#they really couldn’t even have given him shoulder pads for the complete tournament look

[user-without-a-cool-acronym]

Honestly love this set, the only part i dislike from what we see here are those storm pieces at the back. They‘re really cool on their own and fit great into the other sets they‘re in but here they just… don‘t… their shape doesn‘t fit with the rest, literally no part of their colours fits with the rest, not even their placement really seems to fit with the rest. Kind of hoping they‘re like those energy pieces on some of the elemental mechs and not actually part of the jet in the show, only a visual representation of its visual effects

[curedeity]

Summary: After a late night working, Hikaru and Tsubasa hang out, with Kyoya along for the ride. Quiet conversations are had in the dead of night. (These three deserved to hang out, fight me)

    Work was strewn across the table as Hikaru and Tsubasa shuffled through paper after paper. There were emails to be sent to publicity companies, bladers to invite, a stadium to reserve, hotels to contact for discounts for participants. Planning a tournament certainly was a monumental effort of organization.

    No matter how many tournaments Tsubasa had helped organize, he never really got used to the amount of work that came with them, and from the mounting frustration on Hikaru’s face, it was clearly the same for her.

    Hikaru sipped the cup of coffee in front of her, despite the fact that it was nearing midnight. The tournament would be in two weeks, and to stay on schedule she would need to start sending out notifications for the necessary tournament officials already. They’d need a nurse on scene, security, an announcer, etc. 

    Kyoya sat on the couch, every so often looking over at the duo and raising an eyebrow. Tsubasa had invited him to stay in his house while Kyoya prepared to participate in the tournament. When Kyoya had agreed though, he hadn't expected to watch this duo run themselves ragged every night. 

    Wasn’t his concern though, he continued to half-listen to whatever was playing on the television.

    “What do you think about using the Piffling Advertising Agency?” Tsubasa mumbled as he fumbled through some files on his computer.

    “I think they have a good enough track record,” Hikaru rubbed at her eyes as she tried to remember. So much about planning tournaments was just remembering past experiences, but her brain had begun to pull blanks. Who were the agencies that had done good work in the past? Which DJ was best for hometown crowds?

    Tsubasa hummed and started to type out an email to them. Thankfully, they already had a draft format for emails like this, and now he had to just fill in all the openings.

    Kyoya went over and grabbed a soda can from the fridge, popping it open and drinking as he watched the duo slowly try to focus on their computers. This was just a waste of time at this point. With a sigh, he resigned himself to having to get the duo to bed. “Yo,” he tried to get their attention, but they barely even flinched. “Yo!” He repeated again, slamming his hand down onto the table.

    In an instant Hikaru had her launcher pointed at him and Tsubasa had knocked a sheaf of papers off the table.

    “Take a break you two, you ain’t getting nothing done anymore,” Kyoya snarled at them.

    “The fuck was that for?” Hikaru hissed back at him, her chest heaving with uneven breaths. Tsubasa nodded in agreement as he turned to tiredly glare at Kyoya.

    “Listen, if you both want to stay up the next hour trying to write just a single email because you’re too tired to focus, that’s your choice, but you’d be using your time much better if you just slept.” Kyoya rolled his eyes at the two dumbasses. He would’ve thought that with the duo working for the WBBA they’d have learned how to manage a workload, but apparently not.

    Hikaru sighed as she realized the truth behind his statement and cast her eyes toward the clock. It was really time to just turn-in for the night, there was no way she could focus now.

    “You wanna stay here instead of having to get back to your apartment?” Tsubasa asked her. He gestured at the couch, indicating it was hers for the taking. This wouldn’t be the first time either had crashed at the other's house, they’d spent many nights up late working together, and getting home was a bit of a pain.

    Besides, Hikaru had been on the blading circuit for a while, she could fall asleep almost anywhere.

    Hikaru collapsed onto the couch while Tsubasa wandered into his room, Kyoya sat at the table to finish drinking his soda. The whole house fell into silence.

    But no one was able to fall asleep.

    Hikaru groaned as she sat up and turned back on the TV. If she couldn’t fall asleep, at least a break would still do her some good. She curled up and pulled a blanket over her limbs as she watched whatever was playing with bleary eyes.

    It seemed to be a romance movie. But there was also some magic going on, so maybe there would be some interesting action.

    “Can’t sleep either?” Tsubasa asked her as he joined her on the couch, having given up on getting his own rest.

    Hikaru flicked him. “I drank a shitton of coffee, what’s your excuse?”

    “Being an insomniac,” Tsubasa deadpanned. The bags underneath his eyes supported his claim.

    “Take some melatonin then,” Hikaru grumbled as she shared the blanket with him.

    Tsubasa hummed and ignored her. “What are we watching?”

    “Not whatever this is,” Kyoya interrupted, grabbing the remote and switching the channel. He was not going to put up with watching whatever crap that had been. Within a few seconds, he settled on a cheap spy movie.

    “Hey look Tsubasa, it’s you,” Hikaru commented as the spy got caught almost immediately.

    Tsubasa didn’t even have a response for that.

    Kyoya got up from the table and started moving around, shuffling through the junk that had begun collecting around the house. He wasn’t really tired either, but the movie couldn’t hold his attention span, and sitting around was grating on his nerves.

    “What even is that cell?” Tsubasa mumbled as the spy was thrown into what seemed to be the flimsiest jail cell ever. The bars were so far apart that it looked like a person could strut out of there, and the padlock at the door looked like a tap would open it.

    “Paper mache,” Hikaru guessed, her face perfectly flat.

    Kyoya rummaged through a collection of small bottles before lifting one up and wiggling it at Tsubasa. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with nail polish on,” he commented.

    Tsubasa broke away from the TV and looked at what Kyoya was holding, his tired brain taking an extra second to process what had been said. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been putting it on recently. Been too busy with everything. Used to wear nail polish often though,” Tsubasa shrugged.

    Hikaru wiggled out of the blankets and padded over to look at Tsubasa’s collection. She let out a low whistle. “Damn Tsubasa, you got a lot here.”

    Kyoya picked up as many bottles as he could hold and walked over to the ground in front of the couch, where he sat everything down. “Come on nerds, let me show you how to properly paint nails.”

    Tsubasa rolled his eyes and slid out from under the blanket to join Kyoya on the ground. Hikaru joined them as well, looking at Kyoya with a hint of teasing in her gaze.

    “Which of you wants to go first?” Kyoya asked, gazing at the rainbow of colors he had brought over.

    Tsubasa shrugged. “Sure, show me what you can do.”

    Kyoya pulled out a bottle of purple nail polish and began painting a thin first layer over each of Tsubasa’s fingers. His hands were surprisingly steady as he moved, with barely a drop of nail polish staining the skin. True artistry being performed in the dead of night.

    Hikaru had decided that braiding Tsubasa’s hair would be a good use of her time while she awaited her turn, even then she only had half her attention on it, the other half on the movie.

    The spy was now making plans with the prisoner in the cell next to his, who he seemed to be slowly falling in love with. Somehow, he still hadn’t broken out. Hikaru was pretty sure he could slip through the bars without a bit of effort.

    She stood up and went to heat up some popcorn for the group. Well, mostly for her because Tsubasa couldn’t eat with wet paint on his nails, and Kyoya wouldn’t want to get his grip oily. She laughed at the look of betrayal Tsubasa sent her when he figured that out.

    “You’re gonna want to eat the quick, ‘cause you’ll be up soon,” Kyoya grumbled as he applied the second layer to Tsubasa. “Eagle boy, you gotta stop picking at your nails, these are so uneven.”

    “Fuck off,” Tsubasa responded.

    Hikaru went into the bathroom and got a nail file for them, resisting the urge to throw it for emphasis. It was sharp, her brain reminded her, you cannot throw sharp things, that’s how people get stabbed and in the hospital.

    Tsubasa already had enough hospital trips under his belt.

    “Tsubasa, do you wear any other makeup?” She asked as settled back down beside him.

    He couldn’t shrug with his hands needing to remain still, so he purposefully kept his body motionless as he responded, “Some eyeshadow sometimes.”

    Kyoya rolled his eyes. “I think I remember seeing you once in that, please tell me you were just tired that day and that’s not normally how you put on eyeshadow, otherwise I’m going to have to confiscate it all from you until you learn to do it properly.”

    “I look amazing fuck you,” Tsubasa deadpanned.

    “I’m sure you do,” Hikaru agreed dryly, flicking his hair. “So, you the makeup expert here then Kyoya?”

    “Seems so, do you even wear makeup?” Kyoya asked.

    “Not often,” Hikaru replied. “I know how to put on a full face of makeup, but I don’t want to put in that much effort or want to look like that every day. I wear lipstick every once in a while though.”

    “On the days you go out for lunch with Madoka,” Tsubasa added in, shooting her a sly smile.

    Kyoya retracted the brush just in time for Hikaru to punch Tsubasa in the shoulder.

    The spy and the other captive seemed to have escaped their imprisonment and were now kissing on screen.

    “Put your hands back into place dumbass I’m almost done,” Kyoya huffed.

    “She’s the one who hit me!” Tsubasa protested as he did as he was told.

    Hikaru stuck her tongue out at him.

    In a few deft strokes, Kyoya completed his work, and Tsubasa lifted his hands up and started fanning them.

    “Alright, you’re next,” Kyoya gestured at Hikaru, and she and Tsubasa swapped places. “What color do you want?” He droned as he already was trying to think of what colors would go with her.

    “Blue,” Hikaru answered immediately, which came as no surprise to either of the boys in the room. Her entire wardrobe was made up of blues. “It’s a good color!” She defended herself as Tsubasa snickered.

    Kyoya pulled out a royal blue and began to get to work.

    The spy was now running through a base, a gun in his hands as he shot at the group of enemies. 

    “Is he even trying to be discreet?” Tsubasa critiqued, grabbing a few pieces of popcorn for himself. 

    “I dunno Tsubasa, you’re the only one of us who’s actually worked as a spy,” Hikaru said slyly.

    “Is that what spying’s like,” Kyoya deadpanned, earning a cackle from Hikaru. “Don’t move dammit!”

    Tsubasa shook his head, a breath of air whooshing out from between his teeth, “If you want to continue talking about my undercover activities Kyoya, maybe we should also talk about the time you and Gingka’s gang tried to break into the Dark Nebula. That’s a lot closer to what’s actually going on onscreen.”

    Kyoya whipped his hair up to glare at Tsubasa while Hikaru turned around just as fast to look at him with excitement. “Don’t you dare,” Kyoya warned him.

    “I don’t think I’ve heard about this escapade,” Hikaru grinned. “So they tried to break into the Dark Nebula?”

    Kyoya grumbled as he resigned himself to this.

    “Yes, there was security footage of the event. Yu used to watch it for fun so he could shittalk about what a terrible infiltration it was. I believe it was when Kyoya truly defined his tactic of hitting walls until they collapse,” Tsubasa shared a smile with Hikaru.

    “And it worked damn well,” Kyoya huffed.

    “Sure it did sweetie,” Tsubasa responded without sparing him a glance.

    Kyoya growled as the other two returned their attention to the movie.

    “Alright then bastard, you’re done,” he declared, pushing Hikaru away. She giggled and repositioned herself against the couch, fanning her own hands.

    Kyoya got ready to return the bottles, but Tsubasa laid his hand atop of his, stopping him momentarily. “Come on Kyoya,” Tsubasa said, reaching over and grabbing a bottle of forest green polish. “You did it for us, let me do it for you.”

    Kyoya laid out his hands and watched Tsubasa slowly paint his nails. Tsubasa’s brushes weren’t quite as neat as his, but he was completely focused on the task, his braid falling down to brush against the floor as he leaned over Kyoya’s hand.

    The movie ended with the evil base being blown up. Hikaru was disappointed by how underwhelming the explosion was. She vocalized that very vociferously. 

    They put on some soft music as Kyoya let his nails dry. Hikaru had already fallen asleep against the couch, and Tsubasa draped a blanket over her. They didn’t talk much, only a few whispered comments here and there as Tsubasa cleaned off his Earth Eagle. 

    Within half an hour, both boys were asleep against the couch as well.

    The next day, Tsubasa and Hikaru went into work, their laptops open in front of them with their fingers click-click-clicking away. Both of their nails shone as the light hit them, Tsubasa’s being painted a soft purple with gold glitter, and Hikaru’s a deep blue with pink sparkles. Kyoya went into training and carefully didn’t chip his dark green with silver glitter painted nails as he did launch after launch.

    And if they happened to do their nails more often when they hung out now? Well, none of their friends commented on it more than a few nice compliments. 

[handlewcaare]

It was a rarity in on itself.

Often was it reserved for those who had either: a) lost their wealthy homes, b) lost members who were patrons of the Association’s funds or, c) both, so was the lines he read implied.

He being S-Class, Rank-8 Zombieman. A name he wouldn’t have personally chose, but with the hero almanac constantly updating, he supposed he couldn’t blame them for their hasty decision. What he could was their refutation to see past how fat their wallets would get.

On one hand, his agency attracted more than he anticipated. Civilians from the majority of most populated cities frequented his office when they could. Many of them were average people living average lives, none who could really afford being protected by the H.A. On the other, the cases were relatively the same:

“Could you please kill the monster that ruined my Kabu garden?”

“I-I’ve been feeling like someone’s been stalking me, think you can swing that heavy axe of yours and kill them?”

“I need you to handle my ex-boyfriend. Since the breakup, he turned into this... thing and now he keeps destroying the city.”

From humble private investigative work to monster hunting, if someone told him that was where his life had lead to twenty years ago, he would have scoffed and called them crazy.

While his clothes would often be shredded, stained with copper-scented rose petals or mucus, bile—just about whatever the body secreted really—he couldn’t complain that it was good money he made. It certainly extended his arsenal and sharpened his skills. Though, the concept of empathy was often what made his shadow heavy at his heels.

He wasn’t human, in truth he didn’t know what he was, but the monsters he slaughtered—both in his cases and whatever Sitch had in the roster—were once upon a time. Whether they had a bad breakup, they were forced to surrender their dreams, even if they were on the brink of suicide: they all were once.

It was a wonder that left him awake at night. Was the fault their own or was it his for being the guillotine of their inhumane accomplishments? Could there have been a prevention?

Such a question was answered for when he was tasked to partner with another hero to handle a Demon Level Threat in C-City.

“Just lemme fuckin’ handle it!”

Quite the type for first impressions.

“Metal Bat, it’s really not that simple,” Sitch attempted to hastily state past the adolescent’s obstinate declaration, “we don’t know what kind of monster we’re dealing with—“

“Ya just said it’s a demon threat, yeah?” He barked as he tossed his signature instrument atop of his broad shoulder: a declaration of war, “if it’s got a threat level, I’ll bash its head wide fuckin’ open!”

Hasty planning, eager footsteps out the door, and no dedication for patience; the immortal detective raised a brow as he hastily caught up with the vain delinquent, “what are you in a rush for?”

Whether or not it was the absence of Sitch, there was a distinct growl that weighed the teen’s baritone, “my little sister gotta piano recital an’ I feel like ‘m gonna be late for it.”

“Does Sitch know about this?”

That much evoked a dirty look, “of course, he fuckin’ knows. Why do ya think I mention her every time I’m pulled outta school to attend his bullshit meetin’s?”

The private investigator couldn’t help suppress his own distaste in the form of a stiff upper lip. It was one thing to employ a kid genius who essentially taught his own classes, it was another to employ one who wasn’t. To envision how his grades were would have made just about any parent worried.

“How long do you have?”

“Three hours.”

“Let’s make a bet,” if there was one thing that made quick work, it was heavy hands. Given how silent Metal Bat was, it only egged the detective to resume, “whoever delivers the fatal blow in an hour and thirty minutes wins.”

It certainly piqued the disgruntled brother’s interest, what with his lack of hasty intervention; no dismissive ‘yeah, yeah’ or his steps to punctuate his ignorance. “Wins what?”

“Dunno,” at least the detective was honest, “udon?”

“How about I get yer real name?”

That was a new one. Usually with the gamble came a promise of paid ice cream (usually with Dr. Hajime or Pig God), to share a bottle of sake with (Kamikaze) or have their drink paid for at the nearest pub (One-Shotter came into mind). The inquiry of his name managed to certainly stun the detective.

“I didn’t think you’d want to get to know me.”

“Well, considerin’ we’re gonna be workin’ together, it’s the least I can ask for,” Metal Bat quipped, “ ‘sides, I don’t think ya like bein’ called ‘Zombieman’ .”

“How’d you wager that?” For a moment, he assumed he was dealing with a quick study. It wasn’t uncommon for the hardy, brash types to have some light upstairs.

“Iunno anyone who wants to be called a corpse.”

“...Yeah, okay,” he certainly was on the nose about that one.

it was a reasonable price for a hefty, time-constraint mission. It certainly made his wallet breathe a sigh of relief and they might even make it to the piano recital on time. There was a bit of a lilt in the undead detective’s tone, “would you like to know my dog’s name too?”

The delinquent rolled his eyes, “now yer pushin’ it.”

————————————————————

On the transit to C-City, Metal Bat was as restless as the White Rabbit in Wonderland. In the span of twenty minutes, his knee shook and he frantically glanced at whatever face had numbers on it. More importantly, he held a mannerism that was awfully polite in his strange definition.

Anyone who recognized him would never be met with the snarling dog the detective would see during the meetings. Rather, the delinquent would scrawl his signature along baseballs and sheepishly raise a hand in a small wave when someone took a photo of him. Not once did he bark at any of them, though his brow did twitch with each stop that was not for them.

Once they finally stepped off, the detective practically had to keep in tandem to the storm Metal Bat brewed. “You seem to be popular,” calling him a celebrity would have been an insult.

“Nah,” it was a guttural remark, “just friendly.”

It wasn’t exactly the word Zombieman would have used, but it was close enough to bonafide. He wasn’t overtly friendly nor was he chatting up with his fans. It was brisk and it was momentary; as friendly as strangers could get.

Once they reached past the tournament was it completely barren. It wasn’t the same as the alley the private eye peered through with Dr. Hajime, as it felt vacant; the phantoms could only whisper as loud as the billowing wind.

What was beyond the horizon was an oxen-like creature, his maw gaped into a hellish cry as his eight tails swayed and lashed out tirelessly at the tree trunks in the park. The playground beside it was but a debris of twisted metal and splintered wood.

It was strange to say the least. As short as Zombieman’s presence in the H.A. Was, no monster was without bloodshed. Too often would he be welcomed with the pungent odor of sanguine, be it his own or (worst case) another. There was not a semblance of casualties, no grotesque visage that would prompt him to make Metal Bat look away from.

“I think we—!”

Moments before he could provide his analysis, Metal Bat already charged headfirst after the oxen.

“Ay, Nesquick!”

Nesquick was a good name, given how laconic the beast seemed ready to lash its heavy appendage at the delinquent. Though, it wasn’t without reciprocation when his muscles visibly strained to bat the tendril aside.

Seeking opportunity for the opening, both the detective and the delinquent lunged with both bat and axe in hand. While the oxen had little to no trouble catching both instruments, the howl it emitted wrought a singeing sense of combating emotions: dedication to his work and empathy.

Within that same beat of revelation, the oxen hastily tossed the two heroes aside. Lavender sanguine dribbled heavily from its palms. Had he not landed back first into a gazebo’s rooftop, he probably would have noted the dewdrops of tears budding along the monster’s wrathful gaze.

It wasn’t long for Metal Bat to shoot him a whistle from where he landed in the bush. As coordinated as they were, they both seemed to have a mutual understanding that this wasn’t just another monster for the slaughter. That lingering, dreadful sense of empathy weighed heavy at his shadow.

“Cover me.”

The instant that Metal Bat sprung to his feet was where he used the tendril as a launching pad. The oxen could barely muster a decent swing before a bullet ripped through its hand. What grueling ache of a cry had been interjected by the silver bite of a bat down onto it’s maw. The earth nearly caved into the beast’s weight.

It would have been a victory, had the beast not blindly swatted at Metal Bat. Claws easily ripped through the maroon shirt and part of the overcoat he kept draped over his shoulders. However, not once did the delinquent ceased his relentless blows into the beast’s countenance. Not even as sanguine petals stained his uniform.

The hero almanac declared this as a victory, but there was no valor in it. Not if the delinquent would practically kill himself. Once the detective leapt down from the gazebo’s rooftop, he made the mistake in trying to block another thrashing blow. Under the sheer brevity did his tibia and radius shatter to knock his entire forearm out of joint. However, it was enough to alarm the delinquent out of his barrage.

“The hell are ya doin’ ??”

“He’s down,” that was more than enough for Metal Bat’s reluctance to turn into compliance. Just as when the adolescent readied for an diatribe, the detective grunted when he felt a tendril puncture through the entirety of his torso. His ribs were splayed and the flora of intestines managed to inch their way out from the intrusive appendage.

Oh.

He barely could manage to reach for the machete he had tucked under the collar of his shirt before he sliced the tendril. The howl now caressed a painful chirp under the brevity of his swing.

What hampered him, he couldn’t say. However, as the beast writhed in agony, there was a spiteful strike against its horn by his coorespondent.

“Why the hell did ya stop me?!”

As Zombieman’s fatal wound deliberately regenerated by tissue to organ, he was swift enough to keep the tendrils from penetrating the adolescent. Be it that he was subjected to the stabbings himself or he managed to utilize his dual machetes simultaneously. “Thought you were going too far.”

“Too far?!” The delinquent’s incredulity was presented with a harsh swing that evoked the detective to duck under it. Once the tendril was swatted, he was hasty to fire his desert eagle, “it’s a fuckin’ monster! There ain’t nothing that’s ‘too far’ when handlin’ it!”

Not true, would say a poet. As he was going too far for himself.

With their simultaneous efforts, it wasn’t long until the oxen crumpled up into a little ball. What stubs of its appendages attempted to thrash wildly to pry the two of them off.

“Bat!”

The instant the delinquent turned, he fired his final bullet along the edifice of indestructible metal. The chirp of the richochete struck through the detective’s skull and punctured the beast’s last horn.

Just as his limp body collapsed, as did the oxen’s. It was only a matter of time before either of them would come to, though he was surprised to find that the oxen’s physique gradually dispersed into a thick penumbra. Most monsters would have been but a thick trophy for the hero to stand victoriously upon. The crowds of the city would have cried their names and they would have made it to Zenko’s piano recital on time.

Once the detective came to, the uttered curse from his partner evoked a sense of dread. As the monster’s physique was entirely replaced with a sobbing child who kept her bruised knees close to her chest. Her lithe physique quivered, as if recoiling from the suffering she had just regained. She couldn’t have been much older than six.

Empathy was a heavy shadow.

Just as the detective stood to his full height, he huffed, “Why don’t you go to your sister’s—?” It would have been easy to assume that the monster had been vanquished in that moment. A hearty slam of a bat to put the beast out of her misery.

Rather, the detective’s russet gaze only watched when Metal Bat hunkered down to his heels and draped his partially tarnished jacket over her quivering shoulders. His bat and his concept of time neglected to keep the sniveling little girl company. He even opted to scoop her up in his arms and implore where her father was.

At times, the concept of being a hero made the detective ponder. He wondered if the association truly did just hire desperate folks like him or if there truly were genuinely good people affiliated with such a corporation. Everyone, himself included, had their strange definition of good. Even if that meant being a few minutes late for a piano recital.

Once the two of them reunited the girl with her mother, the transit to Zenko’s Elementary school was a long and quiet one. The detective might have even lit up a cigarette, had there not been any signs to prohibit it. Instead, he suggested to help treat the kid’s wound, only for Metal Bat to remark that his ‘fighting spirit’ will keep him conscious.

It was a weird religious remark, but the detective complied.

A few minutes afterward, Metal Bat thumbed the sparse bills of yen in his wallet, though he could barely contain his grimace, “how much is this udon place ya wanna go to anyway?”

“Daichi.”

One could hear a pin drop when the delinquent’s fiery glare flickered in astonishment. His brows raised as he stared owlishly, “ ‘scuse me?”

“I don’t remember my real name,” the detective drawled, “but I remember being called Daichi by some people.”

The delinquent could only offer a little simper, it was a lopsided grin, but it was better than a curled lip of a snarl. “Badd.”

The detective couldn’t help but sigh, “yeah, I guess it is.”

“No, I mean, that’s my name.”

When there was a hint of intrigue, there was a punctual snap of Bad’s wallet when he slumped, “yeah- ya could say my parents hated my fuckin’ guts. Tossed my ass out when I was fourteen and told me to take Zenko with me.”

The detective’s hands drowned within his pockets as he listened to the rest.

“I mean, shit- she’s already doin’ so much better than I could ever do, y’know? I mean, yeah- her piano tutor is expensive, but it makes her happy. Plus, I wanna be there to make sure she grows up right and not a complete fuck-up.”

It was hard to imagine Badd as a bleeding heart, but there was no denying the thick droplets of sanguine that stained the tips of their shoes. Though, he might have gotten a bit sentimental from the scrapes and cuts he sustained prior. It was within that beat that the detective tilted his head back, “want my honest opinion?”

For a moment, Badd sounded like he was prepared for an insult. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think Zenko could ask for a better brother.”

There was a silence that befell them. Whether or not it was Badd actively suppressing the urge to laugh or cry, Daichi couldn’t tell. However, there was a little “thanks” that managed to squeeze out from his throat.

——————————————————

Once the two of them made it to the recital, Zenko had just begun her playing her piano. Her older brother practically destroyed the back of the seat to suppress the urge to openly weep. Had it not been for the quivering, the tucked lip and the profuse reluctance of weeping, Daichi would have been rather intimidated.

