater, he’d started taking walks down the main road into town in the late afternoon before wandering back to the store for dinner. The road wasn’t a busy one, mostly pickup trucks and family vans, with the occasional bus coming through the same way as the one that brought him. Taking a pitstop for gas and grub then off again, only none of those riders decided to hop off and stay awhile. Not yet, anyway.

There was no sidewalk, only a narrow line of dirt running down the outside of the crumbling asphalt between it and the yellowed grass, and that was where he walked. Not any faster than a casual stroll, he wasn’t training for a marathon here. Sometimes he smoked and sometimes he didn’t, tucked his hands into his pockets and walking in the liminal space between the road and the corn, waving at anyone who waved to him. Most of the cars and trucks did, small-town friendly as they went to the store or the bar or to ‘Mamas’.

Stretch wasn’t a farming sort of guy, he didn’t know thing one about no plants, much less the huge fields surrounding the town. On his list of new things he was learning was that corn was really loud. Like, really. The slightest breeze sent a cascading wave of rustling next to him and he listened to that rather than any music, absently wishing that any cooling puff of air would make it over to the road just once to bless his sweating face.

Kids were usually out about the same time, either taking advantage of sunny days before school started again or maybe kicked out by the parents they’d been driving nuts the rest of the day. They tooled around on bicycles and dragged along old, rusty red wagons inherited from older siblings with ‘Radio Flyer’ still barely legible along the sides. Those wagons often turned into mobile lemonade stands and Stretch had already been suckered out of a few quarters for a cup or two. He knew now that the little twins with their hair up in fuzzy little ponytails were his go-to providers for a nice, cooling drink that was just tart enough to perk up your mouth and to avoid the kid with the gap-tooth smile and his little brother unless he only wanted to make a donation to their new bike fund because those little swindlers sometimes forgot to add sugar.

No one was selling lemonade today, though. All the kids were gathered together in a large clearing on one side of the road. Long use had worn the shorn, yellowed grass down to the dirt and created a rough baseball diamond, and it looked like every kid in town was playing, from the little kids with a thumb still stuck in their mouth to the older ones patiently showing their little siblings how to hold the bat.

It was cute, really. Baseball wasn’t a thing in Snowdin, not much chance of rounding the bases through a foot of snow, but the Monster kids had gone sledding together and had snowball fights.

The laughter Stretch remembered from those days sounded exactly the same as that coming from the field and hearing that little commonality felt kinda good. Maybe when more time passed, some of the more bitter Humans back in Ebott would hear it, too.

Some of the kids waved at him as Stretch walked past and he waved back, recognizing some of the grinning faces and skinned knees as kiddos who’d stopped in at the store to raid the candy shelf. He didn’t get too far down the road when he heard the crack of the bat against the ball, sudden shouts rising, and he turned to see the baseball soaring overhead. Right into the cornfield next to him, landing unseen with a loud ‘thwack!’ into the dirt.

Welp, just as well it hadn’t gone right for him. Even if he’d tried to catch it, hard baseball against a skinless hand made for broken fingers. Plus, there was no way in hell he’d’ve been able to catch it, as if, he stumbled over his own stupid feet sometimes. The only sport Stretch played was competitive napping and at that, he was a pro.

But there was no reason to make one of the kids run all the way over here for the ball. He could probably manage to throw it back. Probably.

He took a detour off the road towards the field, calling to the kids who were already jogging his way, "i'll get it!"

“Mister, wait!” a tall boy called, legs churning as he ran.

Another kid was with him, dashing towards him, “Don’t go!”

He didn't pay those calls much mind; he'd heard where the ball landed, he could get it before they even got over here to start the search. Stretch pushed his way through the first row of tall green stalks and stepped into the field.

His shoes sank into the soft, damp soil, huh, weird that it was so wet in here when everywhere else was as dry as, well, dirt. Farmer kept up with the irrigation, for sure. He pushed through the stalks towards where he’d heard the ball hit, eyes on the dark soil, looking for the odd man out of a round white ball and its stark red stitches.

Long minutes passed as he searched and Stretch was starting to get confused. Stretch wasn’t any kind of marksman or whatever, but he’d heard the ball hit the dirt close by, it should’ve been right around here. He went a little further, careful not to break any stalks as he navigated through them and still, there was nothing but corn. That loud rustling he’d heard from the road was different out here in the field, moving all around him it an endless, whispering tide.

Okay, fuck this. Being here alone in the cornfield was starting to give him the crawling creeps. He wasn’t really superstitious and he’d only been joking about vampires with Red, but even the sunshine seemed lessened in here, dimmed by the leaves crackling overhead. It was creepy as hell and the corn was higher than he’d first thought, leaves as rough as a cat's tongue wavering high over his head. They seemed to grab onto his shirt, abrading softly against the bare bones of his legs exposed by his shorts. The stalks grew so close together they were holding him back, and how the hell did he get this far in, anyway, he couldn’t even see the road anymore.

Stretch did an about face, right back towards town. Hell with it, time to get reinforcements and if anyone thought he was a pussy, he’d happily give them a meow.

He headed towards where he could hear the kids shouting for him, struggling through the rows, but he didn’t seem to be get any closer. Which was impossible, okay, he didn't go that far in, he couldn't have, not in only a few minutes. He swore he was going straight, but maybe so many rows of corn distorted the sound. The shouts of the kids kept moving, to the left, to the right. Clods of soft, black dirt clung to his sneakers, dragging him down with each step and his hands felt rubbed raw from pushing through the leaves.

Town was right over there, had to be, but panic was starting to take hold. Stretch tried to go faster, but it wasn’t like there was anywhere to go, the corn was closed in all around him, that whispering getting louder, echoing inside his skull. Cornsilk clung to his clothes, the tangled strands itching on his bare legs like jellyfish tentacles on dry land. Leaves tried to poke into his sockets, threatening to blind him as he pushed through, wetness from torn shoots slicking his hands in sticky juices.

He stumbled into a clearing so suddenly he nearly fell, the ground tamped down and dry in a large circle. Crop circle, aliens, his mind whispered, but in the center was a raggedy scarecrow, arms spread wide on its t-shaped post like a crucifixion. Its face was a burlap sack, its jagged grin and dark eyes dabbed on with greasepaint and straw billowing from its sleeves and stuffed pantlegs.

“what the hell,” Stretch muttered. Looking at that thing sent a shiver of the creeps crawling up his spine and he turned away from it, looked around the clearing as he tried to get his bearings. Now that he was out of the corn, he was calming a little, which was good because if Red had to get a search party together to find him out here in the field right by the damn road, he was never gonna hear the end of it.

There.

Overtop the tall, rustling stalks, he could just barely see the church steeple. It looked much farther away than it should’ve been. Had he been going in entirely the wrong direction? The echo of the shouts leading him further away from town rather than towards it?

What the fuck ever, he was done with corn, he wasn’t even going to add Fritos to any current snack menus.

Stretch pulled up the front of his t-shirt, trying to pick strands of cornsilk off fruitlessly. He gave up and instead used the hem to wipe at his damp face while he worked up the motivation to venture back into the corn. He glanced absently back at the scarecrow and all the hot sweat on his bones went abruptly cold, chilling him right down to the marrow.

The scarecrow was looking at him.

It wasn’t possible, stupid to even think it, but it was true. The sagging sack of its head was lifted, its chin no longer resting on its non-existent collarbone, it was raised, and those dark, paint-smeary eyes were pointed at him. Staring at him.

Stretch couldn’t move, standing frozen as his terror warred with his practicality. His soggy sneakers leaked filthy wetness onto the dry dirt as he stared at the scarecrow, who stared back. He watched as a straw-filled glove twitched, seemed to move on its wooden post and that was the wind, his jibbering mind told him, had to be, it was only the wind making it twitch like it was alive, the same way it sent the corn rustling, but his burgeoning fear didn’t give a shit, told his practicality to go fuck itself and ordered him to run.

Stretch turned away and bolted back into the wall of green, fighting his way through the corn stalks as he headed towards the church steeple that he couldn’t see anymore over the towering shoots. Black muck grabbed at his shoes, threatening to yank them off, every step felt like quicksand and he still tried to run. There were no shadows, not even here in the deep green but it felt like one was over him anyway, covering him, coming up from behind.

Something snarled around his ankle, caught hold and held, and Stretch went sprawling. He fell hard, face-first into the corn and dirt, and even then he didn’t stop. He rolled over, kicking frantically as he tried to free himself, his soul pounding in his chest and throbbing inside his skull, eclipsing the faint sob that escaped him as he saw it.

The scarecrow, walking towards him on unsteady, boneless legs and reaching out with those filthy, straw-filled gloves. Stretch couldn’t get loose, the corn was tangled around his legs and he was face-to-face with those dark, blank eyes, the rough weave of its sack face looming ever closer. He threw up his own stinging hands, soul aching as his magic sputtered uselessly and even now it refused him, left nothing but a scorched gagging taste on the back of his tongue.

“Hey, there, you okay?”

It took a long time for the scratchy words to filter through his blistering panic and by then the scarecrow was crouched at his feet, helping to tear away the tangle of leaves around them.

”i…yes?” Stretch said blankly. He had no idea if it were true. He felt like he still had about a years’ worth of adrenaline running through his mana lines, legs jittery and ready to send him sprinting off again until he hit town. Maybe even the next town over.

"Nothin' broken?" it…he?...persisted. Carefully, he helped Stretch to his wobbly feet, dusting away the clinging cornsilk and dirt while Stretch tried to convince his unsteady knees to hold him. "Jeezum crow, you sure did take a bad tumble! Why’d ya run off like that, I thought ya might be lost!”

“i am,” Stretch said faintly, “lost. yes. i’m lost.” At that moment in more ways than one, but then, that’d been true before he even stepped off the bus.

“Yeah, easy to get turned around in the fields,” the scarecrow nodded sagely. His voice was strange, hardly more than a croaky rasp and his mouth didn’t move. The words seemed to drop right out into the air between them. He pushed back his straw hat with a limp, floppy hand and more straw poked out of its sleeve, one piece working its way free to float lazily to the ground. “The corn gets lonely sometimes.”

“the corn,” Stretch repeated weakly.

“It don’t mean no harm, though!" The scarecrow turned away and gave his denim-clad backside a scratch, limp fingers folding against the heavy cloth as he hollered, "Now you all git on back and let him head into town, you hear me?”

The corn rustled unhappily but the stalks seemed to visibly shift, settled back into proper rows and Stretch could see more clearly now, all the way back to town. The children standing outside the cornfield, still waving and yelling in his direction.

“There ya go!” The jagged, greasepaint grin that had seemed so sinister before now only seemed like a crooked smile. “You go on back to town, now, corn’ll behave for ya.”

“thank you,” Stretch said. It seemed like the thing to say when a strange scarecrow rescued you from lonely corn. He took one unsteady step, another, and the corn didn’t try to stop him, of course it wouldn’t, it was corn, it wasn’t like it could…it wasn’t…

It didn’t take him long to get back to the side of the road this time and as soon as Stretch stepped out of the cornfield the children were on him, a rabble of high-pitched voices all asking him the same thing.

“You okay, mister?”

“Jeepers, dontcha know not to run into the corn like that!”

“Good way to miss supper time!” That came in unison from the twins, their dark brown eyes wide and very concerned that he might not have a good meal tonight.

“You coulda been stuck all day!”

“i’m okay,” Stretch managed. He still wasn’t sure if it was true. He looked down at his clothes, filthy with dirt and strands of cornsilk. He held out his hands, spreading his thin fingers and distantly watched the way they trembled. There was soil ground into his knuckles, grimy and dark. "guess i’m not used to corn.”

"Yeah, out of towners wander in sometimes," one of the taller kids said, with all the world-weary wisdom he'd attained in his decade of life. "Don’t you worry, though, Edgar Allen won't let you get too lost."

"edgar allen?" Stretch repeated blankly. He was starting to feel like a broken record, skipping all over the place and out of tune.

That earned him another exasperated look, given in unison from all the children. One of the little ones piped up, "The scarecrow, a'course!"

"of course." Of course the scarecrow’s name was Edgar Allen, of course it was, what else made sense?

Red warned him about the woods, maybe he should've given the corn fields a passing mention, or at least a fucking footnote in his little ‘welcome to town’ chat.

From behind came a sudden rustle of leaves and Stretch jumped, his barely stifled panic roaring back to life as he whirled around. He nearly fell on his ass even as he automatically flung his arms out, trying to keep the kids behind him.

From out of the tall stalks of corn came a small white blur, headed right for them It rolled to a stop just shy of his feet, round and ordinary, still smudged with dirt.

The baseball.

One of the kids picked it up nonchalantly, not a single one of them alarmed or even a trifle uneasy. Not unless you counted the way they were looking at him.

Stretch’s legs were tired, but they were all he had to carry him in a slow, shuffling stagger into town. All the kids clustered around him, dusty little birds chirping their concern as they walked along beside him. Worried about him maybe, or curious to see what other stupidity the outsider could manage today and fuck knew that this time if one of them shouted stop, Stretch was going to stop, stop and listen.

Right now that felt like about all he could manage, his skull felt like it was stuffed with—

(straw)

--cotton wool. All he wanted a to sit down someplace cool with someone older than the age of ten who might be able to answer the question that was standing out stark in his thoughts: what the fuck was going on in this place?

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

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trixcuomo · 4 years ago

Text

Love Games

Up next on Desperate Alts’ Lives... Horde B celebrity Trixany Cuomo has finally pulled the lever to A-status, and now it’s like she’s fallen down into a black rabbit hole of gossip and dangerous glam, chasing her dreams. Is this it? Has Trix finally gone too far? One of her friends must be able to save her, but which are the right friends? Haris Pilton? Sig Nicious? Her Night Elf buddy Sharpen? Hopeless causes tend to want dark angels...

Jet black. Haris Pilton thought her once rival in all things, business, modeling, performing, climbing the Silvermoon City social ladder—Trixany Cuomo, soon to be Mrs. Sig Nicious—that Trixany would go with red for her own gossip closet. A cheery, and also dangerous color. But when they were done looking through Haris’s swatches months ago, under their new starlette truce of course, Trixany wanted her gossip closet in complete, knockout black.

Today, Trixany’s hand was on the lever, she just hadn’t pulled it yet this morning. First, she needed to gather all her targets. Haris’ pink knob was honestly so… odd. But Trixany chose a literal disco stick that reminded her of one of her favorite performers of all time. The part at the top was a classic disco ball with large tiles of glossy silver. The effect was going to take over the whole room whenever she was ready to ‘pull the lever!’ The first time she’d done it at Haris’ place was so fun, it was addicting. Yes, so wonderfully addicting.

Trixany crossed legs in her matching leather catsuit. The worker Gnomes with jumpsuits also piped in silver along the smart curves of their bodies? Still asleep. Trixany liked to get up before even they did.

She sat alone inside of the shell at the center of the room. Well, it was raised up for now, or else she wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything. The noise-cancelling, black ASMR shell-that-was-totally-not-like-any-other-famous-villain’s-personal-sanctuary-globe-thing-for-legal-reasons had its uses, just not right now. STNLAOFVPSGTLR or Stan’s Laff Vapors Get’er was a fascinating piece of technology engineered for relaxing starlettes exclusively. So it was perfect for a certain Horde B celebrity. Gotta love quirky Gnomish technology. The laugh vapors weren’t working so at the moment. They were also supposed to help her forget her stressors. Running low… White steam raised from the top of the shell and escaped through the gear-like teeth around the edges, wafting to the ceiling.

Gnomish technology to make you think, ten times, twenty times faster. Consider your options and get maybe twelve moves ahead of your opponent before they’re even out of bed, or grabbed their champagne brunch around 2 pm server… It was like farming for rares, from home, fast, and on felweed! But it was your frenemies you were felling.

Anyway…

The black control screens all around flickered with silent pictures of Trixany wannabes with their rip-off looks or performances, rival divas secretly being watched while they slept—and before you judge, Trixany felt justified; some of them were up in their own gossip closet war rooms, scheming against her even at this hour—and if you’re a true Team Trixany fan, then you also know about the runway fashion show footage Trixany had been streaming all week. All were designs from the newly launched, joint Haris-Trix fashion line. Haris had backed it financially, Trixany had endorsed it, done the leg work promoting and wearing some of the showstoppers. They had been raking in the gold over it until recently. Both their fandoms, for once, were united on the fashion line. Well, not all of the screens were filled with saucy models on catwalks. Trixany was also observing how each new outfit was being received in the market as it was launched, while simultaneously keeping an eye—with her special lace-lensed fashion goggles—for any rip-offs. New clothing that ripped off her rip-offs, if Trixany was every forced to be very honest about how she and Haris got all the designs—but that intel would only get forced out, by Goblin lawyers tougher than her own, in some inter-factional Azeroth court of law. Technically, they weren’t stealing other people’s ideas unless they got caught…

“I can’t stand this…”

Trixanys thoughts were moving more rapidly than she could speak them or even keep track of on her own. Inside the white-hot shell, little electronic flickerings along a web of wires and lights carried them away instantly, recorded them. The rest of the room was dark, so dark… But inside, Trixany was alone with her thoughts. Just merely thinking that she might sue someone for stealing her brand was stored in a databank the moment it occurred to her. A list of commands that would be sent to the ends of Azeroth to the Goblin lawyers, Horde or Alliance pop icons. (Don’t let them tell you Thrall doesn’t consider himself a Horde A celebrity… his gossip closet was rumored to be done over in the hides of his slain enemies, where no one could see of course.) And of course there were a clutch of thugs ready to ‘handle’ anyone normal out there without real connections. Quick, dirty, cheap.

That was the last bit of advice Trixany grudgingly took from Haris Pilton before she mastered the art of ‘gossip watching’ for herself. Before the student became the master. Now, on Screen Five, Trixany observed Haris in her bubblegum pink dressing robes having tea with her breakfast. Actually Haris had been doing that, and elegantly, for a while. A stray thought wondered if Haris had somehow found out about Trixany’s global network of hidden scrying orbs and had set up video loop clips at certain parts of the day when she didn’t want to be observed. And they were supposed to be the best of business partners…

A new, bright white bead of light raced around inside the shell and disappeared behind Trixany’s black chair. Screen Ninety-Eight suddenly flickered on and pulled up a list. White text against a lovely, rich dark screen. The words ‘Check up on Haris, the brat…’ already printing on a new line.

On mornings like this one, Trixany felt more Gnomish tech than woman. Sunlight… what a nice memory. Though they said something odd with the Scourge was going on outside these days. Maybe that was the real reason profits from their fashion line were slowing down? Who knew?

Trixany was a Blood Knight, had the skills of any paladin, she should have a lot of work to do with the Knights of the Blood Nexus, shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t Lady Liadrin call on her then? And beyond that, when was the last time she’d gone for a stroll—well, without Silvermoon paparazzi around her and Sig. And Sig? Sig Nicious, her fiancée… he kept postponing their wedding.

“You’re my butterfly, but it’s taking you ages to come out of your cocoon, do you understand? You’re not ontop of this celebrity stuff, Trix. I love you, but you’re just not there yet. You and Haris Pilton are friends now, why don’t you ask her for more advice? We need this to be a marriage of equals.”

Then Trixany’s own voice, it felt more like it haunted her above the constant jealous, scheming thoughts, it resurfaced. “No. I can’t do this…”

Trixany inhaled deeply of the white vapors, shut her eyes, shut off her deeper consciousness. Just a few more hours of this and she would finally be caught up with everyone else. Maybe ahead.

Caught up… Didn’t she used to like running, catching up with friends on long sunny walks? That time Sharpen took her to Highmountain, hiking so far her calves felt they would burn from sun and walking, she swore to him that they would, but he was too far ahead to hear her. Hear her catching up, catching her breath… that adorable fool.

