#they mention a nearby cold star in passing that’s been giving off flares

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

i was peacefully working a closing shift when i was struck by a horrible yet wonderful and supremely indulgent idea:

Danny Phantom x Voltron crossover

[luca-moreno]

operation: asteria

Uh. So this is only the most self-indulgent thing ever but let’s be honest, this is what we’re here for sooo  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Luca centric/sorta vague to leave room in the sandbox for other pov’s <3

FOLLOWS X 

 ---

It’s a tense walk back to the shuttle.

Gone was the easy humour and levity of their initial foray into the marketplace. Now they push through the crowds with terse expressions, eyes scanning every passing face for a potential threat. Luca feels the weight of the disc on him like an anchor, dragging him down with each step and further troubled by how uneasy Eva and the Captain had seemed.

Whoever this Vance guy was, he was trouble.

Luca knows it’s selfish when there’s something much more vital at stake but a large part of him is still trying to push down the crushing disappointment that he won’t be able to meet his own contact. He would have liked to have tugged on that thread that might one day lead him to his brother.

Maybe, if he had been paying more attention, he might have noticed the shadows behind them before the screaming started.

Eva flares blue instantly, but the heavy lurch of the suddenly panicked crowd knocks Luca out of range of her barrier. He loses sight of her briefly in the crush of frenzied bodies. It’s a struggle to stay on his feet as he’s shoved and jostled by the stampede. Isaac’s voice is curt but calm in his ear and Luca forces himself to focus on the hum of Eva and Ben’s biotics. He almost locates them when an explosive rush of heat and noise hits him like a shockwave and he’s suddenly lifted off his feet and hurled far into the dirt.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence from the force of the impact, then a world of screaming sensation comes rushing back in. He blinks up at the fuzzy stars, ears ringing and filled with static along with the continual frustrating buzzing of his aids. He can't breathe through the smoke and charred dust in the air and he tastes blood in his mouth. He groans as he tries to roll over but his body feels too heavy and slow, like he’s moving under water.

A dark figure looms over him. Luca spies a flash of red along one arm and relief rushes though him despite the wall of flames at the figure’s back - relieved because the N7 stripe and the broad shoulders tell him it's the captain, and if Isaac is there, then Luca knows it’s gonna okay - right up until the front of Luca’s ajax armor is grabbed in a gloved fist and he’s lifted off the dirt.

No. Not the captain.... A face he doesn't recognize and Luca’s brain stutters in confusion but he can’t think through the darkness crowding in around the edges of his vision.

It swallows him whole.

--

It’s almost peaceful when Luca comes to but the silence gives way to a crackling static, cut off voices and a rhythmic pounding in his head.

He cracks one eye open, greeted by a wide, dark room and a handful of shadowy figures. His hands are bound behind his back and his first thought is the disc. 

They had to be after the disc.

He hasn’t been awake for long when one of the figures approaches him.

“Oi, the kid’s awake.”

“Good. Get him up.”

It’s the only warning Luca gets before a rough pair of hands hauls him upright. A barefaced turian looms into his field of vision. He can’t hear the clack of his mandibles, but Luca can make out what he’s trying to say. Barely.

“What?” Luca wheezes, staring blankly at the turian in front of him.

“Where’s the disc?”

“What?” he says again.  

The turian snarls something else and Luca tries to gesture to his head. It’s hard with his hands bound behind his back. “Wait, no. I… I can’t hear.”

Another figure approaches, human this time, and ugly as sin. Luca stares up at them from his position on the floor and tries not to let the quiver in his stomach show on his face. Razor squad, he realizes. They have to be. These must be the assholes that had been chasing Viz.

He tries to gesture to his head again, then makes a frustrated sound. “If you can undo… I can can fix... or… sign-”

There’s a long beat while the two mercs debate what to do but it’s a third voice that Luca can barely make out that has one of them reaching for his wrists. Luca uses the opportunity to press his thumb and ring finger together to activate a charge as soon as the merc makes contact. A flash of blue and white fizzles, crackling out from Luca’s gloved wrist and scrambling up the man’s arm. It spreads over his body as the merc gasps once then falls to the ground, convulsing. 

The others scramble back with a yelp.

“Shit, be careful!” one of them yells. “Little fucker might have more.”

The turian’s mandibles click in an alien approximation of a human sneer. “Any other surprises for us, kid?”

“Guess you’ll just have to come closer and find out, huh?” Luca flexes his wrist and tries for what he hopes is a cocky smile. 

It was that same lesson Kiosho had drummed into him on the wards when they were kids and strengthened by the time Isaac, Eva and even Ben had given him.

Be brave even you’re fucking terrified, because half the time, they won’t be able to tell the difference.  And after Yamamotto... well, Luca’s wasn’t going to be caught defenceless again.

Another human, a woman with a jaggered scar down one cheek and one eye milky white, lifts her weapon. Her voice is a sneer as she points it in Luca’s direction. “Or we could just put a bullet in your brain-“  

Luca freezes in place.

“Nah, big man would have our heads for that. He wants this one alive. And the disc. Better get him over here.”

They give Luca a wide berth but he’s conscious of the barrels of katanas, scimitars and claymores pointed at him.

A new figure approaches and Luca doesn’t need to skim his eyes over the red stripe to know who he is.

Jackson Vance.

This was the disgraced N7 that had made Eva react the way she had. There was more history there that Luca wasn���t privy to, but he knew Eva. There was more at play than whatever had been on his bastard’s file.

“Some piss poor judgement on the Alliance part here,” Vance says casually, crouching down to Luca’s level and eyeing him with a cold gaze. “A paladin, a fury and a goddamn fucking Cerberus phoenix and they gave the disc to you.”

Vance shakes his head as though bitterly disappointed as he climbs back to his feet. “Not much of a challenge.”

Luca jerks his chin at the man lying comatose on the ground nearby. 

“Your friend over there seems to be enjoying his nap. He might be sore in the morning. Although I can’t remember what my charge was set to, maybe he wont wake up, maybe the next one will be-”

The turian ventures closer, and his movement interrupts Luca’s train of thought. His wrist glows orange with the activated omnitool and it only takes a minute for Luca to realise the turian is scanning him. 

“He’s only got the one charge,” he informs Vance after a moment.

Vance’s expression doesn’t change. It’s cold like ice. “Then search him.”

“No!”

The remaining mercs descend on Luca without hesitation, plucking at his armor and rummaging through the pouches and compartments of his pockets. He knows they’ll find the disc but he kicks out anyway, fighting and thrashing where he could until the cold barrel of a gun presses against his temple and his blood turns cold.

Vance stares down at him. “I want to keep you alive, kid. But you’re testing my patience.”

“Yeah,” Luca swallows. “You’d be surprised how often I get tha- hey!”

They yank the scarf off from around his neck and throw it to the ground. “I just bought that,” he mutters but it’s not why his inside suddenly turn watery and his heart races. A three clawed hand tucks inside his breast plate and then withdraws the small case.

Damnit.

“You know they’re gonna find me, right?" Luca glares up at them as the mercs smirk amongst themselves and hold up the case in triumph. “The paladin, the fury… the phoenix. And when they do, you’re all going to be totally fucked.”

Vance leans down, close enough to Luca’s face he can feel his breath on his face. It’s uncomfortably close. “How was the paripo?”

The question throws Luca. “What?”

“The paripo. The local delicacy on a stick you and the fury were enjoying. How was it? I watched you all. Saw the way she looked at you. At him. She was always soft – so easy to manipulate. Doesn’t look like anything has changed. Give her enough rope and she’ll hang herself over and over again.”

“What the…” Luca breathes out before starting to shout. “Shut up! You don’t get to talk about her like that! You’ve got the disc, you got what you wanted so why don’t you just leave her alone-“

“Oh, the kid’s in love, huh? Cute,” one of the mercs chuckles from nearby.

“Shut up!” Luca tries to lunge but they hold him too tightly.

“Come on, Vance,” the turian snaps. “We got the disc, let’s put a round in this kid’s brain and get the fuck out of here. What more do you want?”