“You...uh..—“

“SHH!!” Bat hissed in a whisper, “Zenko’s playin’ !”

In truth, the girl was a formidable pianist. However, unlike her brother, she was not the whole reason as to why Daichi was there. It didn’t take long for him to figure out who her tutor was, considering how she practically meandered toward him and asked if he was their uncle shortly after the recital.

“...yeah,” a good lie wouldn’t have hurt, especially since Badd was too busy gushing about how fantastic Zenko was. Though, her concern of him being a mess seemed to interject. “Say, how much is the tutoring lessons?”

“About ten thousand yen,” she elucidated, “do you have a son or daughter who’d want to perform?”

No wonder Badd couldn’t afford it.

After the moment he spent with the piano tutor, Daichi turned on his heel, “I’ve gotta go do some sleuthing,” the detective proclaimed, “I’ll see you around, Badd.”

“Oh- yeah! See ya.” For the strangest of reasons, Zenko evoked this harmony Badd would never demonstrate in the presence of his co-workers. Even his little simper held a semblance of juvenile naivety at the contours.

After a brief pause, the detective nodded toward the little lady, “keep an eye out on your brother. He’s one of the good ones.”

“I promise!!” Zenko piped up, they were siblings alright.

Even now, Badd could never did figure out who paid for Zenko’s piano lessons. Even after he would manage to scrape up the money, her tutor would always refute the offer.

While a heavy burden, empathy was the most humane thing to carry.

[armandyke]

Don’t you mind about the future

Summary: Allison is longing for some kind of normality after saving the world, and her siblings pull together to try and help. 

Word Count: 1932

Square Filled: Game Night

Characters: All the siblings

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: The second of nine entries for @tuacreatorsbingo!

You can read it here, or on my AO3

It was 1:30pm, and Allison hadn’t left her room yet. She’d locked the door, wrapped the duvet tightly around herself, and she hadn’t stopped crying since 8am. The one perk of losing her voice, she’d discovered, was that she no longer had to try and stifle the sobs with a pillow to avoid any of her siblings hearing her. It had been a week now since they’d saved the world. No big deal really. It was hard, of course it was hard, but they got through it, determined to get back to some kind of normality. It was only now, lying in her childhood bed and staring at the faded magazine clippings taped to the wall, that Allison had realised she had no normality to go back to. 

Patrick and Claire were on the other side of the country, and there were travel restrictions while everyone tried to recover from the whole armageddon thing. She’d thought about booking a private jet, but even if she could get to them she had no idea what she’d say. What they’d say. She was so behind on her therapy now that Patrick probably wouldn’t want her anywhere near them, and even though Luther had done his best to explain to him, and to her therapist, why she couldn’t talk over the phone anymore, they still hadn’t come up with a solution. Claire at least seemed to be enjoying her daily phone call with whichever uncle was closest to hand, and aside from one conversation with Klaus that Allison had to cut short, they’d all gone relatively smoothly so far. But even the calls were tinged with sadness. It killed her that her brothers got to speak to her daughter and she couldn’t, that they were the ones making her laugh and telling her stories, that Allison could hear her voice but Claire couldn’t hear hers. They still hadn’t found a way to explain that her mom couldn’t talk anymore, and might never be able to again. 

The crying had mostly tapered off, and now she just felt empty. Empty because even if she could get home, even if she could see Claire and hold her and stroke her hair, none of it would be permanent. Patrick still had custody, and he could barely look her in the eye the last time they saw each other. One family had been ripped apart, and the other had spent the last week cooped up in a big house trying to awkwardly piece themselves back together. Last night’s dinner had been so uncomfortable that she’d had to leave, preferring the silence of her room over the silence of her brothers and sister sitting around a table exchanging awkward glances and trying to think of something to say. 

She heard footsteps approaching from the end of the hall and could tell it was Luther before he reached the door. Despite how hard he tried to soften his steps, they were still distinctly louder than anybody else in the house. The sound came to a halt, and she couldn’t help but smile at how timidly he knocked on the door. 

“Allison?” He called. “You okay in there?”

Part of her wanted to roll over and ignore him, but she knew she couldn’t stay in there all day. There were at least three people in the house that knew how to pick a lock. Sighing, she slid her feet into her slippers and padded across the floor, cracking the door open and peering out at him. 

Luther’s brow furrowed in concern the moment he saw her, pushing the door open a little wider to talk to her. 

“Hey,” He said softly. “I… Uh… Are you… Did something happen?” 

She shook her head, her eyes falling on the plate of food he was holding. 

“Oh, right.” Luther held the plate out towards her. “I brought your lunch up.”

He chuckled when she took the plate, not needing any words to know what she was thinking as she eyed up the omelette which was somehow burnt and runny at the same time. 

“It was Diego’s turn to cook,” He explained and she nodded in understanding. “I didn’t wanna hurt his feelings, but I uh… I did also bring you some toast.” 

Smiling in place of a thank you, she took the toast and opened the door further to invite him in. The two of them sat on the bed and she sniggered at how far the mattress dipped under Luther’s weight, sending her sliding down into his side. While she nibbled on the toast, Luther filled her in on everything that had happened that morning. Diego and Five got into an argument over cereal brands, Klaus had decided he was going to learn violin, and Vanya accidentally broke a window while trying to teach him. She smiled as he talked, but he seemed to sense the sadness, squeezing her shoulder gently. 

“I know it must be hard not being able to talk to Claire,” He said with a sigh. “And I don’t know how to make it easier.” 

Allison reached for the notepad on her nightstand so she could respond. Her writing speed had improved dramatically over the last few weeks, and it usually took her no more than a few seconds to reply to people now. 

“I miss being part of a family,” She told him and he nodded. 

“Yeah, me too. I don’t think any of us even know how to be a family anymore.” He hung his head. “I’m gonna try and fix this, Alli. I promise.”

He squeezed her hand before he left and she smiled, though she wasn’t entirely convinced he really knew what he was doing, turning on her radio and finishing the rest of her toast. 

The evening approached, and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her siblings despite a venture to the kitchen and the library. It wasn’t unusual for Diego and Five to keep to themselves during the day, but the house seemed strangely silent without Klaus zipping erratically from room to room, or the sound of Vanya’s violin practice. Still, she didn’t think much of it, and it wasn’t until she was back in the kitchen, spreading peanut butter on her fourth helping of toast, that Five made an appearance, making her jump and drop the knife she was holding. 

“Sorry,” He said as she fumbled to pick up the knife. “Luther wants you. He’s in the lounge.” 

Never one to drag a conversation out longer than necessary, Five was gone again in the blink of an eye, leaving Allison to make her own way slowly through their maze of a house to the lounge. She could hear hushed voices as she approached, and when she turned the corner she found all five of them sat on the lounge floor. The couches had been pushed out to make more room, with blankets and cushions spread out to sit on. 

“What?” She signed, resenting the fact that Grace was only able to spend a few minutes each week teaching them some rudimentary signs as kids. 

“This genius thinks he can solve our problems with some board games,” Diego said from where he sat with his arms folded and his back against the couch, nodding over to Luther. 

“Would it kill you to stop being an asshole for one evening?” Luther muttered and he snorted. 

“You think monopoly is gonna make me less of an asshole? You ever played this shit?”

Klaus, who was sprawled out on the floor at Diego’s feet, laughed at that and Luther ignored them both, turning back to Allison. 

“We’re having a game night. A family game night. Because that’s what families do.” 

“It is?” Vanya asked. 

“Since when?” Five said at almost exactly the same time. 

Picking up the notepad that had been set out on a cushion for her, she scribbled down on it and held it up.

“We used to have game nights with Patrick’s family.”

“Well, I’m convinced!” Klaus declared, hopping to his feet. “Try not to cry too hard when I kick your asses at twister.” 

Luther was knocked out almost immediately, completely unable to keep his balance, shortly followed by Five, then Diego, then Allison. They shouldn’t have been surprised that Vanya was proving a worthy opponent for Klaus, considering she once famously won a game of hide and seek by contorting herself into one of their father’s suitcases. It was the most upbeat Allison had seen her family in years, all gathered around cheering Vanya on while Klaus cussed them out. Even Diego seemed to forgo the half dozen grudges he was holding in favour of diligently refereeing to make sure Klaus wasn’t cheating. When Klaus’ arms finally buckled underneath him the room erupted with cheering and shouting. The boys scooped Vanya up and paraded her around the room while Allison fell about laughing and Klaus huffed indignantly. 

“This is bullshit,” He muttered, though she could see he was fighting a smile too. 

The entire tone of the evening changed after that. Once they’d all calmed down again, they all gathered eagerly around and bickered over what to play next. Luther won an intense game of snakes and ladders, Diego beat them all at jenga, and Allison and Klaus won a team game of charades. In the middle of a connect four tournament, Klaus pointed out that Vanya had fallen asleep amongst the pillows, and during the final match between Luther and Five they realised Diego had also passed out with his arms hugging a cushion. 

They were all getting tired, and none of them knew or cared what the time was, but they decided to start a game of cluedo anyway. Allison was so focused that she didn’t notice Luther was asleep until his loud snoring broke the silence, and when she looked up she saw Klaus curled up too, using Luther’s torso as a makeshift pillow. 

“Maybe we should call it a night?” Allison had to shove the notepad right into Five’s face before he looked up from his card. 

“What? No. I’ve almost solved this.” 

She wasn’t sure how Five could have possibly ‘almost solved’ anything when they’d only had two turns each, but she just shrugged, shuffling closer to him and continuing with the game. 

As the minutes passed, the game quickly devolved, and neither of them were making a great deal of sense anymore. Allison had long since given up on making guesses, and Five had slumped against her with his head on her shoulder, the way Claire used to when she was getting too tired, mumbling to himself as he scribbled and crossed things out on his card. 

“Okay,” He said decisively, his head nodding as he tried to stay awake. “It was Mr Green, in the conservatory, with the knife.” 

He snatched the cards triumphantly, only to quickly toss them back across the board with a huff. 

“Shit,” He mumbled. 

“Wrong?” Was all Allison had the energy to write and he nodded.

“It was Miss Scarlet,” He said, pointing an accusing finger over at Klaus. 

Allison sniggered, and barely a minute later she could hear Five snoring beside her. Smiling to herself, she gently moved his head onto a pillow before getting to her feet and padding around the room to throw blankets over each of her siblings. Once she was satisfied they were all comfortable, she grabbed her own pillow and blanket and settled herself amongst them all, and fell asleep surrounded by her family.

[rebelbyrdie]

SwanQueen Ficlet:  Black and White Pt 2

More reasons for Emma to drool over Regina. Also Regina shows a different side to herself.  It isn’t really edited because I typed it out at work.  It’s just sort of an idea.

Snow was going to pout forever.  Thank God Emma didn’t live with her anymore.  She could not imagine putting up with her full time right now.  She had said words that Emma had never imagined coming out of sweet Mary Margaret’s mouth.  She had covered the kidlet’s ears.  The White Court had lost the big tournament.

It had been close.  Mulan had trashed everyone in the sword fighting event.  She’d won easily.  The archery stuff had gone differently, though.  Merida Hill, the fire department’s chief, had easily beaten Snow and everyone else.  So it had gone, neck and neck all day so jousting had become the big tie breaker.  David and some other the other White Court men were all excited to compete.  Even Henry had scampered off remarking that his Mom had promised to let him play at being a squire.

Emma had never seen jousting, except for watching A Knights Tale on cable.  It looked painful.  Snow had excitedly explained the whole thing to her.  Leather and cushioned armor, padded lances, horses going slower than usual.  It still looked hella dangerous.  Emma was never going to let Henry do it.  Even full-contact football was safer then this knight shit.

They had watched, Emma wincing, and Snow politely clapping, every time two knights crashed into each other.

David was doing good.  He was knocking everyone down.  Which, Emma had gathered, was winning.

Of course the other side was doing just as well.  There was a rider in all black that was knocking just as many people over.

“I can’t believe Regina would let a teenager do that.”  Ashley remarked.  “I mean look how small they are.  No way they’re a full knight.”

“Could be a woman.  Regina had several female soldiers.  Jill maybe.”  Sean, who had been knocked out of the jousting tournament earlier, replied.”

The final match was between David and the small dark rider.  When David hit the dirt, Snow had let out a shout so loud it hurt Emma’s ears.  She hadn’t stopped bitching and whining to make sure David was okay.

They had all lined up down on the field for the “closing” ceremony.  Archie was waiting with a big trophy.

The announcers, two of the supervisors from the cannery, came over the loud speaker.

“And here to accept the victory for the Black Court is His Royal Highness, Prince Henry.”

Henry, escorted by Zelena and Maleficent, came out to the middle of the field.  He had changed clothes  Well he had changed his whole image to match the Black Court’s over-the-top gothic image.  He was wearing a black suit was a fur-lined black cape and a gold mini-crown (circlet?  man-tiara?) with black gems in it. He looked older than his years and handsome,  Like a real prince.  

“Sorry Grandma, Grandpa.  I sort of had double-duty today.”

“Wait.”  Snow all but stamped her foot on the muddy grass.  “Where’s Regina?”  

Henry blinked, confused.  “Right here, duh.”

The black knight, complete with a green and gold cloak thrown over their armor, stepped forward and took off their metal helmet and mask.

Emma almost had a heart attack.

Regina stood there, in armor.  Her hair was sweat-soaked and plastered to her head. There was a scrape on her cheek and the vein on her forehead was prominant which told Emma that she had a headache.  Despite, or maybe because, all of that Regina was beautiful.  Like an Amazon Queen who had lead her people to victory and was about to take her spoils.

 “I thought it would be more appropriate to let Henry accept the award.” Regina cocked a brow.  “I am not photo or speech ready.”

Emma just stared, open mouthed.  Regina.  Regina who wore dresses and always had a perfect manicure.  Regina who was the feme-est of femes.  Regina, who snarled her nose up at everything not-fancy.  She had just whipped countless dude’s asses with a pony and a big stick?  Emma couldn’t comprehend it.

“You-”  David cocked his head to the side.  “You didn’t compete under your coat of arms though?”  He sounded a little confused and a lot embarrassed. “Its not green.”

Regina shrugged a leather clad shoulder.  “My father’s coat of arms.”

Archie held up a microphone.  “I am pleased to announce the First Annual Black and White Tournament has been won by the Black Court.”

He handed the microphone to Henry.  Henry grinned.  

“Thank You.  I want to give a round of applause to all of the competitors today.  Black and White, we all represent Storybrooke.”  He paused for a thunderous roar of applause.

“The proceeds from today and a matching donation will be given to the Black Court’s chosen project, the Storybrooke Youth Center.  Thank you everybody for coming out and we hope to see you tonight at the ball.”

So here they were, at a way-over decorated ball room in City Hall.  Emma had no idea what kind of magic Zelena, Maleficent and Regina had used but it had  worked.  She felt like she had walked into a scene from a movie.  

THe whole town was going to ring in the new year with style. Not Emma’s style, though.  She was way not her style.  She was in a long white pageant gown with ruffles and tulle and more fluff then a dress should legally be able to have.  She felt awkward and out of place.  

Hook, dressed all in white (which she was sure Snow paid for) sidled up to her about nine o’clock.  He already smelled like rum.  

“You look beautiful, Luv.”

She wanted to puke.  She should have scooped up Henry to be her escort before Regina had lured him to the dark side.

Speaking of Henry, her Kid was surrounded by teenage girls.  His Price act and new edgy Black Court look was a hit.  

She kind of wanted to ground him for treason or something.

“Care for a dance, Luv?”

He had his one hand in his pocket, like he was holding on to something.

Emma definitely did not want to dance, or anything else, with him.

“I’m sorry, Captain.  As the victor, Emma is obligated to give the first dance to me.”

Emma turned around and felt her heart stutter and her brain flat-lined. Regina stood behind them.  Gone was the sweaty knight of earlier.  She was dressed to kill in an outfit that had to be from her Evil Queen days.  She had a black corset top and leather pants that was covered, barely, by a long black jacket that was cropped in the front and flowed to the ground in the back.  Her cleavage was partially covered (more like accentuated) by a big and fancy necklace that matched the crown on her head.  The gold made her skin glow and the rubies were the same color as her lips.Her hair was long and curled into a complicated up do with even more jewels in it. She had to be wearing boots with a killer heel because she was almost the same height as Hook.

When Emma finally regained her senses, she let out a hoarse.  “Yeah.”  She pulled in a deep breath and hoped the oxygen helped her brain reboot.  “Can’t say no to My Queen.”

Regina lead her to the dance floor with a chuckle.  

Hook stood in place, eyes wide and furious.  He knew better to fight Regina, though  Not only did she have magic, half of her posse did too and exactly none of them liked Hook.  Basically, Emma had thrown her lot in with the wrong team.  

“Thanks.”  She mumbled to Regina when they were far enough away.  “It was either this or deck him.”

They started to twirl around in what Emma was almost sure was a waltz.  Regina lead her confidently along and she followed as best she could.

“You do realize he has a ring box in his pocket.  I believe the pirate was going to ask you to be his wedded wench.”

Emma bit back a groan.  She had been afraid of that.  “Frankly I’d rather go ten round against you with the ponies and the sticks.  No padding.”

Regina laughed.  A full on threw her head back laugh.  It was better than the music, the best sound Emma could remember hearing in a long time.  Regina so rarely laughed.  

“Speaking of.”  Emma continued as she fumbled through the dance.  “How did you learn to do that?  It doesn’t seem very queeny.”

Regina smiled.  “My father.  He went behind Mother’s back and taught me when I was a teenager. I had to do more than a few practice runs to re-teach myself a few things.  It was not at all like riding a bike”

Emma literally could not imagine.

“So-”  They turned and Emma could see Snow and Hook having a heated conversation on the other side of the room.  Neither of them looked happy.  She dropped her head to Regina’s shoulder for a moment.  

“I think I’m defecting to the Black Squad next year.  You and the Kid got cooler better clothes and nobody on your team is trying to set me up with an asshole.  Between Hook and my mother I am never going to make it to midnight.”

She was totally done and over this whole Black and White bullshit.

Regina was so close, the dancing had slowed down and they were basically just swaying together now. Emma soaked in the moment, the intimacy of it all. 

Regina’s skin was hot against her own.  She smelled like apples, rain and honey. Her touch was electric and sent delicious.   Regina was intoxicating.  Like lines of cocaine on black velvet, intoxicating, addictive, an incredible high that could so easily turn into decadent and delirious destruction. If Emma let herself slip, if she took even the tiniest taste, if she gave in to temptation, she would be lost.  She knew that she would never be able to stop.  Would never want to.

Regina’s hands crawled up her back.  Emma could feel her touch burning through the material of her dress.

“Em-ma.” Regina’s voice was like whiskey and starlight and it was whispered right into Emma’s ear.

She had seen so many sides and shades of Regina, so many moments had passed between them.  This moment, with Regina’s arms wrapped around her, was her favorite.

“I would be honored to have you on my Court.  Beside me, beside our son,  Where you belong.”

Belong.  Emma hadn’t felt like she belonged anywhere, ever.  The very idea was ridiculous.  Yet.  Yet, she craved it.  She never felt more like herself than she did when she was with Regina and Henry.  They felt like home, like the living embodiment of Tallahassee.

“I-”

Emma lifted her head.  She searched Regina’s eyes.  She looked for sarcasm or spite but only saw love.  Overwhelming amounts of love.  She got lost in Regina’s beautiful eyes and the endless capacity of her heart.

“Regina.”  Emma licked her suddenly dry lips.  She had so much to say.  To confess.  She had never been good with words.She wasn’t even sure there were words for the emotions swirling inside of her.  “My Queen.”

Regina’s eyes lit up at that.  Like it was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.  Based on Regina’s checkered past, it probably was.

Emma couldn’t wait anymore.  She didn’t care where they were or who saw.  She was tired of black and white, good and evil, fighting and drawing lines.  They were in a fairytale town, at a fairytale ball and they were fairytale royalty. It was time for their Happily Ever After.

Emma leaned in and did the one thing she had been dying to do since the first time she’d seen Regina.  She kissed her. 

The floor tilted under Emma’s feet.  Angels sang in her ears. Kissing Regina was better than drugs.  Emma ran her hands through Regina’s hair and let it curl around her fingers.  Regina held her close, her nails dug into Emma’s shoulder blades.  It was perfect.

Claps and gasps invaded their little bubble of bliss.

Emma opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and looked around.  The room was bathed in golden light.  THere were stars dancing across the ceiling and black and white pops of light, like fireworks.

There was no denying it now.  The entire town had witnessed them share their first and apparently true loves kiss.

Regina rested her forehead against hers.  

“You want to get out of here?”

As opposed to facing down the entire town and her crazy mother?  Absolutely.

“Your place or mine?”

Regina’s smirk was the only answer Emma got as they disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

[exobiasaday]

Roomies  -  Part III

[[ // Masterlist // ]]

[[  Read Part I here!  ]]  // [[  Read Part II here!  ]]

1430 words

Contains: fluff / no angst! / a private room / a private lesson / a private dance

After teaching your three classes for the day, you found out that the Indoor Sports tournament had been cancelled and replaced with a two hour meeting about “changes.”  Almost none of them made sense, and would likely make everything more difficult for you, your fellow teachers, and worst of all, the students.  But it didn’t seem to be a meeting where the new boss wanted anyone’s opinion.

It was easy to brush off the bad news because Yixing was coming to the hotel for his private lesson!  You listened to his latest mini album as you drove from the ESL center back to your luxury suite.

Once there, you flopped onto the freshly made bed and texted him that you were ready whenever he was.

Cool, I’ll come in 45 minutes :)

After tidying your things in the bathroom and putting your tote bag the closet, you didn’t have much to do but wait.  You considered driving to the house to get cuter clothes, because you were 90% sure neither of your roommates were there, but decided watching YouTube was easier that risking running into Mike or Jeff.  Maybe for the next in-person lesson, you’d wear that new corset top that made your curves pop and...

The more you thought about it, the more it didn’t make a difference what you wore.  You were his teacher, and so it only mattered what you taught him, not how you looked.

You sprang out of bed as soon as you heard the knock at the door.  You looked through the peep hole, even though you knew who it was.  He was early!

You hugged him and his personal assistant.  You invited her to come inside, but she said she had work to do in the lobby.

“If you change your mind, you can always join in.”  It’d be difficult to teach them both at the same time, since she didn’t speak much English, but you always wanted to offer.  She left and Yixing entered the room.

“Wow, it’s really nice!” he said a few times, looking around the main room, the bathroom, the kitchen area, and the main room again.  “I stayed here before, but my room wasn’t this good.”

“Next time don’t give me a better room than the one you’d get for yourself!  And don’t let there be a next time.”  You hugged him.  “I’m so thankful for this.  You really didn’t have to, but I so appreciate that you did.”

He hugged you back.  He gave the best hugs.  Nice and long, hands rubbing up and down your back, and just the right amount of squeeze not to crush you, but you knew he could because he was strong.  You’d never seen his muscles in person, but you’d seen his bare body in many repeat watches of his music videos.  You tried not to think about that as you hugged him, but it was really difficult.

Really difficult.

Almost impossible.

“I wanted you to be comfortable and not worried.  I was really concern when you told me about the roommates, and I wish I could help more.”  He said all this before letting you go and pulling away.  You weren’t sure whether to go back for another hug or correct his grammar.  You chose the hug.

“Oh Yixing,” was all you could think to say.  He did his cute, wheezy laugh and it made you laugh too, rather than start crying into his shirt about how sweet he was.  He always smelled nice, but today it was like he’d just had a bath in cinnamon water.  You wanted to tell him so, but you were reminded of the night before when Jeff had said the same thing to you.  You just held him tighter and it was silent until he spoke again.

“If your roommates make you upset again, I want you to tell me, okay?”

You nodded and let go.  He put his hands on your shoulders and looked you in the eye.  “Please promise.”

“What are you going to do?”

He looked away, then said, “I don’t know.  I hope I don’t need to do something.  But promise.”

“I promise.”

You also hoped you wouldn’t have to tell him about anything, but with just under five months left in your rental agreement, you doubted it.  Unless you stayed in your locked room at all times, never cooked, and never watched movies in the living room, you were bound to run into Mike or Jeff and be disappointed again.

But not today, and not the next day.

The least you could do for the man who’d given you this amazing gift was to give all your attention toward improving his English.  He’d come so far since your first lesson together, and you were so proud of him.  He still had a bit of a Chinese accent he was working on getting rid of, so you helped him make his vowels clearer and further distinguished L and R.

“They’re not the same at arr.  They’le not the same at all.  Try that.”

It was difficult, slow progress, but it was progress!  He also had questions about words and phrases he was considering using in a new song, and he asked whether his lyrics made sense.

“Except for those two, which can be easily changed, the rest of the lines are perfectly fine!”

He’d worked so hard, and you almost couldn’t believe he’d written these all himself.  He’d needed a lot of help with his first album that had a lot of English, but he was becoming more and more independent.

It’d been over an hour of English practice, and he wanted to show you the dance for the song you’d helped him change.  He took off his jacket and sweater, leaving just an undershirt.  Then he put on the demo track, and you sat on the edge of the bed as he performed just a meter away from you.  You couldn’t stand to watch his constant body rolling, crotch grabbing, lip biting nonsense when it was on a screen, but the feeling of “unable to look away from sheer sexiness” was amplified by 100 whenever you were lucky enough to have him dance for you.  It was like he’d scheduled a concert and only sold one ticket, to you, for free.