A Night Elf man was suddenly there in her mind. Sharpen had carefully braided hair, long braids that fell over his broad shoulders. First in green, then in bright blue—he was wearing a “CYANS HAVE MORE FUN” t-shirt in one of her memories—and at last, his hair washed to a rich pink in her mind. Trixany knew all the shades Sharpen was trying these days, she’d kept track of them all, knew the brand, the shade, how many were left in stock…

Screen Fifty-Two flickered on, white lines over a dark surface, suddenly filling with numbers and a silent white web of locations united by lines on a map as a simple display of Alliance lands started to slide by. Trixany had wanted to know what her Night Elf friend’s new hair color would be, just a whim—but the gossip closet was already running the numbers, making a mathematical projection. Based on the number of colors left in the shops Sharpen frequented, the price point he usually aimed for, the favorite colors he was usually wearing.

“Forecast… 90 percent…Black.”

“Black? Really? Sharpen’s such an upbeat guy.”

Trixany hated knowing that. It depressed her. So her friend, who never had much money, who was just curious enough to try new things, not that he’d do it for a living and consult someone like she would… Sharpen was going to run into a wall soon with all the other options he’d tried, because cyan was his preferred shade of all the blues, and he’d already gone with the closest shade of pink-red her liked on his spectrum, and going back to green was too close to his natural color… The machine was printing all this detail as part of its proof… So he would feel bold—think himself just as bold as when he chose pink--and settle on black to surprise his friends. Black like her gossip closet. Black like… some big, empty hole. Trixany could no longer think it through. So she already knew what he was going to do? No surprises, no spontaneity? No reason to talk to him. She no longer had to see him to know what he was doing. It wasn’t required. He was a blip on a screen. And when was the last time she’d spoken to Sharpen, the real Sharpen?

What had he told her? Something silly about animals. Her eye twitched, she curled a fist as she remembered it. “Spiders aren’t supposed to be caught in their own webs, Trix. All these morsels you’ve ever wanted… they’re right there around you. Fixed in your web, you can have them all. But you’re still not happy. Shouldn’t you know why not? Can’t you tell? The old you would have just handled it, she doesn’t—or didn’t take anyone’s crap, whether from some monster down in a dungeon or… the well-dressed blonde bombshell kind.”

“Wait, do you mean Haris Pilton or Siggy?”

Sharpen shook his head at her, “Who are you, anymore?”

And what had she said in response to that? Sig was away from the dinner table at the moment, taking a call on his comm. “I don’t eat bugs, Sharpen.”

“No, but you do like to slay things. You like to find targets and take them out. Fix things for yourself and people, for the world, hell—for the Horde, however you think that still helps thew world. You have a sense of justice, or you did. You like to sit down after a battle, smile at how you’ve helped. But now you just look miserable. You even look unwell—”

“MAYBE BECAUSE I DON’T EAT BUGS LIKE SOME STUPID NIGHT ELF!”

Sharpen and Trixany hadn’t spoken to each other since. It was a bad, tragic gaffe to make at a busy, high-tone Dalaran restaurant. It was like… it built up and built up from… she didn’t know where. And then, like a volcano, the stupid, stupid senseless things she said just exploded out of her. Violent in its own way. It blew a hole clear through a friendship.

Trixany rubbed at the bridge of her nose. That time she and Sig took Sharpen out to dinner in Dalaran… Because Trixany had missed him. Because Trixany had hopped on a motorcycle and blown out of her own engagement party in Silvermoon City, at Sig’s place. Sig’s fancy place with all his perfect friends, all that flawless life. The pressure should have been off, she’d made it. She wasn’t a B-woman. She was A-grade. Like meat. No, an alpha, on top. She was a singer, and he was a singer too. Both of them were good people, actually decent. And he liked her, genuinely. It really felt like the lead singer of the Elite Tauren Chieftans loved her, truly, so why was she so distressed? Why did it feel like she couldn’t get a breath at times…

Trixany inhaled again, breathed deeply a few more times though it felt like she was panicking. “Why! Why is this happening to me?”

This was all she ever wanted, just like Sharpen had said. But it felt like things were hooked into her instead. Bleeding her dry. Trixany always assumed she would feel… filled up.

Filled up with things.

Things.

About forty models of all races, Orc, Goblin, Forsaken, Draenei, Gnomes, women and men of all races strutted in time across her control screens. Surely, they all had different music at their particular fashion shows. But fashion models all seemed to have the same unnerved strut. Now she saw it. They were all terrified of falling, of looking stupid. But they were charging through it while ignoring themselves. Completely disregarding their own fears, that they were hungry or tired, tired of all of it. Or, even if they loved what they did, it didn’t show in their faces nor their movements.

Maybe later. When it was all off, they could be themselves and just smile. Nobody smiled that they liked it while on stage in front of everyone, selling what was on their bodies. First rule of modeling. Since she got her start… in Goblin Gentleman’s Magazine of all places, that was always the rule. She would know. It’s not about you. It’s about what’s on you. Not what’s in you.

Never in.

“What if I’m just a pig inside?” Trixany frowned. “Scrying orb, play Gaga—”

The intercom interrupted what she was saying. A metallic sort of gnome’s voice said, “Visitor for Miss Cuomo.” Trixany hadn’t the heart to change her name over to Mrs. Nicious yet, when things honestly weren’t going well in that area of her life. He kept calling her his ‘butterfly’ yet she was still being treated like some slimy bug stuck in its pod… cocoon thing.

“What level?”

“Popularity level three—”

“Oh, well then I don’t have the time.”

“Security level 50. Guest is Coco Cuomo.”

Her step-sister. Well what did Coco want? She rarely visited. “Let her in. And I still want you to play Gaga. Play Swine.”

youtube

As soon as the door slid open and the short green Goblin calling herself Coco Cuomo looked up and heard her new theme music, she frowned.

“Yeah, I know who’s a swine alright.” The little lime-colored Goblin girl smirked at her Blood Elf sister. Trixany stuck out her tongue.

“Um, can you at least turn down Gaga squealing out that ‘I’m so disgusting’ down a smidge? I came with some important business, you know.”

“Well, I should have assumed it would be about that. More Kaja-Cola crap? I thought I made it clear I was done with them--”

“Yeah right, when they were the ones who fired you? And who are yous, hangin’ out in hea like Darth Vader himself? Mrs. Hot-shot Sig Nicious herself, I see.”

“It’s not technically named for him so I can’t get sued—”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Coco threw her hands up. “This is exactly why I’m hea, you’re totally obsessed! When is your wedding even? Unless you’re really that low ya gonna invite the whole family and not me.”

Trixany snapped her sass-mouth shut, for now. “Sig and I are doing our best to make this… adjustment. I’m not used to being so famous.”

Coco just stared at her Blood Elf step-sister for a while.

“Swiiiiiiiine! Swiiiiiiiiiiiine!” The music started to rev up as if something was about to explode in that black gossip chamber Trixany had sealed herself in, like an enchanted tomb.

“Paint her face and, paint his face and, be a swine for… just the weekend!”

Coco erupted with new emotion, “People are dyin’ out thea, Trixany! And you’re in here plotting some… starlette’s destruction? I been trying and callin and sendin’ messenger pigeons up here for a week almost, so finally I had to come myself. I thought somethin’ real bad happened to you, all I wanted was to get you to hand over the damn Kaja-Cola Fiesta Lime contract for a damn good cause, I don’t care if you fell out with the Kaja-Cola Girls. I need your surplus stash a’ cans!”

Trixany just blinked at her. Three screens over Coco’s head started running a program, but kept coming up with repeating blank lines.

“Trixany, you really haven’t heard? You’ve truly been ignorin’ all the sufferin! We’re trying to FEED thirsty people on the front lines against the Scourge!”

“Oh. Well… I had heard whispers of that trending.”

“Trending? You’re supposed to be a PALADIN! Scourge slayer by birth or something. But you’re out here ruinin’ lives of the uppercrust like there ain’t a bottom to the pie—what’s happened to my sista! What is WRONG with you?”

“…You can’t feed thirsty people?”

“But I can bust up a thirsty trick!” Coco brandished an arclight spanner at Trixany.

“What did you just call me?? And how did you come in here armed?”

Now Coco was screaming it, “I don’t have a sista anymore. I can’t take it, I can’t stand it! You’re goin ta the Shadowlands to help with the fight, if I gotta killa ya and send you there myself! Then, Coco charged Trixany’s villainess globe, making her wild Kezani warcry.

“Yer just a pig inside a Blood Elf body! Time for you to squeal out!!”

#desperate-alts-lives

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1dffexchange · 6 years ago

Photo

Cut To The Feeling

To: Steph @harrysmeadow

From: Zohra @gonebutstill

Summary: Harry may be Rory’s co-worker, he may be better at taking care of animals than her; he may be the one everyone seems to love. But that doesn’t mean she has to like him as well.

a story about bonding over knocked-up dogs at the shelter and an ex’s wedding, field trips on Wednesdays and how consequences of your action often came with knocks on the door.

Author’s Note: A/N: I hope you like reading it as much as i did while writing the little exchange. Enjoy!

October

It was weird seeing Josh after all that time.

The café buzzed with the electricity of a Sunday morning, the murmur of chatter serving as background music for their conversation. Rory's hands were clammy; there was awkwardness in the air. But Josh was sitting with an air of indifference, and maybe Rory did have a tendency to overcomplicate things.

"You look happy." It was the first thing that came to Rory's lips, and the only thing which was occupying her mind ever since she saw Josh walk in through the doors of Caffeinated Highs. He had grown, not only physically but mentally as well. The cheeks that used to be sunken in terribly were now glowing in an I'm-happy kind of way – the kind which made Rory wish he had smiled more while they were together because now she could spot small laugh-lines around the corner of his lips, something she never once thought she would see on him.

His smile deepened, so much that he had to chew on his bottom lip in an effort to not break into a full grin. His eyes were casted down. She followed where his eyes were. Josh was toying with something on his left hand – precisely, it was a silver band on his ring finger. Rory felt something heavy settle deep in her belly. Fearing his next words, pain originated from nowhere and spread all around in her stomach.

Josh might have felt Rory's eyes upon him because he looked up. His eyes changed colors, like they did with each of his emotions. The murky brown was now a shade just lighter than that of honey, and Rory guessed he was feeling sympathy.

"It's the reason I'm here," he spoke, but his voice was low. It was as if he hadn't spoken at all. But Rory saw his mouth moving, and words themselves registered in her brain despite her paying no attention to them at all. "We ended things at the wrong foot, I know, but it would really mean a lot to me and Lara if you came."

From inside his jacket, he pulled out a white envelope – a save-the-date card – and slid it across the table towards her. Rory eyed the card; her mind was still processing the information like a computer which had been in use for a long time. Anxiety was bubbling in her stomach.

The waiter came with the hot beverages they both had ordered. Rory realized Josh was waiting for an answer.

She slowly picked up the card and read the wedding date. December 23rd. Two and a half months from now. She smiled despite herself.

"A Christmas wedding?"

Josh's lips hitched. "Yeah, we figured everyone would be busy with their family on the twenty-fourth so our best option was the twenty-third. Besides you know Lara, and you know you can't say no to her when she says she wants to have a wedding around Christmas."

Lara was like that – always knowing how to have her own way – and it was probably why how their friendship survived. It worked because Rory was as indecisive as can be, and Lara was unwavering. Besides, for as long as Rory knew Lara, it was decided that both of them were going to have a Christmas wedding.

Half of that was going to be true, Rory thought. Lara was going to have a Christmas wedding.

"It's not going to be much," Josh stated, "a small ceremony and then a dinner afterwards."

Rory hadn't looked up from the card from the minute Josh put it forward. She didn't want him to know how much his consideration of inviting her to the wedding affected her.

She didn't want him to know that visions of them two together were hurting her still, and there, at that moment, the gaping hole they had left behind was deeper than the pain inflicted by their actions.

If Josh was getting annoyed at the duration of time she took to mumble just a simple "Okay", he didn't show it. Instead, relief took over his features as he sagged in his seat, for the first time showing how tense he really was.

His shoulders visibly relaxed and the lines over his forehead straightened.

"Okay? Does it mean you'll come?"

She didn't have the heart to tell him that her 'okay' meant something more on the lines of 'I'll think about it' because he was already thrusting the card and its supporting envelope in her hand.

"You need to RSVP it by the twentieth of November."

Rory couldn't ask him whether the invitation was both from him and Lara or just from him. And who she was going to come as; an ex- girlfriend, an ex-best-friend or just a friend, because he was sliding through the booth with his coat draped over his arm.

"It was nice seeing you after all that time Rory."

He left as soon as he had come, it seemed. As Rory sagged in the seat with her head in her hands, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. Agreeing to attend a wedding with no real intention of doing so was not going to end well.

Perhaps it was what which made her shiver, even though the temperature of the café was extremely warm. And suddenly she couldn't make a distinction between herself and the cold cup of tea she had ordered earlier.

The animal shelter wasn't as warm as Rory would have liked it to be.

She was a firm believer of not wasting food, so she had to drink the cold tea even though it tasted much like ash. The drizzle outside made it worse; she forgot to bring her umbrella and walking while cold and heavy water dripped over her head wasn't an ideal situation either. To top it all off, the heating system in the shelter was not working and she found Moby curled up in a ball and whimpering in the corner of her bed as Penny tended to her.

"What's wrong with her Penny?"

Penny walked with a first-aid box always clutched in her hand or packed in her bag. She specified in dealing with physical injuries – her nineteen years of fighting the universe trying to make her fall making her an expert in dealing with minor cuts and bruises. She was known to trip even over thin air, sort of a feature which made her eligible for the job. Rory was highly thankful for Penny (something she showed time and again by treating Penny to various things), seeing as without her she would have to see the features of the orangutan she had the displeasure of working with.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you much, Rory. She's vomited a couple of times. Something's wrong on the inside and I'm afraid I'm helpful unless it's something internally. But maybe you should ask Harry. He'll know what to do."

Rory paused, "Maybe you should ask him. I really don't have the energy in me to do so."

Penny looked at Rory through the corner of her eyes, giving her a look that read 'really?'. Rory hesitated, clutching her hands together and looking down at the curled up figure of Moby. "I've had a rough morning, that's all."

If Penny didn't believe her, she didn't show it. Truth was, seeing Harry – or worse, seeing him gloat that Rory asked him for help – was only going to put a damper on her mood than really helping her. Rory was still weighed down by the meeting she had had with Josh today, and Harry was only going to be certain to make her suffer more.

"He's with Beth at the moment. I'll ask him to look at Moby on my way out."

Rory thanked her and crouched down next to Moby. She was the first dog Rory got to take care of, so Moby was pretty close to her. Rory had just about adopted Moby. But between classes and work, couldn't do so properly.

She ran her hand through Moby's fur. Moby let out a bark which sounded more like a mixture of a cough and a groan. Rory sighed, "What happened to you, Moby?"

"She's knocked up."

At first, Rory thought maybe she had made up the voice but heavy footsteps later, a body settled itself by her on the floor. Harry's tall frame loomed over Moby's balled up body. He looked more pale than usual, something Rory guessed was the result of the non-sunny weather they were having since a couple of days. She turned her head towards Harry slowly. He was wearing one of his trademark, brightly coloured shirts and the same, brown coloured worn out shoes.

"W-What did you say?"

Harry was smiling for reasons unknown to Rory. She guessed it had to do with him knowing more about anatomy and morphology and whatever concerning biology more than her. It wasn't among Rory's strongest suits, neither was it a strong one; something Rory had made clear couple of times before. That's why they had Penny and Harry working at the shelter. But unfortunately, the latter was there as a pain in her arse than being of any assistance.

"Moby's pregnant," He spoke with such casualty which made Rory wonder the number of times this situation might have occurred with Harry to be so much relaxed about it. He didn't stop speaking, pointing his fingers towards the noticeable signs as he spoke, "How do I know that? Well, for one, her activity decreased substantially in the last week and you see her belly? It's quite early for us to see but there's a slight swelling if you notice carefully. And her nipples have enlarged as her milk glands are developing and –"

Rory gulped and with wide eyes swatted his hands away from Moby's – er - developing milk glands. "Stop touching them; it's hurting Moby."

Harry stopped talking, took in the horrified expression on Rory's face and smiled even brighter. "Ah, yes, I forgot. The nipples get tender and more sensitive during the onset of pregnancy, you see. It's because-"

Rory squeaked and slapped a hand on Harry's mouth whose eyes were alighted by her clear discomfort. "Please stop talking. I beg y- Ew!"

She removed her hand now covered with Harry's saliva and wiped it down on her jeans-clad legs. The smile was ever so present on his face. "You're disgusting, did you know that?"

He shrugged, re-focusing his attention on Moby who was watching him back. "But in all seriousness, you should take her to the vet for proper checkup, though. I'll talk to Beth and make arrangements."

He got up, patting Moby's fur as he did so. Rory sighed, adding 'pregnant Moby' to number second in the list of things weighing her down. She kissed Moby on the forehead just as Harry's forgotten voice rang out again.

"I forgot one more thing; Moby would be experiencing morning sickness so you better be prepared incase-"

Rory groaned loudly, imagining Harry's smirk breaking his face in two. He was insufferable, an orangutan who could be as intolerable as a toddler, someone who never failed to make her blood boil in annoyance. She turned around to see Harry's figure standing a few steps behind her, looking at her with an air of ingenuity. Rory huffed, covering Moby with a blanket and stood up to exit.

"You bother me to no end, Styles."

Harry chuckled as Rory passed him, eyes still alight, "I don't. I just have a penchant of taking pleasure in your distress."

How was that not the same thing? Rory wasn't sure.

Little Hope was established in early 1990s by Beth's father Murray, who was at that time a vet. He died shortly afterwards and Beth, still a teenager, took it upon herself to run the shelter. The building was sandwiched between an ice-cream parlour and a hair salon. Beth's eight year old twin daughters helped her paint it bright yellow (all they did was chose the colour) two years ago; which according to Beth suited the atmosphere of the shelter incredibly. Beth's daughters, Blue and Violet had deemed yellow a happy colour prior to leaving their marks - two little hands on the front door which had long since faded – and then proceeded to virtually adopt every animal in the shelter.

Maybe this was the reason (the ice-cream parlour also helped heaps) that the shelter always had influx of little children with waffle cones in their hands and ear-splitting grins as they walked through it accompanied by their parents. Most of the times, their aching teeth would be replaced by satisfied hearts when they'd walk out with adopted puppies in their arms.

This was the thing Rory liked most about volunteering at the animal shelter. This, and the fact that Rory got to look after and befriend animals that would have never come closer to her otherwise. She really had a penchant of scaring away animals when trying to pet them and babies would cry whenever someone would hand her theirs to hold.

She had tried her best to stay away from both but one accident involving a bicycle, a sixteen year old Rory's clumsiness and quick thinking – and perhaps luck as Little Hope was across the block – never-ending crying and hiccoughing after, she found herself looking after a litter of puppies, which, according to Beth, were a few hours old.

Among that litter was a runt, so small and visibly weaker than its siblings. It was pretty much enveloped by its mother, who seemed to be protecting it from its siblings.

Beth came back a few moments later.

"The pup's going to be fine," She told Rory, interrupting her stare-down with the runt, "You can leave if you want, but you're welcome to stay and look at the animals."

Rory was unsure, but decided follow Beth as she showed her around the shelter – Little Hope. She told Rory all about its history, about her father, about the first animal she rescued. She saved a puppy from rain and brought it to her father to take care. The puppy didn't survive, but it left a flicker burning in her to save other animals.

Now Beth ran the shelter and put up puppies for adoption.

"And the corgi back there? The runt of the litter just born? Is he going to be fine?"

Beth laughed, stopping their tour and looking at Rory with kind eyes, "He is actually a she."