“I want the fury. But the phoenix will fetch us a nice bonus too. Not to mention the paladin’s ship currently in orbit.”

“Hey, man. No. What? No, I didn’t sign up for that shit. You’re fucking crazy.”

“Yeah, Vance, the disc is what we agreed to. Come on, let’s just get out of here and-“

It happens so fast Luca wouldn’t have known who fired if it wasn’t for the gun still smoking in Vance’s hand.

The merc’s blood pools on the floor, inching towards Luca’s boots as he tries to scramble back.

“You said she’ll find you?” Vance says mildly to Luca. “I’m counting on it, kid.”

[jawsandbones]

Perfume

Written for @lynngo-art, for winning the giveaway hosted by @dapromptexchange. 

Pairing: Zevran x M!Warden

Rating: T (some violence)

AO3 Link: Click here

A slight thing, a small thing, fragile and glass. He pushes at the bottle with the tip of his finger, watches it wobble slightly. A pretty enough bauble, he supposes, although he’s not quite sure it’s worth the price. Pushing it again and it threatens to tip, so he reaches out quickly, catches it in his hand. The liquid inside it sways, moves back and forth as he holds it in his palm. He’s sure it’s foolishness to even be considering it. Still – he looks over his shoulder to see Zevran leaning over the shop counter, elbow on the table and his chin in his hands, giving a gracious smile to the clerk. Rémi’s grip tightens on the bottle.

He moves along the shelves, and the floor creaks underneath his careful steps. He’s carefully looking at everything – the soaps, powders and potions – filling up the basket at seeming random. His ears twitch slightly, his full attention not entirely on what’s in front of him. More, it’s focused to what he isn’t looking at. The sound of Zevran’s voice, the laughter of the clerk, and Rémi tosses another bar of soap in. A quick glance over his shoulder, and she’s brushing hair behind her ears, cheeks flushed pink. Rémi resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he looks down at Brutus, sitting near him. The mabari notices the attention being paid to him, and his short tail begins to wag.

He thinks that perhaps Zevran will be too distracted to notice. He glances down into the basket, and turns the bottle of perfume with his finger. A ribbon around the stopper, liquid that swirls pink. Even if he does notice – why would he have to defend the purchase? The others buy things for themselves all the time. Alistair doesn’t have to explain his constant need for new socks, and so Rémi doesn’t need to explain his desire for this perfume. Even if he’s never bought perfume before. He shakes the thought from his head as he walks to the counter.

“Ah, my Warden. There you are,” Zevran smiles so widely, so warmly at the sight of him. His posture straightening, but still slightly leaning against the counter, he shuffles over to stand right next to him. “Marie was telling me about the most charming inn just down the street. The Dragon’s Rest. She is good friends with the owner and would be willing to give us a discount, should we mention who sent us.” He gives a quick wink in her direction, and she bites her bottom lip, her gaze flicking between him and the counter. She pulls things from the basket, writing them down as she goes. She’s startled slightly by Brutus resting his face on the counter, but smiles at the sight of him. All of Ferelden certainly does love their dogs.

“A warm bath would be to die for,” Zevran sighs. They’ve been long on the road. Sleeping in mud and tattered tents, trudging through brush and bog. Denerim is a welcome respite from it all. An inn does sound nice, and a bath even better.

“Thank you for letting us know,” Rémi tells her. He stresses the ‘us’. He isn’t sure if Zevran notices it, as he’s too busy watching Alistair fumble with a book in the corner. Pulling it from a shelf, and it slips from his grasp. Fluttering paper as it spins three times before Alistair finally catches it. He clutches it to his chest when he grabs hold of it, and whips his head around the store to see if anyone saw him. Zevran is beaming at him, and Leliana presses a hand against her temple. Rémi only gestures as best he can with a sharp flick of his head, to get him to put the book back. He does.

“If that’s all, it’ll be 3 gold and 2 copper, ser,” Marie says. Zevran is playing with one of the flowers in the vase on the counter, while Rémi reaches into his pouch. She’s placing all the items back into the basket, a flash of pink as she goes, and he puts the coin on the counter. She’s counting it up while Zevran carefully takes one of the flowers, turning it in his hands and hiding it behind his back as he stands up completely.

“Thank you,” Rémi says again as he takes the basket, gives her a polite nod. She returns it, before her attention returns to Zevran. He’s walking backwards beside Rémi, gives her a smile and a wave before turning around. Alistair and Brutus hurry after them, Leliana following behind. The door chimes as it closes behind them. Out in the street, Zevran stretches, arms in the air, and quickening his steps to catch up to Rémi.

“For you, Caro,” he says, presenting the flower to him with a flourish and half a bow. It’s a green daylily, one of his favorites, although he’s sure that Zevran doesn’t know it.

“It’s beautiful,” he says.

“I saw it, and I thought of you,” Zevran says. He wants to tell him that the petals remind him of his eyes, that delicate shade of green. That he noticed Rémi pays attention to lilies the most, whenever they’re around flowers, and that he knows he likes them best. Instead, he’s caught up in the soft way Rémi looks at the flower, looks at him.

“I don’t know how you can do that so easily Zevran,” Alistair says, calling out to them, catching their attention.

“Hmm? Do what so easily?” Zevran asks, raising his eyebrows slightly, and looking over at him. He walks a little slower to let Alistair catch up, and steps in time with him. Rémi softly sighs, abruptly reminded of it, and starts looking for a sign for the inn.

“That.” Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, back in the direction of the shop. “Flirt,” he says with a sigh, an outward flare of his hands. Zevran throws back his head and laughs, wraps an arm around Alistair and pats his back sympathetically.

“You were listening in? My friend, it is a learned skill, honed by time and experience. And I have a lot of experience.” Satisfaction in his voice, given with a wink. “I would be quite happy to teach you, hmm? We will have all the ladies, or men, falling at your feet in no time.” The shell of Alistair’s ears burn bright red.

“I’m pretty sure half of Denerim could hear the way you were going on. And I don’t think I want you teaching me anything, thank you very much,” he tells him. Renewed laughter at that, another pat at his back, and his hand falls back to his side.

“I think it’s sweet that you don’t know how to flirt,” Leliana says.  

“Don’t say that. That only makes it worse,” Alistair says, a groan following his words.

“It is sweet! That way, when you do give a compliment and try to flirt, it will sound much more sincere than Zevran’s pot of honey,” she says.

“You wound me. You make it sound as though my honey is not sincere. I am always quite sincere. I mean everything I say. I say you are handsome, and you are. I say Leliana is beautiful, and she is. I say I enjoy walking behind my Warden because of the way his ass-”

“Thank! You! Very much!” Alistair says, cutting in. Leliana laughs brightly as Alistair puts hands on Zevran’s shoulders, and pushes him back to Rémi’s side. He’s still grinning and Rémi can’t help but chuckle. His joy is always infectious. He’s still turning the flower in his free hand, lifting it up slightly and away from Brutus after he feels a curious and cold nose press against his knuckles. He’s almost relieved when he sees the sign – a dragon curled up around a bed. True to her word, all it takes it a mention of Marie for the price to be knocked down.

At their door, Rémi passes over things between Leliana and Alistair. A bar of soap for each of them, that powder that she specifically requested. The rest for Zevran and himself. Brutus is already stretched out on the bed by the time he steps inside the room, right beside where Zevran lays. His feet on the ground, but his body splayed out, as though half a star. “Ah, if only we could have a bed every night. What I would give to never sleep on the ground again,” he sighs as Rémi places the basket on the table nearby, the flower on top of it all. All it takes is a glance and a gesture to get Brutus off the bed and curling up by the door.

Fingertips tap against his knees. Moving up his thighs, a palm planted in the mattress by Zevran’s head. Leaning over him, straddling him, and he smirks as he lets his hands rest on Rémi’s hips. “Hello Caro,” he says in a low voice. Leaning over, and strands of Rémi’s long hair escape the braid and wisp around Zevran’s face. He doesn’t seem to mind, hands travelling over his back, as Rémi plants the kiss. Long and deep, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Hands on his face, cradling him tightly. He wants it to be enough. He wants to be enough.