“What do you think?” he asked, panting, when the song was over.  He’d worked up a sweat and wiped his face with his shirt, flashing his abs.  It didn’t matter how many times you saw him perform, it never got easier.  How did he expect you to form a complete sentence after all that??

You smiled and gave a thumbs up before forcing out the words,  “Xingmis will love that.”

He smiled back and sat on the bed next to you, fanning himself with the paper pad that came with the hotel room.  “I hope you’re right.”

“You work so hard, Yixing.  And it shows in everything you do, so they’ll love it.”

He gave a shy laugh that made you want to melt.  Everything he did was so enchanting.  He could probably walk onto stage, fart into the microphone, and walk off, and he’d get a standing ovation.  You’d be cheering right along with everyone else if that happened, but he would never put anything less than 1000% percent into his performances.

He probably needed to get going soon, to record or practice or take photos or, if there was nothing else on his schedule, sleep.  So you prepared to say goodbye, but then you got a surprise.

“Want to get food?  I’m treating.”

“No, my treat!”

“No, my treat!” he repeated.

“Yixing, don’t pay for my meal, don’t even pay for the lesson!  You’ve already done too much.”

You forced him to leave his wallet in the hotel safe so it’d be impossible for him to pay.  How could he want to spend this much money on you?

He put his shirt and jacket back on and you grabbed your own sweatshirt.  He made sure you had the room key and you left and got in the elevator.  Your stomach rumbled and you realized just how hungry you were.

Once in the lobby, Yixing looked around until he found his assistant.  He spoke to her in Mandarin, and you thought was just telling her you’d be back after grabbing food.

“Bye!” she said.  You were relieved she didn’t seem to say anything about hurrying.

The two of you waved to her and exited the hotel, without a restaurant in mind, but very eager to get food.

[newgeht]

Sweet & Burnt

This is my gift to @gaymirajane for FTLGBTales Valentine’s exchange! (Who knew I would get my bae) I love you and I hope you enjoy this Mollie!! <3 

Summary: Her job as a journalist for Sorcerer Weekly was dreadful. Lucy took this reporting job for the load of money, except there was some additional benefits: the opportunity to see Erza was a risk worth taking, and the chance to see Minerva a temptation she gave in to. Who knew things would end up like this? Pairings: Minlu, Erzajane, Stingue  Characters: Lucy Heartfilia, Minerva Orlando, Jason, Erza Scarlet, Mirajane Strauss, Yukino Aguria, Sting Eucliffe, Rogue Cheney, Sorano Aguria, Kagura Mikazuchi, Milliana, Yajima, Oracion Seis Words: 7,830 Rating: T  AO3 | FFNet 

Time was absolutely irrelevant in the light of established guilds. Everyone was lax to their missions, getting it done within their own limits. Nothing was a rush, all mages alike taking pride in the work that they had done. The end goal was getting paid and that all depended on whether the task was completed. Not one second mattered when they traveled or fought.

But as some smartasses would say, like a certain some she knew, time was a social construction. But for Lucy, she enjoyed each minute to the fullest. Each second giving her a boost as she lived from day to day. And every nanosecond following that was but a breath of fresh air. She had thought Tartarus was devastating but her loneliness following was worse.

Those moments in her life had her reeling from the life, no, the person she had become. She had wallowed in the mistakes she had made when none had been made at all. Her pride dwindling since she had become paparazzi for the pages of Sorcerer Weekly. Lucy had scooped in one the most private moments of people’s lives, taking away those finite events from them. Her image in her fellow mages eyes, ever so slowly changing.

But in this industry time was of the essence. It was the very thing that fueled reporters and photographers alike. If they hadn’t met deadlines, there was no pay. If they hadn’t met the deadlines, Lucy didn’t have a job. And there was sure as hell no way that she was going to wriggle her way into another guild. Fairy Tail was her home.

A pained smile drifting across her lips as she looked at the board in front of her. Her friends faces plastered across the cork, various line of color being strung to and fro. They were connections of her fellow guildmates and she had yet to make contact with any of them. Levy and Gajeel were only a train ride away in Era, the Raijinshuu had been residing in Blue Pegasus which was fairly easy to visit, and Cana had been running the Honey Bonne Inn…

Which was only a two-minute walk from her apartment in Crocus. Lucy kept staring, the possibilities of a simple interaction floating through her mind. She had gotten this far, how come she couldn’t just hold her hand out?

Clutching her heart was everything but love; disappointment, failure, desolation, heartbreak, and heartache. Each one taking her blow by blow and pummeling her into the dark hole she knew so well.

Her eyes wandering to where it all stemmed from -Natsu’s letter. Lucy had so badly wanted to burn it but that would only be a tribute to his own magic. She had wanted to rip it to shreds, stomp on it, cut it, but none of it would give her the satisfaction. There was no way she could be mad at her team.

So Lucy didn’t hold a grudge but only looked. And looked. And looked. And here almost eight months later, she held the ticket to Fiore’s most renowned baking competition. The Sweet Sundown Tournament. Mages and citizens alike participated, creating the most craved sweets of the year. But the only twist was that each contestant had to put their own spin on the confectionaries.

Lucy had no idea what they were going to be making, but she knew one thing was for sure: Erza Scarlet and Mirajane Strauss would be there and they would be competing! Her heart swelled at the thought of seeing the two. And Lucy really had hoped that they had sorted out their shit, she couldn’t stand the two ogling one another anymore.

All she had to do was go up and interview them and take some pictures, it really shouldn’t be that hard. Especially since the two were her dear friends.

She strapped her keys to her hip, choosing a modest look for today. Jason had nipped at her for the typical skirts and tops she wore, saying that she needed to look more “professional”. Like his pink t-shirt was quote on quote professional. It was complete bullshit but Lucy wasn’t going to argue with her boss anytime soon. Working as a reporter was her only source of income, she was only awaiting the day in which she could work as a mage once again.

Taking one more glance over herself in her hallway mirror, her eyes trailed over the tight slacks and blouse she was wearing. It came down in a v-shape, which framed her bosom quite nicely. Thinking better of it, Lucy buttoned it up. No one would be seeing her gifted chest today! Especially not any of the other more adept magazine companies.

This included Food & Magic, Fiore Times, Bakery Network -all much more credible than Sorcerer’s Weekly. Lucy was only attending more because of her companies reputation: she needed to get the scoop on drama backstage as multiple guilds were coming to compete as well.

Her hand slipped over the key of Horologium, the little clock man letting her know that she better hightail it out of the door. Lucy didn’t want to risk being late or all that valuable time would be lost.

“What do you mean my ticket isn’t valid? I’m one of the reporters for this event, can’t you just let me in please?” Lucy exhaled sharply, looking at the guard standing in front of her. He wasn’t overly muscled or big, but the sharp look in his obsidian eyes was a sign that he wasn’t one to be messed with.

He leaned forward from the wall, spitting some black tar out before speaking. His face dangerously close to hers, “Listen here, little lady. This entrance is only for those competing and VIP. You’re neither or them. Get lost, Blondie.”

Lucy inhaled through her nose very slowly as he pulled away, her fingernails cutting into her palms as she clenched her fists. On a normal day, she wouldn’t have gotten angry so easily, but this was something she couldn’t miss. It was for the sake of seeing her friends once again and she wasn’t going to let the chance slip.

She gave the guard a cheeky grin, fiddling with the button she had clasped shut earlier. Those dark eyes narrowed in on her, darting from her face to her chest. She knew that no man could resist her feminine charms. Taking a step closer, she teased the button through the silken cut; his tongue peeking out from his chapped lips.

“I guess I may be able to let you in…” But his eyes darted to the side of her head, frantic as he leaned back against the wall.

“Oi! Get your eyes off my girl. She’s my eye candy, not yours bub.” A gloved hand wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in close. The distinct smell of lemongrass assaulting her senses as she was cradled into his armpit.

Lucy looked up, the cerulean eyes of Sabertooth’s master trained on the guard. The guard now standing up straight and stiff, growing a pale sweat. “I’m s-sorry, Master Sting. I didn’t realize she was with you, I would have let her in sooner.”

The dragon slayer scoffed, his sharp canines flashing. “Doesn’t matter if she’s mine or not, show some respect to women. Let’s go, Blondie.”

The guard opened the door and cowered as Sting pulled her through the door. Lucy stuck her tongue out at him, flashing her ticket at him. She immediately pulled herself from Sting’s embrace as soon as the door closed, placing her hands on her hips.

“I had that handled, you know.” Lucy wasn’t fond of being given a nickname after her hair colour but that was the least of her worries. She had almost gotten in and by herself at that.

Rogue came to replace the empty place by Sting’s side, their hands wrapping around one another. “I believe a ‘thank you’ is due,” he replied coolly. A smug grin plastered on his face as he kissed Rogue’s cheek.

Lucy was taken back and nodded. She took the opportunity to tease Sting, “Thanks, Blondie.”

The dragon slayers chuckled. Rogue’s eyes wandering over the pad and papers she held in hand. “You’re here for Sorcerer Weekly, correct?”

She nodded and clicked on her pen, ready to ask the two some questions. “If you guys are competing, may I ask you a couple questions?”

Rogue shook his head, “We have just come to support our lady.”

“And she’s gonna kick some ass today! No one can beat Minerva’s sweets.” Sting exclaimed, some drool slipping out the corner of his mouth. “I can already imagine eating some of them…” Rogue elbowed his side, looking at him with a strange sense of fondness. “You’re not a judge for a reason Sting. You’re not the best when it comes to critiquing food, especially sweets.” Lucy opened her bag as she giggled, dropping her pen and pad into it. “I can trust your word on that, but Sting would hold Minerva in his favor.”

Sting looked down, rubbing the back of his head. He admitted defeat, “Yeah, I guess I would. But, but! I do know that she will blow everyone to bits.”

That sentence didn’t strike a particularly good image into Lucy’s mind. The image of the competitors' ovens exploding with the use of their magic. She doubted that Minerva would do something like that and didn’t want to think of her in that light. With her small interactions with the territory mage, she knew that Minerva was far past the point of being rehabilitated.

Sorcerer Weekly had dived on the many headlines concerning the territory mage and her affiliation with Tartarus after she had returned home. Lucy had really felt bad to see the numerous articles that had ripped her apart. With her own experience, she knew that Minerva wouldn’t be phased by the heinous opinions of her fellow journalists. They truly had no idea what the life of a mage was like or even the life Minerva had lived.

Lucy wouldn’t go far to excuse someone’s actions, but she had been told of Jiemma’s grip on Sabertooth while he was around. Being branded as a tiger during his time had been a sentence for slavery. But with Sting’s new placement, the guild had been on a positive rise for the past year.

She knew that Yukino and Rogue were working right behind him, the holy slayer couldn’t do everything himself; a team was always necessary for the greatest success. She smiled fondly at the two, choosing to walk off before tears sprang to her eyes. She  always reminded herself of Team Natsu at the worst of times.

She lifted her hand up and waved as she took her leave. “I have contestants to go scope out, see you guys later!”

The duo (mostly Sting) calling for her to come back. She huffed as Minerva lingered in the back of her mind, still unsure on where their relationship stood. After she apologized, Lucy knew  her words were true, but accepted this simple fact: Minerva was a powerful and attractive woman. Lucy dwelled on the possibility of a friendship (or more) with the territory mage maybe even more than seeing Fairy Tail sometimes.

She occupied these current musings by searching for interview candidates.

While she walked through the backstage corridors, she took note of the diverse crowd that had arrived. One man she had interviewed had told her that he came all the way from Yullminia to compete. To which she quickly offended him when she asked where the country was, learning that it was a small island off the coast of Alvarez. Lucy was extremely embarrassed but it was just one little hiccup during the day.  

She had yet to find any mages from Fiore, just where were they hiding? Jason wouldn’t be happy if her column was on island natives or nameless mages. Though she would like to read it, the article just wouldn’t be what Sorcerer Weekly was and what they promoted.

Lucy set a smile on her face as she finally emerged from the backstage doors. The main arena was bustling with the competition's crew members, men and women alike working to give the final touches to the set. The main floor was surrounded by steel and silver stands, multiple stations set up on the bottom. Lucy was panting by the time she made it down what seemed to be thousands of steps.

There were over twenty stations set up, consisting of two ovens, baking utensils, mixers, and other kitchen appliances. On the far end of these units was a large pantry and fridge, Lucy licked her lips as she gazed at all the fruits held in the frosty container. She jotted all of these small details down in her pad, hoping she would need such detail for her article. Though that never seemed to be the case when she wrote, journalism didn’t require the amount of depth she loved.

Though she always kept her head high. This was only a baby step to her true dream. She would have to shovel through until she made enough or Fairy Tail was revived.

Lucy eyed the berries in the refrigerator, mesmerized by the varieties held in there. She could feel the chill that seeped through the glass, her spine tingling as she tried to get closer.

“Nice to see your old habits, Lucy.” She was pulled in from behind in a bone-crushing hug; wheezing as two gauntlets squeezed her chest. Lucy would be stupid if she didn’t recognize the voice of the Fairy Queen or the steel of Heart Kreuz.

She was frozen in Erza’s grasp, even as the scarlet haired mage turned her around. Lucy had longed to see her guildmates with every fiber of her being, but she wasn’t ready. Even less to see her bare forearm, the blue signet of all fairies gone. Her face falling from the wonderment of the red berries to complete chagrin.

Erza didn’t seem to notice as the pressure was relieved, holding her in a soft embrace. “I’ve missed you. How have things been?”

She could feel her eyes burn as Erza pulled her away. Out of these arduous and lonely months, that was all she could ask? Lucy wasn’t fine in the slightest bit but her false front would be unbreakable; a wall she had been building ever since Tartarus. “Depends on what you mean by ‘things’. Jason gave me a job and I’ve been working ever since… You know.” Very slowly a smile crept up on her face, a plastic try.

Erza nodded solemnly, her brown eyes critical -a distinct change from the ones that were always so full of compassion and worry. Lucy’s hand covering up the pink mark on her left hand as Erza stared, taking her in. Her dear friend grabbing that same hand, stunned as it revealed their guildmark.

“Lucy…” Her eyes darting back and forth between the back of her hand. A soft smile emerging from her thinned mouth. “You’re a fairy through and through. I knew I had made a mistake when I got rid of mine.”

She had thought that Erza would reprimand her but it was the exact opposite, the largest of tears threatening to fall. She took Erza’s hand in her own, a strangled cry creeping from her mouth. “E-Erza…”

“I don’t forgive myself for leaving. We all should have made a better effort to stay and rebuild our home. Mira and I have already started to fill out paperwork to establish the guild once more.” Erza’s own voice wavering as she began to speak, becoming stronger with her own resolve.

Her arms wrapped around her teammate once more, the smallest of cracks in her heart beginning to mend. A rush of happiness surged through her as she gripped Erza to her, the woman petting down her locks. She shushed her, quietly whispering that things would be getting better. It certainly wasn’t the apology that Lucy had wanted but Erza had recognized the world of pain she had left her in.

Lucy wanted to jump into the relationship they had previously shared but wouldn’t allow herself to. She was timid and scared, there was no way she would let anyone abandon her again. Her arms falling from the requip mage, meeting the soft eyes of her senior.

“I will surely come right back once the guild is set up again. But with Makarov missing, who will be the new guild master?” Lucy was genuinely curious as all of them were still so young.

Erza blushed, turning her head to the side in a bashful manner. “I have discussed it with Laxus and I will be the seventh.”

Her mouth dropped in awe, starstruck just like when she first met the scarlet haired mage. Lucy didn’t care for what Laxus thought, but for him to humbly give the position to Erza was a major improvement. Maybe everyone was benefitting from Fairy Tail’s disbandment…

“Wow… You’ll be great, Erza!” She exclaimed, smiling. One that was natural but far from the ones she typically displayed.

Their moment was shortly intercepted by a bubbly demon. “Er- Lucy! It’s been ages.”

Lucy turned only to be crushed by Mira, much more painful than Erza’s embrace. “M-Mira…” She could barely wheeze out as her arms were squished to her side.

The girl released her, petting Lucy’s stray hairs down. “My,you have changed. You look very nice today Lucy, Jason had told me good things about you.”

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t run into Mira sooner, the demon showing up to headquarters for photoshoots weekly. The eldest Strauss sibling had signed a contract with Sorcerer Weekly agreeing to be the face of their brand. It looked to be a big win, a designer apron wrapped tightly around her waist.

Mira winked as she pulled Erza to her side. The demon’s lips meeting her partner’s in a chaste kiss. “And you. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, they called for all contestants ten minutes ago. You’re lucky I convinced them to wait.”

Erza’s face deepened in a saturated red, her cheeks much darker than her signature scarlet locks. “I didn’t realize we had to be there so early. I just came to… check out the stock collection.”

“You mean the strawberries?” Mira drawled. Lucy giggled as the two interacted, wishing that they had gotten together much sooner. She was gushing over the two, taking a step back with a camera in hand.

Lucy grinned as she snapped, the flash bringing them out of their small moment. “If you two don’t mind, could I ask some questions?”

The couple nodded, talking into the small lacrima recorder Lucy held. She wanted to write it all down but Mira was speaking a mile a minute. Her excitement about the competition explained in clear detail by her gestures and sing-song tone. Erza only commenting from time to time, stating that she was only Mira’s partner in order to support her; confessing that she had little knowledge about the baking world.

Lucy had wanted to ask the two so much more but a gruff voice blared out, “Mirajane Strauss and Erza Scarlet! Report to the check-in or you will be disqualified!”

Mira squeaked and gave Lucy a quick hug, letting Erza do the same before they ran off. The model running track in her three-inch heels as the warrior tripped over her flats. She grinned to herself, satisfied with the interview.

Lucy wasn’t ready to go looking for Minerva Orlando. The tigress was fierce and beautiful in her own right, but she quaked in her boots every time she spoke to her. Minerva’s true personality made her heart throb and her pulse beat wildly. Sabetooth’s resident territory mage simply made her melt in the nicest way possible. It was going to be a daunting task to interview her today.

The same man from earlier amplified his voice once again. “All VIPs and guests, please take your seats! The ovens are fired up and ready to go!”

Lucy soon obeyed his wishes, taking a place closest to the floor.

The first round had passed in a quick blur, over half of the contestant being eliminated. Their task was to create any sugary delight with puff pastry. Lucy didn’t realize how difficult it was until a couple of duos treated the judges to raw dough. Some others not hitting the mark with their flavor combinations. Poor Kagura and Milliana being outed due to the latter’s poor choice of coffee and grapefruit.

It was shocking to see one of the judges spit it back out on the plate. She made sure to get a hold of the two for an interview during the intermission. Kagura monotonously stating that she trusted Milliana’s choices, but after this, she would take charge of the taste; revealing that Milliana was more for decor than the baking portion.

The two friends concluding by saying they would be rooting for the guy from Yullminia. Which Lucy thought was interesting, but there weren’t any hard feelings as the girls took off. She even snapped a picture of the two and got a good picture of the floor!

She stood happily, looking up at the stands. She had recognized Sabertooth’s twin slayers immediately along with Yukino, which was a given. But she was searching for a group that was barely discreet as they wore ridiculous guises.

Jellal had stood out like a sore thumb in his Mystogan-get up, the rest of his guild not much better. They had come down to support Sorano, who was Minerva’s partner. This had made Lucy fume as she saw the two working together in perfect unison as they created their pear and blueberry pan-pie.

This creation had earned one of the highest remarks from the judges, even above Mira’s signature strawberry turnovers. Though what brought their dish together was their small use of nutmeg and balsamic vinegar; making it a much more savory treat than sweet.

With permission (granted by Yajima), Lucy could stand and observe the competition from the competition floor. She took full advantage by taking pictures of the competitors while baking, hopeful to make this event an entire spread in Sorcerer’s Weekly. The idea of it making her determined to get the best scoop possible.

She idly walked the floor, the clock ticking by so quickly. One moment they had been at an hour and now, they were just down to five minutes. Everyone was steady as they worked on their newest confections, the requirements for this round being the use of one of Fiore’s delicacies: Star Blossoms. When the fruit was announced, there were many hushed whispers in the crowd.

The fruit supposedly was very hard to use as it’s flavor profile was hard to match with any other baking ingredient. The judges described it as insanely sweet with a small punch of acidity -technically sour, but more complex. Lucy thought of it as one of her favorite candies; little sour bear candies, except only the red ones.

Many of the duos had been stuffing the fruit into pies or Danish pastries, nothing that was very creative. Lucy supposed it would work for those but Minerva and Sorano were doing something entirely different. They had reduced the blossom down and were using it’s secreted sugars as a hardened candy. The rest was normal as they were making a simple icing with the fruit’s flower and a cupcake batter formed with cardamom and ginger. As the clock ticked down it was obvious that something wasn’t right in the girl’s chemistry as Sorano was pushy with the finishing touches.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed as she honed in on the couple. The white haired woman placed a bowl on the table. Slowly it began to tip over the edge, Sorano’s eyes focused on topping the small cakes with their frosting. The silver of the bowl flashed, revealing hot pink as it fell to the floor. Lucy’s hands pulled to her face as Sorano dropped to the floor.

Minerva was too focused on cooling their candied sugar to notice, but everyone else sure had. The crowd reverberating with a wild eruption of cries and pleas for the girl. She could only watch as they pulled Sorano from the station, bombastic pink sticking to her bare legs. It’s glossy clear coat slowly changing into a dark and opaque color as it settled on her pale skin.

It was a small hiccup but the time was not stopping, Minerva working overtime as she struggled to finish their cupcakes. Those red digitized number flaring as the buzzer screamed at the contestants to stop. Lucy slowly edged closer, the Sabertooth mage’s brows furrowing at the three plates sitting in front of her.

The cakes sat on the white plates with such elegance. Minerva surely shouldn’t be disappointed in her work. The frosting swirling atop the sponge in the most delicate of ways, with their small candy sitting on the cream in the form of a pink heart. The actual paper cup wrapped with a small white and satin ribbon.

She couldn’t believe that the territory mage was capable of working on a confection with such precision and beauty. Lucy’s mind racing as she thought of what else Minerva may be good at, nothing stopping her processes as her thoughts ran rampant.

Lucy turned her back, walking briskly in order to make it back to the stands before judging started. Yajima only allowing her presence during the baking, not during the fine essence of judging. The old man let her know that the tasting was an art all in itself, something that couldn’t be interrupted or the results would be muddled. In respect to his wishes and an understanding of his passion, she sat right by Yukino as his peers began to dive into the dishes.

Yukino held her hand in a vice grip as they got to Minerva’s dish. She was very worried about her sister and about her friend’s standing in the ranks. She stood up straight under the eyes of the chosen few, explaining the dish to them. Yajima lifted a brow, “This is at a tipping point. We haven’t seen anything like this, but if it doesn’t work, you know what that means?”

Minerva only nodded as his fork cut the cake in half. Lucy was sad that she wasn’t able to hear the satisfying crunch of the candy breaking. Yajima’s eyes peering out from his bushy white eyebrows as he tasted it, the other judges’ faces calmed with content as they sampled her cake.

“That is one unique cupcake, Orlando. Where did the inspiration come from?” The older man tapped his fork against the plate, dipping it into the icing to capture the candied form of the Star Blossom. “This is genius… The fruit only lays as an undertone but is still the star.”

Minerva’s cheeks flushed as he complimented her. Humbly she bowed her head, speaking with modesty. “There wasn’t an idea behind it, I just put together ingredients that would mellow out the flavor of the fruit. It’s such a lovely taste but it needed to be swayed and complimented.”

Yajima nodded and dismissed her with the wave of his hand, beckoning up the last two on stage. “Erza Scarlet and Mirajane Strauss, please present your dish.”

Waiters had come to drop off a slice of cake in front of the judges, each identical to the next. Mira began to speak about their dish in a much more professional manner than Lucy had expected. The cheery girl explaining that they had created an upside down cake with the star blossom, cherries, and peaches with various spices.

Yajima inspected the baked good, the prongs of his fork diving into the fluffy cake. The judge taking a good mix of the fruit bottom with the cake layer in order to taste them together. Unlike Minerva’s, he didn’t take another bite eyeing the girls critically.

“This is a very traditional cake. You didn’t think to make anything else, did you?” He placed his fork down, sitting back in his chair.

Mira was baffled by his comment, pausing before she spoke. “I like to keep my baking very traditional, it’s what I grew up doing. I don’t see anything wrong with my dish.”

He put his hand up, eyes hidden from view. “It’s a very good cake, Mira, but does it push any boundaries?” With that same wave, the two left the stage. The lights dimming shortly after the judges took their leave for deliberation.

The crowd was alive as the contestants took their leave, roaring with excitement at today’s turn of events. Yukino’s knuckles were white, holding her hand in a death’s grip. Lucy only rubbed her hand in a soothing manner. There was no way Sorano was going to go down due to some heated sugar. Tugging on her fellow mage’s hand, Lucy stood.

“Cheer up Yuki, they did well regardless. I’ll take you backstage to see Minerva and then I’ll go with you to the hospital.” She then pulled the Sabertooth mage out of her seat, a light smile sprinkling her lips.

Yukino dipped her head as they exited the stands, her brown eyes trained on the floor. She didn’t try to budge the petite woman. Lucy decided it was best to take her to the said destination, Yukino in need of comfort from Minerva. She knew that the dark haired tigress would talk some sense into her.