Rory blushed, "I'm sorry. Biology is not my strongest suits. But is she going to be fine?"

Beth shrugged; sighing as the bell over the door rang, announcing an incoming customer, "Only time will tell."

But Rory didn't wait for time; coming time and again with things she thought would be helpful for the really young puppy. And they did help – or maybe it was the care she gave the little puppy – for the puppy survived, but her mother didn't.

And that's how after two weeks of coming to the shelter on a regular basis that Rory decided to – officially – volunteer at the shelter, a two-week old mother-less Moby the first dog she looked after.

The nightmare came in the shape of Harry accompanying Rory and Moby to the vet, despite of the number of times the former refused. The showers of yesterday resulted in a kind of wet weather and Rory could feel her sinuses taking the burn of that. Her eyes had started burning long before but her headache was only taking flight.

It also didn't help that Harry was aggravating it more.

"Really, Beth, Moby and I are fine by ourselves. You don't need to send Harry with us."

"Oh, but she does." It was Harry. Harry with his tall frame and evil grin (which only Rory could see), his boyish charm and orangutang-ly ways which had everyone under their control. No one could say no to him, he made sure of that.

"Please Beth. There's no need to bother Harry-"

"Oh, but it's not bothering me in any way. I want to go because what if the vet says some term you don't understand and end up making a fool out of yourself? Now, Roro, I really can't let that happen."

"Hey! What did we say about calling me Roro?"

"Let me check. Oh, you said to absolutely call you that whenever I want to bother you!"

"That wasn't-"

If Rory wanted to then she could have made fun of Harry's shoes which were on the verge of falling. But no, despite how much she hated those boots and his flashy shirts (they'd flash his nipples), she couldn't do that. Her tongue just wasn't ready to voice what she had been thinking for as long as he'd been causing her discomfort.

Beth was watching the two bicker back and forth. She, along with all the staff at the shelter, got used to their regular banter in the first month of Harry working at the shelter. It was childish, a usual dose of entertainment for everyone. But it could get annoying pretty quickly.

"That's enough, you two. Harry's going, and that's final."

Rory was quick to shut her mouth, while Harry shot her a dirty smirk. Beth turned her back towards them to grab a couple of things for Moby, giving Rory enough time to flip Harry off.

Rory would rather untwist her guts with a wrench than admit that Harry was right.

But it turned out he was right after all. Moby was, indeed, pregnant.

Four days pregnant.

Dr. Travis took Moby for some blood tests after examining her physically. He told the same things that Harry told Rory before, except they were less vivid but more detailed, if that made sense. Harry kept shooting Rory smug looks, the kinds which irritated Rory to no end. At one point, she picked up the flower pot with dead stems and almost threw at him. But the doctor turned towards her at the last moment.

Now with Moby gone for tests, Rory was seated alone with Harry in the waiting room. It was small and cozy, the chairs were warm and Rory was close to dozing off. The walls were a pretty blue colour, with paintings hung to give the room an added homey feeling.

Harry sat next to Rory, bouncing his legs up and down as he went through his phone.

"Moby's going to be a mother."

Rory could see his eyes still fixated on his phone. "I've worked that out, I think. I know what being pregnant means."

He chuckled, completely ignoring her comment, "Then does that make you a grandma?"

Rory's brows furrowed, "Whose grandma?"

Harry put his phone away in his pocket, completely focusing his attention on the girl sitting next to him. Rory had to admit; side-profile Harry was much better to look at than seeing him from front. Not only she could really measure the angle of his jaw line (not that this was what she had been spending her time doing) from the side but also this saved her from the heavy intense gaze he used which always made her feel like a little girl looking at a gorilla.

"The pups. You yourself said Moby was like a child to you, didn't you?"

Rory remembered the conversation as clear as a day. It was Harry's first day volunteering (which she didn't know at that time) and accused him of – er – shoplifting Moby from the shelter when in reality he was taking her to stitch up the leg she had just injured trying to jump from the top shelf to the floor. All it did was break her skin open when she landed on her leg, leading to Rory officially meeting the med student who had everyone under his charm the minute he arrived.

"That really does make me a grandma." Rory laughed, the absurdity of the situation kicking in. "If none of them get adopted then I'm going to keep them all."

Dr. Travis had guessed the litter to be composed of six puppies and estimated the expected date of delivery to be about fifty-eight to sixty-three days after. The date happened to clash around the date Josh and Lara were getting married, which reminded her she needed to RSVP to the invite.

"Hey, do you have any idea who the father is?"

Rory didn't. "No, I am actually clueless. Moby hadn't left the shelter in two weeks since Newt was sick with chicken pox and Lacey ended up contracting them too, which left you, me and Penny and all of us were fussing after Earl Grey and her broken legs. None of us took Moby out of the shelter which could only mean it was –"

"-Either Franklin or Turner?"

Rory hummed, "But Franklin was adopted two weeks ago and Moby hated Turner with a passion."

Harry smiles cheekily, and Rory wished he had kept his mouth shut. "Maybe it was not much of a hate than it was sexual tension?"

Rory groaned, getting up from the chair and heading towards the doctor's room. "You'll never learn, Peanuts. C'mon now; they must be done with the tests."

"Peanuts?' Harry's brows furrowed.

Rory nodded, beginning to leave. "Yes, peanuts. That's your name now. They bother me and you bother me. Giving you their name will only remind me why I hate them so much."

The flat was reeking of burnt pasta.

Rory didn't try to cook usually because she couldn't cook at all; her flat mate Francine used to do that job. Rory washed the dishes and did the laundry, while Francine cooked three meals for both of them daily. She was taking culinary classes so Rory's palate was the prey for all the experiments Francine would do.

Rory wasn't complaining. It kept her well-fed and healthy. But Francine moved in with her boyfriend a month ago and Rory was left alone to fend for herself.

All Rory could cook without burning were instant noodles, but she couldn't live on them forever. Money was pretty much tight so take-away food everyday wasn't an option. And she had everyone at home convinced that she was doing pretty good job living alone.

But now her dinner was burnt (despite her being so adamant about wasting food) and she hadn't eaten anything since the morning.

Sighing, she took out the frozen pizza stacked in the freezer for emergency (like now). Morning with Moby had tired her out, a really hyper dog was brought into the shelter and Rory kept fussing after him all afternoon because despite of being so active, the dog wouldn't eat a thing. Her own lunch was missed in this.

The evening class wasn't better at all; her professor assigned them some long essay on world affairs or something which she had to submit two days later.

Sitting on the counter, she started devouring the pizza. Almost instantly, her eyes shifted to the white envelope which was in the same position she had left. Looking at the card caused thousand memories to revive and cover Rory as shrouded darkness. Never in her wildest dreams would Rory have thought that Lara out of all people would end up marrying Josh. It was maybe because she knew Josh and she knew Lara and she knew how much opposite their personalities really were. If one was plain paper than the other was glimmering, wrap-up paper. If one was carbonated drink then the other was sparkling wine. One was her best friend and the other was her boyfriend.

They had nothing in common, as much as Rory knew.

But maybe, she didn't know both of them as well as she thought she did. Because her better judgment got the wrong of her and she ended up being pushed to the side. Literally.

The pizza was gone in a second, but the bitter taste left by the cold memories remained even after that. She went to bed with a heavy heart, and even the dreams of Moby cuddling with six small puppies could lighten her mind.

Wednesday was the worst day of the week,

It was one of the three days she volunteered at the shelter, the rest were Monday and Thursday. On Tuesday and Friday she had morning classes at the university, while on the other three days she took evening classes.

Beth had started a little something two years ago in which children from kindergarten would come for a field trip. It wasn't a bright idea to have a bunch of pre-schoolers surrounded by animals but the idea hit off almost immediately and every Wednesday once a month, the shelter would be surrounded by little kids who barely reached up to Rory's thigh.

Rory loved kids, but not the ones who came on Wednesday. They were wild and evidence of the theory that man evolved from animals. The kids were uncontrolled, and the animals at the shelter also got wild. The teachers accompanying them would always wander off to somewhere and every other worker in the shelter would leave their work and ran behind children hoping to God they didn't hurt themselves.

No such incident of an animal hurting anyone had yet happened but the incident of cancelling invitation for field trips at the shelter sure did happen which got instantly shut down because Beth was of the view that the field trips provided a speedy track for the animals to get adopted.

Wednesday also sucked because she was paired with Harry to assist the people which had come. Ten children and a teacher arrived at the shelter ten minutes ago. Harry, after drinking the tea Rory made for herself, strolled away fifteen minutes ago and wasn't back yet.

Rory was awkwardly leading the group of kindergartners, showing them the assortment of dogs they had. A small girl, Ava, had taken interest to Earl Grey.

"Does she run fast?"

Ava asked when Rory finished telling them how she broke her legs. She was running after a cat on the street and ended up getting hit by a car. Thankfully, only her legs were injured. She was brought to Beth after Dr. Travis plastered her legs. Lacey ended up giving her the name 'Earl Grey' because she reminded her of the tea.

"She does." It wasn't Rory who answered the question. It couldn't be Rory who answered the question because the voice was sure with confidence and Rory was never that confident about anything (except when she was throwing insults at Harry). It was the devil's incarnate himself.

Ava had gone wide eyed upon seeing him, and the rest of the nine kids busied themselves with the litter of puppies which were brought in yesterday. Lacey had led them away while I was telling Ava about Earl Grey, saying, "Be easy with them, kids."

Harry came closer to where Ava was standing next to Earl Grey's cot. The Border collie was soundly asleep, with her legs hanging from the side of the cot. She looked much like an infant. Earl Grey reminded Rory of the first pet she got when she was around eight. It was a baby sparrow whose mother had made a nest atop the roof of their home back in Yorkshire. Albeit it wasn't a real pet because the sparrows ended up flying like two days later and no one knew she had a pet but in those two days, she took care of the sparrow and gave it food and water daily.

Earl Grey shifted in the cot and moments later her eyelids opened to reveal black eyes. She took a moment before trying her best to sit up, but Harry went forward and adjusted her so she was directly staring at Ava and him.

"C'mon, love. Do you want to pat her?"

Ava nodded with such vigor you'd think someone had asked her to open her Christmas gift. Cautiously, she moved as Harry stepped backwards. Rory was standing to the side, and it felt like both Harry and Ava had forgotten her. She watched quietly as Ava softly patted Earl Grey on the forehead, the latter closing her eyes as she did so. Rory watched as a bright grin spread across Ava's face and lightened up her whole features.

Rory could here other kids' voices, happy squeals mixed with laughter but she was focused on Harry and Ava. The former was being so soft Rory was sure she was seeing an entirely different person trapped inside his body. Harry was smiling like never before. Don't get him wrong, he smiled plenty but his smiles always had an air of smugness and arrogance which always enveloped the genuineness of the action. His smiles never felt kind enough for Rory but now even with his eyes away from her, she could feel the warmth in them. Maybe because his smiles weren't directed at her that she now saw she was capable of being warm, like hot chocolate and blankets.

And Harry didn't look like the evil orangutang she so heartily compared him with. He just looked like a regular orangutang who was capable of smiling and being nice to people (which didn't include Rory).

Ava wasn't done playing with Earl Grey, but Harry stood up nonetheless. Rory quickly composed herself; getting caught in the act of blatant staring by Harry wasn't in her book as it would subject her to at least five years of jokes on her part.

Everything she did in front of Harry would end up giving Harry at least five years of jokes on her part.

She found Harry's eyes to come rest on her, the look in them specifying he forgot she was still there (that was just the effect she had on everyone, no worry). But surprisingly their warmth didn't vanish even though Harry had stopped smiling and now was blatantly staring.

"It's rude to stare," She mumbled offhandedly; she liked the attention, but not from Harry. It always ended in him making fun of her.

"Is what you said to yourself when you kept staring at me?"

Rory was caught off guard. "I didn't!"

Someone had squeezed her neck and was now using a hammer to puncture her chest. She didn't remember her heart beating with such vigour before.

"You didn't say that to yourself or you didn't stare?"

That was clever, really clever. Rory was now fully flustered under Harry's intense gaze, and her airways were having an asphyxiation. No sentence she was stringing in her was making any sense.

"I no stare. You a lie!"

What came out was low even for her. It was clear from Harry's face that he was having the time of his life. A small grin broke on his face. He wasn't mocking her.

"Really?"

Rory huffed, now noticing the environment around them silent. The kids have gone off to somewhere, and Ava was silently watching the two bicker back and forth. Her eyes were wide, but she was also smiling. She took a deep breath before calling for Ava.

"You bother me to no end, Styles. You really do. Now let's get Ava reunited with her folks before they decide to leave without her."

She turned around, without waiting for Harry or looking at his face, and started walking. Her airways were still blocked and her heart was still beating fast. But that didn't matter.

It was the knots in her stomach that weren't there before which worried her. Her stomach was in cramps, and it would take her more trips to the bathroom than she was wiling for to get rid of the pain.

The students were happy, the teachers were happy, and everyone else was also happy with Lacey (and on the borderline Harry and Ava). Beth was floating on a croissant because a teacher decided to adopt two puppies from the litter of seven puppies for her kids.

But Rory wasn't happy.

Instead of her spending time with Moby and looking after her, she now had small puppies who just pooped (all together) and now were whining. It wasn't all, Harry was playing with Moby, and made sure his voice was heard all the way across the room where Rory was with the puppies, even though both of them were in Rory's clear sight. So Harry knowing that there was no need for him to talk and laugh and even walk so loud was annoying Rory even more.

The puppies were two weeks old, and Rory feared for the moment Moby was going to have her own. Was it going to be exactly like this? Or were they going to be sensible enough to not pee or poop on anything they walk upon and have Rory clear up the mess?

It wasn't that Rory didn't like volunteering. She absolutely did. It was kind of like her thing (taking care of everyone) but Harry made it now hard for her to even enjoy doing that and made her hate every bit of it. He had been working at the shelter only for six months and there wasn't any moment with him around during that period which Rory could recall with a happy heart.

"Hey Roro! Did you know Moby could ___"

It had been like this for an hour. Harry would say something about Moby, some fact he'd just have discovered and Rory would roll her eyes and reply with, "Yes, I did know that, Harry."

When sometimes it would be the first time hearing that Moby can shake hands and sit when you ask her to. Rory didn't know who trained her, probably Beth, and it hurt her to know that Moby decided for Harry to be the first person to show her moves.

Lacey, Penny and Newt were huddled in a corner. Lacey had Earl Grey who was sleeping (again) and Penny and Newt had just gotten back from cleaning the mess the puppies had made in their cots.

"Are you free on Saturday, Rory?"

They were talking about going to the bar that had opened last week.

"The drinks will be on Newt."

Newt's uncle owned that bar, and Newt promised to provide free drinks.

Rory contemplated her options, and narrowed it down to staying at home, eating junk food and trying to set the invitation on fire through her gaze or she could go to the bar, get drunk on free drinks and then forget whatever would happen next.

"Sure, I'm in."

They cheered, and Rory allowed herself to feel happy, till Newt opened his garbage hole. "Great! Harry will pick you up."

Rory snapped her eyes towards Harry, who was busy watching Moby snore. "Okay."

Maybe he hadn't realized what was asked of him. Maybe he hadn't heard properly what Newt said. For he couldn't be as nonchalant as he was being right now.

"No, it's f-fine. I'll be okay by myself. It'd probably bother Harry."

She shot Newt a look, which meant to back her up. But all three of them were looking at her, amused. And Newt's eyebrows were doing a weird dance and it looked like something was in his eyes when he winked.

"Don't be silly! It wouldn't be a bother. Right Harry?"

He still hadn't looked up. "Right."

Rory kept her mouth shut, instead choosing to take the pups to their cots when their eyelids drooped. But picking up five pups at once was a problem.

"Here, let me help."

Harry was behind her in a moment and towered over Rory as he took three sleeping puppies from her. Rory suffered from the same laryngeal asphyxiation and her stomach cramped once again. Harry smelled like grapefruit and his breath was minty. It wafted around Rory and enveloped her. He was chewing bubblegum, probably mint, and Rory mentally slapped herself as her heart readied itself to beat out of her chest.

Harry started walking first, and Rory saw Newt's eyebrows had still not stopped dancing. Even Penny and Lacey had joined him in the process. Rory didn't know what was the deal with them, but she knew they were all in need of a lecture.

Rory quickened her pace, trying not to disturb the puppies in her arm. They hadn't been named, and no one was feeling up to it because they knew they'd soon get adopted. Beth once told them not to name the puppies for it always got hard trying to see them getting adopted. But they each ended up naming Moby, Earl Grey, Franklin and

Turner. But the adoption of Turner and Franklin brought them so much pain they decided to quit naming every animal which would be brought in.

Harry was standing by the pups' cot, and Rory set the ones she was holding down.

"Have you got your mind back on track?"

This was what Rory meant with doing anything and getting mocked. "Huh?"

"So you haven't. I forgot who I was asking."

Rory was getting annoyed. She turned towards him harshly, voice reduced to a hush because she knew the three people in the next room had their ears trained in on them. "Why do you like to bother me so much?"

Harry was feigning ignorance, eyes alight with mischief. "Me? Bothering you? Pssht! How stupid is that?"

Rory huffed. Explaining how stupid that really was would either end up in her crying out of anger (it had happened before) or bursting her vessel. She worried too much, became stressed out much too easily and surely took things to heart faster than they had settled in her brain.

Rory took a deep breath, ignoring Harry and deciding to calmly exit the room.

She could hear Harry calling after her, "But at least let me have your number! How am I going to call you to ask your address for Saturday?"

Rory didn't stop walking. "You're not having my number, Styles. Ask Newt for my address. I think his eyebrows will be glad."

Saturday came with a wind.

Just when Rory thought she had left cold weather and her allergies behind, they come surging through with Rory feeling worse for the wear. Her nose was stuffy and her eyes hurt whenever she tried to move them. Her throat was scratchy and she contemplated cancelling going out for one whole hour.

Before Lacey and Newt came barging through her door and demanded she took her anti-allergy pills. Lacey made her some weird looking solution type something to drink, and it helped a lot (she didn't tell Lacey that).

November was around the corner, just two days left. Rory was getting anxious by the second. To say she was procrastinating was the best way to describe her delaying RSVPing the card. Half of her wanted to go, while half of her was doing everything in its might to forget she even had an invitation.

Guess which half was winning.

Rory was absolutely dreading the wedding, and was of the view that maybe some drinks would cheer her up. There were many people on her People To Avoid At All Costs list she knew would be invited. At the top was the bride herself, Lara, and her bridesmaids (Rory was sure those girls would have received the position since she was out of the picture) tailed the next three to four positions. Josh was somewhere along the tenth or so position. (Some people had pissed Rory more than him, surprisingly. Because what could possibly top your ex marrying your ex-best friend?)

What surprised her was that Harry was number seventh, even before than Josh. But ironically, she saw the most of the person she was supposed to avoid at all costs.

But it didn't matter, for she wasn't done getting ready and her hair was a bird's nest due to the frizz and someone was ringing her doorbell like crazy.

Without wearing shoes, she walked the small distance from her room to the front door. The response for the person at the door came in the form of an eye roll and a huff.

"You're-" she craned her neck to look at the clock in the living room, "-ten minutes early, Styles."

Harry shrugged, lazily chewing gum and leaning his wait on the wall to his side. He looked cleaner, not He folded his arms over his chest. "I thought we could beat the traffic but if I knew you would be looking like Merida I would have thought otherwise."

Rory rolled her eyes again. "Well, now that you have seen that I need more time, can you please go back to your car and wait? I'll promise I'll be back in te-"

"Whoah, whoah. Hold on a sec." He quickly straightened up and Rory took a quick look at his attire. He'd changed out of his flamboyant shirts. Rory hated those, especially the flamingo one, and she was of the view he wore them especially to annoy her (even though she never voiced her distaste). He was wearing a black button down with skinny black jeans. Rory was insanely jealous of how his legs looked in them and - would you look at that? The same worn out boots were there.