Zevran’s looking for a way to keep him there, pulling at his robes, but Rémi abruptly moves away, stands instantly. “I should take advantage of the fact that we have a bath,” he says, watching as Zevran props himself up on elbows to watch him, “I feel filthy.”

“Should I join you?” he asks.

“Maybe next time,” he says, taking the basket with him as he slips into the bathroom. Opening the taps, he waits for the water to fill the bath. Putting the soap on the rack, the perfume on the counter. Standing in front of the mirror, Rémi undoes the braid and his robes drop to his feet. He twists a strand of his hair between his fingers as he looks at himself. Running his hands over the muscle that’s beginning to develop – one does not fight darkspawn constantly without some side effects.

Every part of him is rougher now, so far removed from his time spent in the Circle. There are barely any soft parts of him left. I would say I prefer a soft and shapely woman. He leans forward, runs a finger down his nose. Besides his hair, there’s no part of him that could be mistaken for a woman. I have a lot of experience. Zevran’s words, spoken in conversation, but words that Rémi can’t quite shake. Turning off the taps, he sinks into the water. Hair floats like tendrils all around him, and he reaches for the soap.

He nearly scrubs himself red, trying to wash away anything that might be unsatisfactory. Washing down to the very ends of his hair, soap on his face, under his arms. He dries himself easily, quickly, the magic heating underneath his skin. He takes the perfume from the basket. He’s not sure when he became so conscious of the way he looks. When he wanted to be better. A few drops on his wrists, at his neck. Enough for any to notice should they come near him. He only wants one to know. When he leaves the bathroom, he only has the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Ah. While you were bathing, Leliana came by with a letter. There’s a request from the Captain, of some urgency. A gang is gathering in an alley, and he believes they mean to make mischief. He is short on men and wonders if you might –” Rémi rubs the space between his brows.

“I guess I’d better get dressed,” he says.

“I’m sure any would be delighted to see you go to battle with only a towel. I would be delighted,” Zevran says.

They meet Leliana and Alistair at the door downstairs. His hair is braided again, his robes neat. His staff in his hands, sword sheathed on his belt, with Brutus and Zevran flanking him. They hurry their way through the streets, down winding narrow paths, under stone bridges. “Be ready,” Rémi tells the others as they draw nearer to their target. A gate, opened, is the only thing to cross. Zevran sees it too late.

“Caro –!” but Rémi is already walking across the threshold, the gate rolling down shut behind him. Leliana has an arrow tipped, pointed between the spaces of the gate. The bandits are emerging from behind crates and walls, one looking spectacularly pleased.

“You’re all alone now, Warden. You’ll pay for killing the others,” he says. Panic caught in his throat, Zevran dives towards the gate controls nearby. Locked. Dropping his daggers, he reaches for the lockpicks on his belt. Alistair is pacing as he watches, nearly ready to start trying to knock the metal gate down with his shield. Leliana lets the first arrow fly, catching one that stands behind the leader. A warning, but they’re still growing closer. Brutus is whining, digging at cobblestone, trying to find some way to his master.

Rémi takes a deep breath. Taking his staff in both hands, widening his stance. He draws at flame, marks a line around him. It doesn’t deter them. He is one. They are many. They charge with a shout, and not even Leliana can fire arrows fast enough to stop them. “Hurry up!” Alistair yells.

“Your shouting at me will not have me do this any faster!” Zevran yells back. He’s desperately trying to find the soft spots. To hear the lock click free. Instead, all he hears is the crack of Rémi casting lightning, the shouts of effort as he tries to keep them all back. Leliana, firing arrows, sending them expertly between the spaces of the gate, around Rémi. Zevran knows he can’t look away. He can’t look. Heart in his throat, fingers trembling, and he’s turning the pick.

“Augh!” At that, Zevran does look. His heart almost drops from his chest. Rémi is grimacing as his fingers wrap around the arrow embedded in the soft flesh of his shoulder. Sweat on his brow, both from the heat of the fire and the effort of casting so many spells. His heart caught in his throat, he’s stabbing at the lock, until finally – a click, and the lock rolls free, and Zevran pushes at the lever, the gate rolling upwards. Alistair charges forward with a wild cry, drawing their attention towards him.

The fire that had marked a separation between them slowly dies as Rémi steps back, lets the others handle it. Zevran picks up his daggers, moves instantly to his side. “Are you alright?” He asks. Jaw clenched tight, Rémi only nods, casts an errant ball of flame into the pack of bandits.

“Help the others,” he says. Zevran wants to disobey. He wants to stay by his side, force him away from the battle. Instead, he charges forward. Together, they make quick work of them. Their trap was effective, if crude. Zevran forces himself not to think of what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten the lock open. Leliana is reclaiming her arrows, while Alistair sheaths his sword. Rémi has his hand wrapped around the shaft of the arrow in him, and Zevran puts his hand on his chest.

“No. Don’t pull it out yet,” he says. “Can you heal it?”

“Maybe. I need some time before I can,” Rémi says. He looks exhausted. Trying to heal it now would only leave him dead on his feet. Zevran slips an arm around his waist, and he gratefully leans against him.

“I am going to take him back,” Zevran tells Alistair and Leliana. “You should let the Captain know that the job is complete.” Brutus walks beside them, his head hung low, a slow whine escaping him every once in a while.

Safe at the inn, Rémi sits on the bed. Zevran’s pulled a chair close, the kit resting on the seat. He’s kneeling before him, carefully cutting at the robes. Pressing a cloth against the wound, he wraps his hand around the arrow. “Are you ready?” Rémi closes his eyes and nods. A quick pull, barely felt. At first. The pain sears, and Rémi’s hands clench into fists. Zevran is pushing the cloth against it, trying to stop the bleeding.

Rémi diverts enough magic towards it to heal it enough for the cloth to be pulled away. Another, dipped in water, cleaning the wound. Then, needle and string, and Zevran leans close. His stitches are neat and tidy, close together and hands steady. His face so very near, so Rémi can’t help but look at him. His heart always beats quicker at the sight of him. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, but that doesn’t hide exactly how handsome he is. He likes him for more than his looks, of course, but he knows those looks are dangerous.

“Why do you flirt with everyone?” the question bursts from him. Zevran raises his eyebrows as he ties the knot of the stitch, cuts the string carefully.

“You are asking me this now?” A pointed glance at the wound. Once Rémi had regained enough strength, he’d be able to heal it completely. For now, the stitches would have to do. It was a close call. There have been many close calls. For some reason, each one is worse than the last. Feeling as though it’s crushing his guts, churning his bones. It frightens him, Zevran realizes. How much he feels it.

“Please just answer the question,” Rémi says.

“I do not know. It is something I simply do.” Rémi shakes his head, unsatisfied with the answer.

“I think you do know. Tell me, please,” he says as he leans forward, brushes a hand against his cheek. Zevran looks up at him, eyes that study eyes, and a knot appears between his brows. He leans back, against his heels, and sighs. Hunching over, he rests his forehead against Rémi’s knee.

“I worry that perhaps, one day, you will realize you do not like me as much as you think,” he says.

“You don’t think I worry you’ll do the same?” he says as he threads fingers through Zevran’s hair. Zevran looks up at him, chin on his knee, and after a few quiet seconds, and suddenly surges forward. Wrapping arms around him, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“You scare me half to death and now you tell me you worry I will leave you! This is too much for my heart in one day, Caro,” he says, hugging him tightly. “I flirt because I am – wait – are you wearing perfume?” Taking another deep breath, his nose pressed against his neck. Leaning back, looking at Rémi.

“I – I thought you might like me more if I smelled like –”  

“A woman? You can do whatever you like, my Warden, but what I will always enjoy and prefer the most is you,” Zevran tells him. “If you wished it, you could have no shortage of suitors. But I will not let them near you.” A hand at his nape, pulling him close, and forehead pressed against forehead. “I, on the other hand, would be quite lonely without you. If you do not like the flirting, then I will stop, but you must promise to stay by my side.”