They rounded the corner and her hand was dropped from Yukino’s, the girl running up to Minerva. Her hands had wrapped around her aproned waist as her pale cheeks pressed into her back. The embrace looked like that of lovers but Lucy knew better. Thankfully they were just the best of friends. She cringed internally as she thought of how jealous she would be if they were dating.

Walking forward, the thought passed through one ear and out the other. If there was any time to interview Minerva, it would be now. With her shoulders rolled back and chin held high, she placed herself right next to the woman.

“Agh… Yukino.” Minerva stiffened at the intrusion but slowly relaxed. She spun around and pulled the sillowy head of white hair into her bust, her red lips upturned. Minerva’s hand lightly brushed her hair down, speaking in a soft tone. “Sora is a badass woman, don’t think she’ll go down easily.”

Minerva’s hands  framed her face, making a mock frown. “Don’t cry, Yuki. You know she’ll make it through this, you’re her sister after all. This is just a small bump.”

“Mhm!” Her eyes blinked furiously, wiping away the water from her brown orbs. “You guys are going to win either way, Yajima loved your cupcake and your cake, you will surely rise to the top.”

Minerva’s eyes looked away, hesitant as she unraveled herself from the hug. “I don’t know about that Yuki… I don’t have a partner anymore. Yajima said I would be disqualified if I didn’t find one by the time judging happens.”

Yukino shook her head fiercely. “I’ll be your partner.”

Lucy felt awkward in their presence as if she was intruding on something special. She had displayed these emotions for her friends prior but her devotion hadn’t mattered in the end. Fairy Tail had just abandoned her. And her best friend in the entire world didn’t know. Natsu had also just left her to rot.

“You barely know anything about cooking and less about baking, Yukino. I can’t let you be my new partner. I appreciate the offer.” She was stern and honest, Minerva’s statement brutal. She only pulled Yukino into another hug as she tried to speak. “You can’t wiggle your way in either, I love you but I need someone with experience.”

Clearing her throat, Lucy waved at the two timidly -mostly due to Minerva. She may have been here to get a good scoop but she wouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. Growing up in one of Fiore’s mightiest konzern allowed her the multitude of skills of the culinary variety.

“I think I may be able to help…” Snap out of it Lucy, it’s just a pretty girl, she thought. “I may know a thing or two about cooking but more so baking.”

Lucy’s insides had warmed up considerably as hazel eyes roamed over her figure; stopping to look right into her eyes. “I suppose a posh girl like you would. It seems that I have no other choice as everyone else is taken or dull in these matters.”

“Wait really? You’ll just accept me that easily?” Lucy blinked at her quick approval, unsure of whether or not to be relieved of her choice.

She chuckled heartily, clocking her hand onto her hip. “You’re a reliable and honest journalist Lucy. You’ve saved my ass from those Sorcerer Weekly savages many times, I don’t have a reason not to trust you. If anything I’m surprised that you even offered.”

Her face was brimming with the fresh flow of blood, very bashful as Lucy rubbed her hand behind her head. “Well… Yeah. It’s what I would do for a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Minerva’s gaze left Lucy confused. She didn’t say anything wrong, did she? Maybe she was being too presumptuous. “Let’s make sure we win this together then, Lucy.”

“But what about your reporting, Lu?” Lucy could tell that Yukino was worried about her job.

Lucy only smiled and pulled her camera from around her neck. “Could you take some pictures for me, Yuki? I don’t think Sting or Rogue would be able to take as good of a shot as you.”

Her friend graciously took the device from her hands, placing it around her neck. Her whole being glowing at the offer. “Of course, I’ll make sure to get some good snapshots of you and Minerva and whoever else is in the final round.”

“I know that you will, you have a good eye for this kind of stuff.” Lucy patted Yukino on the back, sending the girl off. Her previous gloom washed away.

She didn’t notice the appreciative gaze Minerva sent her way or of the fond smile that was hidden on her lips.

There was no time to regret her decision in becoming Minerva’s partner. The red numbers clicking down and down as the two worked around one another in the kitchenette.

Erza had sent her a look of murderous intent when she was announced to be Minerva’s partner. Lucy had ignored it the best she could, now focusing on stacking the tiers. That’s right, in this last challenge they were told to make a cake inspired by one of Fiore’s most celebrated holidays -Valentine’s Day.

She grit her teeth at the prospect of it, the day always ruined in one way or another for her. But Minerva’s scheme would work for them. She was going down the savory route once again, by using the darkest of chocolates for the base of the batter. Then mixing the batter with a pink sherry just to give it that sweetness.

Lucy had let Minerva handle most of their baking provisions, helping her to load the cakes into the oven. They were now steadily working on the decorations.

“I really abhor the pink,” Minerva drawled.

Lucy frowned as she began to cut into their fondant. “But you agreed to it, we can change it if you’d like.”

“If I changed it, the colors wouldn’t match the theme. Make the pink a bit lighter, it’s screaming right now.” Minerva was working on their display, molding rice crispy treats into the shape of a small bear.

“Like this?” Lucy giggled and added more of the white to the fuschia. Minerva simply nodded.

With barely an hour left, they were making due time. She worked quickly on stenciling out their hearts and other shapes, rolling out the rest of the white clay-like substance. In an orderly fashion the two covered the shape of the bear, slowly piecing the small thing together. Once everything was put in place, it really looked like a stuffed animal. An edible one too.

The large clattering of a bowl startled the two. The couple in the opposing kitchenette beginning to argue with one another. The real demon coming out as Mirajane scolded Erza, for what, Lucy did not know but it looked to be serious. Erza’s white apron covered with a bright red and viscous syrup.

Now was not the time to have butterfingers or be distracted. She turned away from the scene to help Minerva set up their tiers. This part was only a minor inconvenience as they placed the cakes on top on one another with the fondant on top.

“Wait,” Minerva commanded. She pulled three small plastic pipes from one of the shelves. “We need these so the cake doesn’t fall over.”

Lucy simply let her by, staring intently as she stuck them into the very middle of the first layer. She stood still as Minerva pushed one of their smaller cut-outs down. Her partner huffing in dismay.

“You’re not going to stand there all day, are you? We have fifteen minutes left.” Lucy didn’t think that Minerva could be so sarcastic, laughing as she jumped back onto their project.

“Maybe I needed a small break,” she quipped in return. She lifted up the last layer of fondant and brought it down over the last tier. Using a small palette knife, she smoothed out any crinkles and cut off the edges.

Minerva’s eyes trained on the cake as she began to pipe large roses onto the top. They were white, much like the rest of their decor. “Being pretty doesn’t require a break and it doesn’t get you paid either.”

Lucy could feel her face flush. Her hands winding a silken ribbon around the bottom tier. She quickly tied it off with an overly large bow, hiding behind the cake. She could think of numerous jobs (including her own) in which she got paid to do the same.

“I’m not getting paid either way. I can be ‘pretty’ all I want.” Lucy was roused by their playful banter, working even quicker to get their cake done. The disaster on the other side left unnoticed.

Though as the clock’s numbers dwindled, Minerva’s smarmy lilt was put to ease. Their comments coming to the point of being ludicrous as they tried to win a nonexistent fight. Each passing second, a new wave of relief fleeting through Lucy. Each wave making her heart surge and her hands clammy. The two not daring to come near the other as they circled around the cake, making sure to make all the finishing touches perfect.

They carefully placed the large cake into the arms of their bear. The edible stuffed animal holding the second two tiers to its stomach. She internally squealed at how cute their presentation was.

She was dotting on small candy pearls when the timer ran out. The obnoxious ring startling her so much that all of those small orbs fell to the floor. Minerva was the first to put her hands up, Lucy following.

“Everybody stop! Judging will be commencing immediately.” The stage lights were strewn about, all turning down onto the last of them. Lucy and Minerva’s eyes passing as they stared at their competitors -Erza and Mirajane.

Erza still had a scowl plastered on her face, directed right at her. Those eyes judgemental and filled with the fringes of betrayal, as they scanned over their finished product. Mira simply directing her attention to their cake, blue eyes tainted with green.

Lucy attempted a smile. Her lips fought against her which made for a half-assed smirk. That was not the message she wanted to send to her fellow guildmates. She only turned to follow the cake that was being rolled up to the judges table.

The cake was certainly as wide as it was tall. The white layers run down with the red syrup, which cascade down and down, coating the whipped cream with a glossy coat. The two combined had cut various fruits into flowered shapes which sat atop the tiers. Once the first piece was cut, that same syrup spilled out from the cake. The crowd was struck with awe as their cries of excitement rang.

Minerva leaned over to Lucy, her breath curling around her ear. “You have a bit of frosting on your face. Pink just like your cheeks.”

Within her best efforts she tried to watch Erza and Mirajane’s judging. Minerva’s finger brushing along the slope of her cheekbone. Lucy bit down on her lip as a small sigh came from the woman beside her.

“Tastes good too.” Her statement low with some other meaning attached. Lucy too dazed to see through it, her cheeks warming up more.

She was about to make her own remark but the judges had called them up. Fairy Tail’s most reliable duo sullen as they stepped down. “I told you we should have done chocolate,” Mirajane murmured.

Things had not gone well for them and Lucy frowned. Erza had loved baking just as much as Mirajane but for different reasons. Mira had done the technical parts and her girlfriend inserted more edible pieces. Their tactics letting them down in the end.

Lucy’s hands felt even more clammy as she stood in front of the row of esteemed guests. They had already complimented their cake for its representation on the holiday. But were skeptical once the cake was cut open.

“What did you use for a batter?” A larger set woman asked, her fork cutting a meaty portion of her slice.

Minerva cleared her throat, taking the stage. Off to the side a small flash dazzled, pulling Lucy out of her thoughts. She had to make sure to thank Yukino properly. “We used dark chocolate and cocoa powder. We beat in some pink sherry after the eggs were used. We reduced raspberries down to a jelly-like syrup in between the layers. Enjoy.”

Unlike herself, Minerva stood with her head held high. Lucy’s gaze passing from judge to judge, awaiting  a response. They were blank and emotionless, the greatest type of poker face. But oh so gradually, the softest bloom occurred. The woman who questioned Minerva was wrought with bliss, her cheeks full of their cake.

The wrinkles on Yajima’s face lifted from his small smile. He put down his fork, pointing at Minerva. “You, my lady, are something else. Today you have brought us three mouth watering confections, never once dropping the ball. If the rules allowed it, you could have done this without a partner.”

“I’m afraid not,” Minerva humbly stated. “Of course I have the skills to do it ‘myself’, but if it weren’t for Sorano I wouldn’t have listened to the challenges. And without Lucy, we wouldn’t have this great presentation. My genius created these flavors and instilled the baking techniques, it would not have come together without my partners.”

Yajima was pleased with her answer and turned his plate around. His finger curling in her direction. “Come taste this, Lucy.”

“M-Me?” Lucy was flustered as she was called to his attention. He simply nodded, holding up a clean fork.

She took it from his hand, delving into the piece. Ignoring the crowd and Titania’s stare, she savored the bite. A small moan emitted as the moist cake passed over her tongue. The more dark flavors swirling around the tartness of their jelly, united with the spiced rum. Her fork dived down for another bite of the addicting taste but it hit the table. A small thunk following as Yajima swiped the plate from her.

“I said taste. Now Minerva, come here.”

She obeyed and took her own small morsel, the dark piece disappearing into the enclaves of her sultry lips. Her eyes widening as she chewed, placing the fork back down onto the plate. Her finger wiping the corner of her mouth, “Mmm… Wow.”

Yajima’s brow arched as he looked at his colleagues. They all nodded and he grinned wide, their deliberation short. “You just took a bite of your own victory. Congratulations girls!”

Lucy leaped high at the announcement, jumping even higher as confetti shot out from the rafters. Balloons and small bright pieces of paper falling down over them. The crowd standing in applause. She held her hands over her heart,  blood pumping fast. Lucy hadn’t felt this elated in a long time.

“You did it!” She exclaimed and wrapped her arms around Minerva.

She chuckled and surrendered her embrace to Lucy. Minerva’s arms squeezing around her sides as everyone cheered on. “Not without you. We did it, Lucy.”

Her correction left Lucy in a mess, her emotions reeling. Their hug was cut short by Yukino. The petite girl wiggling her way in between them to form a group hug. Lucy only embraced her, nuzzling into the soft strands of hair.

“That’s another win for Sabertooth!” Sting bellowed out within the excitement. It was more of a win for both guilds if Fairy Tail was still alive.

Sting and Rogue along with Crime Sorciere flooded the floor shortly after. The groups mingling together and chatting with Lucy. She took notes the entire time and interviewed even more contestants.

Clicking her pen, she tapped on Minerva’s shoulder. “May I ask you some questions?”

“Only if you let me ask you one first.” Lucy eyed her with suspicion but put her pen away. Minerva’s smile was wide, her teeth sparkling and her confidence beaming. “Are you free on the fourteenth?”

“The fourteenth? I would have to check-” And then she realized what Minerva was asking. Valentine’s Day was coming up and she already had plans made with Jason, but this was so much better. “Yes! I would love to go out with you!”

“Don’t get too excited, I haven’t even asked yet.” Minerva gave her an impish stare, her lip curling. “But you got me. That day will be ours, here’s my number.”

She took her pad and paper, writing down in large print. The small page taken up by the numbers and Lucy couldn’t help but blush as Minerva handed it back. “Now… About the interview…”

A ride home and a couple edits later, her article had turned into a massive article. The time she had spent on the clock important for her salvation; due to her exemplary work her small column was enlarged. Jason had made sure she got the full five pages she needed! It was exciting to be recognized like this, those in the office complimenting her on the writing. Lucy had finally been recognized as a true journalist, not some yellow reporter.

The days following wrapped her up in nervous jitters and sheer buzz of that special day. Lucy would surely make it the best date of her entire life.

[cyrusgoodboye]

Prompt: a cute tyrus sleepower pleaseee

The Best Sleepover Ever - a Tyrus fanfiction

This prompt took the longest time, you have no idea (well, actually some of you do since I took an entire month to write this.  Hopefully this long prompt makes up for that).  I’d like to thank @ededdandreddie and @celsquietramblings for taking a look at this and making sure I wasn’t about to make a fool out of myself by publishing it with tons of errors and malfunctions (seriously, guys, means a lot!).  I’d also like to thank @aro-mack for the pillow fight idea (you’ll see) from their Tyrus headcannons post.  And I’m tagging @qwertykevin because they wanted me to, LOL!  And, without further adieu, let’s get on reading!

“Who’s ready for my slumber par-tayyy?” Cyrus trilled enthusiastically.  He had been planning this outing for ages, and now that all three of them were available on the same weekend, it was the perfect opportunity for one of his biggest dreams to finally happen: a sleepover!  And with his two best ‘brahs’, Jonah Beck and T.J. Kippen!

When he received no response at first, he adjusted his phone so that Jonah and T.J. could see him better on their group video chat.  “Hello?  Are you guys still there?  I said who’s ready for my sleepover?”

Jonah was the first to answer him by making a crackly wince, and Cyrus frowned at his friend’s reaction; he had never seen that facial expression before.  “I’m really sorry, Cy-Guy, but the Space Otters were just invited to a last minute Frisbee tournament!  I won’t be able to come,” Jonah said, guilt lining his voice.  At least he sounded apologetic.

Cyrus tried not to show the heart-wrenching disappointment that was occurring in his chest.  When would he ever get the chance to have both of them over again?  “Oh, that’s okay,” Cyrus assured him as best as he could manage.  He hoped his acting was at least somewhat believable; especially after that whole school video fiasco.  Cyrus had learned not to put too much faith into his acting skills since the whole disaster.  “We could always reschedule—”

“Reschedule?” T.J. piped up.  Cyrus had almost forgotten he was on the group call; he had been pretty quiet for the majority of the video chat.  “I just found my sleeping bag.”

Cyrus felt a tug in his stomach at the arise of conflict.  What could he do?  On one hand, he didn’t want to leave Jonah out of their bound-to-be spectacular sleepover, but, on the other, he didn’t want to disappoint T.J. by canceling on him.  What was the middle ground here?  

Cyrus took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he became too overwhelmed about the matter; he knew how he could get when he was antsy.  “How about me and T.J. have the slumber party this weekend, and we reschedule one another time for all three of us?” Cyrus suggested.  Bless his intelligent mind for finding some kind of compromise!

“Oh,” Jonah said.  Cyrus couldn’t quite detect the tone that Jonah was using.  Did he seem disappointed?  Completely forlorn?  Or was he just being indifferent?  

Before he over thought the situation (he did have a tendency to overthink at times), Cyrus tried to shake his worries from his mind.  Relax, he reminded himself.  You don’t need to read too much into his reactions anymore.  Despite getting over Jonah a while ago, second-guessing the boy’s expressions was still like second-nature to him, and Cyrus often found himself fretting about it.  

“I’m guessing that means you can’t come to the tournament?” Jonah asked dejectedly.  Now he was sure Jonah was upset.  

Cyrus bit his lip to keep words from spewing out of his mouth.  He wanted to say ‘yes, of course, what are friends for?’.  But he couldn’t disappoint T.J. like that.  Besides, Andi was right; Jonah did expect everyone to cater to his needs, and now that Cyrus had taken off the rose-tinted glasses, he could see that.  “I’m sorry, Jonah.  I promise I’ll go to the next game, alright?”

Jonah looked downcast, and Cyrus felt his heart twist.  “Yeah, sure.  See you later, Cyrus,” he mumbled, crestfallen.  Before Cyrus could change his mind about not going to the game, Jonah logged off the call, leaving him and T.J. alone in shock at the Frisbee player’s abrupt, unexpected exit.

“I guess he’s not too happy,” T.J. commented after a few seconds of surprised silence.

Cyrus knew that T.J.’s comment was supposed to be his everyday dry humor, but it only made him feel worse about making Jonah upset.  T.J., noticing the boy’s eyebrows drawn together in worry, was quick to make him feel better.  “Hey, I was just kidding.  I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he tried.  

Cyrus tried to take T.J.’s words to heart as best as he could.  T.J. was right!  He couldn’t worry about everything, even though his mind so desperately wanted to.  All. The. Time.  “It’ll be fine,” he repeated, trying for a small smile.  “Anyway, what time are you coming over?”

By that Friday, Cyrus had every last detail for their slumber party down: all the way from what they would be eating (thank goodness for The Spoon’s new carryout policy!) to what games they would be playing (only the classics, of course).  It was practically guaranteed to be the greatest sleepover in history!

When T.J. finally knocked on the door that Friday after school, Cyrus opened the door with a flourish, begging the boy to take his shoes off before stepping over the threshold.  As T.J. cautiously toed off his high-quality sports shoes, Cyrus took the boy’s bag (and almost fell over from its weight, but T.J. didn’t need to know that) and urged for the basketball player to follow him.  The two boys padded through the house as they shared pleasantries, their footsteps echoing in the seemingly empty home as they strolled along, and Cyrus led him to the spacious, open living room.  There was a grand entertainment center nestled against the back wall with a colossal flat-screen perched on top of it.  The walls were painted a warm taupe, with the cream-colored double sectional accenting it  well.  A detailed antique coffee table sat in the middle of the room, covered with a few issues of Therapists Weekly and a few movies that Cyrus had planted there.  

In short, it was a large room to take in, and T.J. absorbed his new surroundings with a thorough sweep around the room.  After he had given a rigorous glance around the area, he raised his eyebrows in surprise before shifting his gaze back to Cyrus.  “Nice place.”

“Thanks.  I guess being a shrink pays well,” he joked.  He tried to set down T.J.’s duffel bag as cautiously as he could manage, but it clattered onto the floor with a loud thud despite his wishes.  “Sorry!” Cyrus apologized sheepishly.  He carefully shoved it beside a resting chair so that neither of them would trip on it later.  It could happen!

The corners of T.J.’s mouth turned up, and Cyrus felt his stomach churn.  He loved to make T.J. smile.  “It’s cool.”  

Cyrus’s feelings for T.J. weren’t exactly new; he’d known that he’d liked T.J. for a while now, but alas, there was nothing he could do.  Well, besides soaking up every smile and laugh directed at him and overthinking T.J.’s every move. But even that he tried to keep at a minimum.  His feelings were surely unrequited, and he definitely didn’t want another Jonah Beck situation.  “So, would you like to hear our game plan for this evening?” he asked excitedly.  He had everything planned down to the last tee.  

“Game plan?” T.J. asked, raising an eyebrow.  He seemed more amused than he did incredulous.

“Of course!” Cyrus exclaimed.  “Behind every great slumber party is a master game plan, right?”

T.J. gave him an entertained smirk.  “I’m assuming this is your first sleepover?”

Cyrus blushed.  “How could you tell?”  He’d always wanted to have a sleepover with Andi and Buffy, but it was hard enough for Andi’s grandmother to let them over during the day, let alone at night.  It was the same situation with Andi coming over to one of their houses for the evening; the request was completely out of the question.  And thus began the worst playdate home award: a title still held by Celia to this day.

The basketball player shrugged.  “We don’t really have game plans at the sleepovers I go to.  We usually just play video games and talk about girls,” he admitted.

Cyrus’s heart skipped.  Talk about girls?  As in…crushes?  “O-oh,” Cyrus stammered.  He was stunned, but he reprimanded himself for being shocked.  Of course T.J. has crushes on girls.  He’s not like you.  “Would you rather do that, then?” he asked nervously.  He prayed T.J. said no.  He didn’t think he could pretend he had a crush on some girl for rest of the night.

T.J. snorted.  “No way,” he affirmed.  “Those sleepovers are lame, anyway.”  Cyrus raised his eyebrows, and he allowed himself to smile widely in relief.  Thank goodness!  “So, what do you have planned?” T.J. asked.

Cyrus grinned excitedly.  “Okay, so first I planned for us to play the infamous Truth or Dare,” T.J. raised an eyebrow in amusement but didn’t comment, “and then we’re going to watch a movie while gorging on food from The Spoon, and then we’re going to have a pillow fight!”

T.J. couldn’t contain himself any longer, and he let out a little chuckle.  “A pillow fight?”

Cyrus drew his eyebrows together in worry, and he frowned.  “Do they not do that at slumber parties?” he asked in confusion.  “I got all my information from Wikipage…,” he trailed off unsurely.

T.J. put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “Relax,” he assured him.  “We can do whatever.  But I’m pretty sure I’ll beat you in that pillow fight,” he teased.

Cyrus felt a wave of relief wash over him.  “How do you know I won’t win?” he jested back.

T.J. ruffled the boy’s hair, and Cyrus let him.  Although he normally had an aversion to having his hair touched, he found it endearing when T.J. did it.  “I’m not one to tell you what you can or can’t do,” T.J. said, and Cyrus suddenly got a flashback to when T.J. helped him get a muffin.  ‘Don’t tell him what he can’t do.’  He smiled at the memory; one of his favorite things about T.J. was that he didn’t automatically expect him to fail.

“So, you think I could beat you?” Cyrus asked excitedly.

T.J. grinned, and Cyrus saw a wicked glint in his eye that hadn’t been there before.  “We’ll just have to see!”  Then, in a flash, T.J. was grabbing a pillow off of the couch and whacking Cyrus’s side with it.

“Ahh!” Cyrus yelped.  He tumbled to the floor, and T.J. towered victoriously above him.

“Is that all you’ve got?” T.J. asked teasingly, but not in a harsh way.  Cyrus nodded helplessly, holding out a hand innocently for T.J. to pull up.  T.J. rolled his eyes jokingly, and he clasped the hand in front of him, preparing to tug him forward.  “I can’t believe you’re already giving u—!”   Cyrus jerked his arm with all his might (which wasn’t saying much), and brought T.J. crashing down on top of him.

The floor broke T.J.’s fall, his hands pinning down the hardwood on either side of Cyrus’s head, which prevented him from completely falling on top of the boy.  “Was…not…expecting that,” T.J. managed to breathe out between pants.  Cyrus laughed, although he could hardly breathe with their close proximity.  For a second the two boys just stayed in that position, staring at each other, and Cyrus gulped.  T.J. was too close for comfort, and yet somehow wasn’t close enough…

Cyrus ignored the irrational part of his brain that had thought that.  T.J. likes girls, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time.  Unfortunately, his logic didn’t seem to pierce his heart like he was hoping it would.  “Um,” he managed to say, which shook T.J. out of his daze.

“Right.  Sorry,” he apologized, blushing slightly (which was not something Cyrus thought the basketball player was capable of.  Especially not because of him).  He carefully got up, pushing himself off of Cyrus, and Cyrus took a big gulp of air.  Now he felt like he could breathe again.

Once Cyrus cautiously lifted himself up, he brushed his clothes off, avoiding T.J.’s eyes.  “Does that mean I win?” he asked, although his voice didn’t hold the triumphant tone he thought it would.  The butterflies in his stomach were probably just messing with his head, he noted.

“Sure, Underdog,” T.J. relented, albeit more than willingly.  He faintly nudged Cyrus, causing the boy to meet T.J.’s eyeline at the motion. “See?  You can do anything you want to.”

A small grin stretched itself onto Cyrus’s face. “Thanks, T.J.  It means a lot.”  The two shared a gaze again, and Cyrus, intrigued, almost took a step closer, but the sound of bustling emitted from the kitchen, breaking the two boys from their stare.

“Cyrus!” a loud voice bellowed.  Cyrus cringed at its volume.  His mother with her perfect timing, as always. “I’m home!”