"You're not inviting me in?"

Rory scoffed, "You're actually taking over Little Hope and I'd really like to keep my home a Styles-free zone." She was about to close the door, but his foot stopped her.

"Uh-uh. Look, it took me twenty minutes trying to locate your house and I know you didn't ask me to pick you up but please, I've digested whatever food I had even before leaving so now I'm hungry. I promise, I wouldn't leave my mark here. I just wanna see where you live."

Rory was somewhere lost in the rambling, "Has someone told you that you talk too much?"

Harry had gone silent, "I just.....I don't talk much. I uh- I ramble whenever I uh- ooh- want someone to agree with me." He flashed a full grin which showed all his teeth. If he were in tv, his teeth would have actually sparkled.

"Riight," Rory was suspicious of his motives, as she was with everything involving him. One time, he brought a cup of tea for her which actually ended up being cement dissolved in actual tea. Rory hadn't been able to trust him after that.

"Okay, Styles. I'll let you in not because I trust you but because you've actually costed me important time and I can't afford to waste more. So, c'mon in and don't snoop around, don't touch anything, and oh, don't sit on anything which is actually for sitting."

She left him standing at the door, not bothering to monitor him like she would have done if circumstances were different. It was the first time Harry had been to her home and while there were a thousand things that could go wrong with that, she didn't have the time to worry about them, the worst case scenario with Harry burning down her whole house.

Rory hurried in her room and quickly grabbed the shoes she was going to wear, deciding to leave her hair the way it was. Rory's hair was pretty short, and she loved how it looked. And she loved Merida more (she was a complete badass) and while she knew Harry was trying to make fun of how it looked, she left it with the frizz completely untamed. She was a completely independent woman who didn't need any man.

(Although she'd like the attention).

The comb had somewhat helped her hair, but when she saw Harry by her kitchen counter and eating a slice of frozen pizza which was microwaved, she imagined her hair standing up like static current was passing through them.

"I told you not to touch anything!"

Harry was going through the papers she'd stacked on the counter, but didn't look up from them. He mumbled, "Yeah, but you didn't tell me I couldn't eat anything."

Rory huffed, "Because that was implied! Eating means touching things with your hands and bringing them to your mouth. How is -"

"-your hair isn't like Merida anymore. I'm disappointed."

The complete change of the subject made Rory angrier than she was before. But now she had completely mastered the act of staying absolutely emotionless around Harry. She couldn't let him see he got to her too easily.

"Well, good. Then we should leave."

"We should, but you should check your mail. The water and electricity bills are two days overdue. Your mother has sent a letter which was titled 'the hot bachelor' and you have to RSVP to wedding of some Josh and Lar-"

"YOU WENT THROUGH MY MAIL?!" There went her plan of completely remaining emotionless. "What part of 'Don't touch anything' did you not understand?"

She skyrocketed all the way across the living room next to him, who was as laid back as usual. Her wild screech hadn't affected him at all, it seemed like a normal thing for him (which was, probably.) She snatched the mail off the table, acting much like a madman, and stuffed them all in the drawer of the kitchen cabinet behind her.

"We're already late, Styles. So I'd appreciate it if you actually did the thing you came here for, instead of snooping around."

"But I was looking for your baby pictures."

"And it's not snooping?"

"Whatever," He grumbled, "If we get stuck in traffic it's all your fault."

Rory didn't get to complain because Harry was already walking in front of her. His butt moved like a female's does when she was being seductive. "Are you done checking my butt? I'd really like to get a move on."

"I didn't-"

"'I no stare. You a lie!' Yeah yeah. Can we leave now?"

Rory could see his eyes brightly shining, it was weird. His evil grin was again plastered on his face. Rory sighed, deciding to reprimand him for later.

She had a night to spend with him.

The drive was quick, they didn't get stuck into traffic which Rory was thankful for but before she could thank God for having Harry keep his mouth shut the whole night, he spoke up when they reached the outside of the bar.

"Don't talk to strangers and don't absolutely take any drink from anyone and don't wander off to anywhere by yourself and don't even think of defil-"

"I'm twenty-one, Styles. I'm big enough to know what to do and what not."

Harry hummed,"You sure act like it."

"Look, Styles." She turned towards him. He was still looking in the mood to rile her up, but his eyes conveyed the seriousness his face was lacking. "I would really appreciate if you could maybe, possibly let me spend my time here without wanting to bang my head on the wall and give myself concussion? Please."

Harry was silent for a minute. "Okay."

It took Rory by surprise how easily he had given in to get request, but she didn't believe him completely. For all she knew, this could be one of his traps or something. "Okay?"

He nodded, "Okay."

There was some weird The Fault In Our Stars thing going on right now. Rory was confused, but Harry was happily smiling. "You mean, you'll stop bothering me to no end?"

"Yeah, Roro. I'll stop bothering you to no end."

Rory could feel something missing in his statement, a silent message he hadn't got around to say. "But?"

He turned towards her, looking proud, he exclaimed, "But, I'm gonna need your number first. There's this gif I really want you to see."

Oh, boy. Rory sighed, annoyed out of her mind. She was in for a long, long night.

The bar was full because of the weekend, and Newt was already drunk when Rory reached them. He seemed pretty happy with himself when Rory stated Harry drives them both, and seemed pretty accomplished with himself. He was hanging on Lacey's arm, who had taken to babysit him.

Harry was at her trail, complaining he didn't know anyone at the bar when in reality Rory had counted almost five people who greeted him since the moment they arrived. Rory was in the mood to get absolutely hammered without caring for anyone else, and having Harry got on her trial wasn't helping her case.

She wasn't afraid of embarrassing herself in front of Harry (that was a natural thing she couldn't stop from happening even if she tried). All she wanted was not to spill anything she wasn't supposed to and Harry wasn't supposed to hear (for example, the fact her ex was marrying her best-friend) which would later subject her to more jokes from him. She didn't want to reveal secrets which were better off kept hidden.

She was sat at the bar with Penny, while Lacey and Newt were drunkenly dancing in a spot which was clearly visible from where Rory was sitting. Penny was complaining about some guy she liked. He was a bartender at the same bar they were at right now. Penny had hoped he would be there so she could make a move, seeing the guy was beginning to look like a coward.

Harry had wandered off alone, not before telling not to do the same to Rory. As soon as Harry was out of sight, Rory ordered shots of gin and tonic.

"Are you sure you should be drinking that much?"

Penny had taken the role of monitoring her. She ignored her voice and hurriedly drank down three of the shots placed before her. "I came to get drunk on free drinks so I wouldn't remember what's happening in my life right now. Please, penny," She looked at her friend with the best puppy-eyes she could imitate, "Please let me have this."

Penny sighed before getting up,Okay, fine. But if anything happens it's on you."

Rory squealed as Penny's figure became enveloped by the crowd, drowning the remaining shots before another three glasses were presented before her. She looked up to find a bartender, who looked younger than her, smiling. "Overheard you and your friend. Experience says tequila makes you wild so if you're in for that, maybe you should stick to it."

Rory could feel the alcohol taking over her nervous system, Harry's advice to not take drinks from anyone somewhere drowned by the thumping beat of the bar. Without further thinking, she drowned the clear liquid before asking for a bottle.

She would deal with the consequences later.

November

Something was moving inside Rory's stomach.

It was probably blood, but even for someone who flunked biology in her school years knew blood wasn't supposed to make squishy sounds. Maybe her stomach was being squeezed and probably making that sound but it was highly impossible.

Or maybe her liver was probably expelled.

But the thing was round and squeezy, not wet at all and felt something like a ball. It was averaged size, from what Rory could feel.

Her head was pounding, but her whole body felt numb and tired all at once. One of her arms was covered in pins and needles and she realized she was sleeping on it. Her eyes were shut but something was irritating them. It was the sunlight.

Rory groaned when the round something got in her way as she rolled over the bed which was most definitely hers. It took all of her power to open her eyes. Sunlight poured in like fresh acid, making her groan and shut them again.

She was hungover, which meant last night was a success. She definitely didn't remember what happened the previous night.

Rory tried again. This time she was successful in keeping her eyes open for more than two seconds. She realized she was sleeping with a rubber ball the size of a football close to her, and was probably hugging and squeezing the life out of it.

Her phone was dead, so she couldn't check with anyone to find out what happened the previous night. Was she a total babe or embarrassed the hell out of herself? She strongly believed it was the latter but it didn't hurt to confirm.

She begrudgingly got out of the inviting bed and went straight to the kitchen to make herself a strong cup of tea to get rid of the headache. Her leg ached and there was a pretty big bruise running from her knee to the mid on the side of her leg. Her phone was put on charging, she needed to thank whoever cared enough for her to make sure she got home safe. It was probably Penny, since Lacey and Newt were wasted even before she got her first drink, that much she remembered.

The door bell rang minutes after the kettle sounded, announcing that the water had boiled. She practically dragged her feel across the tiled floor up to the front door. She knew she wasn't in any shape or form to open the door. Her hair was all over peeking from the haphazard pony tail someone had made out of it, probably dark circles guarded here eyes and her breath smelled heaps. But frankly she didn't care.

She had no idea who could be at the door. It was around twelve, so she couldn't say it was too early for any visitor. Her leg muscles were burning and as she opened the door, her eyes started burning too.

"The consequence....."

She trailed off as Harry's freshly showered and brightly smiling figure stood in the doorway in the same position she remembered seeing him when he came to pick her up. He looked way too happy to be hungover, and the chip in his step when Rory stepped aside to let him in proved her theory. He wasn't even close to being hungover.

"You look awful Roro."

He was leaning over the kitchen counter, the tea Rory poured for herself already in his hands.

"Do you really have no manners whatsoever? And were you never taught to not eat food lying around?"

Harry shrugged, eyes down, "Can't say."

Rory disregarded the answer, pouring herself another cup of tea. She didn't bother asking Harry what he was doing at her house, thinking it was another of his antics to annoy her.

"Here," He pulled out something from his pocket. When he set it down on the counter, Rory realized it was a key, her key. The key to her house. "I forgot to return it when I dropped you off yesterday. You were pretty much out of your mind so I had to search your purse for this."

Rory took some time so that Harry's words registered in her brain, "You dropped me home last night?"

He nodded, "It wasn't technically dropping off if you add me dragging you to your room and fighting with you to let go off the ball you dragged from God knows where and then treating myself to a cup of tea and the junk you've stored in your fridge. Which reminds me to tell you to eat nutritious food."

Rory scrunched up her nose, "What about Penny? Did she get home safe?"

"She ended up leaving with the bartender. Decent dude. I saw them leaving together so I went looking for you. Spotted you the moment your leg got caught in the leg of the chair and ended up falling face first to the floor."

That explained the bruise. Rory couldn't be annoyed at him because if it weren't for him, God knows what would have happened to her.

"I guess then thank you, Styles. For getting me home safe."

Harry didn't believe her half-hearted gratitude. "That wouldn't work. You owe me something."

That was what Rory wasn't willing to do; owing something to Harry when she knew how evil could his mind be. She didn't want to get stuck in his evil schemes for she knew all he was good at doing (besides taking care of animals better than her) was annoying her.

"What do I owe you?"

Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as she was thinking. Maybe all he'd say was some harmless thing that she'd have no trouble complying to and-

"Have lunch with me."

Forget that thought.

It was already two when Harry picked up his phone.

"Where the hell are you, Styles?! Was it just a plan of yours to have me standing outside the restaurant for fifteen minutes and not showing up yourself? Did you plan to stand me up so I'd make a fool out of myself?! Were you even serious about having lunch together or maybe I was just a fool to believe that you were?! I swear to God, Styles, if-"

"Hey, hey, hey."

The voice didn't come from the phone, it came from behind her. Harry was once again supporting his flamboyant shirts, this time it was a pink coloured one with white polka dots all over it. Truth be told, those shirts didn't look as hideous as Rory manipulated her mind to think. He looked good in those shirts, even better than she would look. But as always, she wasn't going to tell him that.

"I'm sorry. My car broke down and I had to walk- no, run all the way here. I'm really sorry Roro."

His chest was heaving up and down as he spoke and Rory could see beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead despite of the slight chill November had brought. He was looking at her intently, and he was looking as apologetic as they could get.

She shrugged, "Okay."

The restaurant they had chosen was a small Indian one. The owner knew Rory closely since she often went there. But it came a surprise to her when Harry practically engulfed Neha in his arms the moment he stepped in.

"It's so good to see you, Neha."

Neha was a small Indian lady who moved to England from Mumbai when she was ten years old. She had done her bachelors in cooking, and reminded Rory of Francine. Rory had babysat her kids on more occasions than one.

"It's so good to see you too Harry, Rory."

She greeted them both, Harry more enthusiastically. Rory wondered if he's shown such enthusiasm when they first met, things would have been entirely different now. They were led to a booth next to the windows, and Rory avoided talking to him at all.

He wasn't minding, it appeared, for he was vigorously going through his phone. That was how she wanted Harry to act around her; completely ignoring her. And now that he was doing it, she could feel the awkwardness getting palpable.

She took the initiative, "Was I really....wild last night?"

Harry looked surprised, probably because Rory always avoided making contact with him. But what was she supposed to do when he was sitting directly across from her and they were having lunch together.

"You weren't wild, as per se, but you did have your moments Roro."

"Like what?"

Harry pondered for a second, “Like doing a weird, spider-like dance in the middle of the bar, kneeing a guy when he got too close to you during that, making Newt set up a karaoke machine and then singing songs which seemed to have come from another language," Harry stopped talking, assessing her face for a moment, "It was really fun seeing you like that."

Rory wondered why he didn't bring it up sooner, was he having a change of heart?

"It was really that bad, huh?"

Harry shook his head,"I would have stopped you, but Penny said you needed to have that, whatever that means. So I didn't. But I enjoyed a lot."

It was true, she really needed that. She smiled despite herself. "Thank you for looking after me."

The lunch passed by smoothly, none of them talked after that. Harry insisted on walking her home, but she refused. She hated to say this, but seeing Harry so out of his element (not annoying her) made her confused. For it annoyed her (what?!) that he wasn't annoying her.

It hadn't registered in her mind till then that a teeny, tiny part of her was disappointed when Harry made civil talk with her, like it really wanted him to act like he normally did around her. It also didn't register in her mind till then that a tent, tiny part of her enjoyed when he did that.

She was confused.

Was she saying that she enjoyed when Harry made fun of her? No. Was she saying that it bothered her when he didn't make fun of her and acted like she was some stranger he hadn't spent the better part of six months trying to annoy? Absolutely.

Unknowingly, she had started liking Harry and his antics. Unknowingly, she had started observing him, how he'd a ruck up his nose and look absolutely cute and how he'd put on his best, adorable puppy eyes unconsciously so no one could say no to her and how even though he'd be making fun of Rory, it would be harmless, childish jokes and how, despite the times he'd said otherwise, he'd ramble whenever he got nervous.

Rory had observed it all. And around doing so, she developed a teeny tiny crush on Harry.

It was just a crush, nothing else. That was what she kept telling herself, but during the lunch, she realized something which could either save her or burn everything.

Harry was loudly munching on a piece of lettuce stolen from Rory's plate. (It wasn't stealing if you consider Rory had put it to the side). When he swallowed, his eyes lit up like fire.

"Hey Roro, do you know something?"

Rory hummed, mouth full of food. "What?"

Harry made a face as he saw that her mouth was filled to the brim, "I got your number."

Rory was surprised, and confused, and surprised. She remembered him asking for it last night. "From where?"

"I asked Newt like you said. You were right; his eyebrows were so glad they started dancing. Also because he was drunk."

She cursed Newt. If it weren't for him, Rory wouldn't have to deal with Harry's arse at all. When Harry got to the shelter the first time, Newt was the one responsible for showing Harry around and letting him get the hang of things. But the bastard got sick the third day and Rory had to replace him. And then cued in Harry and his penchant of annoying Rory out of her mind.

"Great," she drawled out, still slightly hungover and a lot more hungry. She couldn't eat because her stomach was feeling off, but the hunger was still present.

"I didn't get to send you the gif I was talking about, but here you go."

Moments later her phone rang as she got a text from Harry. This better be good, she thought as she clicked on the notification. A sigh involuntarily heaved out of her lips as Harry's laugh rang in the background. Harry had sent her a gif of cow screaming which he found undeniably amusing.

"Real mature, Styles."

She shook her head, not at all amused. Somewhere around that Harry had stopped laughing and now was staring wistfully at Rory.

"Why are you looking me like that?"

Harry shrugged. His eyes were really green, Rory noticed. It was like when grass glistened after the rain. Like that, they were twinkling. They must be a couple of feet apart but Rory saw his freckles, which looked undeniably cute.

"You just- um - you never call me by my name."

Rory's brow furrowed, "But I do! Isn't Styles your name?"

Harry shook his head. "No, what I mean is, you never call me Harry. It's always Styles."

He looked so much like a wounded puppy that Rory was moved to think about what he said. It was really true; she never called him by his actual name. "But you also call me Roro."

"That's different," he pursed his lips together, "When you call me Styles, it's always with an air of indifference. I get the feeling you're trying to push me away. And maybe you are, and maybe I'm really pushing boundaries here. But I don't like when you do that, Roro."

Rory was taken aback by his confession, his face reminded her of the time she got caught stealing a cookie and her mother was so much disappointed in her which she could never forget. The look on her mother's face paralleled that on Harry's face, both making her feel that she failed some test.

"I'm sorry, Sty- I mean, Harry," she muttered sheepishly, "It's just that, you never struck me as someone who'd be interested in befriending me, what with the pact you made since day one to bother me to no end. But," she put up her finger when Harry opened his mouth, "I'm willing to try to be friends if you are."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, the smile he had on his face almost breaking it in half, "I am. Let's start over, but first, there's something I want you to see."

He took out his phone and began typing.

"It's not another screaming cow gif, is it?"

But her phone rang once again. She clicked the notification, rolling her eyes when the text popped up.

"No," he replied, "It's a screaming sheep gif."

Rory, without thinking about anything, let herself smile for the first time around him as he giggled obnoxiously. She shook her head at his childish demeanours. Her heart started behaving as if she'd been on a run, and her stomach started cramping once again. There wasn't anything which could have caused it except for Harry, but Rory wasn't walking on the path.

Seeing Harry laughing genuinely with her and not at her, brought her to conclusion. If she was going to survive going to the wedding, she needed someone by her side to distract her, someone who'd make her laugh when it would get too real. Someone who'd make fun of all the other guests and even the bride and groom with her.

Someone like Harry.

The epiphany Rory had left her giddy with nervousness through all the time she was actually supposed to prepare for the wedding and look after Moby.

Her belly was getting bigger, and Rory remembered there were six puppies inside her. Her appetite had also grown to accommodate for six additional dogs and also, to Rory's horror, Moby was having the worst case of morning sickness, which wasn't as much of a morning since she kept puking throughout the day.

To Rory's surprise, Harry was super helpful and super caring with Moby. He made sure she was comfortable and happy all times and even refrained from unnecessary teasing Rory with things related with pregnancy as they made her queasy. She knew it was nature's most exciting phenomena and she'd also go through it someday but it wasn't her fault that she was born with the weakest of heart which trembled at the sight of blood and itself got ready to join the person she would see puking.

Before, Harry wouldn't have let go of the opportunity to gloat about Rory's weaknesses at the sight of blood but now when Moby was puking her guts out, Harry actually offered to look after her, making Rory sigh with relief when he didn't annoy her.

"Thanks for the offer, Harry, but I'd really like to be there for Moby."

Harry. Ever since she had reverted to calling Harry instead of Styles, things had taken a complete U-turn for both of them. Their fights decreased substantially, they laughed with each other (not at the other) quite often and Rory hadn't thought of banging her head on the wall after that.