“I promise,” Rémi says as he leans forward, presses his lips against his.

[ambivalentangst]

Time Stretches On

Okay so I saw a post that was admittedly a shitpost about Lance being immortal but then I'm like,,, , but get this,, angst. So here we are with an immortal Lance who is suffering :) This will also be posted on my ao3. - Lance had never wanted to live forever. He’d also never wanted to particularly die, but who did? No, he’d wanted to live out an albeit long, but very fulfilling life, settled down with his significant other after a time spent amongst the stars, surrounded by family and his kids until the day he hopefully passed away in his sleep. A simple, ideal way to die. Lance had never wanted to be captured either. Haggar, he swore he’d kill the witch. In those long weeks in Galra captivity she’d modified his DNA, so that his body fed off the quintessence in the universe. Never enough to harm anything, or so she had assumed as she had her fun after they found he couldn’t be persuaded into talking. Lance didn’t suspect until a year after his rescue, staring at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t changed much, the barest hints of baby fat still clinging to the hollows of his cheeks. His undiluted blue eyes met his own gaze, striking in the light of the castle. Aside from the scar crossing his left eyebrow, and another scraping the top of his lip in fact it appeared he hadn’t changed at all. Odd, but Lance pushed past it. At least he was keeping his pretty face. It probably didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, right? Over the course of the months that followed, Lance discovered he had new abilities like Allura did. The ability to manipulate quintessence, use it for better or for worse. His veins glowed the same as the energy source for weeks afterwards, until he couldn’t remember what he looked like without it. He tried to ignore the change for the time, knowing it helped. He pushed out any memories reminding of who else had that ability. Another year, and Lance knew for certain. Pidge’s hair had grown long, and she’d filled out in other places as well. Allura’s face had been thinned from war, and Shiro had a few creases around his lips, his hair shaggy and often tied back. Hunk had followed suit, and Lance was loathe to tell his friend he was now sporting the beginnings of a mullet. Keith had grown another few inches, standing a hair above him now. Lance had been frozen. He remained all long limbs, features stuck between being a boy and a man. His scars had been glossed over, undoubtedly from all the quintessence he used. In fact, it had smoothed out his features, and even without his skin care regimen he looked flawless. The only significant change that had been made at all was constant glow running through his blood, and more recently, the shift in hue it had made to the blue eyes his mother had adored. Instead, they glowed a pupiless purple. A purple the enemy they were fighting adored. He didn’t mention anything, not to his teammates, not even to himself. He locked what he knew about himself away, watching those he loved grow while he remained just as he had the day he’d been captured. More recently, he’d found he had feelings for two certain paladins too. Lance thought about it for a long time, whether to say something or not. In the end he was silent. His team hadn’t paid the time Lance did to his appearance. They hadn’t noticed he hadn’t changed, not in the midst of saving the universe. Lance didn’t blame them and knew he wouldn’t ever bring it up, similar to his feelings for Keith and Shiro. He’d never let the men grow old without him, burden them with the knowledge that they were leaving their lover with an eternally broken heart. Instead he watched as they got together instead, and pretended not to notice the looks they gave him everywhere he went. Five years after he was captured was when someone finally said something about it. Pidge had been teasing Shiro about his thirtieth, how he was getting old, to which the man responded, “Hey, we can’t all be Lance!” The boy didn’t laugh, pausing at his spot washing dishes. He hoped the comment would pass. It didn’t. The conversation went on, ignoring Lance’s silence. “True, he hasn’t aged a day,” she admitted, looking enviously to him. Physically, she was older now, at nineteen. Lance had a white knuckled grip on the plate he held, while the water dripping off it took on a familiar magenta hue, matching the veins in the hand holding it. “Lance?” Shiro asked, the same all too concerned tone in his stupid voice. The brunette set the plate in the sink, turning off the water and stepping away before he caused an accident. “She’s right,” he murmured. “I haven’t aged a day.” He looked up, casting the glow of his eyes and now tears in the black paladin’s direction. “Not since Haggar got her hands on me.” Lance cried himself to sleep that night, ignoring the pounding on his bedroom door from the six other people on the ship. He’d never grow old with anybody, he’d never have someone for the rest of his life. Seventeen he would remain, forever. Lance watched his friends slip through his fingers. As the years flew by and blurred together he watched a shock of silver thread it’s way through Keith’s hair every time he visited the planet he and Shiro finally settled on. Watched Hunk’s hands grow wrinkled and pained from years of engineering, coated with the dust of the Balmera. Even though they’d fought and won, Lance could not save them from age. Wouldn’t wish to, anyways. He wouldn’t condemn his friends to the same fate as him. He was there at each of their funerals, assumed to be a younger relative, or something similar. Voltron had been hidden away again, the location entrusted to the ageless boy who’d sobbed under the shadow of far too many gravestones. Lance never took a lover, never had anything more than simple flings despite how many had begged, pleaded with the ethereal, glowing boy to stay. He was never cruel, but he had no true interest. They were things to keep away the coldness of his reality, of knowing the men he had loved were buried across the universe side by side, lost to him forever. He wandered his way through the universe, searching and searching for the one person left who could give him a sense of fulfillment. A witch who had escaped Voltron’s grasp as the empire finally fell, and the one person Lance truly wanted dead. She was unlike him, corrupting herself with a constant craving for more. Perhaps if Lance learned to enjoy his infinite lifetime things would be different, the universe would take it out on him. Instead, it was simply how he lived. He’d saved the universe, and now the universe appeared to have chosen a form of payment someone else had negotiated for him. He scoured the cosmos for years until he found her, on a remote thing that was closer to an asteroid than a planet, harvesting quintessence from a nearby star. Lance tore her apart with it. The battle raged for days between the two of them, Haggar strong from practice and wisdom, Lance by youth and ingenuity. She screamed at him to give up, to join her and build up something greater than what he’d destroyed. Lance merely smiled, the blood dripping from his lips glowing like everything else about him. He was consumed in the light, exchanging blow for blow mercilessly. By the time he finally bested her he flared up almost brighter than the star nearby, Haggar only made immune to the unrelenting brightness from her own power. Lance annihilated her in a blaze of hatred and energy, tearing her apart molecule by molecule until she could not even be called stardust. Then, Lance set off. And after destroying the witch, he rescued instead. As the legend of Voltron faded until time called for it to rise again, a different one arose. Of a boy who glowed magenta, whose smile always seemed a tiny bit sad no matter the circumstance. Who never changed, and kept himself alive despite all odds stacked against him. Someday, Lance would lay himself to rest. After he trained the next generation, guided along by the memories of the friends he’d lost so many years ago. But for now, he traveled until he was needed again

[cviperfan]

Soiran fic, 1/?

Title: The Second Time Around Series: Bleach Pairings: Soifon/Rangiku Matsumoto, Yoruichi Shihouin/Kuukaku Shiba, hints of Rangiku/Gin, Yoruichi/Soifon, Nanao/Lisa Rating: M Chapter Warning(s): n/a Summary: Eleven years after the final battle, a well-timed getaway brings two perfect strangers together, and as time passes, attraction might become something more.  Sometimes, people can surprise you. Post-series, canon ending compliant.

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Chapter 1: Escape

Kuukaku Shiba took a long drag on her pipe, the tobacco ashes flaring up at the open end, a warm glow that burned bright in the deepening blue as night settled across Rukongai.  After a moment she blew a cloud of smoke that caught itself on a sudden cool breeze, dissipating against a backdrop of rustling grass and the glow of fireflies, stars beginning to twinkle distantly above.  With Koganehiko and Shiroganehiko already resting, Kuukaku was content to sit on the grass, staring out across the town from the hilltop she'd situated her home at for the day.  It was a quiet, perfect summer night.

Well, mostly quiet.