Cyrus smiled sheepishly at T.J. before turning towards the direction his mother’s voice was carrying from.  “Coming!”  He glanced back at T.J., making a motioning signal with a dip of his head.  “Come on,” Cyrus said softly.  He placed a hand softly onto the small of the basketball player’s back, and guided the boy forward.  “I hope you like baby taters!”

After the two boys piled their plates up with food (it was burgers and baby taters and milkshakes galore!), they plopped down on the couch (which was a rarity for Cyrus, but his mom allowed him to eat on it just this once.  He guessed even she wasn’t going to deny him this one normal teenage experience).  For a few minutes they just stuffed their mouth with food, although Cyrus was trying to persuade T.J. to pick a movie in between bites of his delectable taters.  

“Come on, T.J.,” he insisted.  “Just pick one.”

T.J. shrugged, popping one absentmindedly into his mouth.  He seemed indifferent to all three choices.  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Cyrus groaned.  He studied all three movies in front of him (Jurassic Park, The Notebook, and The Wizard of Oz) as if they would inform him what movie would best be suitable for his company.  “I picked an action movie, a romantic-comedy, and a classic musical.  How much more variety do you want?” he exclaimed.

T.J. snorted, but humored Cyrus nevertheless.  “Fine, I’ll pick one.”  He glanced over the titles without much care and pointed to the one on the right.  “That one.”

Cyrus looked at him with surprised, widened eyes.  “The Wizard of Oz?” he asked questioningly, as if to make sure T.J.’s decision hadn’t been a mistake.  “I thought you would’ve picked Jurassic Park, honestly.”

T.J. shrugged.  “My mom loves that movie, so I kind of grew up watching it,” he admitted.  Cyrus realized it was the first time that T.J. had ever really mentioned his parents, so he just nodded and wordlessly popped the disc in.  

“Do you know what happened behind the scenes of this movie?” Cyrus asked as the introduction began to play.  “I hear it’s pretty macabre—”

T.J. grimaced.  “Please spare me the gory details,” he insisted, scrunching his nose.  Cyrus smiled secretly to himself.  He thought T.J. looked adorable when he scrunched his nose up like that.

Stop! he reminded himself as the thought popped in his head.  You just went down this road with Jonah, do you really want to go through this again?  When T.J. gave him a sweet smile, his heart melted.  Yes, it seemed like he did want to go through this again.

As these thoughts swirled around his head, Cyrus tried to wipe them from his mind and, in better judgement, forced himself to turn his attention back to the movie.  He thought that T.J. would find it pretty weird if he was being more attentive to him than to Dorothy.

During the first twenty minutes or so of the movie, Cyrus was pretty successful in his pursuit.  He only caught himself glancing at T.J. a couple of times (three, to be exact, but who was counting?) and, by the time Dorothy was prancing around Oz on the newfound Yellow Brick Road, Cyrus tore his gaze away from the television and allowed himself one freebie to ask T.J. a question.  “Who’s your favorite character?”

T.J. looked at him in confusion, and scanned his face calculatingly, as if he could deduct the reasoning behind Cyrus’s random question by his facial expressions alone.  “Why?”

“Just curious,” Cyrus claimed.  Actually, he had learned from his shrink parents that people had a reason behind every action, like, or dislike; they even had a reason behind something as simple as a favorite character in a movie.  

What more was there to the guarded basketball player than what was seen on the surface?

T.J. sighed.  “I dunno,” he said, glancing down at his lap for a second.  He fiddled with the hem of his shirt before his gaze shifted back to Cyrus.  “Probably the Scarecrow.”

Cyrus tilted his head in curiosity.  “Why him?”

T.J. shrugged again, and Cyrus wanted to put both of his hands on T.J.’s shoulders to physically restrain him from lifting them.  He knew it was a nervous tick of T.J.’s, one he usually did when the atmosphere felt more heavy or uncomfortable than he was used to.  “I guess because he ends up being smart and stuff,” he admitted, his eyes quickly flickering to Cyrus before flitting away again.  “Even though he thinks he’s stupid the entire movie.”

Cyrus felt a zap go through his body in shock.  Was…was T.J. referring to his learning disability?  He knew that T.J. was insecure about it but…he seemed so devastated.  “The Scarecrow was smart all along,” Cyrus pointed out, feeling his throat tighten.  His heart hurt for the boy beside him, and he allowed his hand to lightly brush against T.J.’s forearm in order to console the boy.  “He just needed someone to believe in him.”

T.J. finally fully turned towards Cyrus.  “Yeah,” he mumbled, a small half-smile on his face.  “I guess you’re right.”

Cyrus beamed exultantly.  He wanted more than anything for T.J. to believe that he was worth something; he desired the same for himself everyday.  “Of course I’m right,” Cyrus said determinedly.  Couldn’t T.J. see that he was so much more than his disability?  Cyrus wished that he could show T.J. how he saw him, how much he admired him, but, then again, that would be outing his feelings to the boy and, even more so, himself, and Cyrus wasn’t sure if he was ready to do that just yet.

“What about you?” T.J. asked, a curious tone lining his voice.

Cyrus glanced at him.  “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.  Who’s your favorite character?”

Cyrus pondered for a moment.  Who was his favorite character?  And why were they his favorite in the first place?  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.  He thought about it for a couple more seconds before giving a definite answer.  “The Cowardly Lion,” he confirmed for the boy.

T.J. raised his eyebrows.  “Because he ends up being brave in the end?”

Cyrus smiled.  “Yeah.  Because he ends up being brave in the end.”  Suddenly Cyrus was glad that T.J. chose this movie after all.

About midway through the musical, Cyrus inquired T.J. about their upcoming activity that he had up his sleeve.  “When do you want to play Truth or Dare?”

T.J. gave him an indifferent expression.  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Cyrus leaned forward and turned down the volume so that they could speak at a normal decibel without struggling to be heard over the movie.  “How about right now?” he asked ecstatically.  The prospect of playing the thrilling game was causing excitement to drum through his veins.  It was exhilarating!

T.J. sat up and he adjusted himself so that he faced Cyrus.  “Fine,” he said, feigning annoyance.  His smile gave his tone of voice away.  “You go first.”

Cyrus beamed.  “Okay.  So…,” he began ominously.  T.J. grinned.  “T.J., truth or dare?”

T.J. raised his eyebrows in a challenging manner.  “Dare,” he said matter-of-factly.

Cyrus racked his brain before coming up with a particularly deadly dare, and he smiled widely.  “Okay, okay,” he started, gesturing towards T.J.  “I dare you to call Buffy and tell her that you think she’s better than you at basketball.”

T.J. groaned into a pillow.  “No,” he grumbled reluctantly.  Cyrus grinned happily.  He didn’t know he was going to make T.J. cave so easily.

“Come oooon,” he drawled, handing T.J. his phone.  

T.J. pouted his lips, just like he had that one day on the swings, and Cyrus felt his face burn.  T.J. looks so cute, Cyrus commented.  He so badly wanted to move forward, and…well, kiss him.  

Cyrus tried to suppress the feelings rising up inside of him.  It was becoming harder and harder to fight off his feelings for T.J. with each passing minute…

“Hello?” T.J. said boredly into his phone.  Cyrus shook himself from his thoughts.  He didn’t even remember T.J. calling Buffy!  He must’ve zoned out.

Cyrus heard Buffy speak, but her voice was muffled through T.J.’s phone, and he urged T.J. to put her on speakerphone.  The boy’s gaze shifted over to Cyrus momentarily, and he followed his request, swiftly pressing the speakerphone button before placing his cellphone between them on the couch.

“—and you have the audacity to call me?” she finished with an annoyed huff.  Cyrus looked questioningly at the basketball player, and T.J. shrugged, looking just as lost as he was.

“Buffy,” T.J. started, “I have something to tell you.”

Cyrus could practically see his best friend roll her eyes cynically, despite her being in her own house at the moment.  “It better start with ‘Buffy’ and end with ‘I’m sorry for being such a jerk’.”

T.J. tilted his head forward.  “Actually,” he began to correct, “I’m calling you because I wanted to tell you that you’re better than me at basketball.”  T.J. scrunched his nose at his own words, glaring at Cyrus for giving him such an awful dare, and Cyrus smiled smugly in return.  

“What?” Buffy asked, her voice clearly sounding skeptical.  “T.J., you always tell me that I stink and should drop the team, but now you’re telling me I’m better than you?”

“Pretty much,” T.J. said curtly.  Cyrus could tell that some kind of dark energy was thrumming in the boy across from him, but he couldn’t place a finger on exactly what it was.

“Which of course I already knew,” Buffy said arrogantly, speaking as if T.J. hadn’t even said anything at all, “but I’m still not sure if I’m following.  How exactly did you come to this conclusion?”

T.J. clenched his jaw frustratedly, and Cyrus reached forward to hold his hand, to squeeze his shoulder, anything at all to help him calm down.  He had never really seen T.J. get so worked up before.  “I’ve always known you were better than me,” he admitted angrily.  He crossed his arms, and Cyrus settled on resting his hand on his knee instead of grabbing his hand.  “It’s why I lash out at you all the time.  I’m just…frustrated because you’re better than me at everything.”  Cyrus’s eyes widened at the basketball player’s words; he knew that T.J. wasn’t just saying this to complete a silly dare.  He actually thought this and was insecure about it.  Clearly a nerve had been struck.

Buffy, completely floored, began to speak.  “T.J., I—”

T.J. swiped his phone from between them, clutching it so hard that Cyrus was afraid that the glass might shatter in his fingertips.  “Whatever.  Just forget I said anything.”  And with that he angrily tapped the hang up button, tossing his phone onto the plush rug underneath them.

Cyrus didn’t know what to say at first.  He had no idea T.J. felt that way.  “T.J., is…is that true?”

T.J. let out a long, deep sigh, and he slumped onto the cushion.  “Yeah.”

Cyrus scooted closer, and tried to ignore the way the butterflies in his stomach fluttered as their knees brushed against each other.  “That’s why you hate Buffy so much?  You think she’s better than you?” he asked in disbelief.  The news was shocking, to say the least.  Cyrus had always wondered why T.J. had such a vendetta against Buffy, but he had never imagined this.  Not in a million years.

“It’s just part of my stuff, I guess,” he joked lamely, but Cyrus saw straight through his mask and saw the pain that was lying underneath.

“Hey, it’s okay to be insecure,” Cyrus assured him.  In a moment of feeling particularly daring, he moved closer, and his heart soared when T.J. didn’t flinch or move away.  “I feel insecure all the time.  It’s just part of being a teenager.”  Or, in his case, just a part of being Cyrus.

“I don’t want it to be,” T.J. confessed tiredly.  He drew in a deep breath before he sat up, shaking out his arms as if to rid himself of any insecurities he had.  If only it were that simple.  “Anyway, truth or dare, Cyrus?”

Cyrus gave him a worried glance.  “T.J.…”

“I’m fine,” T.J. insisted adamantly, although Cyrus didn’t quite believe it.  “So…?”

“Truth,” Cyrus answered.  

T.J. huffed out through his nose, clearly expecting his answer.  “Not surprised.”

“Hey!” Cyrus defended. “Honesty can be more bold than an actual dare.”

T.J. humored him.  “Fine.”  He paused, seeming to be deep in thought.  After a moment, he looked at Cyrus decidedly.  “What is some of your stuff?”

Cyrus froze, his heart pounding in his ears.  His stuff?  Did he mean…about him liking boys?  What would T.J. even say if he told him?  Would he react badly?  What if he hated him?  “T.J., I…”  Cyrus felt his throat tighten.  Was he even ready?  

T.J. seemed to notice the frightened look glimmering in his eyes, and he rested a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder, keeping an intense gaze.  “Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything deep, just…tell me something that you haven’t told me already.”

Cyrus felt relieved beyond words, and he sent an appreciative smile T.J.’s way.  “Alright…um,” he started nervously.  He racked his brain.  What was something he could tell T.J.?  “Oh, I know!  I’m scared of the dark.”

T.J. raised his eyebrow dubiously.  “You’re scared of the dark?”  Cyrus nodded solemnly.  Suddenly he felt self-conscious at his sudden confession.  He knew that it wasn’t normal for boys his age to still be scared of the dark, but Cyrus feared that it was a part of his deeply rooted trauma that he’d never be able to rid himself of.

“That’s gotta be rough,” T.J. offered, and Cyrus felt relief wash over him at his response.  Of course T.J. wouldn’t make fun of him!  This was the same guy who didn’t tease him for singing a song about going down the slide.  How could he expect anything less from T.J. in the first place?

“Yeah, my phobia is high maintenance at times,” Cyrus admitted.  “Especially in the winter when it gets dark earlier than normal.  But I usually go to bed at 8:30, so it’s pretty manageable,” he elaborated.

“You go to bed at 8:30?”  

Cyrus didn’t think the basketball player’s tone could get anymore incredulous.  “Yep!”  He checked his phone, which blinked back at him with the time.  10:27 PM.  Crud!  He hadn’t stayed up this late since he had a late night fashion show with his new James Bond ‘Diamonds Are Forever’ collection.  “And…I might crash any minute.” Cyrus said in desperation.  “We better go to sleep ASAP!”  He hurriedly threw a blanket over him, but it landed on his head instead of his lap, which had been his intended target.  He heard a small chuckle leave T.J.’s mouth, and the boy carefully unveiled it from Cyrus’s head, revealing his now disheveled hair underneath.

“I don’t want to go to sleep yet,” T.J. told him.  Suddenly, the basketball player got a mischievous glint in his eye that made something dark bubble in Cyrus’s stomach.  Whatever he was about to propose was not going to be good.  “Hey, I know.  We should pull an all-nighter!”

Cyrus made a face.  “T.J., I just told you.  I’m scared of the dark,” he whined.

T.J. shrugged.  “I’ll be right here beside you.  Besides, we can leave the lamp on.”

Cyrus looked at T.J.’s hopeful expression on his face, and he relented.  He would be safe with T.J., right?  “Can I get my Diplodocus nightlight?  It helps me sleep at night,” he admitted.

T.J. looked at him blankly.  “Diplo-what?”

Cyrus just shook his head good-naturedly at the boy.  Perhaps they didn’t share an interest for the most fascinating species that had once ruled the earth like Iris had, but Cyrus wouldn’t have it any other way.  “Never mind, I’ll go get it.”

When Cyrus returned with his Diplodocus nightlight, he found T.J. at the entertainment center, ejecting The Wizard of Oz disc (that had long been over) and putting Jurassic Park in its place.

“What are we even going to do all night?” Cyrus asked as he struggled to plug in his nightlight.  He forced it into the outlet, the prongs of the dinosaur light being reluctant to go into the slits in the wall. With one last shove, the device slid into the outlet, causing it to shadow a faint glow throughout the otherwise darkly lit room.  Finally!  Now that that was hooked up…

“I don’t know.  We can keep watching movies, and we can still play Truth or Dare…,” T.J. trailed off as Cyrus rose up next to him.  “Sound good?”  T.J. said, giving him a soft smile.

Cyrus got lost in his blue-green eyes.  “Y-yeah, sounds good,” he stammered.  He felt himself get flustered as he realized he was staring longer than what was considered appropriate, and his eyes darted away in embarrassment. “I gotta go change into my PJs!” he exclaimed, turning his head quickly to hide the blush on his cheeks.

T.J. blinked dazedly, as if he had been broken from a trance.  “Okay?”

Cyrus clambered to his bedroom (almost tripping on the way there), and he closed his door in a flourish, heaving behind it.  How was he going to last the night with T.J. being so…cute, and lovable, and amazing?  He had absolutely no clue.

After dressing himself into his dinosaur pajamas (they fit the occasion, after all), he took a deep breath, his hand gripping the metal door handle tightly.  You can do this, he reminded himself.  Just don’t be weird.  Cyrus almost laughed at his advice to himself.  Not being weird was easier said than done in his case.

As he strolled out into the living room, smoothing out his clothes nervously, his eyes swept over the room.  Where is T.J.? he asked himself in the painstakingly empty living room.  Before he knew it, a loud, “Boo!” sounded behind him, and Cyrus jumped, his heart racing.

“You scared me!” he claimed breathlessly, clutching his hand over his heart.  For the first time, he noticed that T.J. had changed as well.  He was now donning a pair of sweatpants and a white V-neck that almost made Cyrus flush in comparison.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, but the mirth dancing in his eyes gave away the sincerity of his apology.  T.J.’s eyes then flitted down to Cyrus’s attire, and he smirked.  “Cute.”

Cyrus blushed again, and he felt tingly from his head to his toes.  “I know it’s nerdy to have dinosaur pajamas, but…,” Cyrus trailed off, not exactly knowing how to finish.

T.J.’s grin grew even wider.  “I wasn’t making fun of them.”  Oh.  Was…was T.J. calling his pajamas cute?  Or was he referring to Cyrus?

“Thanks,” Cyrus mumbled, his cheeks twinged pink.  This boy was going to be the death of him.  

T.J. flopped down onto the floor, nestling into the narrow space of the double sectional, and he patted the limited space beside him.  Cyrus swiped the remote off of the coffee table and he pressed play before seating himself snugly between the L-shaped part of the couch and T.J., and Cyrus couldn’t help but hold his breath.  T.J. was so close.

T.J. beamed at him, seeming unbothered by their close proximity, and he snatched a blanket off of the back of the couch.  “I’m cold,” he claimed, pulling it across his body.  He threw some of it onto Cyrus’s lap, too, and Cyrus snuggled against its warmth.

“Me, too,” Cyrus said with a small smile on his face.  How he stopped himself from completely melting on the floor, he had no clue.

As the movie started up, the two boys kept up a tame game of Truth or Dare while they watched Dr. Alan Grant and Dr. Ellie Sattler traipse around the park with Lex and Tim.  Whenever Cyrus would ask the infamous question (“Truth or Dare?”), T.J. would always answer with ‘dare’, to which Cyrus had to rack his brain to conjure up for (most of the dares he gave T.J. consisted of prank calling random people from school, since Cyrus did not want T.J. to leave their comfy little spot on the floor).  It was a while of back and forth, but, after a round that ended on Cyrus’s turn, it was apparent that T.J. was beginning to slowly lose consciousness.  

“T.J.!” Cyrus exclaimed as the boy next to him slumped onto his shoulder.  His heart began to pound at the prospect of being by himself in the dark.  While normally he felt safe with his nightlight on, he still felt like he was being swallowed whole by the surrounding void around him.  The living room was a lot bigger than his bedroom!

Cyrus began to tug on T.J.’s sleeve, and T.J. nuzzled against Cyrus’s shoulder at the motion instead of waking up like Cyrus had hoped.  “T.J., wake up!” he hissed urgently.

A loud, rattling stomp sounded from the surround sound system, and Cyrus felt himself tremble.  His favorite cold-blooded friends seemed a lot scarier when it was dark out.  “T.J.!” he called out again.

“Hmm?” the boy murmured, lifting his head slightly.  He rubbed his eyes tiredly and glanced at his surroundings in a confused manner before his eyes landed back onto Cyrus.  “What’s wrong?”

Cyrus cracked a small smile at the boy’s mussed hair, but a scream from the television reminded him of the fear that was bubbling in his stomach.  “The movie is scaring me,” he admitted.  

T.J. huffed and slumped back onto Cyrus’s shoulder.  “I thought you’ve seen this movie before.”

“Never in the dark,” he said worriedly.  He continued to fiddle with T.J.’s T-shirt anxiously, its soft, soothing material feeling nice against Cyrus’s fingertips.

T.J. drew in a breath of air and exhaled deeply, and Cyrus shivered from the boy’s breath on his neck.  This wasn’t a normal thing to do, right?  Most boys would never (dare he say it) cuddle…would they?  He had no experience, really, unless he counted Jonah, and they had never gone as far as pats on the back and slung arms around each other’s shoulders.  

Before he had a chance to overthink their current situation, T.J. broke him from his thoughts.  “Tell me all the dinosaurs you know,” T.J. said, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position.  

Cyrus’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.  “What?  How—”

“Just tell me about them,” T.J. mumbled against his shoulder, and Cyrus swallowed before answering him.

“Alright.”  He would take any opportunity to talk about his favorite species, even if he didn’t know T.J.’s motive behind the request.  “There’s the Stegosaurus…oh, did you know it only has a brain the size of a walnut?  Crazy, right?  And the Saltopus…”  Cyrus continued to list all of his favorite dinosaurs, and all of the fun facts he knew about them (did you know that a Argentinosaurus was the longest and the heaviest dinosaur?).  Despite being on the brink of unconsciousness, T.J. tried his hardest to stay awake to listen to him.  He even laughed at some of the puns Cyrus made about dinosaurs, which Cyrus appreciated wholeheartedly.  Most people didn’t value his well thought out reptile puns to the extent that he wanted them to.

By the time he finished his extensive rambling, the credits were rolling onto the screen, and Cyrus realized what T.J.’s intent had been.  He had been trying to distract him from the movie, and it had worked perfectly!  That sly boy…

After he turned off the TV using minimal movement (T.J. had just fallen asleep, and he would’ve felt bad for waking him up again), Cyrus cautiously wrapped an arm around T.J.’s upper torso.  Hey, if he was going to be in this position for the rest of the night, he might as well get comfy, right?  That’s what he told himself, at least.

Before he allowed himself to drift off to sleep, Cyrus looked over at T.J.  This was the boy who had just listened to him babble about dinosaurs for thirty minutes instead of laughing at him.  Who’s to say that T.J. would hate him for being gay?  Or would be opposed to it?  Maybe he would be indifferent, or maybe he’d be supportive.  But, either way, Cyrus really wanted to tell T.J. about his stuff.  And he hoped that T.J. would be open to telling him about his, too.

When Cyrus woke up the next morning, he smelled the distinct scent of sweet maple syrup wafting from the kitchen, and he burst up, completely forgetting that T.J. was leaning on him.

“Ow!” T.J. winced tiredly, burying his head back into Cyrus’s shoulder.  

“Ah, ah, ah,” Cyrus said, shaking him awake, “time to eat breakfast!”

T.J. groaned, but got up nevertheless, fixing his twisted white V-neck as he yawned.  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked as he rubbed his face, trying to wake himself up.

Cyrus grinned.  “If I know my mom, she’s making her famous waffles!”  He hurried over to the kitchen bar, settling himself into a stool, and T.J. followed suit.  Across from the bar was Cyrus’s mom, grabbing plates out of the pantry for the two boys.

“Hey, boys,” she said cheerfully, setting down a plate and a glass in front of them.  She filled each glass up to the brim with orange juice, and Cyrus smiled back at her.

“Good morning, Mom!” he exclaimed.  She came over and kissed his cheek as she plopped down a steaming waffle onto each of their plates.  “Ooh, these are the best waffles ever!”

“They are, aren’t they?” she boasted.  She checked the time before grabbing her suit jacket and a briefcase.  “Me and your stepfather are heading out to the office, so you boys behave yourselves, all right?”  

“We promise!” Cyrus told her while T.J. gave out a weak, “Will do,” and with that, Cyrus’s mom and stepdad were out the door after a flourish of blown kisses and waves goodbye.  Oh, did they love their little boy!

T.J. grabbed the bottle of syrup, squeezing a plentiful amount onto his waffle before cutting off a bite-sized piece with his fork and sticking it into his mouth with a satisfied “mhm”.  Cyrus dug into his own, making sure to pile tons of whipped cream on top of his.  T.J. looked at the bottle with longing eyes before he sprayed some onto his own waffles, too.

“This tastes so good,” he murmured to himself as he stuffed his mouth full.  Cyrus laughed.  

“I told you they were the best!”  T.J. nodded in agreement, adding another waffle or two onto both of their plates.  After they finished up, scraping their plates prior to dropping them into the sink, they both drifted back into the living room, neither of them having a plan on what to do next.  As they plopped onto the couches, their stomachs full, they plunged into an awkward silence.

“Thanks for staying up with me last night,” Cyrus said, daring himself to glance at the boy beside him.  He was so close to T.J. he could just reach out and touch him.  From his spot on the double sectional Cyrus took note of the sharp curve of T.J.’s jawline, the light splay of freckles dotted across his cheeks that were only visible up close, the hue of his eyes (they seemed to vary from color to color, he had realized), and the cute slope of his nose.  And—wait, was that syrup on the corner of his mouth?

“No problem, even though I was supposed to stay up all night with—what are you doing?” T.J. asked.  Cyrus paused, boring into his eyes and his thumb ceased in motion.  I didn’t even realize I was doing that!

Cyrus quickly withdrew his hand, almost as if T.J.’s skin had burned him, and he blushed deeply.  “Sorry, uh…,” how do I explain this without sounding weird? “…you had syrup on your face.”  

T.J. gave Cyrus that small smirk he had become accustomed to, and the butterflies in his stomach flared up at the gesture.  “Oh, okay.”  Just then, a buzz emitted from T.J.’s phone (saving Cyrus from the tense silence that was sure to follow), and T.J. grabbed it from the coffee table where it had been resting.  He read the message and typed a quick reply before tossing it aside carelessly.  “My mom’s coming to pick me up in twenty minutes.”

Cyrus’s stomach dropped.  He had been planning to tell T.J. his secret today!  And now he was pressed for time…maybe he should postpone?

No, a voice in his head (that suspiciously sounded like Buffy) interrupted him.  You can do this.  It’ll be okay.

Cyrus took a deep breath before he returned back to reality to find T.J. staring back at him.

“You okay?” the basketball player asked him with worried eyebrows, and Cyrus nodded once, building up the courage the meet T.J.’s eyeline.

“I hope I will be.”  At T.J.’s confused expression, Cyrus just shook his head.  “I wanted to tell you about my stuff,” he admitted.