But subsequently, she had started feeling giddy and nervous around him, probably because she was going to ask him to accompany her to the wedding of her ex. Harry might be more nice to her than before, but she knew because of his curiousness, she'd have to tell him whose wedding was she was talking about and everything. She still had not mustered up the courage to talk to him but she did RSVP to the wedding so now there was no backing up now.

Christmas was getting closer, and so was the wedding. She had a detailed call with her mother who was now somewhere around the other side of the world with her boyfriend Steve who was much like a husband now except for the whole wedding part. Rory's father passed away in an accident when she was two and after years of refusing, her mother decided to date Steve who looked after the both the same way her father would have.

Talking to her mother made Rory realize how much she wished she had her to talk to and get advice from. But her mother, being a social activist, was somewhere in Kenya building nutrition centres. It left her feeling a bit of relief as her mother wouldn't be home for Christmas so she wouldn't have to drive all the way back to her hometown.

Rory would have asked both Penny and Lacey for advice but she just didn't have that kind of relationship with either of them. Sure, she looked at them like an elder sister would but she was the detached kind of elder sister, the one who kept to herself and wasn't at all close to her siblings.

Rory had to do everything on her own.

And with Christmas getting closer, she had to shop for gifts as well. She had a bit of an idea about what she was getting everyone else (she had spent about three years of Christmas with them) but Harry was the worry here. She didn't know whether he'd be going home or not for Christmas or was he going to stay there.

With November halfway gone, Rory was getting fearful with each second which ticked by. There was the wedding, and then there was the confusing things she was beginning to feel about Harry. He made her giddy, he made her stomach cramp, he made her anxious. She had dated her fair share of boys (including Josh) and all of them made her feel some type of way almost similar to what Harry was doing, so she knew she couldn't ignore her feelings.

She didn't know what Harry felt about her, but she was going to get all of her answers soon enough.

Penny was leaving for her hometown in a week, so the others decided to have a little lunch in her honour.

She wasn't going away for good, she would be back after Christmas. But Newt and Lacey were always looking for excuses to party, and Penny leaving them to spend some quality time with her family gave them enough of an excuse.

With the exception of Moby who was getting close to her expected date of delivery (around Christmas), the shelter was running smoothly. So Beth gave all of them the remaining Wednesday noon off since no field trip was expected.

All day, she spent walking alongside Moby, who was getting lethargic by the day. She'd sit in a corner, and if feeling, would let Rory carry her outside whenever there was enough sunshine.

But with the progressing pregnancy, Moby preferred sitting inside all day. So there wasn't much to do in the shelter and with Harry deciding to get off her back, Rory had a lot of time in her hands to worry about the wedding.

With winter increasing in intensity, the temperature of Rory's home was cranked up and she had taken out her warm clothes. But none of them felt suitable to wear for the lunch which was scheduled for Wednesday at two at Lacey's house. It was across two blocks from Harry's, so Harry decided they would first go to Rory's, have a snack and Rory would change then they'd be going to Lacey's.

This provided Rory with an excellent opportunity to ask Harry to accompany her to the wedding. She even prepared a little speech about what she was going to say to Harry, with added notes on what do to when he showed certain facial expression and what note. It was basically garbage, but it helped her in sorting out her thoughts.

Harry drove both of them home, throwing in jokes here and there. He hadn't fully stopped bothering Rory, but he was on the way and now with Rory realizing she actually liked him doing that, she didn't want him to stop.

They reached her home in no time, and quickly shuffled inside as cold wind hit their bodies. Rory clearly remembered what had happened the last (and the only time) Harry had come to her home. He was filled with curiosity, so preparing ahead, Rory stashed away all pictures of her teen years and before that so Harry wouldn't find anything even if he snooped around.

Besides, she had more serious matters to tend to.

"I really like your home, Roro."

It wasn't much, a living area in centre with kitchen and two rooms on the opposite side. The other room used to belong to Francine, but she ended up moving out so now it remained empty. Rory's mother now paid half of the rent, so Rory didn't put up any ad for roommate.

Rory smiled, walking over to the kitchen counter. "Thank you, Harry." She shuffled around, but came up short of everything she could present before Harry without burning.

"Can you cook?"

Harry was busy flipping through the magazine Rory left on the table. He looked up, eyeing Rory with a peculiar look in his eyes, "You can't?"

Rory nodded, turning towards him and leaning over the kitchen counter, "I'm leaving off of frozen pizzas and instant noodles which is the only thing I can cook without burning so if you're into that, I can heat up some pizza for you."

Harry chuckled, abandoning the magazine and walking over to Rory. He was wearing his signature black jeans paired with a white shirt having black patterns all over it. He had taken off his brown boots which were now lying by the door. Rory decided she was going to get him similar boots for Christmas.

"Don't worry, I can't cook either. I mean, I can boil water but that's about it."

Rory was taken by surprise, feeling a smile curving on her lips, "So how do you get by?"

He shrugged, "My mum comes by once every week and cooks enough food to get me through the whole week. She's pretty keen on having me eat healthy when she knows I hate vegetables."

Rory was amused, "And here you were telling me just some days ago to 'eat nutritious'."

Harry laughed. His eyes were sparkling and Rory found her hands getting clammy. She knew she was about to over-think and probably blew up whatever was going on between them. That was her tendency; to over complicate by over thinking simple things.

"Hey Harry. I was th-"

But his phone rang, cutting her off.

"Yeah, we're at Ror- Oh, okay, cool. Yeah, we'll be there."

Rory was busy wiping her clammy hands off, her heart was beating really fast for someone who was merely standing. Harry ended the call after a few more affirmatives, looking at Rory as he proceeded to put away his phone.

"That was Lacey. Apparently, Lacey left Newt to look over the food while it cooked and he ended up burning it. So Lacey placed the order at some restaurant and we have to pick it up."

Rory sighed, agreeing to leave. One thing she found, it was much easier dealing with Harry by simply agreeing to what he had to say. And that meant agreeing when he called he made fun of her and dropped various jokes surrounding the things she did. It was much easier dealing with him now because Rory kept silent most of the times and let him do his thing.

She didn't know how that could be beneficial even for her but by doing so she discovered a lot of things about Harry that would have otherwise remained under the cover. For example now when she found out that Harry also didn't know how to cook or how his mother came periodically to check up on him.

He was peculiar, and so was she, that's why she was of the view that having Harry by her side would save her from the dread of going to the wedding.

Lacey was frantic when Rory and Harry reached her home.

She had Newt had gotten into some sort of disagreement after he burnt the lunch and now Newt was sulking in the backyard. Lacey said he was acting like a toddler so she was dealing with him in the same way by giving him timeout. He was actually mad at Lacey for calling him a nincompoop.

Harry laughed loudly when Newt finished explaining why he was angry. Harry explained nincompoop wasn't the worst thing to be called when he'd been called pretty bad things - particularly orangutang - several times. Rory blushed when he looked at her from the corner of his eyes while talking to Newt.

Penny arrived thirty minutes after that. Till then the argument between Lacey and Newt had subsided a bit and Newt was talking to Lacey again.

Lunch was filled with laughter and the voices of people talking over each other. Rory forced her mind to think about anything but the wedding and tried to have a good time. It was fun seeing everyone else around her talking and just mingling about. Occasionally, a loud laugh from Harry's lips would ring out when Newt would crack a joke or something.

Her mind filled with images of Josh and Lara together. They were as apart as day and night yet were getting married. Josh was four years older than her and Lara, despite being her best friend, was almost the same age as him. Lara and her had met at the animal shelter when she first starting volunteering and quickly hit it off, becoming best friends almost instantly. She met Josh a year and a half after that and was with him for the better part almost of two years. Till she found him and Lara, naked, together, in bed and a year and a half later got invited to their wedding.

They both just had a fight three hours before that. They would fight often, but would make up minutes later. However when three hours had passed and no call from Josh came, Rory realized the magnitude of the problem was bigger than what could be solved over the phone.

She was the bigger man who went to apologize but got slapped in the face with betrayal.

Lara sure was her best friend, but it was after she ended relations with either of them that she realized they were never that close. Sure, they talked and gossiped and shares secrets but Lara never gave Rory the sisterly vibe every best friend gave the other (brotherly, if it was a male).

And Rory thought to not go to the wedding at all, to back out. It would save her from feeling distressed now but the consequences might bite her in the arse later. She wasn't the person to run away from her problems. Even after the huge setback, she ended calling them both to settle matters on an even foot. Josh agreed, Lara and her ended up fighting when the former accused Rory of knowing she always liked Josh.

It didn't end well, but at least it made Josh (and perhaps, maybe, Lara) to invite her at their wedding.

Almost everyone at the animal shelter knew what went down between the three of them. Harry, despite of his curiosity and his power to make everyone confide in him, was unaware probably because everyone knew it was a sensitive matter. The rest excluding Rory weren't invited, and Rory guessed it had something to do with Newt, Lara's house on a Christmas night (Lara was away), and a lot of toilet paper.

Rory looked around her. Everyone had gotten cozy after eating and now we're watching The Lion King, much to Newt's demands. Rory was sat next to Harry, not paying attention to whatever was going on the tv. Harry felt warm and comfortable, his arm rubbed against Rory with every breath he took, and it was being impossible for Rory to not rest her head on his arm and close her eyes.

Newt's snores filled the room. He was lying with his head in Rory's lap as his feet dangled over the edge of the couch. His snores were drowned by Simba's 'Hakuna Matata'.

He slept soundly, almost like a baby, and Rory envied him for the ability.

It was getting close to eight when Rory decided it was time for her to leave.

Newt had already gone to bed, and by bed it meant hoarding the couch as drool dripped from the side of his mouth. Penny had already left, she had some things left to pack an while Lacey stayed up, Rory could see her drooping. It wasn't late, but Lacey had a lot to do today. She was ready to hit the bed and collapse.

As for Harry, Rory could see him rubbing his eyes and yawning. He seemed tired too, but he promised to drop Rory at her home.

"There's no need, Harry. It's not that late, I mean, I can get a bus."

"It might not be late, but it's getting cold. You wouldn't wanna get sick, would you?"

He was leading her to the place he parked his car in the garage. Rory was rubbing her arms, with November ending it indeed was getting cold.

"Hey, Roro?"

Harry asked once he was safely sat inside the car with his seat belt fastened. Rory looked over at him. His eyes were wide as he was trying to keep them open. The engine revved and Rory nodded her head, to indicate that she was listening.

"I was thinking that maybe you could stay over at mine? I mean, uh-" he rubbed his neck and looked away, and Rory could feel a nervous rant coming up, "-it's getting uh, late and I'm tired. And frankly, I don't feel like driving all the way to your home even though I promise I would but I'm tired and-"

Rory chuckled, watching him ramble nervously. Sometimes, she observed, he would rub his neck and run a hand through his hair while looking absolutely anywhere but at her. He'd bite his lips too, and often stutter.

Rory pondered over Harry's invite to stay the night at his house. If asked two months ago, Rory would have laughed in his face, or probably wouldn't believe him or waved it off as a prank. But things were different now, between them and with them. Rory knew he was being genuine, and staying over at his house wouldn't probably be worse than befriending him. He was already very tired, and she knew countering him would only tire him more. Besides, what did she have to lose?

She agreed, cutting his weird formation of sentences that made little to no sense. The look of relief that passed over his face was worth taking a picture, his hair were a mess and looked very inviting for Rory to just run a hand through them.

She wondered what it would feel like to do so, and for the first time, she wondered who actually got the chance to run their fingers through the mess on his head. She realized in the six months she had known Harry, he never brought a girl with him to any of their group meet-ups, and it wasn't as if she kept tabs on him, she never saw him leave with anyone when they'd hit a bar or something.

Take the night when they went out to the bar Newt's uncle owned, for example. He stayed looking after Rory, instead of enjoying himself.

It opened various different probabilities and uncertainties for Rory, the kinds of which made her stomach ache and heart beat much faster for someone at rest.

Harry's house, despite what his personality (mostly his attire) would suggest, was completely monochromatic.

Rory was surprised seeing only black and white wherever she looked. The house was much spacious than hers and smelled of lavender and a bit of oranges. It was warm and cozy and Rory instantly fell in love with it.

She followed Harry around by dragging her feet over the carpeted floor, feeling too tired to even lift her feet. Harry led her through a flight of stairs and down a small hallway which had three doors, over to a room on the left.

He turned towards her, "This room is mine, the only available one since the rest are a bit....messy."

Rory didn't want to question how much messy the other two rooms really were. She simply nodded and eyed him when he kept standing.

"You don't expect me to sleep on the couch, do you? I mean, I know that's what a gentleman would do but being tired and sleepy has extracted the gentleman out of me so the best and the only option for us is to share the bed. I hope it's alright with you."

Rory could only stare at him in surprise, "When were you a gentleman anyway?"

Harry eyed her, making a show of flipping his hair over his shoulder in a dramatic fashion. "I am a gentleman, thank you very much. I just never showed it around you."

Rory rolled her eyes, shaking her head and fighting a smile when Harry opened the door and bowed down, "Milady."

His room, contrary to his house, was an exact replica of the shirts he wore. While his house gave a sophisticated vibe, his room was more on the boyish side. It didn't look like it belonged to a medical student. His walls were painted a mulberry colour, while the floor was yellow. His bed sheet was blue and the dresser and various drawers he had were all brown. It was just a mesh of colours and photographs and various posters on the wall, and Rory got her answer when Harry opened his mouth.

"My mum decorated the rest of the house while giving me only this room to decorate so I did it to the best of my ability."

Truth be told, it looked exactly like the place Rory would have expected Harry to live in. Posters of Queen and Coldplay amongst various other bands were pasted over his walls, and Rory could see a picture of Harry in his adolescent years peeking from the bookshelf.

"I like it," she finally spoke, "It's so you."

"So me?"

"Yeah. It goes along with those shirts you wear."

Harry was rummaging through the drawers, and Rory invited herself to sit on the bed which was perfectly made. "It took a lot of begging to have mum let me colour the floor yellow. I think it brings out the colour of the walls."

Rory hummed as Harry turned around. He was holding folded clothes in his hands, looking really relaxed and sleepy, and cuddly too.

"Here, you can wear these to bed." He stifled a yawn and motioned towards a door to the right, "That's the bathroom and if you'd look on the first cabinet to the right, you'll find a spare toothbrush. I'll just use the one downstairs."

Rory nodded, thanking Harry when he handed her clothes and entered the bathroom. It was dimly lit. Rory went over to the sink to was her face and remove the makeup she was wearing. Searching for the toothbrush in the cabinet Harry mentioned, she found one and proceeded to brush her teeth. She changed into the clothes Harry lent her, she saw the shirt was actually a flamingo one she had seen him wearing countless times before. It reached her mid-thigh, and the shorts were well below her knees. She had to make do with them.

Harry was already settled under the blanket when Rory got out. He looked comfortable, and showed Rory the boundary he had made using pillows in the middle of the bed.

"I'm called the blanket hoarder, so you better be aware."

Rory wanted to retort back that during the sleepovers she'd have as a kid, none of her friends slept in the same space as her because she'd hoard all the space and the blanket and irritated everyone else. She slid under the blanket silently, facing away from Harry and closing her eyes after hearing the click of the lamp.

It was completely silent for a while, crickets chirped outside and owls hooted. Rory could hear Harry's steady breath and her own heartbeat. She could hear Harry shuffling and a minute later, she heard his voice.

"Roro, are you asleep?"

She sighed, turning towards him, "I'm definitely asleep."

There was a pillow boundary between them. Half of her was thankful for that, but half of her wasn't because her feet were really cold and she couldn't sleep with them being that cold nor she could earn them by herself.

"Isn't it surreal how two months ago, you could barely look at me without wanting to sever my head and now you're in the same bed as me?"

Rory shook her head, "I never wanted to sever your head. You just kept bothering me to no end and I didn't think you had any boundary."

From the little light that poured in through the window, Rory could see the silhouette of Harry's arm removing the pillows between them. She was greeted by his figure which she could just make out.

"I liked knowing I could get to you so quickly. I still do."

Rory took a pillow Harry just put next to his head and hit him with it. It reached his arm, and Harry snatched it from her grasp.

"See?"

Harry chuckled, making Rory groan. She turned her back towards him, taking the covers all the way over her head. Her mouth had gone dry, and her head was having jumbled thoughts.

"Hey Harry, what are you doing for Christmas?"

Her back was still towards Harry, and she could feel him shuffling closer. Hear radiated off of his body under the shares blanket.

"I'll probably be staying here. My mum will be visiting my sister in New York so I'm gonna be alone."

Rory swallowed, turning her back and facing Harry. She could see that his eyes were open and he was staring at her.

"Then there's a wedding on the twenty-third. Do you want to go with me?"

There. She had said it, now it was out in the open. Rory could feel her heart stopping for a moment as she anticipated his answer.

"Sure, I'll go with you."

That was easy, almost too easy. Rory could feel her breath coming back to her as she sighed with relief. She shuffled closer to Harry, him leaning forwards as she rested her head against his pillow.

"Thank you Harry."

He shook his head. Rory couldn't make out his eyes in the dark but guessed them to be twinkling. "Whose wedding is it, anyway?"

Rory was silent. He was going to find out one way or another. Or worse, he'd find out at the wedding himself. It wouldn't hurt telling him, it was simply two words. She asked him to go to the wedding, telling him the name of the person wouldn't hurt her more.

"My ex's."

Rory couldn't see his reaction, but she saw his silhouette moving in the dark as he got up and looked down at her by resting his arm on the bed to support himself. "What? Wh- Really?"

Rory nodded sheepishly, "Yeah."

Harry was silent, so was Rory. She could feel a thousand questions running through his mind, given his curious attitude. But what came out of his mouth made Rory facepalm.

"Then maybe you could introduce me as your boyfriend, yeah? I'm sure any ex of yours would totally be jealous of my body and my face and my body-"

"Go back to sleep Harry."

He obliged quickly, dropping his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. Maybe now, Rory could say she was actually looking forward to the wedding.

December

With the change in weather, changed the whole environment of the shelter.

Since winter provided the chance for more stray dogs likely to be brought to the shelter, Beth was getting more and more occupied by taking care of dogs. She'd have her husband drop her twin daughters Blue and Violet at the shelter and they'd help around the shelter.

Rory was getting increasingly busy with Moby. Her belly was increasing in size day by day. With enough help from Harry, mixed with his snide comments about her lack of knowledge regarding anatomy and morphology and what not, Rory did whatever she could to make it as comfortable for Moby as she could.

Rory, through a series of unfortunate events, found that no one in the shelter actually knew about Lara getting married. It happened on a Wednesday, when one of the field trips had arrived at the shelter. Harry was with Rory, looking after the puppies, of which now only three remained. They were getting bigger in size, and Harry, like always, was grilling Rory about her ex

"Maybe now that your ex is getting married, we can have him give you dating advice. Or maybe at the wedding, we can found some good-looking dude for y-"

"Josh is getting married? What, when, why?"

Newt was beside Harry in a second, eagerly looking between the two of them. His face resembled much like a puppy with his tongue out who had a ball dangling in front of him.

Harry looked at Rory for a second, as if silently asking for permission to tell him (or maybe asking about what to do). Rory found it cute he asked her first before saying anything. She moved her head to one side, asking him to stay silent. She wanted to break the news herself.

"Why do you want to know?" The look on Newt's face made her eyes widen in realization. She gasped, "Oh, you're not thinking about-"

"I took revenge on Lara last year but Josh got away-"

"Who's Lara?"

Rory might have avoided telling Harry who Josh was marrying on purpose. She didn't want him to think that her love life was pathetic.

"She is - or was- Rory's friend. Josh is probably marrying her."