Even from here she could see light shining from one of the larger buildings in Rukongai, but it was surprising how far the din of a party in full swing carried; even greatly muffled by distance, there was a throng of revelers, singing drunkenly, accompanied by laughter and shouting, however indescernable it was.  Ganju and his friends, she knew, would be in the thick of the chaos well until the next morning, not that she could blame her brother.  He'd done his part to help save Soul Society (not to mention Rukongai and the human world, by extension), and what kind of older sister would she be if she didn't give him the chance to be lifted up like a hero by the villagers on occasion?

It was hard to believe that only two years had passed since Yhwach had been defeated, but Soul Society was already starting to change, even from her limited vantage point.  Their grip on Rukongai was starting to loosen, though it would be a long time before things would begin to actively improve.  And she'd heard the good news for Rukia, and her cousin off in the human world.  She had to remind Isshin that he'd better bring his new grandkid around soon-- even no longer a shinigami herself, there was plenty she could teach a fresh, impressionable young mind about the limitless applications of gunpowder and explosives.  

She was so lost in her idle thoughts that she didn't notice the figure that had been walking up to her, standing now a fair distance away, until they spoke.

"Hey."

Even before Kuukaku had properly focused her attention, she knew instantly who it was.  She'd know that light, playful voice anywhere, could practically see the crooked smile offset by a head of dark brown hair held back in a ponytail.  Her favorite, obnoxiously bright orange jacket was long gone, but Yoruichi Shihouin stood before her, as casual as if she'd been here the whole time just waiting for her chance to make an entrance.

Mouthing the tip of her pipe absently, Kuukaku stared at her for a long moment before she finally responded.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"Well," Yoruichi shrugged, "What can I say?  I was around."

Kuukaku quirked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.  Instead, after taking another long puff of her pipe, she got to her feet, keeping her eyes trained on the dark-skinned woman.

"How's the shop?" Kuukaku finally said, tactfully avoiding the name it still went by.

"...Good.  You're not gonna believe this, but... I've been helping Tessai with the kids."

At that Kuukaku let out a short bark of a laugh, completely caught off guard by her old friend's admission.

"You?  Playing 'mom' to Ururu and Jinta?  Now that's something I'd pay good money to see."

"Hey, hey, it's more like 'cool aunt' than 'mom,'" Yoruichi shot back, wagging a finger as a smirk played at the corners of her mouth, and Kuukaku felt a smile of her own form as they shared a laugh under the starlight.  She caught something like warmth in those golden cat-eyes of hers, and all of a sudden Kuukaku felt off-balance.  

It had been so long since it had been just them, alone together, not a care in the world.  A lifetime ago, practically.  But then, it made it easier to keep those old thoughts buried in the back of her head when it was all about business, and fighting, and keeping their friends safe.  

It somehow didn't feel right to have that old feeling, after everything that had happened.

"Well, i'd invite you in for a drink," Kuukaku finally declared, tapping her pipe against her hip with her good hand before snuffing out the remainder of the cooling ashes with her foot, "...but I think I'm gonna turn in for tonight.  If you're still here tomorrow though, we could--"

"I wanted to see you."

Kuukaku, in the process of making her way up the grassy hill to her nearby door, stopped in her tracks, confused.

"...What?"

"I... I lied, about just being around," Yoruichi admitted, and there was a pause as she looked strangely pensive, searching for the right word.  "Honestly, I... just wanted to see you."

She was quiet for a moment, and with a hand on the back of her neck, eyes flitting around as she chewed on her lower lip, Kuukaku couldn't help remembering a much younger Yoruichi, caught red-handed in some very un-princess-like mischief, desperately searching for a half-truth that would get her out of a good scolding.  And there'd be Kuukaku, there to cover for her without a moment's hesitation.  Nothing she wouldn't have done for her then, and in some ways that had never changed.

"The truth is, with everything so much quieter now I've had a lot of time to... think about things.  Mostly about... well, about my brother, and my friends, and..."

She trailed off, and there was something that went cold in her eyes for a moment, something Kuukaku understood.  Thanks to Nel, she and her brother had been saved, along with the Arrancar, but Kisuke...

It was going to be a long time before bringing up Kisuke in conversation ever felt right again.

"And," Yoruichi continued, "... I keep thinking about you.  About... about us."

Kuukaku stared, unable to believe what she was hearing.  She couldn't possibly, after all this time, be suggesting what it sounded like she was.

"I never gave you an answer back then, and... I don't blame you at all if you don't feel that way anymore, but... I just want to know if there's even the slightest chance you still do."

There was a long silence between them, Yoruichi looking strangely on edge, as if regretting her admission the longer Kuukaku simply observed her, features placid even as her eyes wandered, processing the gravity of her words.

Finally, Kuukaku closed the distance to her front door, and Yoruichi gave a sigh, shaken by her apparent rejection but at least grateful to have finally admitted to it after so many years.  As she turned, however, a reply finally came.

"...You have some damn nerve, Yoruichi."

Looking back, she found Kuukaku gazing at her, expression firm but eyes soft, a somber sort of affection there as she slowly cracked the tiniest of smiles.  Pushing open the door, she then beckoned her into the house.

"I guess we've got more to talk about after all, huh?"

--9 Years Later--

"Quiet, please," Nanao Ise declared to the room, adjusting her glasses as the various women of Soul Society eventually settled down in their seats. "As acting president of the Shinigami Women's Association, this meeting is called to order."

"First things first," the co-lieutenant of the First Division began, running briefly over the minutes she'd lined out earlier, "As is standard, anniversaries and commemorations-- a year ago this week, our own Rukia Kuchiki was promoted to Captain of the Thirteenth Division, and by all accounts has proven more than capable of rising to the challenges the position demands.  Miss Kuchiki?"

At that Rukia stood up in her chair, perhaps a little too quickly, her white coat still reaching all the way to the very edge of the ground and offset by her long black hair.  She radiated tension at being singled out in front of the whole group, but Nanao’s proud smile was encouraging.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say congratulations, and thank you for your service.  We look forward to seeing what you accomplish during your tenure as Captain, which we hope will be for many years to come."

"Th-thank you," Rukia bowed, somewhat awkwardly, as a round of applause echoed in the small meeting room, and she eagerly sat down.  Captains Isane and Lisa respectively beamed at her and nodded approvingly from the opposite side of the large table they were all seated at, and Isane's younger sister Kiyone gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed 'congrats!' as the ovation died down.  Even the typically standoffish Second Division captain favored her with a brief, encouraging smile.

"With that covered, briefly touching on old business before moving on to new business... of course, the Twelfth Division's chemical safety awareness seminar is still scheduled for next Thursday, and Captain Isane has asked me to remind everyone that the Fourth Division is currently accepting volunteers to help on their weekly trips to provide aid to the villagers of Rukongai.  Oh, and lastly, regarding our annual raffle, I have the winning entry right here."

At that, half the room leaned forward in rapt attention.  The rare weekend off was something special, but a full week-long vacation in the human world, a place few of them got to appreciate when not on assignment or actively hunting down Hollows? That was something to get truly excited about.  Aside from a single yearly entry on the grounds of being SWA members, it was possible to buy further entries, the proceeds of which went to their budget for parties, food, and miscellaneous expenses, so Nanao felt it offset the cost of such an extravagant prize quite handily (especially since some members had the tendency to pour just as much money into entries as they might have on the trip itself).  As the lieutenant unfolded the slip of paper to read the name within, several of the women in attendance crossed their fingers hopefully.

"The winner is... Soifon, Second Division Captain."

It took quite a bit to surprise the petite, severe spymaster, but to her credit Soifon's brief flash of confusion and shock was at least shared between the rest of her peers, who regarded her with as much incredulity as she felt at that moment.  Apparently not waiting for her to get to her feet and meet her at the front of the table, Nanao rounded the corner to her side and presented her with an envelope, which contained a pamphlet advertising the destination and room keys, along with monorail tickets and a per diem that covered about a week.

"As you may recall, this year's location is one of the newest hot springs resorts in Fukuoka, fully equipped with a range of modern amenities and a classical style, only a short commute from the city itself.  The views are quite impressive, from what I understand."