T.J. grinned.  “Oh, so you have other stuff besides being afraid of the dark and swinging too high?” he teased, and Cyrus smiled back, but wasn’t able to match T.J.’s mirth with all the knots in his belly making him feel nauseated.

“Yeah.  This is worse.” he said, his heart beginning to pound.  There’s no going back now.  “I have a crush.”

T.J. tilted his head to the side slightly in confusion.  “That’s not too bad.”

Cyrus gulped.  Here goes nothing.  “On a boy.”

T.J.’s eyebrows jumped in surprise.  Clearly he had not expected that to come out of Cyrus’s mouth.  “Really?” he asked in pure disbelief.

Cyrus’s stomach plunged.  Was he wrong about T.J.?  Would T.J. stop being his friend just because he liked boys instead of girls?  “Yeah.  Are…are you okay with that?” Cyrus asked worriedly, fidgeting with material of his dinosaur pajamas.  In order to avoid looking at T.J. (he was probably giving him murderous glances at the moment), he began to list the dinosaurs he saw on his PJs.  Oh, look, a T-Rex.  And there’s a Velociraptor.  Ooh, and a Triceratops…

T.J. snorted, shaking Cyrus from his train of thought.  “Cyrus, I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I wasn’t.”

Cyrus’s head jerked up in surprise.  Had he heard that right?  “Wait, what?” he said bluntly.  He was in too much shock to be embarrassed.  Was T.J. like him?  Had he been gay all along?

T.J. sighed, and he twiddled with the tassles hanging decoratively off of one of the couch pillows, mirroring Cyrus’s nervous tactics from a few moments before.  “I like a guy, too.”

Cyrus’s eyes widened.  He had definitely not expected this at all.  “Oh.  On who?”

T.J. paused on fidgeting with the tassles, and he gave a raised eyebrow.  “Do you really want to know?”

Cyrus nodded fervently at the boy’s remark, and T.J.’s expression morphed into a slight smirk at Cyrus’s eager response.  “Guess we’ll have to play Truth or Dare to find out.”

Under normal circumstances Cyrus would’ve laughed and humored the boy, but this was no ordinary circumstance, and he was hungry for information.  “Okay, T.J., truth or da—”

“Ah, ah, ah, Underdog,” T.J. chastised him, much like how Cyrus had done to him earlier that morning.  “It’s my turn.”  Cyrus nearly slapped himself.  Of course it was T.J.’s turn.  What if T.J. asked him about his crush?  And would he tell him the truth?  Should he?  And what if T.J. liked him back?  He hadn’t even thought about that possibility…

Cyrus shoved all of his questions and comments to the back of his mind, all of them overwhelming his brain.  Just focus on the task at hand, he reminded himself.  That seemed to calm him down.

“Underdog, truth or dare?” T.J. asked with a smirk so wide that it made Cyrus feel uneasy.

“Truth,” he responded as his heart pounded in his chest.  What could go wrong with the truth?

T.J. smiled at his response.  Uh oh.  This couldn’t be good.  “Who do you like, Cyrus?”

Cyrus’s heart completely stopped beating.  That.  That is what could go wrong with the truth.  “I’m afraid to say.”

T.J. lightly tapped his knee.  “I won’t judge.”

Cyrus gulped, and he squeezed his eyes shut.  Was it too late to back out?  “I like…,” I can’t believe I’m about to say this, “…you,” he breathed out.  His heart skipped.  “I like you, T.J.”

The boy in front of him seemed to remain indifferent to his confession, but Cyrus thought he caught a hint of a smile being fought back.  Or maybe he was reading too much into T.J.’s expressions?  He did tend to have an overactive imagination at times.

“Your turn,” T.J. reminded him, managing to maintain a straight face.  Cyrus silently cursed at him for his poker face.  He could put gamblers to shame.

“Truth or dare?” Cyrus asked breathlessly.

T.J. pretended to think about it before answering.  “Truth.”

Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat, and he fought back a smile.  Normally T.J. picked dare.  “Who do you like, T.J.?”

T.J. scooted a few centimeters closer, which didn’t go unnoticed by Cyrus.  “Well, the guy I like is super smart…” Don’t get your hopes up, Cyrus.  It could be anyone.  “And he really, really likes chocolate chocolate-chip muffins.”  Anyone can have an affinity for those, they’re delicious!  “I had to help get him one once, actually.”  

An indescribable feeling bloomed throughout Cyrus’s entire body, and he raised his head to meet T.J.’s line of sight.  Surely there couldn’t have been more than one guy that T.J. had helped get a chocolate chocolate-chip muffin, right?  “Really?”

“Really.”  Before Cyrus could squeal, or do anything to remotely express the unlimited amount of joy he was feeling in that moment, T.J. spoke.  “So, Cyrus, truth or dare?”

Cyrus was confused for a second.  T.J. still wanted to play?  Even after they had confessed their feelings for each other?  He glanced at T.J. unsurely; what did he have up his sleeve?  “You know what?  I’ll choose dare.”  

A smile broke out onto T.J.’s face; Cyrus gave him exactly what he wanted.

T.J. inched closer to him, and Cyrus’s breath caught in his throat at the action.  “I dare you to kiss me.”

Cyrus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.  Wait…T.J. wanted him to kiss him?  On the lips?  Was he serious?  Surely he couldn’t have meant that…

His eyes flickered unsurely up to T.J., who looked pretty confident in his statement.  When T.J. raised his eyebrows expectantly, Cyrus took a deep breath and, in a sudden burst of confidence, shakily leaned forward.  Was he actually doing this?  Was this actually happening?

Cyrus’s eyes flitted down to T.J.’s lips one last time before he closed his eyes and plunged forward, pressing his lips firmly against T.J.’s.  He was actually doing this!

His heart hammered in his chest as T.J.’s lips moved softly against his own, and a warm feeling blossomed in his chest.  This was probably the most exciting thing to happen to him, ever!

Cyrus, originally having no place for his hands, ended up cradling both sides of T.J.’s face while T.J.’s hands rested on the side of his neck, his fingers curling around the nape of his neck, and Cyrus was pretty sure that they had both died and gone to heaven.  Stuff like this didn’t happen to him.  Surely this was some beautiful, amazing dream!  And definitely one that he never wanted to end!

Eventually they broke apart, both of them desperately needing air, and Cyrus beamed in disbelief as he caught his breath.  “That was…”

“Wow,” T.J. agreed, running a hand through his tousled hair incredulously.  His eyes were sparkling, and Cyrus wondered if his own eyes were mirroring T.J.’s delirious expression.  

Their eyes met in their half-dazed state, and T.J. began to lean in once more, causing Cyrus’s heart to pound in anticipation.  However, before their lips met again, they were both shaken from their mesmerized stupor by a rattling honk! that emitted from outside.

T.J. sighed at the sudden sound.  “That would be my mom,” he said, reluctantly pulling away from Cyrus.  He began to collect his belongings near the entryway, and Cyrus shuffled behind him, unwilling to let the boy go just yet.  

As T.J. slung his backpack over his shoulder, he quickly pulled on his shoes and tucked his sleeping bag under his arm.  “Looks like I got this out for noth—hmph!”  Cyrus cut him off with one last sweet, chaste kiss on the lips, and he abruptly pulled away before T.J. had time to react.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?  At the swings?” Cyrus asked, a deep blush highlighting his cheeks.

T.J. beamed widely in response, and he ruffled Cyrus’s hair before he strolled out the door.  “I’ll see you there,” he said, grinning over his shoulder.  As Cyrus watched T.J. descend down the porch steps, waving at him one last time before he left his line of sight, he leaned against the door frame with a smile on his face.  Sleepovers were more than he bargained for, that’s for sure!

Bless this for finally being finished.  I absolutely loved this prompt (you guys should’ve seen the outline for this, it was pretty hilarious!), and I hope all of you guys like it, too.  Please leave a comment to let me know if my hard work paid off at all (seriously, comments and kudos are so encouraging and I appreciate them tons!).  Check me out on AO3 and fanfiction.net, as well.  Thanks for reading!

~emmagrace13

[sakurauchiha2018]

A Little Faith

Hey guys! Sorry that this is late...life gets in the way sometimes and things have been rough. Hopefully I can get the next update soon. 

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4 

My stomach hurts from laughing and there’s a slight haze in the room. We barely made it through the first half of the movie before the boys decided to start playing games. Cho-Cho, Hima and I are left sitting on the couches watching them be idiots. Boruto and Inojin are currently trying to complete a game of pool without losing interest. My eyes turn back to Himawari who seems to be keeping a close eye on Inojin.

“You know Hima, a picture lasts longer.” I snicker before taking another sip of my drink, a tingling feeling goes down my throat and my lips turn in a scowl. Drinking has never been I forte but tonight I decided to join in on the fun. Mama is probably going to scold me once she smells it, oh well. A blush spreads on her face before she narrows her eyes at me.

“I could say the same Sara! The way you look at my brother is too cute.” I cringe at the childish nickname, it’s been so long since someone’s called me that. My hand waves in front of my face and I can’t help but feel flustered by her statement. Ever since Monday I’ve been a little more flustered talking about Boruto. He hasn’t said those three words since then. Does he regret saying it? My eyes meet Hima’s again and I can see a fire and curiosity burning in those blue orbs. She’s definitely grown more bold and confident in college.

Cho-Cho jumps beside me and so does Hima. They both lean in close, my facial expression has given me away to these two. Sighing I take another gulp of my drink trying to wash away whatever evidence of my embarrassment is there.

“So what’s going on with you and Boruto? You two seem more drawn to each other than normal.” Cho-Cho questions as she leans even closer to me. She’s always been a hopeless romantic, always watching everyone around her and noticing things the normal person wouldn’t. Truth be told I haven’t noticed a change between us physically.

“Yeah, big brother couldn’t keep his eyes off of you during the movie. Even now he can’t.” The tips of my ears feel red hot and I have to keep myself from turning around. Maybe I should tell them? I haven’t talked to anyone about it. Sighing I relax into the couch and stare into the red cup I’m holding.

“There’s something. Just keep your voices down when I tell you.” I whisper so the boys behind us don’t over hear. We’ve tried to be like my parents when it comes to personal stuff.

“Did you two, ya know?” Cho-Cho wiggles her brows at me and instantly my face is red. Of course she would take it that far.

“What? No! That’s gross Cho-Cho. Boruto….he told me he loves me.” The last two words come out as a whisper, almost too low for their ears to hear. Hima’s arms are wrapped tightly around me and Cho-Cho does the same.

“About time! Sometimes I feel like Big Brother is just a big idiot.” That makes two of us Hima. Smiling I wiggle free from their hold and turn all attention back to the youngest one here.

“Since I told you that, what’s going on with you and Inojin?” Now it’s my turn to wiggle my brows and question her. It’s obvious that she has a crush on him, she has for a long time now. Blue eyes look back towards the group of loudmouths and then back to us, a huge smile spread on her face.

“He’s been coming to see me on the weekends. Oh and we went on a date a few weeks ago.” Her thumbs pick at the edge of her shorts and the look in her eyes makes my body warm. It’s the same look I see when Mama talks about Papa and when Uncle Naruto talks about Aunt Hinata. Inojin has always been protective of Himawari. Whenever she was having a rough day he would make sure to try and cheer her up. It makes sense that they’d be great together.

“Just don’t tell Big Brother. I don’t want to tell them until it’s an official thing.”

“No worries Himawari! Your secret is safe with us.” Cho-Cho grins widely at her before we’re all pulled up from the couch. Boruto’s cheeks are slightly red from either drinking or yelling, not sure which one. His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me over to the pool table. Instead of being forced to play, Boruto is holding onto me tightly as the others team up for a game. Normally I would be uncomfortable with this type of affection but these are our closest friend so it’s fine. His chin rests on the top of my head and we both watch the others begin their game.

“What were you three talking about?” His hushed voice only reaches my ears and I simply shrug my shoulders as a response. Inojin and Himawari are trying their best to not make things obvious but the more I watch them the more I see their real connection. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I fish it out from between us, pinching the blonde’s side before the device comes to eye level.

‘Mitsuki- I should be there soon. Date night ran over.’

“Who’s he dating?” And here I thought they were best friends.

“Remember our class rep senior year?”

“Really? Sumire? Never thought that would happen.” I can understand what he means though. Back in our Freshman year she thought Boruto was the coolest guy in class and wanted to get closer to him. After watching him closer and realizing that Boruto can be an immature prankster she changed her mind. That’s when Mitsuki stepped in, their personalities mesh well together.

“That’s because you liked the attention she gave you.”

Before he could argue Shikadai throws down his stick in defeat, that was quick.

“How do you two always beat us?” Cho-Cho whines before plopping down on the floor.

“Because Inojin knows all of your moves.” I try to keep the words a whisper but it seems that they don’t like very much as eyes lock on to me. Waving my hands in front of my face as a defense I blush crimson red and try to hide. A few laughs came from them before the walk over to the main event.

“Let’s have a tournament!” Boruto shouts before I’m unwrapped from his arms. A slight huff of annoyance comes out as the others set up a chart, knowing well enough that I won’t play. Honestly it’s too easy of a game for me. It’s a pattern that repeats itself over and over again. Too boring and predictable for me.

The door clicks open and in walks in Mitsuki with a huge grin on his face. Walking over to him I point at the others.

“You’ll end up playing.”

“I know. You’ve never been one for that game. Is Mrs. Sakura home?”

“No. My parents went out for the night.”

“Well then let’s have some fun.” He smiles widely and instantly joins the party. I lean over on the pool table watching the closely as my hand rubs against the soft felt. My phone vibrates again and I look down confused by the message.

‘Unknown- Watch your back.’

My brows furrow and my stomach twists from the threat. It could be just a harmless prank by one of my other friends or just bored teenagers. Maybe I should show this to Uncle Itachi on Monday. Swiping the screen so it disappears all of my attention is focused on the green felt. The feeling in my stomach doesn’t fade and I can feel my chest tighten. Monday morning I’m going straight to my uncle and figuring out what’s going on, I can’t tell my parents because they have enough on their plate.

Taking the cue ball in my hand, I push it slightly towards the pocket. With a soft clank it tips over the edge. My eyes lock onto to the backs of the people precious to me. Hopefully this text was an empty threat and nothing more because if it’s not then I will have to protect all of them too. Cho-Cho comes up to me waving a cup underneath my nose, the strong scent of alcohol causes me to snarl. This must be mine since she’s already drinking from another, there’s no point in denying the drink. The strong mixture burns as it runs down my throat but with each drink the worries disappear into the back of my mind and eventually it is gone.

My cheeks burn and Cho-Cho gives me a wide, bright smile. A flashback of when we were younger and carefree comes to the front of my mind and I instinctively wrap my arms around her neck. Throughout my childhood she was there if I ever needed her and vice versa.

“Okay, okay. Geez you’re an affectionate drunk.” She groans in my ear but doesn’t push me away. The laughter of our friends breaks me from our hold and I move over to the group with a slight skip in my step. Boruto is standing behind the dance pads and I wrap my arms around his waist, letting my cheek rest on his back. The scent of fresh rain and grass makes its way to my nose and my body relaxes even more into his. A chuckle vibrates through him making my head move away so he can spin in my arms. Crystal blue eyes stare straight at me, a flush covering his cheeks as well. It seems that Cho-Cho has made everyone one of her signature drinks. Even in my intoxicated state I can’t help but stare at him like I did earlier in my room. One of the many things that I love about him is his eyes, they always seem to calm me when it’s been a rough day. They carry a shine to them that makes your while body relax from one look. It’s like staring into a crystal clear lake, all of your worries get washed away for just a moment.

Someone clears their throat breaking my concentration, my eyes meet with Hima’s and instantly I feel my face turn red hot. Looks like our moment has been broken as my arms drop. My legs are carrying me on their own and without thinking I find myself on the dance pad beside Inojin. Our eyes meet and the signature Uchiha smirk plasters on my face.

“You sure you want to play?” His voice is cocky but I just shrug my shoulders.

“Sarada you can do this!” Hima and Cho-Cho cheers from behind us as the screen starts the song. My eyes watch the pattern form and everything else moves on its own. A wide smile spreads on my face as I let my feet do the work and my brain takes a break from over thinking. The cheers of my friends don’t even register until the song is over, the winner sign flashing over my name.

“No way! I thought you hated this game?” Shikadai yells as I’m stepping down, one round was more than enough for me.

“It’s too easy of a game honestly.” My hands reach for my cup again knowing that my female best friend has refilled all of them. Two more take the game over and I close my eyes to catch my break. Honestly who invented a video game where you actually have to exercise in order to play? Only my friends would mix that with strong alcohol. Reopening my eyes, I let my breathing even out before the room is filled with laughter. Our ears don’t even register the door open as Boruto and Hima are dancing.

“Sarada!” The cup almost falls from my hands, bright green eyes clash against mine but I can see that there’s no anger in them. My mother’s cheeks are bright red as well, even my father has a slight pink tint to his cheeks. It seems date night was a success! Mama pulls me into a death grip causing us to almost tumble into the floor. Her eyes glance up to see the siblings playing on the pads.

“Sasuke-kun! I wanna play!!” The childish side of my mother begin to break through. Papa’s head shakes for a moment before a huge sigh escapes his lips, we all know that there’s no way he can tell her no. As they finished their song, my parents make their way over to the pads and I wrap around Boruto again.

For a moment the façade that my father puts on breaks away and he smiles over at my mother as they play. Their eyes meet during some of the game and a few laughs are shared between them. This is a side that not many get to see, I’ve only seen it a few times myself. All of my friends are in awe for the moment knowing that the song is coming to an end. The winner sign flashed over Mama’s name and she squealed in victory. A yawn escapes my mouth before a cough follows behind it, at least the others are still focused on my parents. Looking at the screen of my phone with blurry eyes I notice that it’s past midnight, my bed is calling my name. Mama walks over to me again and wraps an arm around me, her lips close to my ear.

“Everyone stays the night.” Her face backs away and those pink brows wiggle just a little from her words. My cheeks instantly burn as I realize what she’s insinuating. Papa looks at us both closely before ushering my mother from the room. There are times when my mother can be completely childish but responsible at the same time.

“Mama said that everyone needs to stay the night.”

“Sleep over at the Uchiha’s! It’s been forever.” Cho-Cho shouts as she runs down the hallway to the spare rooms. The boys follow closely behind her except for Boruto. Him and Himawari seem to be having a deep conversation by the looks on their faces. Almost mirroring the face I had earlier on the couch. I don’t know whether to walk over to their conversation or leave them be. My body starts to move on its own out of the door and begin the semi long walk towards my bedroom, but as soon as I’m through the threshold a warm hand rests on my wrist. Without looking I know it’s my guy holding onto me. I lead the way to the safety of my room, not caring what my father will think tomorrow. All I want is to curl under the warmth of my blanket with Boruto.

So that’s what I do. I quickly duck into the closet to strip off my clothing and replace it with a simple pair of shorts and t-shirt. When I come back I see Boruto has taken off most of clothing and lays in the bed waiting for me. Tucking myself against him, I feel his heart hammering against my back. Whatever they talked about must’ve been important since he’s still thinking about it. His words from earlier ring in my mind.

“What were you two talking about?” A smirk forms on my sleepy face. His head shakes no just like I did earlier. Huffing I turn in his arms and place a small kiss on the center of his chest.

“Later Sarada. You need to sleep.” Circles are lazily drawn on my back in a soothing rhythm. We’ve only ever shared a bed together twice before this and each time we never touched like this. Too afraid that our parents would catch us and be angry, but honestly I don’t care anymore. Taking in another deep breath I feel his hold on me tighten before my eyes close firmly.

Just as the darkness takes me under I feel a pair of warm lips pressed against my forehead. Warmth spreads through my whole body, each muscle relaxes and I lean closer into his chest. My nose is almost smashed completely flat but not to where it’s uncomfortable.

“Good night Sarada.” His voice is soft and before long a small snore fills my ears. Smiling I just nod and let my exhaustion take over.

I just want to thank @kairi-chan for helping me stay motivated. You truly are amazing! Here soon my ask box will be empty as well 😊

[welllpthisishappening]

Tripping Over the Blue Line (10/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: I love Elsa and Anna and that is a trend that will continue going forward. Do not try and ignore Elsa when she’s calling you, basically. I am just in constant awe of how much you guys love this story and it’s the nicest and you’re all the nicest. As always, I am nothing without @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan. Tell them they’re fantastic internet. I’ve also started tag’ing any messages I get “blue line rambles” so that’s also happening.  Hanging out on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up from the start on Tumblr. 

His hand was killing him.

No scratch that – his entire body was killing him, every single muscle and nerve ending and something in the general vicinity of his collarbone. It all felt like it was twisted and turned and pinched in a way Killian was almost certain was impossible.

Fuck.

Hans fucking Soyer.

He should have seen it coming – should have known as soon as the puck hit the ice and he went out for his first shift. Soyer wasn’t concerned with preseason monikers. He didn’t even seem particularly concerned with the fact that the Penguins had actually wonthe Cup last season, had beat the Rangers in the playoffs and left Killian on the outside looking in when it came to postseason glory.

Soyer didn’t care.

He’d never cared.

He hit like it was Game Seven and, this time, he only seemed to be concerned with Killian – and taking out his knees.

Killian should have been ready for it. He was an idiot. Soyer had always been like that – hit first, ask questions later. Even at school. He’d set some sort of penalty-minute record at Minnesota during his sophomore season and walked around campus like that was something to actually be proud of.

He’d won the title with them – a fourth-line winger who’d come into Minnesota with Liam and barely saw any ice-time in the Tournament – and he declared after as well.

Only no one drafted Hans Soyer.

There was no press conference, no cheering family in the background or jerseys that inexplicably had his name on it as soon as he crossed the stage. That happened for Killian and Liam. It didn’t happen for Hans.

He, eventually, got picked up – by the Flames on a bottom-of-the-barrel free agent contract that barely paid for an apartment in Calgary – and spent the last eight years bouncing around the league, racking up hits and penalty minutes and two-game suspensions handed down by the commissioner’s office.

This was his second stint in Pittsburgh.

“Killian, I swear to God, if you don’t stop moving so much on this table, I’m actually going to call El, get her to fly to Pittsburgh and punch you in the face.”

He turned his head, shifting on the table again and Victor groaned loudly, rolling his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. “She’s called me five times already,” Victor added and, this time, Killian groaned. “The last one included the twins, so, you know, take that into account when you keep moving and threatening to hurt yourself even more.” He wasn’t sure that was possible.

Everything hurt. All at once.

He didn’t entirely remember the fight, just remembered throwing the punch and a right hook colliding with Soyer’s helmet and the refs had tried to pull them apart. It was a goddamn preseason game. No one was supposed to fight in a preseason game.

But Soyer wouldn’t shut up.

He kept talking and hitting and, aside from everything else, Killian was convinced there was a bruise the size of the entire state of Minnesota on the back of his leg from all the times Soyer had checked him in the calf.

And, for the most part, he’d ignored it.

It was a preseason game.

He ignored it for two periods. They were winning. It didn’t matter. And then Soyer hit him again, knocked him against the boards and Killian could feel the stick in his back, even through his pads, and he heard the muttering, even over the crowd noise and the whistles.

“It was your fault,” Soyer mumbled, pushing his stick up under the pads on Killian’s back and he was practically hanging over his shoulder.

That was enough. He saw red and heard the rushing in his ears and his gloves were on the ice before he’d really even considered any other, vaguely mature, preseason -appropriate option. He hit him. Hard.

And Soyer hit back. Harder.

The whistles kept blowing and Killian could hear Robin and Will behind him, trying to pull him away before he did something stupid like get a major in a preseason game. Robin eventually got a hold of his shoulder, almost dragging him towards the box, but Soyer wouldn’t shut up, was still shouting about Liam and the Cup and Killian might have actually lost his mind. He turned back around.

“It might have been my fault,” he yelled, “but the league wanted Liam. This team’s just taken pity on you, let you play goon for the fans.” It was a mistake. A bad mistake. One he normally wouldn’t have made in any other circumstance and this was on TV. Roland saw. Fuck, Emma saw. He hadn’t been thinking. He just wanted to hit Soyer again.

Hard.

He just hadn’t been entirely prepared for Soyer to charge at him, hands in his jersey and tugging on his pads and Killian felt his back collide with the boards before he’d even completely come to terms with the idea of fighting again.

In a preseason game.

He’d gotten hurt in a preseason game.

“When did El call?” he asked, glancing at Victor who was still leaning against the doorway of the away team’s training room, arms crossed and legs crossed and a disappointed look on his face. “And where’s my phone exactly?” “Which time? The first one was probably as soon as you got hit, on national TV, by the way. A whole audience of hockey fans saw you act like a complete idiot on national TV. Times two through four were while you were in the MRI. And time five was just now before I came in here to tell you about time five.” Killian winced. He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have let Soyer get under his skin, but he had and five phone calls later, he’d absolutely freaked out El.

She’d never say it out loud, but he knew, every time he stepped on the ice, she worried. And he’d never actually been hurt on the ice before.

“Did…” Killian started, but Victor just nodded before he could even get the question out.

“Anna called three times. It was like they were alternating shifts on the phone or something.”

“And Gina called me twice,” Robin added, stepping into the tiny room and knocking his knuckles against Killian’s shoulders.