Unlike Harry, Newt didn't have any concern for Rory's privacy. Rory bit her tongue and glared at Newt, avoiding looking at Harry. He seemed to have gone silent. Rory believed at least two good things came out of Newt's not having a control on his trap hole. One, he didn't mention Lara to be Rory's best friend. And two, he saved her from going through the torture of herself explaining the situation.

"Oh."

Yeah, oh. Rory looked at Harry. Thankful the didn't seem at all sympathetic. Instead, his eyes had a mischievous glint in them. Like the one which was always present whenever he made Rory bang her head against the wall.

"What were you going to say Newt?"

Rory started shaking his head at a rate she believed was fast enough to burst a vein. "Harry, Newt, if you're think-"

"I say we egg his car, or house would be even better. I'm sure he'll be having a bachelor-"

Rory got up before Newt could finish his sentence. "If you finish that sentence, I'll swear I'm going to tell Lacey about the crush you have on him."

That had him shutting his trap hole faster than the speed of light. Harry's loud laugh rang around her and the image of him genuinely being happy settled warmly in her stomach. Blood rush to her cheeks as Harry caught her staring. Not wanting a repeat of last time it happened, she quickly started walking, Harry being hot on her trail.

"Does he actually have a crush on Lacey?"

Rory shrugged, reaching Moby's cot and finding her sleeping snugly. "He denies it every time anyone brings that up but by the look in his eyes whenever she's around, I figured he liked her."

Harry hummed, settling beside Rory as she looked over sleeping Moby. "And was Lara actually your friend?"

Rory sighed, "She was my best friend, Harry. Till I found Josh and her in bed, together."

Rory didn't avoid looking at him. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were soft. "You know, Roro, the offer of me going as your boyfriend to the wedding still stands if you're up for it."

Rory shook her head, chuckling as he laughed. "You're never going to stop bothering me, do you?"

"To no end, Roro. To no end."

Moby's babies came with a bang.

The bang was actually Newt knocking over several boxes at once when he saw Moby sprawled over the nest in the box Beth made two weeks ago. Harry predicted Moby was getting close to the due date. Rory thought his prediction wasn't needed since Moby's belly which was carrying six pups was enough of an indication. Ever since then, Moby was feeling the need for seclusion and often moved with the nest to one corner of the room.

Rory helped set the nest by providing whatever blanket she could find for her. It was decided that neither Newt nor Rory needed to be present at the time of birth two weeks ago. Newt would probably faint while Rory had the chances of puking.

Moby's delivery kept the wedding and Harry accompanying her off of her mind completely during day but at night, anxiety would grip her and make sleep almost impossible. She would complete her required quota of sleep during her classes. The professors weren't much caring of what the students did.

And at the shelter, after taking care of the animals and looking after Moby who had started secluding herself, she'd come to think of Harry who was being exceptionally caring towards Moby. Being a med student, he was more aware of what was going on inside her body. He spent a great deal of his time at the shelter just making sure Moby wasn't having any complications.

And when Newt knocked over the boxes announcing the beginning of Moby's labour, Harry was the first to rush to her, followed by Beth and Lacey.

Rory and Newt cleaned out a room for this purpose, since both of them had enough energy to see what was happening. Lacey had laughed for hours at Newt, now calling him a chicken while Harry only smiled at Rory, choosing to not comment on anything. Rory thought he was only laying off her because of all the ex-marrying-best-friend drama, and she hated that.

It took three hours, all of which she spent with Newt biting her nails off in anxiety. Even though Harry and Dr. Travis both declared several times that dogs didn't generally have any complications during labour, she couldn't help but worry. Newt was starting to doze off, but compose himself.

"Hey, Rory?"

She heard his voice and hummed. Her mind was preoccupied, but she heard his words loud and clear.

"What's the deal with you and Harry?"

She stilled for a moment. What kind of question was that? What was it supposed to mean?

"What do you mean?"

He was sat across from her, so he had a clear look of her face just like she had of him. Rory knew avoiding looking at him wouldn't work.

"I mean, what's going on between you two?"

Rory was quick to answer, "There's nothing going on between us. Why would you even think that?"

"You let him call you Roro." He spoke as it was enough of an answer. She only let Harry call her that because he was pretty much persistent and stubborn. Despite her asking him to stop doing so, he didn't and kept calling her that.

"And why's that a big deal? It's just a nickname."

"A nickname you hated. You specifically told me to call me anything but that when you first arrived. I couldn't think of any nickname except that and you threatened to chop by balls and feed to Moby."

Rory thought over his words for a second. Some kid in pre-school spoiled the name 'Roro' for her as he would make fun of her name by calling her that. She grew up to hate that name. It was stupid and didn't make any sense.

But it didn't sound stupid coming from Harry's mouth.

"And besides the name, I've seen the way you two look at each other. It's like being trapped in some Nicholas Sparks book or something."

Rory could feel her ears heating up. "The way we look at each other? What about the way you look at Lacey?"

Newt was quick to turn red, "Let's not make this about me. And don't try to run-"

"So you can ask me about my feelings for Harry but I can't ask you about you and Lacey huh?"

Newt eyed her, and in the moment she realized he was actually acting like a younger, annoying brother. Rory thought if she had a brother, he would have behaved in the same way Newt was doing.

"So you agree you have feelings for him, huh?"

Rory was about to object, quickly going over the things she said to him that might have suggested that. There was nothing she could find, Newt's eyebrows were doing their weird dance and she was getting frustrated by the second.

She opened her mouth to object, but a voice stopped her from possibly telling Newt off.

"Rory, Newt! Come, take a look at the puppies!"

Rory was the first to jump over her feet and rush to the room Moby was in. She saw Harry by the box Moby was in and Beth was at the side. Rory rushed forward, feeling her heart beat with excitement and stomach in the knots she had grown accustomed to. In the box over folded blankets laid Moby, with six different but at the same time similar looking pups curled up around her. They were small, really small and really weak, and Rory could feel her throat clogging up as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Oh my God! They're so tiny."

A laugh broke through the tears as she sniffed. Harry was taking off the gloves he was wearing and Beth asked Rory is she'd like to hold the pups.

She agreed and took one in her hands. The pup was an exact replica of its mother, and Rory brought it towards her lips and kissed it above the eyes.

"I'm a grandma."

Harry decided he'd drive them to the wedding.

Rory was nervous. She hadn't seen Lara since the fight after the break up, and there were definitely a few people on her list of never seeing again whom she would have like to avoid. They came in Lara's circle of friends, and Rory didn't liked them nor they did Rory, as they made clear several times. But alas, the day was here and she couldn't back out last minute.

It had not snowed in but it was getting really cold. Christmas decorations were in full bloom and Rory had her house completely immersed in fairy lights. She bought a little tree for her house and since she knew no one would be available she handed everyone the presents she bought for them. Everyone except Harry.

In the end, Rory ended up buying him a shirt she saw instead of the shoes she had initially planned to buy for him. It was a Rolling Stones one, similar to one he already had but the few times Rory had seen him wearing it, she could spot holes in the fabric and often times, it would be held together with safety pins. The shirt was new, and she planned to give Harry that after the wedding.

Rory was dressed in a simple pale blue dress which her mother sent her as a Christmas gift, paired with heels that weren't too high. She had put on light makeup; a little eyeshadow which brought out her eyes and lipstick. Harry rang the bell of her home at the scheduled time, not a minute late or early.

She went down, feeling giddy and afraid all at once. A small part of her heart wanted to impress Harry, to get his approval while the remaining part didn't care what he thought of her. The small one was winning.

She opened the door and was surprised to see Harry dressed formally in a black tuxedo with white shirt an black bow tie. He was freshly shaved and hair combed back. His eyes were brightly lit and mouth curved into a smile at the sight of her.

"You cleaned up nice, Harry."

Rory chuckled when he flipped his hair over his shoulder. His brown shoes had been replaced, and Rory was surprised and sad all at one.

"So do you, Roro. You look amazing, really."

Rory couldn't help but blush. Just two months ago, they were at each other's throat but now both were complimenting how the other looked.

"Shall we?"

Rory took a deep breath and wrapped her arm around Harry's.

The wedding was small.

Not much people had come. Either Josh and Lara hadn't invited many people or it was because many would be spending time with their families. Rory strongly believed it was the former, since Josh always liked to keep his crowd small.

Rory had decided to bring the couple a present, a picture she found of the two together. It was even before Rory could expect anything of this sort to go down between the three of them, but it was a memory to cherish nonetheless.

They had taken a trip to Lara's beach house once summer. It was only a week long, but they made strong bonds. In the picture, Lara and Josh were sat on the sand as the sun set behind them. Rory had herself taken the picture, falling in love with it at once. She didn't put her name or anything on the wrapper, knowing Lara would know once she saw it.

Harry and her were seated in an adequate position in the church, not far away from the altar but not close enough either. Rory could spot Lara's mother and the relatives she had met and knew but didn't bother to greet them. She had told Harry she wasn't going to interact with anyone, and Harry after trying to tell her otherwise so many times agreed.

She was really thankful for Harry, because he could feel how stressed she really was and occasionally tried to lighten the weight over her shoulders without overstepping the line. He'd comment on various guests, making Rory laugh and while sometimes she'd completely ignore him, he would know she needed her space of mind.

And she did, because Josh was soon standing at the altar and Lara was walking down the aisle with her father by her side. Rory's mind went blank and she didn't hear a word the priest said. She could feel Harry's eyes on her throughout the ceremony, but she didn't care.

Before, seeing Josh and Lara together felt unnatural, like something was put out of place. It was like seeing a square trying to fit in a circle's place or the way your ears bled when you heard nails being scraped against a chalkboard. It felt like something surreal and completely out of space.

But now, as their lips locked together and shouts broke out from every direction and a smile so graceful appeared on Lara's lips, Rory knew they were meant to be together all alone.

Rory didn't interact with anyone after the wedding. Not even Harry.

He tried his best to give her all the space she needed, but he was a human after all. She could sense his patience dwindling away as she sat at some bar Josh had rented for his big night.

Harry had left to get Rory some water as she was slowly drinking away her sorrows. It was her number one talent; running away when things got tough and preferring to forget what was happening instead to stay and fight the battle and cut to the feeling.

But no.

Someone had spilled their drink on her, but she was too drunk to care.

Rory was alone. Alone with a few bottles of vodka and a dress which smelled strongly of champagne. Classy people.

Even Harry had left her and now she sat with the thumping bass of the bar which wasn't enough to drown the slow songs from the wedding which pounded in her ears. She was alone with tears streaming down her face and drunken giggles coming out of her dried lips.

She got up, making her way through the crowd of bodies which was better seen as one. She had found Harry’s slippers somehow lying in his car and forced him to let her wear those since her feet were ready to fall off even though her heels weren’t that large. She exited the bar, it was raining slightly and she was holding a bottle of tequila in her hand. Not fearing the cold, she laid down over the wet ground, feeling mud seep into her hair and probably her cheeks.

She was alone - no one was in sight - with tears stained on her cheeks and mouth dry despite all the drinks she had earlier.

Alone with subdued music and excited individuals burning with energy she had been drained of.

Alone with a bottle of tequila in her hand and mud on her cheeks which drips with the rain water she’s drenched in and slippers too big for her.

She was alone. But then she saw Harry, and the way he stressed over her. She saw the gentle way with which he touched her skin and made her tremble. She saw the way he bothered her to no end. She saw the way with rich his fingers moved over her cheeks and wiped away her tears. She saw how her heart sped up when he asked if she was alright.

Rory felt alone, and a boy partial to flamboyant shirts held together with safety pins and wearing worn boots and a penchant of getting under her skin might be the distraction she desperately needed.

Rory smelled lavender and oranges.

The scent was really strong, enough to overpower the sleep which was currently gripping her. Strong enough to overpower the headache which wanted her to sleep more. Strong enough to make her open her eyes and realize it wasn't her room she was sleeping in.

The roof was mulberry, so were the walls. She groaned as a wave of nausea hit her, making her quickly sit up as her headache worsened in protest. She brought her hands towards her head, realizing something she hadn't before.

She was naked.

Her heart starting beating fast, throat clogging up as she tried to recall the events of previous night but came up short. What was happening and how did she get in- holy crap - Harry's bed?

Her eyes widened in horror as she looked around the room. She was indeed in Harry's bed, naked, but he was nowhere to be found, nor were her clothes. Slowly she got up, forcing the headache aside and wrapping the blanket which smelled strongly of him around her naked body. She looked around her, still not in terms with whatever was happening. But a door creaking behind her make her snap her neck towards it.

Harry shrieked when he saw Rory standing in front of him. He had taken a shower, and Rory could see water droplets dripping down his hair and chest. A towel was wrapped around his waist. His whole body was in view for Rory, and she spotted all the tattoos that marked his body for the first time; the most noticeable being the butterfly on his tummy and the swallows just above where his waist dipped below.

Rory gulped.

She hadn't seen him like this before. And she was really confused about their situation. Harry was awkwardly staring at her face, his bare body standing just at the entrance of the bathroom.

Rory's mouth went completely dry. She was confused and probably scared of the unknown. "I was-uh, looking for my clothes."

Harry immediately looked down. Rory's heart started beating faster and she could feel her face getting warmer.

Harry nodded, avoiding looking at her, "They are uh- downstairs."

Downstairs. Holy crap. Rory's eyes fell out of her socket. "Did we really-?"

Harry's silence was all the answer she needed but still she saw her head move in a single nod. Whatever going through Rory's mind vanished like the wind and her heart dropped to her empty stomach. As if that wasn't enough, Harry avoiding looking at her made her feel worse. Even when he did spare her a glance for a fleeting moment, his eyes reminded her of brick walls and steel, so much that despite of the heat cranked up she shivered when he looked at her.

Grasping the fragments of her thoughts, she desperately tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Standing naked in front of Harry with a blanket wrapped around her body and with the intellectual part of her leaving her system, she was the most vulnerable she had been in front of him. She was hungover and her head was pounding like there was no tomorrow, and yet Harry was standing like his soul had left his body.

He looked up slowly, perhaps wanting to tell her that whatever happened between them was best regarded as a mistake, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Rory cut him off.

"We need to-"

"It was a mistake."

Rory could tell Harry was surprised, because his eyes widened and he took a step forward, "What?"

"We were drunk," Rory rambled, pacing the room as her stomach started aching, "and we probably didn't know what we were doing. We also didn't want this to happen and-"

"I did."

Rory stopped talking, halting in her tracks as Harry's mumble reached her, "What do you mean you did?"

Harry took a step forward as Rory tightened the sheets around her body. His eyes weren't wavering from her face but she still felt uncomfortable standing in nothing except a blanket in front of a boy she didn't even fully know, but still had sex with.

"I mean, I was drunk, but I was also tired of pretending that I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you whenever I saw you."

Rory, for the second time in a span of ten minutes, found her heart dropping to her stomach. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her breath hitched in her throat. "I don’t understand-”

"I wanted it to happen."

It came like a huge blow towards Rory as Harry stood in front of her with a few millimetres space between the both of them. Her mind was still comprehending the situation. Harry's eyes were soft but his face was set in a serious look. His hair was still wet, and Rory feared he'd get a cold or something but he still radiated warmness. It was like the night she stayed at his house and slept next to him, waking up in a bed which smelled like lavender.

But Harry smelled like oranges, not like the grapefruit she had smelled on him ages ago. He might have changed his body wash, and Rory didn't know whether she liked or love the smell.

"Don't you see it Roro? I wanted this to happen."

He gestured between the two of them, still not making any movement to touch her. He was standing really close to her, and she worried for the safety of her mind because Harry was overpowering all of her senses.

Rory took a deep breath, gazing into his eyes which reminded her of summer grass and green leaves. His confession had taken her by surprise, "You did?"

He nodded, searching her face for something which Rory didn't know, "I do."

"What about all the trouble you made me go through when you started volunteering? Did you want this-" she gestured between the two of them like Harry had done "-to happen even then?"

He stepped closer, diminishing the space between them till his bare feet touched Rory's. She felt his body warmth enveloping her and taking over all of her senses. The smell of oranges wafted around the air around her and made a warm home inside her. Her eyes didn't waver from his face, and his breath warmed her face.

"Truth is, I liked you from day one but you, Roro, were just too oblivious to see."

Truth was, when Rory first met Harry, she couldn't help but think how attractive he really was. Not only his face and attached physique but the way he interacted with his fellow workers and how he took care of wounded animals and just the idea of him in general real spoke out to her. But then she had to take care of a litter of puppies with him and came to a decision that he was put on earth just to spite her.

And he did, lots.

But now with the confession of his feelings came the fear which dating Josh had inflicted upon her. "But what if this doesn't work out?"

Harry was quick to speak, "It might but also may not happen. We can't predict that, but what I want to do is cut to the feeling, Roro, with you. Don't overthink it, we'll see where it goes. And also, you'll have to promise me reply to every gif I send you."

A smile crept up Rory's face, and she could feel the weight on her chest getting light. Cut to the feeling, that was what he said, "So you're saying you'll keep bothering me, Harry?"

He smiled, dipping his head down enough to have his lips ghosting over hers, but not touching still.

"To no end, Roro. To no end."

#1dff #exchanges

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shauds-archived · 5 years ago

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A while ago, I said I was going to write something based on the fact that Jason and Eddie appeared an issue apart in Teen Titans after they were both brought back out of limbo in what could have been some really cool foreshadowing. DC dropped the ball there, and unfortunately, so did my writers block. Anyway, I managed to get the first part of the first chapeter done, and it stands okay on it's own, so here it is for now :).

Eddie's visiting his aunt's grave when he's almost hit by a fireball, and kept from being hit by that fireball by a familiar face that, well, he'd expect to find it at a graveyard, but in a grave in the graveyard, not out if it.

.....

"I got fired again, Aunt Marla." Eddie looks at the wrinkled picture in his hands, at the smiling faces of him, Dan and Marla instead of the stone square marking her grave.

It's sunny today. That doesn't mean much, it's almost always sunny in LA. You'd think the weather in the movie capital of the world would be a little more dramatic. At least around a graveyard, at least for a while,but no, it's sunny as always. Eddie wishes it wasn't, that it will rain just a little. Sure it's dumb, and he knows it wouldn't help him any, but sunshine's for happy scenes, and there've been so few happy scenes in Eddie's life lately that the warm weather can sometimes make him feel like he's just a background shot in someone else's.

The grave he's leaning against belongs to some guy who lived a full seventy-something years. It's been tilted back like this since before he started coming here he thinks, but he knows that him leaning against it every time isn't helping it any. He really shouldn't, if he ever catches someone doing that to Marla's grave he'd be so mad, and the least he can do is try and stand up straight for her.

"Sorry." He apologizes to the old guy and pushes off from the stone. His fingers pinch tighter at the picture. "Didn't bother me too much this time." If Eddie's being honest, it hasn't bothered him all that much for a while.

Internally, he debates telling her that he'd been fired because he'd been too caught up in comic book to report back on time, but he can't tell if she'd think it's funny, or she'd be mad.

"I've still got enough money to hold me over till I get another one, I'll be okay." He makes himself put the picture away and smiles down at her headstone instead. It's wrong, Aunt Marla was taller than him, he's never had to look down at her, could barely imagine having to, she should have gotten one of those huge, angel markers that dotted the graveyard, something big, like she was. "It's like you said, my talent isn't fetching coffee and donuts." Eddie feels very small when he says, "I just don't really know what it is yet."

He lets his eyes rest on the picture one more time, on Dan, Eddie hasn't seen him in more than a year, he hopes he's not dead again too. "It's not being a sidekick, that's for sure." Nobody needs a weight like Eddie dragging them down.