Soifon perused the booklet, her silver eyes flitting back and forth, apparently ignorant of the disappointed looks and glares fixed in her direction.  To be entirely fair, she couldn't blame the resentment of her fellow shinigami; she'd never taken a day off in the entire time she'd been assigned the position of Captain, hardly the sort to appreciate a fine opportunity for rest and relaxation such as this.  In fact, she began to pass the envelope back towards Nanao, disinterest clear on her face, before the lieutenant continued.

"The reservations have already been booked for the day after tomorrow, so that should give you more than enough time to pack, yes?"

At that Soifon paused and looked directly at Nanao, her face not betraying any particular emotion before she pulled her winnings back.

"...Yes, I believe so.  My thanks, Ise-san."

There was a token congratulatory applause at her acceptance, and with that Nanao returned to standing at the head of the table.

"Now then, as you all know, we have only a few days left until the Shihouin-Shiba wedding-- and thanks to your efforts and the Shinigami Men's Association's contributions, we're almost ready, but a final rundown of everyone's roles and a last-minute roundup of volunteers should help make sure that everything goes perfectly.  That said, those of you who are not volunteering or otherwise working in a leadership capacity with the preparations are free to go for the remainder of the meeting."

At that, a handful of the women present, including Soifon, rose from their seats and left.  Once the Second Division Captain had departed, the tension in the air seemed to drop.

"Momo Hinamori, I believe you were co-ordinating with Kiyone Kotetsu on decorations, yes?"  Nanao continued, apparently unaware of the shift in atmosphere.

"U-uh, yes that's correct," the diminuitive lieutenant managed,snapping to attention.  "Now, from what we know about Yoruichi-san, we felt keeping it simple was best, though of course embellishments..."

---

"Well, I think that covers everything then.  Meeting dismissed," Nanao finally declared, and with a collective shifting of chairs and explosion of small talk, the Shinigami Women's Association began splitting off and heading out for the rest of the evening.  For her part, Rangiku Matsumoto gave a long yawn as she stretched and rose to her feet, adjusting her peach-colored scarf as she headed toward the door.  In all honesty, she didn't have a leadership role in the reception preparations, nor had she volunteered, but how often did the scions of two of the Four Noble Families get married, even if one had informally abdicated and the other was from a clan that had been stripped of their status?

If nothing else, it promised to be quite the party, and there was no harm in having an inside look at what to expect on the front of appetizers and the open bar.

Scanning the room, it looked like Momo was still in the midst of a heated debate with Kiyone, and Nanao seemed to be discussing something with Rukia, so there was no harm in heading back to the Tenth Division and calling it a day.

"...I just don't think it's right, that's all, setting up the Captain like that."

"I understand your concern, and believe me, I don't disagree, but it's just better to do it this way."

Well, Rangiku thought, maybe there was no harm in sticking around and eavesdropping a bit, either.

"Soifon isn't a child, she has a right to be there! And I'm sure Yoruichi wants her there too."

"Yes well, the Captain never confirmed her invitation."

"Still?" Rukia asked, surprised.

"And you're right," Nanao continued, "Yoruichi-san has been asking about her almost every other day.  I can't keep telling her I don't know if she'll be there!  If Soifon-san doesn't want to attend I'm certainly not the person to convince her to."

Nanao sighed, briefly cradling her face in her open palm before looking back to Rukia.

"Look... I know you consider the Captain to be a friend.  But honestly there aren't many here who feel the same way.  She's a consummate professional in nearly every respect but in this sort of environment there's just no telling what she might do.  This gets her away from the wedding and at least grants her an opportunity to have a break, for once.  Two problems solved at the same time."

Rukia looked to the ground, arms crossed and face scrunched into an indignant pout, clearly unhappy but also struggling to come up with a good counter-argument.  

"Well," Rukia finally offered, "...shouldn't someone at least go with her?  Make sure she's okay?  There has to be some alternative to sending her off just to stew on her own.  I could go but I need to arrange things with Nii-san, and the Thirteeth Division..."

"If you could find someone who'd be willing to go and as long as she didn't refuse it outright, I suppose-- but good luck.  Between people already attending and everyone else working the event, I don't think there are going to be too many desperate enough for a free vacation to spend a week around Captain Soifon."

"Sorry to interrupt," Rangiku finally declared, popping in between the two women so suddenly that Rukia practically yelped in surprise, "...but I couldn't help overhearing the words 'free' and 'vacation?'"

---

Two days later, Soifon was heading up the stairs to the Senkaimon, still in her full shinigami uniform and Captain's coat, the only indication that she was headed off on vacation and not a formal assignment in the human world being a single piece of luggage hanging from her right shoulder.  

Her decidedly unenthusiastic, flat expression did little to reinforce the idea.  

Upon reaching the wide courtyard and the massive door that led to nothing, Soifon was preparing to signal to the nearby gatekeepers to allow her passage when someone called out to her.

"Wait, Captain!"

Soifon turned around quickly, not having expected anyone to see her off, and expecting the Tenth Division Lieutenant, blonde hair flying wildly behind her as she hauled a trio of heavy-looking suitcases at a brisk run in her direction somehow even less.

"Phew! G-glad I caught you before you left," Rangiku managed once she had paused for a moment, catching her breath.  "No sense in making them open the gate twice in a row, right?"

"I suppose not," Soifon admitted.  She was silent for a moment as though waiting for Rangiku to explain herself, before finally voicing the question on her own, the slightest tones of an annoyed huff in her otherwise placid voice.  "Was there something you needed from me, Lieutenant Matsumoto?  Or is there business you have to attend to in the human world?"

"Other than the business of having a good time, nope!" Rangiku declared with a cheery smile before pulling a piece of paper out from the side pocket of her shihakusho, that upon closer inspection was a pamphlet identical to the one Soifon herself had receieved at the last Shinigami Women's Association meeting.  "After you left, Nanao ended up holding a second drawing for the other ticket you didn't want, and I won!  Looks like we're gonna be spending the week together at this amazing hotel!  Nice, right?"

There was a flash of skepticism on Soifon's face so brief that Rangiku was certain she'd imagined it.  But if she had any suspicions, her voice did not betray her.

"...Do as you wish, then."

With that, Soifon made the signal to the Senkaimon gatekeepers, and as the massive door slowly opened a blinding white light pierced the sky and a powerful rush of wind indicated the path to Karakura was open.  As the pair moved to the threshold, Rangiku turned to her smaller companion with a wide grin.

"Don't worry, Captain!  I've got everything planned out, and I promise you're gonna wonder how you ever had fun in your life without my help!"

Soifon said nothing, her expression somehow dropping further at the notion of a whole week with the most devil-may-care, boisterous woman in the Seireitei.  

So much for rest and relaxation.

[overthinkingkdrama]

Old Souls

{A Scarlet Heart: Ryeo fan fiction}

Set immediately after the end of episode 20.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Ha Jin felt she was adjusting to the present pretty well, all things considered. She hardly ever introduced herself to a stranger by the wrong name, or wrote down Hae Soo instead of Go Ha Jin, or used Chinese characters when she meant to use Hangul. Not more than two or three times since she recovered her memories had she let her house grow entirely dark at night and gone searching for a taper, before remembering there was electricity now and flipping on the lights. Yes, she thought she was recovering the best that could be expected.

She rarely daydreamed about the 4th prince. Not more than three or four times a day.

And there were so many things to love about living in modern-day Seoul, she’d started mentally keeping a list and running through it whenever she felt herself missing someone from the past. Having hot and cold running water was fantastic. The whole indoor plumbing thing, actually. Food had a lot more flavor and variety in the present. Spices were cheap and plentiful. Cold medicine. Air travel. The internet. Being able to call her mother on the phone whenever she wanted was immeasurably precious to her. All night cafes, for when she couldn’t sleep. Cafes in general. She found it didn’t take long before she was hopelessly addicted to coffee again, though she did miss the delicately balanced herbal teas she used to make in the Damiwon. The ones she could never quite recreate.

There were things she didn’t like though, things she couldn’t get used to.