“Jeez, Locksley,” Victor sighed. “Don’t hurt him anymore than he already is.” “The MRI came back already?” Killian asked, shifting on the table again so Robin could move next to him. He tossed his phone into Killian’s lap and the stupid thing buzzed as soon as it hit his shorts. Voicemail. “Oh, and hey, did we win?” “Preseason,” Robin muttered. “And Rol’s totally convinced you’re dead, so call him back at some point.” Killian rolled his eyes, ignoring that particular piece of guilt-inducing information, and stared at Victor. “MRI?” Victor shook his head. “Your collarbone’s a disaster. Bruised to complete shit. But no concussion, at least as far as I can tell. We’ll get the MRI tomorrow and more tests tomorrow, so actually show up at some sort of professional time or I really will call El.” “No concussion?” Robin repeated, voice as serious as Killian had ever heard it. He glanced at him, eyebrows drawn low and he hadn’t really expected this level of overprotection. “Like, nothing?” “Tomorrow,” Victor said again. “We’ll know for certain tomorrow, but I mean, I’ve got a degree and I don’t think it’s a concussion. Just your regular run of the mill upper-body injury. I bet Ruby’s already got the release sent out.” “She’s probably just got a template at this point,” Killian muttered, running his hands through his hair. He needed to take a shower. They’d pulled him off the ice and gotten him in the machine and made sure his pupils still dilated properly, but they’d never actually given him five minutes to shower. “How long?” “Be more specific,” Victor said.

“Run of the mill upper-body. How long will that keep me off?” Victor shrugged. “The results come back tomorrow.” “You sound like a broken record.” “That’s because the answer’s not going to change.” “Guess then.” “Killian.” “Guess.” Victor made a face, finally, walking in the room and there really shouldn’t have been three people in there at the same time. “Probably the rest of the preseason,” he said under his breath, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud. “Maybe longer.” “Longer?” Killian asked, shouting the word and jumping off the table. That was a mistake. He clenched his teeth, hissing in the seemingly tiny bit of oxygen in the room and run of the mill upper-body also apparently hurt his entire body.

“Sit down,” Victor said, taking a step towards him. Killian glared at him, but actually sat down, huffing slightly for good measure. He almost sat on his phone. It was buzzing again, a string of text messages threatening to send it careening onto the floor. “God, idiot.” “How long?” Killian repeated, grabbing the phone and silencing it before he threw it on the ground. “Will I miss the opener?” “Cap, I don’t know,” Victor sighed and even Robin was shooting him disappointed glares now. “If I knew I would tell you. Honestly. But Soyer hit you and he hit you hard and A’s going to have a conniption over scheduling PT training. She called me three times while you were getting MRI’ed.” “Does no one have anything better to do on this team than make phone calls during games?”

“Preseason games,” Robin mumbled and Killian sighed, falling back onto the table with all the grace of someone who’d just been pushed forcibly into the boards of a hockey arena. “Also, you might want to answer that.” “What?”

“Your phone. El’s calling again.”

“If you don’t answer, she’s going to start calling everyone else,” Victor pointed out when, apparently, Killian didn’t move quickly enough. He grumbled under his breath – certain Victor was more right than he actually realized and almost surprised it hadn’t started happening yet – groaning slightly when he moved and grabbed his phone.

He didn’t even get a word out before the lecture began.

“Are you serious KJ?” Elsa hissed, each word sounding a bit more frustrated than the last one. He didn’t let himself consider the nickname, the way she’d used that more than ever in the last two weeks or how her voice caught just a bit on the two letters. She shuffled slightly on the other end, like she was trying to shift the phone on her shoulder and her voice got a bit softer when she started talking to someone that wasn’t actually Killian.

“No, sweethearrt, he’s fine,” she muttered. “Yeah, yeah, he knows you’re asking. Ok, he knows you’re both asking. Give me a few minutes, ok? I promise.” Elsa moved again and there were footsteps in the background and Liam’s voice as he tried to corral the twins before they could hear their mother screaming at their uncle.

“I’m fine, El,” Killian muttered, all too aware of Victor and Robin still staring at him expectantly. “Honestly.” She sighed into the phone, not even trying to mask the sound. She did, however, try to mask the sniffle – it didn’t work. “El,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair and wrapping them around his neck tightly. That was also a mistake. His neck, it appeared, was just as bruised as the rest of his body. “You can ask Victor. Generic upper-body. Not even a concussion.” “How long?” “What?” “How long will you be out?” Killian rolled his eyes and he should have expected the question. Elsa had watched as much hockey as Killian had ever played and she knew as well as he did which questions to ask.

“A few weeks. They’ll know more tomorrow.” “MRI?” “Already done.” She hummed in agreement and they’d jumped from concerned to clinic so quickly it felt a bit like whiplash. “There’s not anything to worry about, El,” Killian muttered, but she was scoffing before the words were completely out of his mouth and he ran his hand over his face.

“What’d he say?”

“Who?” “KJ!” “Nothing, El,” he lied quickly and it was painfully obvious how quickly she saw through it. Elsa scoffed again, the sound vibrating through the phone and he could hear the mattress creak when she sank onto the bed in her and Liam’s room. “It was just normal on-ice stuff. He’s always been a dick, you know that.” “Yup.” “El.” “It’s totally fine. It’s not like you’re going to miss the whole preseason now or he’s in the Metro with you this season and you’ve got to deal with FA stuff. It’s fine. Totally fine.” She paused, taking a deep breath and Killian knew she’d squeezed her eyes shut. “You know Gina called me the other day.” “Of course she did.” “Are you crazy?” “About which part? Hitting Soyer and getting my ass kicked or wanting….” He cut himself off, eyes darting to Robin was who was staring at him with narrowed eyes and slightly tilted mouth, his own phone held loosely in his hand.

“You’re not by yourself are you?” Elsa asked knowingly. Killian hummed in the back of his throat and he heard her shift again, the mattress making noise in the background and someone was knocking on the door – likely two someones. “Ok,” she continued slowly, “both parts, by the way, they’re both incredibly stupid.” “A rather pointed opinion.” “And the right one. C’mon, KJ, you can’t be serious. I watched it. You turned around and yelled something at him! Why’d you do that?” “He couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” Killian mumbled and Victor muttered something under his breath that was also a rather pointed opinion . “I’m fine, El. A couple of bruises, no concussion, a few weeks off and I’m back for the opener.”

“Yuh huh.” The pounding on the door in Colorado was getting more insistent and he could even hear Liam’s voice now, shouting something about how he’d tried to keep them occupied and Killian laughed before he could stop himself, more than earning the glare that was likely on Elsa’s face at the moment. “You know Charlie cried,” Elsa continued, an accusatory edge in her voice that had gotten sharper the longer this conversation continued. “Like actual tears on his actual face.” “Yeah, well, Rol apparently thinks I’m dead,” Killian sighed, pushing off the table and ignoring the combined gasps of Victor and Robin when he started walking towards the hallway. He also ignored the pain that shot through his spine and seemed to land in the pit of his stomach, settling there like a weight and making it difficult to actually move. He was finished having an audience for this conversation.

“You hit the boards hard,” Elsa said, voice catching a bit and there was more sniffling again. “It took awhile for you to actually get up.” He’d been in the Paints more times than he could count at this point, could walk the hallways without even thinking about where he was going, but the one moment he needed to find a few inches of space that weren’t surrounded by people and team staff and questions about how he was feeling,  Killian had come up decidedly short.

“I’m fine El,” he repeated again, sounding like the broken record he’d just accused Victor of being.

“So you’ve mentioned.” “It’s true. It’s just a rather painful reminder that I’m woefully out of fighting practice.” Elsa groaned and her laugh was shaky at best, but it was still a laugh and that had what he’d been going for in the first place. “Did you call Rol back and let him know you’re not dead?” “Not yet.” “You should do that.” “Aye aye, mom.” The laugh was genuine now and he could feel the smile inching across his face as he ducked into the doorway that was, somehow, devoid of people, leaning against the wall and gripping his phone just a bit tighter than normal.

“You’re really ok?” Elsa whispered. “Like for real, for real?” Killian nodded, fully aware that Elsa was on the other side of the country and not a few feet in front of him and he really was an ass. It had been a joke – a long-standing thing with him and Anna, calling Elsa mom whenever she dived into the deep end of overprotective. She’d practically perfected the dive when they were growing up.

She was the oldest and the most mature and Anna and Killian were the same age and not particularly good at listening to authority or coming up with plans that didn’t, somehow, involve public transportation or breaking the rules.

He’d always been very good at breaking the rules.

And if they had been the Four Horsemen growing up, then Elsa was, undeniably, the leader – even if Liam had thought he was for most of their teenage lives. She still was.

She fixed everything. She always had the answers and the plan and that thing she did with the side of her mouth as if to say don’t worry, I’ve got this and every problem any of them had seemed to disappear after that. She made sure Anna had somewhere to go on holidays when she wasn’t traipsing the country – or the entire goddamn world – and she was Liam’s rock after everything and she always knew exactly what to say when Killian was drowning in self-pity and guilt.

And he’d made her cry.

Ass.

“Like for real, for real,” Killian promised and Elsa made a noise in the back of her throat. “Gina shouldn’t have told you about the contract thing. It’s not certain yet.” Elsa took a deep breath and the knocking had finally stopped – Liam’s footsteps sounding down the hall and he might have actually grabbed both twins and dragged them away from the door at this point. “It’s stupid,” she said.

“I thought that was your opinion on fighting Soyer.” “Both things. When did you even come up with this?” Killian shrugged, making an evasive noise and he didn’t want to have this conversation, crowded into a dark corner in the hallway of the arena in Pittsburgh. He still hadn’t showered. “KJ,” Elsa continued. “When? It’s got to have been brewing for awhile right, because you wouldn’t just spring this on Gina without actually thinking about it.”

He took a moment to marvel at just how well Elsa actually knew him before muttering an answer into the phone. “Oh,” she muttered and he could practically see the lightbulb going off over her head. He moved farther into the corner when he heard footsteps nearby gear being dragged down the hallway and they were probably going to leave soon. “When you left, right? That’s when you decided. I thought...I thought something was off.” She could probably read his mind at this point, Killian thought and he was a combination of amazed and frustrated all at the same time. Gina shouldn’t have said anything.

He’d left Colorado a few weeks before the season started – a few weeks before the surprise party that wasn’t a surprise party and Emma and, fuck, Emma.  He hadn’t even looked at his other messages.

She’d gone to Eric’s, had been watching the game, had seen him collide with the boards and yell at Soyer and it seemed a bit too much to hope that she might have been one of the several dozen texts on his phone, but he hadn’t even checked and his stomach was way ahead of his slightly more rational mind, leaping towards hope like it was going for gold in the Olympic long jump.

Killian wanted to go to Colorado.

He hadn’t even wanted to leave when he did. He’d come up with the plan then, bag on his shoulder and car waiting in the driveway and a pair of kids strapped to his side like they were glued there.

Of course Elsa had known.

He’d come back anyway – he had a contract and a Cup to win and he’d run face-first into a sea of feelings and wants and making out with Emma Swan like he was sixteen years old and sneaking around so the Vankalds didn’t find out.

Elsa probably knew that too.

“You can’t do that, KJ,” Elsa continued, unaware of whatever mental battle he was staging in the corner of the hallway. “Liam would kill you.” “It’s not really Liam’s call,” Killian mumbled, bitterness sinking into his voice without his permission.

“But leaving New York? What if you don’t actually win a Cup? You’re just going to give up on everything there? That’s insane. I mean you’ve got the team and your friends and mom and dad.”

“They’re your mom and dad, El. Not mine.” It was angry and childish and not entirely true in the grand scheme of things because Mr. and Mrs Vankald were as much Killian and Liam’s parents as anyone could have ever been, but his whole body hurt and Gina shouldn’t have said anything to Elsa and he couldn’t seem to control his temper in a fucking preseason game.

Elsa clicked her tongue and Killian rolled his eyes, knocking his head back against the wall and running his thumb against his chin. “You should just hang up on me when I say shit like that,” he muttered, working a quiet laugh out of Elsa.

“If I ask you a question right now are you totally going to bite my head off?” “You’re going to ask no matter what, El, so I don’t know why you’re precursing it.”

“What about Emma?” He bit his tongue, tasting blood almost immediately and that was probably for the best since it stopped him from actually biting off Elsa’s head through the phone.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks.

That was hardly enough time to change his entire life plan – or at least part of his life plan if Gina actually agreed to do her job and play agent and get him what he wanted. Three weeks wasn’t anything.

It was a blink, half a moment, hardly even enough time to take a deep breath.

It also didn’t seem to matter.

Three weeks and she’d inched into his life and his consciousness and, God, he hoped she’d texted him. He wasn’t just an ass, he was a selfish ass who actually wanted Emma to be worried about him, wanted tangible evidence that she hadn’t just been watching, but that she might actually care.

He cared. A lot.

And he was smiling again – wider than he had all night, crouched in the corner of this doorway like an idiot, thinking about Emma Swan.

Three weeks.

“What about her?” Killian asked, doing his best to keep his voice even and he knew he’d come up on the wrong end of that as soon as Elsa stared to laugh.

“You kiss her yet? Locksley thinks you have.” “Jeez, El.” “Anna doesn’t think you have. She thinks you’re chickening out.” “I haven’t even told Anna.” “Grapevine or whatever.” Killian lowered his eyebrows, but he wasn’t quite as frustrated as he expected himself to be. “That grapevine didn’t happen to just be you, did it?”

“Would I do that?” “I think you already did.” “She was asking,” Elsa cried. “You kept dodging her questions and you wouldn’t answer her texts and she’s in the middle of nowhere shooting now. She deserves a bit of entertainment.” “Ah, so I’m entertainment for Anna now, huh?” Elsa sighed. “Of course not. We both just want you to be happy, KJ. And you haven’t...anyway, I just think you should be willing to let yourself want something. I know you and you told me her name. You didn’t even tell Liam that.” She was right. Of course. It was a day ending in ‘y,’ so of course Elsa was right.

Except they hadn’t actually talked about it and Emma had told Henry something and there was still something off , something he couldn’t quite put his finger on or define and he couldn’t bring himself to push.

Three weeks, after all, wasn’t a very long time.

“We’ll see, El,” Killian said evasively. “It’s just...it is what it is now.” “She go to Eric’s?” “She works for the team.” “Didn’t answer my question.” “As far as I know.” “And you know this…” “El.” She made a noise in the back of her throat, a mix of confusion and interest and a, frankly, pitiful attempt at innocence and Killian couldn’t even bring himself to sigh at the sound. “We’re talking,” he said quickly. “That’s all.” “That’s all?” Elsa repeated and she definitely sounded like Anna now. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Anna had actually been listening on a third line this entire time. She would have shouted something by now. “Nothing a bit more concrete?” Killian groaned, earning a glance from one of the staffers hauling a bag full of jerseys towards the bus and he was never going to get to shower now. “Three weeks, El,” he said again. “That’s hardly any time.” “Ok, ok, ok, just promise me one thing, please?” “What?”

“Next time you play the Pens, punch Soyer right in the jaw. For me. Ok?” He barked out a laugh, leaning forward at the waist and wincing slightly from the pain of his run-of-the-mill upper body diagnosis. She absolutely knew – she knew what Soyer had said and why he’d yelled back and, now, why he’d miss the entire goddamn preseason.

“You’re a witch, you know that,” Killian mumbled. He could hear Elsa smile.

“Nah, I just know you. I’ll tell the twins you’re fine, but expect Liam to call as soon as you land in New York and yell at you for being an idiot. And critique your fighting technique.” “Yeah, well, I haven’t had to defend his honor in awhile.”

Elsa mumbled something – that probably wasn’t proper for the twins likely pressed on the other side of the door – but he knew she was still smiling. “Make sure you kiss Emma again when you see her too. She was probably worried.” Killian’s mouth dropped open, breath rushing out of him in one vaguely enormous huff and that actually hurt too and Elsa was laughing when she muttered a quick bye KJ and the line was dead before he could even begin to come up with something else to say.

He did, eventually, get to shower, pushed back into the locker room by Will almost as soon as as Elsa had hung up the phone. There were even more messages by the time he’d gotten back out, phone battery dangerously low because the entire world, it seemed, wanted to make sure he wasn’t concussed.

“I told Rol you weren’t dead,” Robin said, lifting his eyebrows when he stared at Killian in the visitor’s locker room. “He’s very relieved.” "I’ll call him,” Killian promised.

“Ah, it’s late now. He’s fine. And you’re not actually dead, so crisis averted on that front. He’ll see you tomorrow and he’ll forget this whole thing ever happened. Although he might have something to say about your technique.” “He’ll apparently have to get in line. El said Liam was disappointed too.” “See,” Will said pointedly, sinking onto the edge of the bench without lifting his eyes away from his phone screen. “That’s why you’ve got to leave the fighting to the professionals, Cap. You know if you hadn’t gotten hurt I bet they would have given you a major.” “In a preseason game,” Robin added.

Killian shrugged, tugging his sweatshirt over his head and ignoring the buzz of his phone on the top shelf of his locker. “Why’d you do it?” Robin continued, glancing up at the noise. “I mean, I know Soyer’s an ass and he kept checking you all night, but that’s not usually your thing. Scarlet’s right. Leave the fighting to the pros.” He didn’t answer at first, grabbing his phone and widening his eyes at the string of texts from Anna, ranging from angry to furious to disappointed that he was absolutely ignoring her now and Will’s breath hitched audibly in his throat.

“He said something about Liam didn’t he?” he asked knowingly and it wasn’t like Will to be quite that perceptive.

Killian still didn’t answer – and that was enough of an answer and both Will and Robin were standing and pacing and clenching their fists like they were going to go find Soyer that moment and punch him in the face, again.

“God what a fucking asshole,” Will muttered and Killian cocked his head to one side, an agreement without actually having to repeat the words. His phone rang and Anna was getting even more impatient now and Will widened his eyes meaningfully. “Where is she even calling from?” “I don’t know, probably the tundra or something. She found service though.” “Better answer before she actually figures out a way to teleport through the phone.” Killian sighed, but somewhere in the middle of being frustrated about missing the rest of the preseason and Soyer’s words and how bad he must have looked fighting on national TV, his pulse had started to thud just a bit unevenly, realization seeping into his veins – people were worried about him.

She didn’t yell as soon as he answered, far more control than Killian realized Anna possessed, and he even got an apology in before she launched into her tirade, cursing him to a variety of different gods and a handful of various underworlds.

And he told her he was fine,  promised not to do it again and even managed to find out where she was shooting that week, four hours outside of Ketchikan in Alaska,  and Anna stopped yelling at him once he asked about her schedule.

They’d made it back to the bus – a half an hour drive to the airport and the private plane and Killian had never wanted to be back in New York more in his entire life – by the time Anna had finished detailing all the plans and the elevations of the several mountains she was planning to climb to get the perfect shot and he rested his head against the window next to him, doing his best not to worry. It probably worked as well as it had for Elsa. And Liam. And probably Mr. and Mrs. Vankald.

Because if they were worried about him careening into the boards that night, then they were even more worried about Anna climbing mountains and taking pictures and it might have been her dream,  but it also scared him to death.

“You’ll be careful, right, Banana?” Killian asked, voice hushed so he didn’t wake up the already dozing Robin in the seat next to him.

Anna groaned on the other end – and she probably rolled her eyes too. “I hate that nickname,” she mumbled, but there was affection in her tone too.

He’d started calling her that the day they moved into the brownstone, butting heads with Anna almost immediately. She was loud and boisterous and she never seemed to stop moving and, well, they were the same age.

Even if Anna claimed she was the older sister.

So he’d come up with the nickname, because even eight-year-old Killian Jones was kind of an ass and he enjoyed seeing the look on Anna’s face whenever he regarded her as a fruit. He wasn’t quite sure when it stopped being an insult and something important, wasn’t certain when she stopped scrunching her nose up at the nickname and, now, he called her that whenever he saw her, arms flung around his neck as she practically leapt on him.

“I’m serious Anna,” Killian continued, shifting in his seat slightly. “I mean, mountains? There’s got to be ice and snow and it’s freezing probably, right?” “KJ, you literally got thrown into the boards tonight and you didn’t get up for hours. Hours! And now you’re telling me I can’t climb a couple of mountains. Think of the pictures.” “Ok, several things, it did not take hours for me to get up. And I’m not telling you that you can’t climb the mountains, just to be careful. The pictures are, obviously, going to be awesome. That’s not even a consideration.” Anna didn’t say anything for a few moments and it might have been the longest she’d been quiet in the history of the entire world. “That was nice, KJ,” she mumbled. “You’re really ok, though? El said the entire preseason.” “I can be nice sometimes,” he shot back, earning a laugh out of Anna. He pushed his head against the window again, condensation sticking to his hair and his forehead and Robin was halfway to snoring now. “And yeah, at least that, maybe longer.” “The opener?” “I don’t know.”

Anna sighed softly. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be, Banana, it was my fault.” “You know what else El said?”

“I can only imagine.” “That you’re spending some of your time in New York occupied with things that don’t have to do with your FA status and you gave her a name.” “You two gossip way too much,” Killian mumbled. “And only about half of that was true.” “Did she call you yet?” “Who?” “The girl you won’t actually name.” Killian pressed his lips together. He still hadn’t gotten the chance to read his text messages – the number seemingly growing by the moment and he’d been far too much of a coward to actually check and see if Emma was one of them.

Anna clicked her tongue disapprovingly in the background. “Oh you totally didn’t check,” she accused. “I bet she did. All worried and nervous. Did she go to Eric’s?” “You and El should coordinate these conversations better, I’m just repeating myself.” “It’s not my fault you answered her before you answered me. That’s just you being a jerk.” “That’s true,” he mumbled and Anna made a noise that sounded a bit like a mix between a sigh and a groan.

“Maybe you should call her.” “Who?” “KJ!”

He smiled against the window, shifting his hand so his phone was pressed up closer to his ear and he nearly jumped out of his seat when it vibrated again. He’d talked to everyone major already – even sent Mrs. Vankald a text so she wouldn’t worry too – there wasn’t anyone left...unless. Killian pulled the phone away from his ear so quickly he was certain he’d dislocated his shoulder as well and he tugged his lip behind his teeth when he saw the name on the screen.

Swan.

“Anna, listen, I’ve got to go,” he said.

“You make it to the airport?”

“Yup.” He could practically see her lowering her eyebrows as if she was sitting next to him instead of a now-definitely snoring Robin. “Oh,” Anna laughed. “She’s calling you isn’t she?” “I gotta go, Banana.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, shoved aside for the girlfriend. Whatever. See if I call to make sure you’re ok after you get into a fight next time. I don’t care.” “Be careful tomorrow, ok?” “Always, KJ.” He pulled his phone away again to switch calls and, immediately, seemed to forget every single word he’d ever learned. “Killian?” Emma asked, nerves obvious in the tone of her voice and that seemed to snap him back to attention immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m glad you called.” “Really?”

The genuine surprise in her voice caught him off guard – he was fairly certain they’d cleared, at least, that particular hurdle. She had to know he cared, right? Of course. The tiny, persistent voice in the back of his head, however, reminded him rather quickly that they hadn’t actually had much of a real conversation, usually too preoccupied with the kissing and then more kissing and Killian felt his breath hitch in his throat at the memory of her hand on his hip.

He should ask her out.

And then ask about her.

He wanted to know everything about her.

“Of course, love,” Killian said. She didn’t argue the endearment this time, breath rushing out of her quickly and loudly on the other end of the phone, like she’d been holding it for hours. “I, uh, I take it you saw the game.” “Did you talk to Roland? He’s convinced you’re dead.” “So I’ve been told,” he laughed. “Robin took care of that. I was too busy getting MRI’s and placating El.” Emma sighed again, hissing in her breath at the idea of an MRI and the bus ride to the airport probably wasn’t the best place to have this conversation – the first time they’d actually talked on the phone since the GD event.

“I know it’s fine,” she muttered, sounding as if she was half talking to herself. “Ruby went into full attack mode as soon as you didn’t get up immediately and I know...I know, like for a fact, you’re not concussed. She called Victor and got the upper-body diagnosis and I think she’s actually just got release templates saved on her phone because she did it all from the table in the restaurant at the same time we were all trying to promise Rol that you were ok and...I know. I don’t...I don’t know why I called.” She tapped her teeth together and Killian was certain it was the loudest noise he’d ever heard, or that might have been the rushing in his ears at the idea that Emma believed she shouldn’t have called.

What a disaster.

“I’m glad you called, Swan,” Killian said again. “Really. I probably would have called you...I just…”

He didn’t have an answer – or at least an answer that didn’t paint him as the coward he was, nervous to call a girl like he was a teenager and asking Emma to prom.

That was the problem. It all felt a bit teenage and he liked her – a lot – more than just someone he wanted to kiss every time he saw her. That too, but Killian wanted a lot more than he could remember ever wanting out of a three-week relationship that wasn’t really a relationship since they kept dancing around the subject of actually talking about it.

“Yeah,” Emma mumbled. “You didn’t happen to check your text messages, did you?”

Killian’s stomach fell on the floor of the bus, he was certain. He gulped quickly, not able to run his hand through his hair since that hurt too, but he muttered hold on a sec into the phone and swiped his finger across the screen, scrolling through his inbox to find two text messages from hours ago.

He clicked on Emma’s name and it was probably for the best that he was in the back corner of the bus, sitting in the dark because Killian was fairly positive he’d jumped out of his seat or been struck by lightning or something equally absurd.

She was wearing his jersey.

Holy shit.