"I wish you were here to help me figure it out." His eyes are burning, he's not going to cry in front of Marla's grave, he's okay, really he is. She never told him he couldn't but he doesn't want to. See, this is what the rain is supposed to be for. "I get you're really busy up there, probably making the coolest movie ever, I just...," he swallows, pulls up his Captain Carrot T-Shirt to quickly brush away the wetness on his face. "If you had any friends you could send down, I'd sure appreciate it."

Eddie waits a second for a response he knows he won't get, then he chuckles at how dumb just the idea is, he's not going to get a guardian angle, he doesn't need one half as much as most people. He crouches down and rests his hand against the rough granite her names been engraved in, it's the closest he can get to feeling her short of wrapping his arms around the stone and pretending she can hug him back. "See you soon." He promises, gets up to leave and..."

He feels the arms wrapping tightly around his middle, a flash of red, being tossed aside, words screamed too close to his ear for him to make them out. Then, a rough tackle to the ground knocks all of the air clear out of his lungs. There isn't time to ask why, not even for himself, because less than a second later, the weight is flung off him and a wave of heat slams into him in his place, almost scorching his skin along with the edge of his Captain Carrot shirt.

When it's over his ears are ringing worse than that time he'd gotten into a Witchfire concert and his parents had yelled his ears off. Sand and small rocks are raining down on him. Blearily, Eddie blinks, and pulls himself up to his elbows to get a look at what hit him.

The first thing his eyes catch on is the crater, still hot and smoking only meters from where he now stands. "Hot damn." Eddie just keeps from whistling as he pats out the sparks on his shirt. The headstone he's tried to keep himself from leaning against is flat on it's side, pulled by the blast right out from the ground, he knows before he steps around it to get a better look at the crater that this is a bad idea.

At first, the smoke makes it hard to see, but then he spots it, the crumpled shape lying on the the other side. Eddie scrambles over faster than he can think, a sharp, unpleasant felling stabbing at his chest. Soon he's kneeling besides him and he's gotten his shaking hands to do the most rudimentary of checkups, pulse, he's breathing, doesn't need CPR, burns on his leg. He goes to check for broken ribs - will he even need to know that for the ambulance? - when he sees the colors peeking out from the tears in the gray bodysuit.

Red, the tip of an R and a golden ring.

"No." He whispers, not because he doesn't want it to be true, but because he knows that it can't be. This kind of thing just doesn't happen for him.

Hands shaking worse than they did that time he got his hands on a few too many energy drinks, Eddie brushes aside some of the dirt that's settled on the guy's face, better revealing his features, so familiar even if it weren't for the red domino mask. He reaches for the 'R', sure for some reason that it will be as easy to brush aside as the dirt had been. He didn't get the chance to find out. A hand snaps up and catches Eddie's wrist before he can touch it.

The voice is deep and rough, it rattles with his chest. "Eddie?"

"Jason." Eddie breathes, he catches a flicker of recognition and its like a spell had broken, Eddie forgets to be confused and immediately he turns his pockets inside out in search of his cellphone. "Hold still, I'm gonna call you an ambulance and..."

"No!" Jason's hand closes around the cellphone in Eddie's, his grip surprisingly strong. He's shaking his head in short, jerky little motions. "No, no..." His eyes squeeze shut and he turns his head into the ground. "No hops-- tle."

"No hops..." It takes Eddie a moment to understand, what he means. Jason's not going to be clarifying why he doesn't want a hospital, aside from his sharp breathing, he's gone quiet.

Breathing, at a graveyard. Alive. Jason's alive. Eddie looks around at the smoking hole in the ground, the damage done to the markers and headstones around them. He thinks he can hear more explosions in the distance. Hospital or not, they can't stay here.

"Hot damn." Eddie whispers again.

#Eddie Bloomberg #marla bloom #jason todd #Fanfic #mine

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bethhxrmon · 6 years ago

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All I Ask of You Pt. 34

“I can never go back, never look back anymore” - “I Can Do Better Than That” from The Last Five Years

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female OC

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: They’re going back to Seattle!

Warnings: Idk rushed writing????

A/N: So we’re getting to the last stretch of stuff before the end of the story! And if that’s the real truth then this would be the first story I’ve ever finished???? Anywho I may have this done around when Endgame comes out! As always, I love feedback and my masterlist is in my bio!

After nearly a week of preparations, Annie still hadn’t seen her new suit. Harper was insisting on keeping it a secret until they got to Seattle. It left Annie apprehensive, but excited all the same. While there was plenty to worry about, Annie finally took the time to realize that it wasn’t her job to be worried.

It wasn’t her fault that Carnival was going crazy all over New York, he was the one who managed to follow her. Just like it wasn’t her fault that Tony was possibly her biological father. At least, that was what she had learned thanks to the therapy session she’d gone through in the last week.

While she wasn’t sure she wanted to admit it, there was something that Annie loved about therapy that she just couldn’t get from everyone else. It was the one time she was finally sat down and given the chance to sort out her thoughts. Obviously the bad dreams and overall declined mental state weren’t going to be fixed by a few therapy sessions. There was a lot to be done, but Annie didn’t mind that as much.

“You know, I’d wager that you didn’t finish this suit until last night and that you knew this was going to happen,” Annie said, shrugging a bit as they piled into a small private plane.

Harper rolled their eyes, “Whatever you say, but it’s so awesome that it’s getting its own space in the tiny overhead bin. You’re so going to love this!”

“Look, you guys can keep bickering over the new suit, but I’m trying to figure out why we can fly to Seattle but we had to drive here in the first place,” Ned interjected, sitting down.

Harper shrugged, “Who knows, I definitely don’t.”

“Different modes of transportation makes it less likely for you to be tracked. No one’s going to think we’d be in Seattle if we’re operating over here,” Tony explained.

Peter sat down, “You know, I didn’t mind the road trip too much.”

“Says the person who got car sick on the way,” Annie pointed out, sitting next to him.

Tony and Pepper sat a little bit away from the teenagers who were quickly getting into a conversation about whether or not the road trip qualified as a good time. It was clear Harper was the most adamant about their distaste on being stuck in a car for the better part of a week. Which quickly turned into Annie trying to figure out more about her new suit.

“Is it mostly white or is it mostly silver? And if it’s silver is it too flashy?” Annie pressed.

Harper laughed, “You’re acting like I would let you walk out looking like a human disco ball. I would never do that to a friend!” “But it has both colors! And more, it’s so awesome and I think you’re gonna love it!” Ned exclaimed, “Like there’s this one part that-”

“Ned, shut it! I want her to be surprised! It’ll be way more satisfying to see Annie freak out over it in around… well I don’t know how much time, but it’ll be worth it,” Harper claimed.

Peter shook his head, “I’m with Annie, I definitely think you guys didn’t have it done until last night.”

“See? It looks fishy! Thanks, Pete,” Annie said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Harper sighed, “You know what we’re gonna have you two do?”

“Hm?”

“Annie, you’re gonna take your boyfriend on a date today and show him around the city. Ned and I are gonna take care of my parents. This way, you two can get out all your annoying PDA and it’s all good,” Harper replied.

Ned laughed, “I don’t think that’s gonna do it.If anything, I feel like it's just gonna make them worse."

"Well, that's rough. I don't have to deal with it when we get back. I'm going to a totally different school from you guys," Harper responded.

Ned pouted, "You wouldn't just leave me alone with them like that, would you? That's so mean!"

"Well, when you put it that way... yes, I would definitely leave you to deal with them on your own. You can take it!" they said with a wink.

Annie rolled her eyes, "You know Peter and I hear everything you're saying, right?"

"You know you guys are so cute it's painful to watch, right?" Harper retorted.

It didn't take much time for them to reach Seattle. Odds were, it was the shortest plane ride Annie had ever been on. Granted, she had only needed to fly once and that was from moving to New York. She seemed to be the one that was waiting for the plane to land. Her nose was pressed against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of something. Though, there wasn't anything to be seen through the clouds.

Peter shook his head, "I don't get it, it's so cloudy."

"That's the best part!" Annie replied excitedly.

He tilted his head to the side, "Yeah? Why's that?"

"I mean, it's almost always cloudy and then it gets rainy and the smell of the rain, that's freaking amazing! And then it's cloudy, but not, like, an oppressive cloudy? And then it gets sunny sometimes, but not so much that it's obnoxious. I don't know... it's just home," Annie explained, turning to face him.

Peter kissed her forehead, "You should get excited like that more often, it's cute."

"Okay, we've had enough of the cute coupley thing, let's get you to see this suit!" Harper exclaimed, rushing off of the plane.

Ned grinned, "It's so awesome, you don't even understand what kind of work we had to put into this thing. It is the best science project I've ever had to work on."

"Meaning we failed. A lot. That's why it took a hot minute, but it was so worth it because you're going to flip your shit, come on, we gotta show it to her!" Harper called out, hoping that would make Tony and Pepper hurry up.

Tony and Pepper eventually got off of the plane, "Well, we can't exactly do that right now. We gotta find somewhere private. Remember how we don't want anyone thinking that there's any reason to suspect us of doing anything?"

"Also meaning that we just don't want anyone thinking that I have powers. Do you guys know how rough that'd be if people figured out I was just born with crazy energy and electricity powers? I'd probably get imprisoned by the government and be forced to live out the rest of my days as a living physics equation," Annie pointed out.

Pepper raised an eyebrow, "Where'd you get that from?"

"Can't trust the government, obviously," Harper explained.

Annie nodded, "And it's easily my number one, absolute worst fear of all time."

"Hey, you don't need to worry about that happening. I wouldn't let it happen," Peter insisted, reaching to hold her hand.

Annie squeezed his hand, "I know."

"Okay, maybe we need a better vibe than this for unveiling a hella cool suit," Ned said, looking at the others.

Harper grinned, "Yep, this is gonna be so great. It's everything I've always wanted to make for you, but didn't have the chance to because I couldn't get the right material without drawing massive suspicion to the both of us."

"I've seen it, and I think it's something that might work," Tony told them.

Harper scoffed, "Might work? It's easily the best thing that you've ever seen in your life. I believe you were about two steps away from offering me a job for my design skills, no?"

"Not happening. I don't need a suit maker," he replied.

They shrugged, "Okay, but those shades of purple clashed so hard when you were wearing a suit that one time. Just saying. You need to do complimentary or the exact same shade for ties and pocket squares. I don't make the rules, I just enforce them."

"Are you trying to get a job or get shipped back to New York?"

"Both," Harper claimed, "Now where's the cool little side room place we can go to?"

Tony sighed, "If you'd keep quiet, maybe we'd get there faster."

"It definitely doesn't work like that."

After what felt like forever to Annie, they finally got to a room where they could unpack the small briefcase that held the new suit. Harper also looked like their hands were shaking just a little bit. They set it on an empty table.

Annie stared at the brown, leather briefcase and didn't move. How was she supposed to even begin to open it? If she did, that was almost too much of a move for her in some way. She'd have to leave behind the old suit. Which was for the best, but was she even ready to test it out? It was only then that she realized she hadn't tried being a superhero since everything with Carnival. There was no way she'd be ready.

Harper looked at Annie and then back at the briefcase, "Um... you gonna open it?"

"Y-yeah, sure," Annie replied and stepped up to the table and unlatched the briefcase.

Once the briefcase was opened, Annie's dark eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hands. She jumped up and down screaming and hugged Harper tightly. The suit was a blend of white and different shades of grey. Somehow it was exactly what she had always imagined whenever she tried to think about what she wanted to look like when gliding around the city.

Harper laughed, hugging back their friend, “You know? I think this means I was successful. See, I wanted to keep the original look we had going. I wanted to have the same half-face kinda domino mask where everyone sees your eyes, but I had no clue what to do with the hood. That’s mostly aesthetic and you can choose if you want it up or not.”

“It’s perfect, I-I can’t… you thought of everything!”

“Um… actually that’s my job. You have an amazing AI and it’s synced up to your phone so you can contact whoever,” Ned explained.

Annie grinned, “Wait, so I get to have a little, like… Siri type of thing?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be named Siri, it’s whatever you’d wanna name it. Keeping in mind I programmed it so that it kind of sounds like Idina Menzel,” he said.

Annie’s jaw dropped, “You’re kidding! I owe you both big time!”

“Hey, just go out there and patrol the city one last time, that’s all you gotta do,” Harper said, “And one more thing… you know the feathered texture around the sleeves?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re secret pockets and I stashed some knives in them for you in case things get out of hand,” they explained, “But anyways, get suited up and test it out!”

Before Annie really knew what she was doing, she was in the middle of the city, feeling the new suit clinging to her body. It had been quite a few months since she had last been in the city, but it didn’t take long for her to get to the top of a building and start almost right from where she had left off.

It was just an average day, no major crimes, but that didn’t change the fact that Annie was more than happy to do what she could. Even if it was something as simple as helping a lost kid find his parents, that was better than nothing.

After a couple of hours filled with testing out the new suit was when Annie’s AI decided to start talking.

“Harper is contacting you, would you like to answer?” asked a voice.

Annie nearly dropped from the rooftop she was on, “Um, not yet, hold on, you’re the suit AI?”

“Yes, I have been programmed to mesh with your personality as needed.”

“Do you have a name?”

“No.”

“Oh, can I give you one?”

“I suppose.”

“I’m gonna name you Eve!”

A little while later, Annie caught up with Peter when she learned Harper and Ned were still trying to get back the same designs they came to get in the first place. Not that Annie minded, they could take as long as they wanted to. She just wanted more time in Seattle, but she knew that no amount of time was going to prepare her to leave.

“Hey, you said you wanted to show me something?” Peter asked once she was back in normal clothes.

Annie nodded, “Yep! Only the best coffee house in this entire city. There’s a lot of coffee places, but this one is the best. I’ve tried all of them.”

“Yeah? You seem almost obsessed.”

“Well, in my defense… yeah, it was a huge obsession. But it was something my dad and I used to do. But since he can choke, you’re gonna come with me instead,” she replied with a small smile.

As they walked, raindrops started to hit both of them. Peter started to move a little bit faster, but Annie still went at the same pace.

“It rains in Queens too, you know,” Peter said.

She shook her head, “It’s not the same, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You know… you don’t need to. This is the happiest I’ve seen you in months,” he told her, squeezing her hand.

Annie’s eyes lit up, “Hey, maybe this is super weird, but am I the only one who’s always wanted to kiss in the rain?”

“I feel like you’ve done that already.”

“Not with you,” Annie pointed out.

Peter laughed a bit before pressing a quick kiss to her lips, “Now let’s get out of the rain!”

“Well, we’re basically here,” Annie replied, opening the door of the coffee shop.

“Annika Hardwick, you’ve got a lot of nerve coming here,” said the barista.

Annie stopped, “Um… I’m just wandering around.”

“With… I wanna know who your new boy toy is,” she responded, batting her eyes.

Annie sighed, “Peter. He’s a friend.”

“Who I just saw you kissing two seconds ago.”

“I just wanted to order some coffee,” Annie said, “So maybe we should just get this over with.”

“But you’ve been gone so long! How many more relationships did you screw up?”

Peter opened his mouth before Annie spoke up, “That wasn’t me, you know that. Anyways. I’ll have one caramel latte and one green tea latte.”

Maybe Annie wasn’t going to miss Seattle as much as she had originally thought she was going to. If she had known what was going to happen, or who would be there, she would not have gone.

Tag List (if you want to be added, please ask!): @flushings-here / @gaypanda / @twilightparker / @parkerpuff / @ganseysblues / @dolphinsarecuteandstuff / @buzzinglee / @lcy-thot / @moonstruckholland

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x oc #spider-man #spider-man x oc #spider-man x reader #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man: far from home #mcu #mcu fanfic #marvel #original characters #fanfiction #all i ask of you fic

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foxofthedesert · 6 years ago

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Arrow FF | Dinah x Laurel | A Christmas Miracle

A Christmas Miracle, Part 1 - The Pursuit (Click to read on AO3)

Winter has arrived in earnest to Star City, a little late to the party but right on time for the main event. The holidays are right around the corner. Literally. Christmas Eve is already fading into history along with the setting sun.

After a benign autumn, meteorologists had predicted this season would be Northern California cold at worst, which is to say mild compared to the rest of the country with temperatures hovering between the high forties and fifties. Up til now, they'd been spot on with their forecasts. Unfortunately their crystal balls ran out of juice yesterday while today a never ending assembly line of huge gray clouds rolls is currently lazily by, announcing more of the same dreary, wintry weather. If Dinah didn't know better, she'd think it was about to snow. In Coastal California.

Teeth chattering, she tugs her coat tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill of an uncommonly cold afternoon. This is exactly the kind of shitty weather she thought she left behind when Central City was firmly in her rear view mirror. California was supposed to be sunny and warm, or so said the movies. Well, from where Dinah stands they were lying because she is a bundled up in several layers, a thick coat and scarf atop a sweater and tee with mittens on her hands and woolly socks on her feet, just like she always used to in Missouri.

Dammit. And I just had to wear jeans. Oh well, at least my boots are keeping my toes from freezing.

Cursing the weather and her own foolish choice to be out it in when she doesn't have to be, Dinah curls her shoulders in, stuffs her hands into her coat pockets, and soldiers on. She is on mission right now and has no time to feel sorry for herself.

The sidewalks of the Triangle are bustling with activity in spite of the cold and the waxing evening hour. Shoppers flitting about care little for the rules of polite etiquette in their single-minded pursuit of last minute gifts for their friends and loved ones. Others are meandering aimlessly about, stopping every now and then to gawk at the intrepid shops that bothered to put up decorations or lights or both. Others still have their heads down like Dinah, trying to blend in with the crowd and filter through on their way home or to their jobs. That Dinah's motive for laying low is far less innocuous is beside the point.

Earlier this afternoon she got a surprise call from the District Attorney's office informing her of a prosecutorial change for a current case. Not just any current case, either, but one involving a corrupt, insanely powerful chemical manufacturer based in Gotham which had spread its disease into Star City while the government was occupied preventing one disaster after another. For the better part of a month, Dinah has been grinding through evidence and conducting interview after interview with the one and only Laurel Lance. Since the beginning Laurel has been her partner in overseeing the Ace Chemical case and they were really just hitting their stride on it when the rug got pulled out from underneath her feet. Finally after months of tedious police work and highly stressful court appearances, the CEO and a bevy of her criminally corrupt lapdogs all guilty as sin of dumping toxic waste in the Triangle right on the outskirts of a school zone were fixing to go to jail. Dinah had thought Laurel would want to see it through seeing as she put as many grueling hours in than Dinah has, if not more, ensuring all the I's were dotted and ever T was crossed. With one call from A.D.A Martinez, Dinah was dispelled of that notion and it caught her completely off guard.

The case being pawned off to the longest tenured A.D.A. would not have sat so wrong with Dinah if it hadn't seemed to be as intensely personal to Laurel as it is to her. Normally Laurel Lance acted the prototype of a picture perfect D.A.: a bulldog who is always in control in the courtroom, professional to a fault in the office, and able to politic with the best of them. This case was different, though, even more so than when Laurel went to bat for Oliver while he was still stuck in Slabside. She was burning the midnight oil like never before and spent more hours with Dinah at SCPD going over investigative and arrest reports over and over again until they both had just about memorized them to the letter. Also Laurel's intensity levels were constantly through the roof, and that was saying something considering she is, in every avenue of her life, perpetually cut throat and high strung. Laurel often chastises her staff for no good reason, such as failure to include one minor detail in a relatively inconsequential report due for filing, which is par for the course for a hothead with a combative streak as wide as the Space Needle is tall. But she never did so publicly until working this case. Only last week when one of her paralegals forgot to pass on an innocuous enough message from a DAI, she berated him in front of half the office so badly the poor kid burst into tears, so traumatized that he fled work early and missed the entire next day as well. Once the outrage ebbed, Laurel actually confessed to Dinah that she felt intense guilt over her treatment of that employee.