Public transportation felt horribly claustrophobic. There were so many more people in the world now. The city air didn’t taste right. She missed the gardens and ponds and shade trees in the palace. She missed the quiet. She missed being able to see the stars at night. Stars that you could only see in Goryeo. She couldn’t seem to get back into the swing of SNS, of replying to text messages, of being expected to be in contact with everyone at all times. It was exhausting. She found it hard to talk to her old friends. Their interests and concerns seemed so different than hers, almost petty somehow. They seemed so much younger than she remembered. Slowly they stopped asking her to come out with them all together, but the worst part about it was that she felt relieved.

Her friendship with Ji Mong was the one oasis she allowed herself, the one place in her life where she gave herself permission to reminisce as much as she wanted without guilt. She hadn't considered the two of them particularly close in Goryeo. They had never been able to talk freely when they’d both lived in the palace. But here it felt like they had more in common than practically anyone, and it was remarkably easy to talk to each other. She knew this was counterproductive, but she would comfort herself thinking that eventually she would begin to forget things from the past, she would begin to think of Ji Mong primarily as Professor Choi Yoon Jung and she would outgrow the need for her oasis. At least, she told herself, she was moving in the right direction.

She was confident, she was almost certain, that she would have been just fine in no time if he would stop appearing around her and knocking her off balance. But it seemed like whenever she looked around there he was. That man with Wang So's face. Lee Jin Woo.

At first she would catch a glimpse of him on her way to the bus stop, in a corner table at the cafe near the boutique, or passing by the big store window while she was working her shift. She tired to write it off as a coincidence—Ji Mong had mentioned that he worked nearby—but it kept happening. And then she began to think he was actively seeking her out, lingering in places he knew she'd be. It wasn't just her imagination.

One day he came into the shop and looked around, clearly not intending to buy anything. She was working the counter, dreading every moment that he could come up and say something to her. Then she was little disappointed when he didn't. He talked to one of her coworkers near the perfume samples for several minutes before quietly leaving the store.

Later, when the store had emptied out her coworker came up and handed her a slip of paper with a phone number written on it. “He said to give this to you.”

“He didn't say anything else?” Ha Jin asked.

Her coworker shook her head, “Just to give it to you. I think he must be shy. Did you see him though? He was gorgeous.” Ha Jin said she hadn't noticed. But then, she hadn't needed to look at him to know. She had traced out the lines of that face with the tips of her fingers.

Later when she was alone she crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it in the trash bin. She was more careful about avoiding him after that. If she spotted him somewhere she did her best to ignore him, keeping her head down to avoid accidentally meeting his eye. When she went into the cafe two doors down from the boutique and saw him already standing in line she left without ordering anything. Perhaps that was why it took him so long to approach her personally and try to talk to her.

She hadn't seen him around for almost a week when suddenly he materialized outside the boutique, just when she was taking her lunch break. He was holding two lattes and held them both out to her.

“This one is something very sweet with 'carmelicious' in the name.” He said, indicating the one in his left hand, “This one is is just an plain Americano. I didn't know what you would like so...”

Hesitantly she took the cup in his right hand.

“Uh...thanks.”

“Sorry if this is abrupt. I've been trying to get the courage up for a while. I'm not very good at this, as you can see.”

She took a sip and it was already nearly cold. She pretended not to notice. How long did he wait for me out here? She wondered.

“Have you...that is. I don't know if you recall, we met a while ago—”

“No, I remember you. From the gallery.”

“Yeah, I...I didn't think you recognized me. I left my phone number, but you never called...”

“The phone number. Right. I, uh, lost that.” She fibbed, wincing inwardly.

It was hard to look directly at him. Or rather, it was hard to look at him without openly staring. By modern standards he was really quite handsome, with fine, almost delicate features verging on the feminine. Very of the fashion. She had never been able to imagine what Wang So would look like in the modern era, with a nicely fitted suit and expensive haircut. Yet, here he was.

Of course, he was lacking the 4th prince's scar, his mask, his roughness. A certain hunted, hungry, wolfish quality was missing. Those sharp eyes, with their distinctive inner corners, in appearance exactly like she remembered them. Identical. But the look in those eyes was worlds distant from what she had known.

“Have you been well?”

“Very well, thank you. I wasn't myself that day, but I'm doing much better now. I'm sure I startled you.”

“Not at all, I mean...I wanted to ask you something—“ Not once in this whole interaction had he seemed comfortable, but now he stammered to a complete halt and looking down he made a face as though he were privately berating himself. Then with a grimace he blurted out, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Ha Jin felt certain somehow that this what not what he had been intending to ask her, and to her own surprise she found herself replying, “I can't tonight, I have other plans.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“That could work.”

“Can I pick you up here? After you get off?”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

And before she had time to process the fact that she'd just agreed to a date, he was waving goodbye and retreating for all he was worth with his cold coffee in hand.

The following day, before the start of her shift, Ha Jin picked out her outfit for dinner. She chose a flared skirt and a flattering blouse that would both survive being folded in her bag in the break room until that evening. Unconsciously, she picked out colors that So had always preferred to see her in, soft pastels with the echo of spring time about them.

All day at work she was anxious and unfocused. She watched the clock and time seemed to crawl by. After her shift was over she changed out of her uniform and touched up her make up in the bathroom. As she reapplied her lipstick, she caught her own eye in the mirror.

What are you thinking? She wondered, are you excited right now?

Lately, her inner monologue was more like a dialogue. Two distinct perspectives struggling for dominance. Sometimes she was more Ha Jin than Soo, living in the moment. And some times she was more Soo than Ha Jin, pining for the past, living in a memory that was more like a dream.

She knew it was the Soo side of her that wanted to see Jin Woo.

I just want to see his face. She thought, I used to spend hours painting on stones in Jung's garden just to look into his eyes. Never quite catching the likeness. It'll be like that. Like looking at a living image. I know it's not the real thing, so what's the harm in it?

She packed up her things and went to leave, her sunbae's exchanging confidential glances and teasing her as she went. Calling after her in sing-song voices, “Have fun!”

She didn't have Jin Woo's number, she realized, and all she could do was wait for him to come and pick her up. She loitered around the front of the boutique and continually glancing up the street to see if he was coming. She pressed her hand against her chest. The Ha Jin side of her was saying, If you really believe all that, why is your heart beating so fast?

I know it's fake, but let me have this. Only this.

Fine then, satisfy your curiosity and put an end to it. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Fractured as she was, she could carry on this kind of mental back and forth very rationally. It was just dinner, she thought. She could make it through dinner. Pleasant, polite. They would exchange small talk and at some point he would give her his card. She would say she had a lovely time before they parted ways, but she wouldn't call and no second date would follow. That would be that.

It was all so clear and straight forward, right up to the moment he rounded the corner and started coming down the street toward her. Spotting her, he waved by way of greeting.

“You weren't waiting long, I hope.”

“No, I just stepped out.”

“I'm glad. The restaurant isn't far, do you mind walking?”

“Not at all.”

She followed Jin Woo to the spot he had in mind, a sterile modern setting where he had a reservation for them. Everything was white and brightly lit, like an doctor's office or a exam room. They were led to their table, stiffly sat down, and left with their menus.

“Have you ever been here before?” He asked.

“No.”

“The food's good.” He said, frowning as he looked over the menu.

Conversation happened at a crawl. Rigid and artificial as the room they were sitting in.

“So what is it that you do? For a job, I mean.”

“I practiced law.” He seemed to catch the past tense and corrected himself, “Practice law. I’m a lawyer. Though I’m currently on…a sort of sabbatical to work on some personal projects.”

“They must really put a lot of faith in you, to give such a young lawyer so much free time.”

“Oh yes,” He said, but his tone was full of irony and made her think she shouldn’t pry any further.

“I guess you already know what I do for a living so…not much to tell about that.” She racked her brain for something interesting to say. Why was this so difficult? She'd gone on unwanted set-up dates with friends of friends where she'd been more comfortable. She kept reaching for her water glass.

In some ways modern people were more open with their feelings, freer. There was a lot to be said for it, and things were surely better now. But at least in Goryeo, with its strict social structure of precedence and status, you always knew where you stood. When to bow and when to stay silent. When to speak and what to say. But with Jin Woo, she was at a loss.