It had happened before – he was the goddamn leader in jersey sales every year and half of those were women and he knew there was a dedicated section of the fandom that really didn’t care about the goals or the points or even the Cup, was just worried about he looked in his jersey – but none of those people had ever been Emma Swan and none of them had sent a picture wearing his jersey and Killian couldn’t think straight.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, not quite able to take his eyes off the screen. She was smiling, hair pulled up and eyes bright and the ‘C’ on her shoulder was almost painfully obvious. He tried to take a deep breath and it didn’t really work, lungs apparently incapable of doing their job anymore, and Emma was still on the phone.

“Jesus Christ, Swan,” he muttered. “That was…”

“Ok?” “Better.” She let out a soft laugh that seemed to settle in the pit of Killian’s stomach or in the space between his ribs and now he really wanted to get back to New York. “I just...they told me the rules and we’ve been…” Emma cut herself off, probably tugging on the ends of her hair for good measure and Killian was smiling like an idiot at this point.

“We have,” he said, not sure if he was confirming something or just doing his best to make sure her voice stopped shaking.

He was glad she called.

“And I wasn’t really sure what protocol was on being concerned, but, well, I was. So, there.” “So, there?” “Yeah,” Emma said. “That asshole kept checking you all night and he’s always been like that, the league should have thrown him out years ago.” “Wait, wait, Swan, do you know Soyer?” Emma clicked her tongue and Killian had sat up a little bit straighter. “Uh, yeah,” she said slowly. “I mean, not personally, but...it’s a long story.” Killian ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the pain and the far-too-tight wrap Victor had demanded he put around his chest before he even leave the locker room. “What are you doing tomorrow, Swan?”

“I have to work. Opening night thing in two weeks is slowly driving me insane. Did you know Scarlet can’t eat gluten?” “I did, actually. He complains about it, at least, once a week.” “Why? Don’t you have to be at the Garden tomorrow?” “Apparently there’s more tests and MRI results to get back and they might know when I can skate again, but, uh, you want to get coffee or something?” His voice stuttered over the actual question, groaning a bit on the uh and he was the captain of the New York Rangers, it shouldn’t have been nearly this terrifying to talk to her. But then she’d been wearing his jersey and he hadn’t actually stopped thinking about her in the last three weeks and Killian was, absolutely, in over his head.

Emma didn’t say anything for what felt like several hours and for half a second Killian thought she was going to say no, something about the rules and smashing straight through them at this point, but then he heard her take a deep breath and he was positive she was nodding. “Hot chocolate,” she said.

“What?” “I’m not really a coffee person.” Every muscle in his body seemed to loosen at her voice, smile on his face threatening to overwhelm him completely at this point, and he hummed in agreement as the bus pulled up to the tarmac, half an hour coming to an end far too quickly.

“Hot chocolate it is then,” Killian said, pointedly ignoring whatever it was his pulse was doing.

“Ok,” Emma murmured. “That, uh, that sounds nice.” “Just let me know when you’re not dealing with Scarlet’s food aversions and we can go, ok?” She laughed and he still hadn’t stopped smiling, earning a very particular look from Robin when he finally woke up. “And maybe let me know when you land?” “Of course, love.” “Bye, Killian.” “Bye.” He stuffed his phone in his pocket, standing up and grabbing his bag off the shelf above his head, ignoring whatever it was Robin was doing with his face.

“What?” Killian snapped as they walked up the steps towards the plane.

Robin shrugged, nudging him forward down the aisle. “Nothing, Cap, absolutely nothing.”

[harrysmeadow]

HELD - CHAPTER 2

STORY PAGE // PLAYLIST

“Erin please” Izzy begged, her eyes no longer filled with tears but with concern, maybe for Harry as my simmering anger towards him was just about to boil over the edge. I released my grip on her hand which I realised had suddenly become a lot tighter. She raked her finger tips through her beautifully messy hair, slightly pulling it over to one side where it cast a shadow over her features. “We’ve talked about it, and figured it out please don’t bring it up again”.

CATCH UP HERE

The next morning I was rudely awakened by the sound of my phone vibrating on my bedside table. I let out a half groan, half whining cry as I flung my arm over my side trying to feel for it without actually having to open my eyes. I’d been looking forward to staying at my grandparents again. I liked being woken up slowly and peacefully by the natural light that seeped through the grotty old curtains. It was much better than the obnoxious iPhone alarm that drove me insane when I was at uni. I was definitely not a 9am girl.

After knocking over pretty much everything on the table I finally grasped my phone, pulled out the charging cord and brought it to my ear. “What!?” I spat. I hadn’t bothered to look at the caller id. Whoever thought it was a good idea to wake me up at this time was going have to deal with the wrath of early morning Erin. They deserved it for being so rude.

“Morning sunshine.” Izzy cackled down the line. I should have known. I slowly sat myself up and began to peel open my eyes, adjusting to the morning light.

“And what can I do for you at this fine hour?” I droned sarcastically.

“Well if you must know, my Mum, your Mum and Evie are going to finish their Christmas shopping in Manchester, and I know how much you don’t want to do that. So this is your formal invitation to Sam’s charity 5-a-side tournament at the playing field later. Basically your excuse not to go when your Mum asks you to go with them, which you know she will, mine’s already asked me, so consider this a warning, and your ticket out of it. I’ll text you the details, love you, bye!” She hung up.

I fell back onto the sheets dramatically with a huff, my head reeling from being thrown so much information in the space of about 30 seconds. I wasn’t even fully awake, but Izzy was right, there was no way I was being dragged around Manchester in the Christmas crowds, especially not with Mum and Evie in tow.

Placing my phone back on the night stand I stood up wearily, stretching out my limbs and wincing at the crack of my shoulders. I really need to stop sleeping in weird positions.

Grabbing my hair brush from my dressing table by the window I began to rake through my knotted hair. Gazing out into the garden, as the sun was coming up, a deep orange haze was beaming out over the fields and into the distance. The dim light from the rising sun appeared to touch every plant as the lingering raindrops on the leaves from the night before reflected the light. Suddenly I thought about Harry. How when he turned and told me he was sorry when he left last night, it was his smile that was bright enough to shine through the rain.

I trudged downstairs, my feet shuffling along the carpet as I was still half asleep and didn’t have enough energy to do anything properly, even walk. I winced when I stepped onto the cold tile floor of the kitchen and made a mental note to invest in some slippers while I was here.

“Morning Granny, morning Grandad.” I said while stifling a yawn.

They both looked up from their breakfasts with a smile on their faces. I loved my Grandparents more than anything in the world. I’d always had a great relationship with them, even if I only saw them once every two months. They never made me feel any less their Grandchild even though they saw Izzy and Sam every week. They loved unconditionally, and I loved them for it in return.

“Morning sweetheart. You’re up early, and we missed you come in last night. Are you ok?” Granny asked with concern as I padded over to the cupboard to grab a bowl and some cereal.

“You can blame Iz for both of those things” I laughed, sitting down opposite them at the table. Grandad passed me the milk jug as I began to explain the events of the previous night to them. I laughed along with them as I recounted my near death experience, but ended up having to constantly reassure them that I was fine and didn’t actually injure myself.

“Well, I’m just glad Isabelle got to see Harry for a bit, I think that must be the first time they’ve seen each other since they both left for university.” Grandad mused over his cup of tea.

Izzy and Harry were both freshers at uni this year. I knew Izzy had been finding the first term hard, she often randomly rang or texted me with questions or observations about university life. Although we fought sometimes, we also trusted each other 100%. I was in my second year of uni, so I was more than willing to help her try and settle in and give any advice I could. I hadn’t picked up on it at the time, but now that Grandad mentioned it, I realised that in all the times we talked she hadn’t brought up Harry once. Maybe they were having issues I didn’t know about, or maybe they were fine, and he just wasn’t relevant to the conversation we were having. Whatever it was, it seemed odd now.

“Yeah, I think it might be, Grandad.” I added, trying to think of a way to bring it up to Izzy later without making it seem completely obvious and really nosy.

****

I didn’t know how many matches I’d have to sit through in the cold December air, so when getting ready for the day I’d prepared for the worst. I pulled on my thick khaki winter jacket over my black jeans and oversized burgundy jumper. I’d made sure Izzy returned my brown leather boots before she went home last night. She’d handed them over reluctantly, but I promised her she could borrow them again if she swore not to ruin them. My tresses of mid length golden blonde hair were pulled into two loose french braids which peeked out from under a wooly beanie. A knitted grey scarf which was long enough to be wrapped around me twice hung over my shoulders and my gloves were shoved in my pockets, ready for the cold.

After an annoyingly long and drawn out conversation with my Mum, where she’d tried repeatedly to get me to go shopping with her, I finally managed to get away when I saw Izzy’s car pull up outside the living room window. I gave my mum a kiss on the cheek goodbye, wishing her a good time with Auntie Josie and Evie.

I heard both Izzy and Sam snicker to themselves as I jumped in the back seat. I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to entertain them with a comment because I knew exactly what they were going to say.

“They’re not playing the tournament in Iceland you know, Erin.” Izzy laughed. Here we go.

“Well don’t come running to me asking to borrow my scarf when you’re sat on the sidelines freezing your tits off.” I replied smugly. Izzy had always been one of those people to sacrifice her health for a good outfit. Unfortunately, that meant that during the winter months she was very prone to catching a cold because she refused to wear a suitable coat.

“I won’t,” she retorted. Izzy was also known for being extremely stubborn. So I knew now that later in the day even if her fingers were turning blue she wouldn’t come and ask for help. She rather be taken to hospital for hypothermia than get proven wrong and ask for a pair of gloves.

When we pulled up to the car park there were already many families there. A group of middle aged men, who I presumed were the organisers and referees, stood in a huddle in the middle of the field, all armed with clipboards and whistles. Some of the players who I recognised as some of Izzy and Sam’s friends from school were already warming up on the marked out pitches. The Mums and Grandmas had made their way to the kiosk and were making endless amounts of tea and coffee for the visitors.

I hopped out the car and pulled my scarf tighter around myself as the crisp December breeze whipped through the air. Izzy and I waved goodbye to Sam and wished him good luck for the day before heading off to get a drink before the tournament began. She linked her arm through mine and gave me a warm smile. “I’ve missed you.” she said softly, gently placing her head on my shoulder as we joined the back of the queue at the kiosk.

“I’ve missed you to.” I replied. It was the truth. No matter how many petty arguments we had, Izzy was always my best friend. She knew me better than anyone, even my friends back home in Leeds who I’d spent all my school years with. We just shared a special bond. No matter how long we spent apart we never stopped loving each other.

I looked down at where our arms intertwined and watched our matching dainty silver charm bracelets glint in the sunshine. I couldn’t help but smile as the ‘I’ charm on my bracelet and the ‘E’ charm on hers clinked together in the light breeze.

We’d been gifted the bracelets when we were only small children. One Christmas when we were maybe 5 or 6 Granny and Grandad had given them to us and we loved the idea that we matched. Every year we got a new charm and it was a tradition I knew I would never grow tired of. Granted, we’d had to have a few new links put in to accommodate our growing bones over the years, but I couldn’t remember that last time I hadn’t worn it.

After reaching the front of the line and paying for two cups of tea, we went to check the team boards to see which matches Sam would be playing in. The boards showed many names that I seemed to recognise from my visits to Holmes Chapel over the years and Izzy was quick to point out people she knew and promised to tell me embarrassing stories about them all later. I laughed at her bluntness as we trudged over to pitch number three where Sam was playing his first game.

We found a good place to watch from the sidelines just as the referee blew the starting whistle and the first touch was made. I spotted Sam straightaway, as he wasn’t hard to miss. In the past year he’d grown to be just shy of six foot tall, easily towering over Izzy and I; and he was nearly the same height as his Dad. His dark chocolate brown hair, the exact same shade as Izzy’s, was an annoyingly perfect mess on top of his head, hardly moving an inch as he ran across the field.

The ball landed at his feet and he began to sprint with it towards the goal. The other team’s defenders sprang into action ready to initiate a tackle. Sam, however, was quick on his feet and began to showboat around the opposition plays like it was nothing. Izzy and I cheered with the rest of the crowd as he broke free from the defenders and passed the ball into the box. The striker took aim and shot for the goal. Everyone around the pitch leaned in as the ball travelled towards the target. When the ball hit the back of the net after brushing past the fingertips of the goalkeeper, screams, shouts, laughter and applause erupted from the spectators.

Izzy and I screamed and hugged each other with glee while the goal celebrations continued. Sam’s team had come together in a group hug, but when they pulled back from one another I was shocked when I spotted Harry. How had I not seen him? Maybe I had been too engrossed with Sam’s showboating earlier, but nothing was taking my eyes off Harry now. His signature curly locks had been pulled back away from his face into a small bun, and a thin black headband was taking care of flyaways and baby hairs around his face. His chiseled features suddenly softened when he grinned back at his teammates, a small dimple appeared on his cheek and I wanted nothing more in than moment to run over to him and just prod it.

His toned arms which I’d had such a hard time taking my eyes off yesterday were on full display thanks to the short sleeved football shirt he was wearing. My eyes followed him as he jogged back lightly to his position, ready for the referees whistle. I think I was in shock from how broad he was; his back muscles looked like they wanted to rip through the thin material of the jersey hulk style.

I blinked rapidly as the sound of the whistle pulled me from my Harry induced trance. Dropping my head I sipped on my tea quietly before deciding this was a good a time as any to talk to Izzy about what Grandad had mentioned this morning.

“So, how was first term?” I asked tugging lightly on her jacket to gain her attention.

“Fine, it took me awhile to get settled in, I think” She shrugged in response, which was unlike Izzy in the first place, so I knew there was something else.

“You get on with your flatmates, yeah? You’re not having a hard time, are you?” My underlying need to protect her suddenly made an appearance.

She shook her head frantically. “Erin, honestly it’s fine; my flatmates are great. I dunno. I just; it doesn’t feel like home yet.” she replied. She wasn’t going to tell me anymore herself, I was just going to have to come right out and say it.

“Grandad said that you and Harry haven’t seen each other in a while.” I pressed cautiously. Her usual bright features shifted suddenly becoming sullen, I grimaced as her shoulders slumped, and she sighed.

“We got into a fight.” she admitted. “We’re fine now, but it was the first time we’d ever fallen out” she sipped at her tea, avoiding my gaze. All my life Izzy and Harry had been inseparable. I felt angry at myself.  How did I not notice when she stopped talking about him? Why did she feel she couldn’t tell me about it? We told each other everything.

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. “Why didn’t you say anything? What happened? You know you can talk to me about it, yeah?” I tried to repress my protective nature, which immediately made me want to blame Harry for whatever had happened. But I didn’t know what had happened. It wasn’t fair to assume. She’d just opened up to me, I didn’t want to smother her.

Another rowdy cheer jolted us both from the bubble we’d surrounded ourselves in when another goal was scored. Izzy took the chance to wiggle out of the conversation, whipping her head around back to the match and joining in the celebrations. But I needed her to tell me.

“Izzy, please.” I begged. Reaching down my fingertips brushed against hers as I moved to take her hand in mine. Her eyes dropped to where our hands met, both our bracelets twinkling in the sunlight. She sighed again before meeting my gaze.

“Fine.” she huffed. “But we’re ok now. We sorted it out, so there’s no need for you to go ape shit at him or me for that matter…”. I tried to laugh, but I wasn’t making any promises. If I found out he hurt her, I’d be drop kicking him into next week.

She turned to face me fully and took a deep breath before starting. “Basically it was fine at the start. We spoke pretty much every day, but I missed him. A lot. He’d been around me for as long as I can remember; I was just finding it hard not having him right there. I felt lonely. We ended up speaking less as the weeks went on, but he had a reading week at the end of October I think it was, and we’d planned that he’d come to see me for a bit before he went home for a few days. Then the day before he was due to come to Leeds to see me he said he changed his mind, that he wanted to go straight home. I was furious. He’d built my hopes up for him to just completely dismiss me as if I didn’t matter to him at all.” Her bottom lip began to tremble as she recounted the memories. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, letting her know it was ok to let it out if she needed to.

“I played it off to him like I was fine. But I wasn’t. I was so hurt that I was missing him so much when he evidently didn’t miss me at all.” A single tear made a path down her left cheek and it was taking everything in me not to storm onto the pitch right then and there and rip into him like he obviously deserved.

“It was the longest we’d gone without seeing each other and he chose to make it longer still.” She took another shaky breath before continuing. “Then I got a text from Sam saying he’d thought he’d seen Harry at the pub with his ex Aimee and was confused because he thought he was meant to be with me in Leeds.”

I was seething now. I didn’t claim to know Harry that well, but I didn’t think he could be so insensitive. They’d managed to go nearly 18 years of their lives as best friends without more than a few little hiccups, so whatever his reasoning was as to why he left Izzy, was completely beyond me.

“Erin, please.” Izzy begged, her eyes no longer filled with tears but with concern, maybe for Harry as my simmering anger towards him was just about to boil over the edge. I released my grip on her hand which I realised had suddenly become a lot tighter. She raked her fingertips through her beautifully messy hair, slightly pulling it over to one side where it cast a shadow over her features. “We’ve talked about it, and figured it out. Please don’t bring it up again”.

“Ok.” I breathed, and I clamped my mouth shut before any more words could escape. She was obviously hurt, and I didn’t want to add to that feeling. It was so unlike her to not want to talk, but I also didn’t want her to think she couldn’t trust me. I wasn’t being nosy; I just wanted to help.

****

It was edging on early evening by the time the tournament finished. Izzy and I stood huddled together at the side of the field with the rest of the day’s spectators as the final standings were about to be announced. The players sat in their teams on the field laughing and talking amongst themselves as the referees from each pitch checked over the results. I flinched suddenly as I felt an arm snake around my back and a hand being placed in my coat pocket. I looked over my shoulder where Izzy was snuggled into my right hand side, a slightly sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Obviously refusing to look at me, knowing she’d be faced with an ‘I told you so’ for not caring about the chilly weather earlier. She continued staring at the players in front of us while warming her fingers inside my coat. I shook my head and began to scan the crowd for Sam in the hopes we could make a quick exit once the standings were revealed.

I jumped slightly again when a presence on my left seemed suspiciously close. I began to turn my head slowly to see who it was, my shoulders slightly lifting in defense as I glanced at the person beside me. My eyes widened and I pulled back causing Izzy to stir.

“Dad, what the hell?” I exclaimed, confusion gracing my features.

“Hiya girls.” he chirped back. “Fancy the pub after this?”

“What?” I barked back, shaking my head again trying to understand how and why this conversation had come about.

“Do yo- “

I cut him off. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yeah, I came this morning. You’d already left by the time I had, and I forgot to mention that I was coming last night before you left with Izzy for the airport.” He said nonchalantly.

“Right.” I said with a slight nod. “Yeah, whatever. We’ll come.” I agreed as the head coach blew a whistle to get everyone’s attention. We all turned back to face the group of men holding clipboards as the chatter around us quickly faded out.

“Thank you everyone for coming today.” His voice bellowed out over the crowd. “We hope you’ve had a fun day. Thank you for all your donations; they are greatly appreciated and from your help our teams will only get better. As you can tell we’ve got some very talented players in this area who I’m sure will go on to do great things.”

A round of applause broke out amongst the spectators and the players began patting each other on the back for their hard work. Sam and Harry’s team had played brilliantly all day, winning every game except one, and even then they drew one all. Izzy and I had followed them pretty much all day as they moved to different pitches to play the other teams.

My unanswered questions about Izzy and Harry were nagging away in my brain just waiting to slip off the end of my tongue. Try as I might to concentrate on something, anything else, it was hard when they were both in my eyeline all day. After we dropped the topic the first time around Izzy’s mood had picked up significantly, jumping for joy any time her best friend and brother made a good tackle or scored a goal. I couldn’t bring myself to tear her down again.

“All the lads played brilliantly today, but one team racked up a fantastic 25 points, with 8 wins and 1 draw. Team C are the champions!” Everyone erupted with celebration. Sam, Harry and the rest of their team sprung up from where they were perched on the grass and collided with each other in a group hug. Izzy and I jumped up and down in delight, whistling and cheering as they collected their medals from the head coach.

“They played great today, didn’t they?” I heard my Dad say from beside me.

“Yeah, they did.” I replied. “I still can’t believe you’ve been here all day, and we’ve not seen you until now.”

Izzy chuckled, “Yeah, Uncle Michael, have you been avoiding us?”

“No, but I’m starting to think I’ve discovered a new talent here. I think I should get MI5 on the phone; maybe they’re looking for a new spy?”

“Oh my God.” I said with a huff while Izzy stood cackling next to me.

Soon enough Sam jogged over to us and the day’s crowd began to disperse. “Right,” Sam said, clapping his hands and rubbing the palms together before bringing them to his lips to warm them with his breath. “Where we off to?”

****

The Cross Keys was located on a quiet country road just on the outskirts of Holmes Chapel, about a 15 minute walk from my Grandparent’s farmhouse. I’d spent many evenings here when visiting my Grandparents over the years. The landlord, Brian, had served my Mum, Dad, Auntie Josie’s and Izzy’s first ‘legal’ pints, and I’m sure when Sam turned 18 he would be more than willing to keep up that tradition.

Stepping out of Izzy’s car, the gravel driveway crunched underneath my feet as I walked up to the familiar building. Pulling on the old wooden door, I stepped inside sighing with relief as the warm air hit me. Black painted wooden beams hung low from the ceiling, the bar on my left ran along a wall to the back of the room and a small fireplace was built into the wall on the right.

I could feel the heat calling out to me when my finger tips tingled with the sensation of the quick temperature change. I made my way over to an empty table near the fireplace, ready for the warmth of the fire to seep into my skin. Izzy, Sam and Harry trailed behind me choosing their seats around the table.

Sam had invited Harry and his family to join us for tea at the pub as a kind of really mundane celebration for winning the tournament. The parents trudged in a few minutes later as my Dad had to make a round trip to pick up everyone from their houses.

Once everyone had said their hellos and caught up, people gradually started making their way up to the bar to order. I stood leant forward slightly into the countertop, drumming my fingernails on the wood, hoping to be the next person to catch the barmaid’s attention.

Someone cleared his throat beside me, and I knew who it was without even looking. I’d tried my best to avoid conversation with Harry as my new found information  was still threatening to make an appearance. I turned and offered him a polite smile, not trusting myself to open my mouth without something spilling out that I wasn’t prepared for. So I turned my gaze back towards the waitress behind the bar.

“Are you ok?” He asked timidly.

“Yes.” I replied plainly, not turning to look at him again, praying the bartender would come over and save me from the inevitable interaction.

From the corner of my eye I saw him take breath as his shoulders dropped. It seemed to me almost a sigh of defeat, I didn’t think he was the type to give up so easily though, not after how driven and competitive I’d seen him be earlier today at the tournament.

“If this is about yesterday, I told you I was sorry. It was an accident. There’s no need to be in an arse about it,” he spat.

My eyes widened in shock, though I didn’t allow him the satisfaction of seeing my startled look, and I held myself as I was before. It was now my turn to calm myself with a deep breath. I found myself thinking back to my few memories of Harry as a child. I thought about how he seemed to be somewhat of shy little boy who followed Izzy round like a pet. Since then he’d obviously grown in confidence, seemingly enough to make him overtly rude and confrontational.

“It’s not about yesterday, and I’m not in an arse, Harry. I’m fine.” I replied as monotonously as I could manage.

“Well there’s clearly something wrong.” he persisted.

I was starting to lose my resolve, but I remained stood as I was, focusing on a random bottle of whiskey placed on the back of the bar. “No, there isn’t, Harry. I promised Izzy I wouldn’t mention it.”

“So there is something wrong.” I could hear the smirk. That was it. I turned round so harshly I pretty sure I nearly gave myself whiplash.

“Look Harry, I promised Izzy I wouldn’t bring it up, but you’ve brought it on yourself.”

Well….here comes the word vomit.

“You really upset her, do you know that? You know how much you mean to her and you just brushed her off like she was nothing.”

I really needed to learn some self control. Maybe I should try yoga?

“You didn’t even attempt to explain yourself, no measly excuse, you just left her alone thinking whatever it was you decided to do was better than just the idea of seeing her.”

I watched his face turn from shock, to confusion, to anger and then kind of an odd mix of all three. I tried to stop, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“You knew how alone she was feeling. You’re supposed to be her best friend when I’m not there, and you left her! She would never do anything like that to you, and you know it. If you’d told her in confidence how alone and vulnerable you felt, she would have been by your side in an instant. She would’ve dropped anything to make sure you were ok. You know she would. So why the fuck when she told you she needed you did you leave her on her own?!”

I’d always been the one to protect her, help her, comfort her, just be the person she needed me to be. But I couldn’t always be there physically when she did. Over the years I think I’d found comfort in knowing Izzy had Harry when she didn’t have me. But knowing he’d been the one to hurt her made me feel like I’d failed, like I somehow should have known that I shouldn’t have let him become this insensitive prat.

I hadn’t realised I’d started crying until I gasped because I was short of air and I felt the cold, salty water drip down my cheeks. I also hadn’t realised that during my outburst my voice had risen significantly, gaining the attention of all the local pub goers that afternoon. I glanced over my shoulder to the table where I’d left the group, seeing them all on their feet shifting uncomfortably. My eyes stopped searching when they found Izzy, whose gaze was locked on the boy beside me.

Well, well, well.... What do we think?? Please like and reblog if you’re enjoying the story I’d reality appreciate it! Also, come chat to me about it, I’d love to hear what you’re thinking!!! Much love 💕💕