Laurel Lance. Formerly of Black Siren notoriety. Felt guilty for hurting an underling's feelings. That alone told Dinah how important this case was to Laurel. That she went on to say that this was the first case she'd worked on since assuming Earth-Prime Laurel's life that she categorically refused to lose. Once she went on a bender working on the case, refusing any and all attempts by her employees to get her to go home. Finally after thirty-six hours they called in the cavalry.

"All those people that soulless, greedy bitch made sick deserve justice," Laurel had told Dinah upon being confronted about her obsessive, incredibly unhealthy behavior. "And I'm gonna get it for them. If that means I don't sleep until I get a guilty verdict, then so be it."

If Dinah hadn't put her foot down, she's pretty sure Laurel would have made good on that promise. As it was, she had to all but drag Laurel out of the Court House into the parking garage and then deposit the District Attorney in her shiny new Lexus with perhaps a little less gentleness than was called for.

The point of all this is that Dinah is worried – a lot – about Laurel shrugging off a responsibility she has been obsessing about so religiously over the past two months. Worried that something is wrong or worse, that Laurel has at last fallen off the reformation wagon. Dinah sort of hates herself for jumping to such a cynical conclusion, but there it is. Sometimes those old feelings of bitter acrimony crop up and taint the progress she has made with her former enemy.

Enemy. There's a word Dinah hasn't associated with Laurel in almost two years. Since they teamed up with Felicity to free Oliver from Slabside, she and Laurel have made such significant strides that she would consider Laurel her closest female friend. Which is still sort of shocking when she actually sits down and thinks about where they came from to arrive at what she would categorize as as intimate a friendship as she is capable of forming. No one could have predicted the turn their relationship would take thanks to Felicity's meddling, least of all Dinah, who had once believed the aptly utilized designation of frenemies would be the best she could ever attain with the woman who killed the man she loved. Yet here she is, wading through a sea of people on the streets in ass-clenching cold just to make sure Laurel is alright when she could be at home bundled up on the couch in her favorite blanket sipping on hot cocoa. And it's Christmas Eve for Christ's sake! That alone speaks volumes about how much she actually cares for Laurel.

What's even more amazing is that there is not a shred of doubt in her heart of mind that Laurel feels the same for her. Of course, there is some cause to call that into question, or at least to redefine what care means from Laurel's end. Of late, Dinah has been getting these weird vibes from Laurel, who has started looking at her and even treating her differently than she used to before they tackled this case together. Ordinarily that would be a bothersome development. Except the change is not in a negative direction. If anything, Laurel has been noticeably more attentive and considerate, which when combined with those vibes produce strange feelings and urges in Dinah she has yet to figure out the meaning behind. And that's not to mention what she is supposed to do about this sudden spike of awkward, nervous, excited energy that buzzes between them whenever they are in the same room together. There is a word for it, she is sure, though right now she is not prepared to break out her dictionary so that she can officially print the term on a label to slap upon the deeply complicated relationship she shares with Laurel Lance.

That said, not yet being ready to face what her subconscious has been screaming at her is going on but her conscious has been deliberately and stubbornly annoying does not preclude Dinah from springing into action whenever Laurel starts acting wonky. Such as today when she dropped a case they were both so passionate about for no reason this morning and then inexplicably cut out of work after lunch without so much as an explanation to her immediate subordinate beyond a clipped response, "Worry less about what I'm doing with my afternoon and more about closing this case. Your future here depends on it."

Since getting the call from A.D.A. Martinez, Dinah has been unable to shake a feeling in her gut that something is going on. Something she should be concerned about. So she did what she does best. Pulled rank at the precinct and decided to indulge her nosy side. Leaning upon all she has learned as a vigilante and as a cop, she stalked Laurel on the traffic cams to the street she is currently plodding down, having covered six blocks already, only to lose sight of her at the intersection of Weisinger and Papp. There is only one significant place of interest Dinah can think of at that location, and she cannot for the life of her figure out what Laurel would be doing there. Her gut feeling tells her to follow through, though, so she complies without further complaint other than some more grumbling about the weather.

Upon rounding the corner, Dinah spots the homeless shelter, the city's second largest, and trudges down the sidewalk towards the entrance. Foot traffic here has dwindled down to a negligible amount. Only the inhabitants of the shelter and what few individuals are willing to brave being seen among such a lowly, somewhat dangerous element. Such as Laurel. For whatever reason…

Once perpendicular from the shelter, Dinah quickly cuts across the street when the street traffic gives her a pause. She gives no thought to the fact she, a police captain, has just blatantly broken the law. Jaywalking isn't the first misdemeanor she's committed today and probably won't be the last. Now on the correct side of the street, she picks around the exterior of the shelter until she finds a bedraggled older man perched on a cinder block just inside the alleyway on the east side of the building. Prepared for just this opportunity, she pulls out her badge and then the stock photo of Laurel she'd snatched off her desk.

"Calm down," she says to the startled man warily eyeing her badge – former military judging by his close cropped hair, rigid posture, and army surplus jacket. "I'm not here to arrest you. Or anyone else. What's your name?"

He exhales, fiddling with an exotic, expensive looking watch on his wrist that seems off beyond it being worn by someone without means to purchase it. A second later he offers her a shaky nod, then responds, "Name's Marv."

"Nice to meet you, Marv. I'm Dinah." Dinah's eyes are again drawn to the strange watch, only to have it quickly hidden under a well worn jacket sleeve. For a split second she considers pressing about how a homeless vet came by such an extravagant piece of a bling, only to change her mind in favor of an expedient end to her mission to find out what the hell Laurel is doing here. Now that proper introductions are made, she doesn't feel bad about thrusting the photo of Laurel in his face. "Have you, by chance, seen this woman this afternoon?"

"Yep. That's Dinah. Been here every day this week. First time before eight, though."

Brows searching for her hairline, Dinah almost comments on the name Laurel gave out before she remembers that it actually is Laurel's name. Dinah Laurel Lance. Whose mother's maiden name was Dinah Drake. The synchronicity of those facts alone are enough to keep Dinah awake at night. When factoring in all that conspired to throw them into a collision course trajectory, which they somehow survived only to be caught up in a mutual orbit, she can't help but feel there is some unknown force at work. Call it fate, kismet, destiny or any other whimsical designation, something out there clearly wants her and Laurel close to each other, and Dinah isn't sure how she feels about that. Well, that's a lie. She knows how she feels, just doesn't want to admit it – even to herself.

"What's she doing coming here every night?" she asks around the lump in her throat that often forms when thinking about Laurel. When the man she's questioning shoots her a dryly outraged glare, she quickly amends herself. "Not that I'm judging. Just curious."

Marv accepts her apology with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "No sweat. I was a little skeptical too when she started comin' to help the staff and residents – ya know, pitchin' in where she can. Cookin' and cleanin' and all that domestic shit. Done some electrical repair work that needed doin'. Good at it, too. Also did most of the decorating for Christmas. Real talented gal."

Dinah's eyebrows shoot up into her hair line. Laurel Lance cooking and cleaning and fixing stuff and...decorating for Christmas? She fights the urge to pinch herself to make sure she isn't dreaming.

Marv laughs at her expression. "Don't blame ya lookin' that way. When she pulled up in that fancy car and came stridin' through the doors in that expensive suit, I figured she was some politician out for a photo op or somethin'. Only never was no cameras or reporters around and she outworked everybody the four hours she was here. And the next time she showed up, she dressed down for the occasion. To fit in better, ya know? Worn out tee, ripped jeans, nose ring, hair braided up nice and tight. Got down in the trenches without a single complaint. Nothin' like the high class bitch that strutted her fancy ass into a world she don't belong in. Nah. Figured out right quick she belonged alright. Just hides it real good out there." He indicates toward the wider world by a tip of the chin. "Good heart in that one, too. She don't know I know, but she's helped more'n a few us land jobs that start up after the Holidays. Like Jordie and Lew. I, uh, I'm one of 'em, too. Asked the guy who hired me why he did it. Wouldn't say anything except a pretty lady who has a way with words convinced him to give me a chance, that he wouldn't regret it. I knew who it was just like that." He snaps his fingers to accentuate the point.

Dinah hardly knows what to say to what she's heard. Never has she been given a less Laurel-like description, and yet she can sense beyond all doubt that she is being told the truth. The paradox being presented to her is confusing as all hell, and it only incites her curiosity into irresistible fascination. Another layer of the Laurel onion is being peeled away right before her very eyes and she is a captive audience spellbound at the unraveling.

"Wow. Uh...I have to say that surprises me," she says after a brief moment of speechlessness. "That doesn't sound like the Lau -" she stops herself short of giving out Laurel's name out of respect for her privacy, "Dinah I know."

"Guess that means you don't know her like you thought," Marv says, eyeing her wryly. "You showed up looking for her, though, which means she's awful important to you. What're you her girl or somethin'?"

"No!"

The denial comes a little too quickly and too defensively and too disingenuous underneath the abrasiveness for Dinah's liking. Her poor reaction only serves as an additional reminder that she is all too aware of her feelings for Laurel and is in that stage where she just can't accept them. Their ugly past is the main obstacle, and that should be enough, right? There is enough baggage between them to fill up the terminal in the O'Hare Airport claim center.

And then there is the fact that Dinah is pretty sure Laurel is straight. She has caught Laurel checking a few ladies out here and there, but chalked those smoldering glances up to either zealous admiration or incendiary envy. Most of the ogling Dinah has caught Laurel doing has been directed toward one particularly unavailable man who just so happens to be married to her closest friend on this earth and who treats her like shit most of the time – the latter of which seems aligned with Laurel's history of being attracted to men who treat her like shit, which is another subject Dinah would rather not dwell on to keep her blood pressure in check. Not that Dinah can use any of this evidence as definitive proof that Laurel is, in fact, straight seeing as the same could be said of her.

In so far as her friends-slash-teammates know, she has only dated men when that is not quite the truth. In college she had several experimental hook ups with hot coeds from other sororities, one of whom was a steady girlfriend for nearly a year whose name was Lynne. It was Lynne who helped Dinah sort through the mess of her emerging identity to figure out she was actually bisexual and not simply going through a phase. Since then she has primarily dated men since that is her preference, but she has slept with a few women in between boyfriends, the most recent a one night stand in Hub City right before Oliver Queen interrupted her misguided quest for vengeance. That said, Laurel has been the first she's thought of the way she did Lynne, and even then the comparison is lacking. What she feels for Laurel rivals how she felt about Vince when he stopped being her undercover partner and became her lover. And that frightens Dinah so badly that every time the thought crosses her mind she panics and quickly stuffs down all of those complicated feelings Laurel provokes.

Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she lets it out slowly to compose herself before giving a more rational response. "I mean...I know her, yes. We work together. We're also friends. Of a sort. I just..." she trails off into a sigh. "Look, it's complicated. And not that it's any of your business but I was worried about her. She took off from work early, which she never does, and then abandoned a case really important us both. Seeing as she has a penchant for self-destruction, here I am."

After a contemplative hum, Marv nods to himself. "So she is some sort of bigwig politician."

"How do you figure that?"

Marv chuckles drolly. "Ain't hard to figure out. To be workin' with a police captain – got that from your badge by the way – she has to either be a cop or someone real important. And she ain't no cop. Heard her let loose some salty language about some of y'all. Don't leave much else possible. Lawyer, I'm guessin'. No, wait." He snaps his fingers again, eyes alighting. "Now I know why I though she looked so damn familiar. She's the D.A. ain't she? What's her name? Laura? Laurel! That's it. Laurel Lance. Well. I'll be damned."

The expression of utter amazement upon Marv's face is mirrored in Dinah's. "You and me both buddy," she says, taking a pause to process all she's learned. That Laurel has been volunteering at a homeless shelter for the past two weeks. That while still her sassy self, the Laurel that threaded in so seamlessly into the upper echelons of Star City society just as fluidly accommodated to the acclaim-repellent, elbow-grease-required strata of the most humble of the most humble that the mass production and low human value culture of America can produce. Laurel has also made another and even more drastic transformation in shedding the cold, calculating, vicious skin of Black Siren only to casually adopt the fully functional, productive citizen persona of the woman so beloved by so many a statue was built in her honor as if it were no big deal at all. All taken together, her series of adaptations is in Dinah's estimation an accomplishment of which few aside from the most elite social chameleons can boast.

All of that begs the question: who is the real Laurel Lance? And that is a question to which Dinah has no answer except to say she is dying to find out. Laurel is a jigsaw puzzle with a million jumbled up, radically disparate pieces spilled out before her as if to taunt that part of her brain that craves a challenge. Solving the unsolvable was one of many reasons she decided to become a cop after serving her enlistment in the Marine Corps, and there aren't many she's encountered that have her more vexed – and more invested – than Laurel.

As much as she would love to say that was the only reason she's out here in the tit-freezing cold talking to a complete stranger, her heart is not absent of engagement in the mystery of Laurel, either. Something about Laurel has tugged at Dinah's heartstrings for a long time now, since far earlier than their detente to aid Felicity's quest to exact vengeance upon the Dragon and the subsequent cooperation to free Oliver from prison. Maybe it was watching a shell-shocked daughter silently grieve when Quentin died while maintaining a facade of strength in support of a sister she didn't even know. Or maybe it was watching her, with Quentin's devoted fatherly guidance, slowly but surely step out of the inky blackness she inhabited out into the light of a nascent dawn and prove one day, one act, one speech at a time that there really was a fleshly, beating heart in her chest capable of great warmth that courses with red blood that bleeds like every one else upon the infliction of a wound. Or maybe, just maybe, it was getting to know the woman behind the innumerable masks and finding her to be as infinitely interesting, and surprisingly funny and charming on top of that, as the projections she offers up to the world to protect a heart that is far more fragile than she could ever bear to admit. Whatever the cause, there is no denying that Laurel has – probably without even trying – slipped past Dinah's own inner defenses and taken up residence in a place precious few have ever occupied.

"So, is she still here?" Dinah asks after deciding she best not think too much longer about this lest she become unnerved and tuck tail to run for the hills. Which is distinct possibility as scary as these unfurling feelings for Laurel are.

As if ignorant of her internal turmoil, Marv nods sharply, then indicates back toward the building with his head. "Yep. You'll find her inside. In the kitchen probably. Or out serving. Dinner ran over 'cause she got here a little late. All she did, wasn't right to start without her. Worth the wait though. Prime eatin' in there."

"Glad to hear it." Dinah means that in more than one way, though she declines commenting along those lines out of curiosity as to why Marv here is out in the cold with her instead inside and warm tucking into some dessert or something. "By the way, why aren't you inside? Gotta be better than freezing your ass off out here, especially if the food is as good as you said it was."

In response, Marv grins as he gives his belly a satisfied rub. "Already been through the line. I'm stuffed, and it can get loud in there, so I came out for some peace and quiet. Besides, it's a nice evenin'. I'm from New York, ya know. This cold reminds me of home."

"Missouri here by way of St. Louis." Select few outside of Team Arrow know that about Dinah, and that prompts her to wonder why she feels so comfortable sharing it with a total stranger. There is just something about Marv that she can't quite put her finger on. Something familiar. Hmm. "Gotta say, I don't miss the winters down there and they're a far cry from what y'all get in New York," she then adds as she studies the older gentlemen, noting his features remind her a bit of her grandfather, which satisfies that pique of curiosity for the time being.

"Yeah," says Marv, one corner of his lips quirking up just like Laurel's do – a ridiculous comparison that comes out of left field and is swiftly dismissed by Dinah. "But it ain't Christmas less it's cold, you've been fed like a prince, and you're with family. Guess two outta three ain't too bad for a washed up old vet."

Dinah's heart goes out to Marv. She knows the loneliness of having no roots left to speak of worth contacting this time of year. An only child of two only children, her mother's death the year she enlisted signaled the end of any familial obligations. So she cut clean after her discharge, moved to Central and never looked back. Thankfully she has since discovered a new family in Star City, one she did not inherit but chose of her own volition. Also known as the best kind of family.

"Not bad at all. I don't have any family left either. Gotta take what you can get around the holidays, right? Also, you're not all washed up. You figured my rank out with a single glance at my shield."

"My eyes still work. It's the rest of me that don't. And no offense, Cap, but that question you asked me earlier can apply to you, too. What the hell're you doin' standin' out here in the cold yappin' with an old geezer like me? Didn't you come here for a reason?"

Brow raised at his cheek, Dinah nonetheless shifts nervously from side to side. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did. Just..."

"Not what you expected to find, eh?" Marv interjects, rich green eyes twinkling in amusement. "Looks like your girl's got some surprises up her thousand buck sleeves."

"That she does. And I told you, she's not my girl."

Marv chuckles amiably at the denial that rings hollow to them both despite it being the truth. Laurel may not be her girl, but Dinah is increasingly becoming aware of the fact that she wants her to be.

"Yea, sure," he says. "Keep tellin' yourself that, Cap, maybe some day you'll convince yourself." Abruptly he shifts on his cinder block throne, clears his throat, and just like that Dinah knows the conversation is about to be over. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to enjoy a few minutes of that peace and quiet I came out here to get before I go back in and rejoin the rabble."

Dinah holds her hands up in surrender, recognizing the dismissal not as a suggestion but as the command that it is. "Alright. Message received." Unwilling to depart just yet for the fondness for this man she has so swiftly developed, she hesitates for a second as her analytic brain sifts through various potential scenarios in which they might meet again. For a variety of reason, not the least of which is statistical probability, most of them aren't good. "Listen," she says after the silence stretches out too long, causing Marv to arch a brow impatiently. "Stay out of trouble, you hear? I don't wanna see you in my station for any reason. Got it?"

Her reply is a mock salute and an equally sardonic, "Sure, boss. No need to worry, though. I don't got any plans to get locked up until at least the New Year. But I'll be sure to target your precinct if I change my mind just for the repeat pleasure of your company."

Recognizing the joke at her expense, Dinah rolls her eyes and quips, "In that case I'll keep the cell warm I reserve for unrepentant smart asses," before swirling to beat a hasty retreat. Back at the alley entry, she veers in the wrong direction only to be course corrected by Marv's consequent shout of, "Hey, Cap? That's the wrong way to the door, ya know." Dinah does know. She was just too damn nervous and uncertain all of a sudden to go through with confronting Laurel about her unexpected injection of the Christmas Spirit. Apparently being called out for her cowardice by a down-on-his-luck vet is the cure for that malady. Straightening her shoulders, she nods her appreciation at a man who in such a small span of time made such a large impression upon her.

"My bad," she calls back. "Thanks!"

She can see Marv's cheesy, smug grin even in the low light afforded by the street lamps and the single outside fixture attached to the outer wall of the shelter. And she certainly has no problem hearing his reply.

"You're welcome! Now, stop lyin' to yourself, march inside there and do what you gotta do to get your girl and make this a Christmas to remember."

To her astonishment and a degree of elation she has not experience since she in High School, Dinah does not bother to correct him this time. In light of all the revelations she experienced tonight about herself and Laurel, along with Marv's timely encouragement just now, clarity descends upon her with an intensity that cannot be denied. For far too long she has been too terrified – albeit for oh-so-many very good reasons – to directly confront the undeniable reality that she is falling in love with Laurel. And instead of inciting a panic that will derail the astounding progress she has made in the process of a single conversation with a man with whom she has only just become acquainted, instead of making her want to run away as fast as her legs will carry her, it does the exact opposite.

Against all rational explanation, and wildly contrary to how she felt on seconds ago, all Dinah wants to do right now is run straight to Laurel. So that's precisely what she does.

#dctv #fanfic #arrow fanfic #arrow #dinah drake #laurel lance #dinah x laurel #laurel x dinah #aka Dinahmite!#or:#dinahsiren #christmas #i may or may not throw together cover art for this #probably not tho cause I'd have to hurry and I am not good with manips #see my post history for proof

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