And yet, for all the uneasiness between them, they weren't like two strangers failing to make small talk. It was more like a tight wire act. While Jin Woo politely inquired about her family, her job, her interests, she couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted to say something to her. Something else. Something altogether unusual.

The waiter returned and they ordered. When he left the conversation again became a stalemate, but that charge hung in the air between them. Unacknowledged by either side, but undeniable. There was something in the expression of his eyes that said this wasn't an ordinary date. It was all a work, a play, a gambit. And the truth lied somewhere beneath.

Gathering up her courage she said, “Why did you ask me to dinner? It's not just idol curiosity, and it's not because you think I'm pretty. I mean, why really?”

She spoke with confidence, but his eyes widened as though with surprise, and she thought for a moment that her imagination had been running wild and she'd been mistaken. But he leaned forward confidentially and in an undertone said, “Do you want to get out of here?”

She said, “We just ordered,” but she realized as she said it that she didn't want to stay in that too clean, too-white room anymore. It was suffocating.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, and she shook her head. “Me either. I feel like I couldn't eat a bite right now.”

He stood up and tossed a couple bills on the table, looking around like they were trying to get away with something. “Let's go.”

He held out his hand and she took it. Then he smiled at her. That smile was just like she remembered it—radiant and all too rare—and his touch sent a familiar thrill through her. She was totally lost.

They nearly ran out of the restaurant, and wound up somewhere nearby. A second floor bar and lounge, dimly lit at all hours of the day, where they sat down in an out of the way corner booth. They looked at each other for a long moment, feeling breathless. Still he didn't speak.

He signaled to the bartender and ordered them a bottle of wine. When it arrived, he poured for her and then for himself. A generous glass that he drank down unceremoniously, clearly not drinking for the taste. Hastily, he poured himself another.

“Honestly, I'm not a good drinker.” He said, “People say I can't hold my liquor. I'm unpredictable and run my mouth off and it gets me in trouble.”

“Then why order wine?”

“Because I need to ask you something, but I can't seem to get the words out.”

Ha Jin watched him closely, unable to hide her curiosity and anxious to know what he would ask. She wanted to drink, but she felt that she couldn't trust herself with him even sober, and took the wine only in tiny sips. He finished his second glass of wine—a little slower this time—and by this point there was some color in his cheeks.

“Have you ever...”He paused, chewing his lower lip pensively before starting again, “That is, are you sure you don't know me from somewhere?”

“Somewhere like...?”

“I'm sorry, this isn't some kind of cheesy pick up line, I promise. I just wondered if you felt the way I do, like we've met before. Like we've known each other for a long time. Even though, I know for a fact that day at the gallery was the first time I've seen you in my life.”

His words struck her with a jolt, and she thought back to what Ji Mong had said on the day she had first seen Jin Woo. That he'd found Jin Woo before he'd found her. That the three of them, all meeting in that place, in that way, couldn't have been a coincidence. But all she said was, “I don't know.”

“It probably sounds crazy. It sounds that way to me too. It feels crazy. But I haven't been able to shake it, ever since that day. I wouldn't tell you this, but I knew instinctively that you could understand me. That you would at least try to understand me.” His eyes were bright and intense, the way they looked searchingly into hers. “There are these dreams I keep having. They don't feel like dreams when I'm in them, or at least no sort of dreams I've ever had before. And your face keeps appearing in them.”

“What kind of dreams?” She had had dreams too. Every night until she recovered her memories she had dreamed of So.

“There's this one in particular that keeps coming back. It's...it's an unbearably beautiful day in summer. I see you standing under a tree, dressed in white and blue. You turn and smile at me. There's an ornament in your hair. I know you've been waiting for me and that makes me happy, but something else is weighing on my mind. Something I don't want to talk to you about.”

Ha Jin felt keenly conscious of how close he was to her now, something electric prickling at the back of her neck, and the scene he described rose up before her recollection like she was there again.

“You're waiting to hear something from me, but I don't say it. I can't. I'm ashamed of myself.”

You say that you've forgotten.

“I say I can't remember what I was going to tell you. But you know that I'm lying. You're cross with me, you're worried. I want to see your smile, so I take to my favorite place.”

The boat. The lake.

“We row out onto a lake, golden with afternoon sun. It's dazzlingly bright. We listen to insects and marsh-birds. I say...what do I say? I say I'm sorry I forgot what I was going to tell you. You say that you know I'll tell you when I remember. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I wish the entire world beyond that lake and that boat would disappear. I wish I could live in that moment with you forever.”

I would have stayed frozen there with you, if I could.

Ha Jin thought of what Ji Mong had said, that he couldn't rule out the possibility that Jin Woo could somehow gain access to So's memories. Could that be what this was? These dreams. Did they mean he was on the edge of remembering everything?

Whether consciously or not, he was leaning in toward her. “In the dream, I nearly give in, and tell you what I meant to tell you. Every time I almost tell you that I...I...” His eyes were on her lips, and he was so near she could feel his breath.

Ha Jin realized that with the slightest push he would say it. What the 4th prince had wanted to say. He would remember what followed. If she kept on pressing him, he would keep on remembering until he remembered everything. Or if she just closed her eyes at that moment, he would kiss her, and that would be enough to start it all over again. That intoxicating downward spiral, where she never seemed to want to come up for air, and never seemed to reach the bottom.

Instead, she turned her head sharply away. Coolly she said, “And then what?”

That was enough to break the spell. Jin Woo cleared his throat, drawing back he said, “And that's it. That's where I always wake up.”

She looked at him again, and saw how lost he was, how he was looking for someone to guide him. Someone to explain what was happening. She could see, for the first time, that he was scared. That he wanted her help. But there was only one thing she could do to help him.

She looked at him without expression. Without empathy and without compassion. She looked at him as you look at a stranger.

“Forgive me. I shouldn't...I shouldn't have—”

“Do you remember what I said to you?”

“What?”

“That day at the gallery. Do you remember what I said to you?”

“You asked, uh, you asked me if I'd come to find you. You called me...” He stammered in his answer, suddenly shy, “You'd mistaken me for someone else. Your uncle—Professor Choi—he explained to me that you'd lost someone recently. Someone who resembled me.”

“Don't you want to know who you looked like? Why I was crying that day?”

He hesitated, but nodded.

“My ex.”

“It ended badly, I take it?”

“He died.”

“Oh, I...I'm so sorry.”

“We loved each other, but we'd hurt each other too much to stay together. And then before I got the chance to see him again or reconcile, he was gone.” She could tell by how pale he'd become that the words were having the desired effect. It was all true in the technical sense, although intentionally phrased so that he would misunderstand. He didn't need to know the details. Never mind that her eyes had started stinging.

She grabbed her purse as she stood up, “It was my fault coming here with you. You see, it's not you I want to see. It's someone else. I'm sorry, but I don't think we should see each other again.”

She walked away, trying to keep her strides steady as she went, hoping she looked resolute and dignified from behind. She made it out of the bar without stopping to look back. He didn't call her name or run after her, for which she was grateful. Her throat was burning from choking back sobs. Her eyes were streaming and she could barely see, but she made it into a public restroom and locked herself in a stall.

If only I hadn't come here today.

If only we hadn't spoken.

If only he hadn't told me about that dream.

If only I'd never seen him at all, then I wouldn't regret him this much.

She cried for a long time. And even when her eyes were dry she stayed there unmoving, thinking about the distant past. A painful memory was like a scar, she realized. Although it could fade over time, it would never fully disappear, fully heal, until it was totally forgotten. But she was learning that you couldn't simply wish to forget. Even if you buried it, even if you ran from it, a bad memory would seek you out. Like a dull ache that woke you in the middle of the night.

I can spare him that at least. She thought, If she simply disappeared. If he never found out about her, and he never knew the truth, their past, their ending, then it would be better. Far better than living this way. You never have to forget what you never know.

Keep our happy memories, and forget me.

[Chapter 4]