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bouwrites · 4 years ago

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Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 11

Don’t you turn like Orpheus; just stay here.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

“Wait, shut up, Wayne?! Like, Wayne Enterprises Wayne?!”

Jon grins nervously. “…Surprise?”

“You’re telling me tween wrath Damian, your Damian, the Damian I’ve been making fun of for months, is Damian Wayne?” Marinette shrieks, pulling at her hair. “Oh, my god. He’s a hero. The Waynes are the Gotham heroes. I’m going to- I’m going to go die now.”

Jon sighs. “I did say you’d meet him sooner rather than later.”

“And he’s on his way here?!”

“In hindsight, I should have given you more warning.” Jon admits.

“You think?!”

“In my defense, though, Damian didn’t say anything for certain until like, right now. He only said his folks were interested in you, and I figured he’d give me more info more than ten minutes before he decided to visit.”

The doorbell rings, and Marinette sends Jon a glare as she starts towards the hallway. Unbothered, he’s right on her tail. She’s quick to open the door and greet their guest but stops short when she finally gets the chance to really look at him.

The only other time she’s seen him is back when he showed up in full hero gear, and the mask coupled with Marinette’s instant response to remove herself from anything involving heroes means she didn’t get a very good look at the guy. But here, his black hair is silky and neat, his sharp features cast a striking image that matches what she knows of his personality, and this close to him, she can see the green in his eyes – a deep color that captures one’s attention.

Marinette smiles for him and introduces herself. (“I know.” He says, offering no introduction of his own until Jon pointedly clears his throat and makes it obvious that he’s not going to move out of the doorway until the formalities are met. Marinette doesn’t actually mind, but she appreciates Jon’s dedication to politeness.) Then, she backs up and gestures for Damian to enter the apartment. When he heads straight for the living room, Marinette takes the opportunity to lean close to Jon and whisper. “He’s cute. That crush makes so much more sense now.”

“Shut up!” Jon hisses. “He doesn’t know!”

Marinette hesitates and looks at Damian’s retreating back. “Generally, or about him specifically.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Him specifically.”

Marinette giggles. “Understood. Let’s not keep him waiting.” She emerges into the living room after Damian and immediately gestures for him to make himself comfortable. “I made cookies.” She says, pointing out the plate on the coffee table. “Help yourself.”

Damian frowns suspiciously at her and the cookies for a moment before slowly reaching out to take one. He nibbles quietly on it, not offering any critique or compliment, watching as Jon and Marinette make themselves comfortable in the room as well. Jon takes the couch with Damian, but only after pulling a chair from their dining table for Marinette to sit on.

“So, Damian.” Marinette says. “Jon’s told me a lot about you.”

Damian nods. “He speaks of you often, as well. I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

“Do I?” Marinette raises her brow at Jon. “Is that something I was supposed to be told?”

Jon gives her that nervous grin he has when he knows he’s in trouble. Damian just eyes that impassively. “I suppose he didn’t tell you.”

“Hey!” Jon protests. “You didn’t tell me! You said maybe like, a month ago. How was I supposed to know what you’re planning?”

Damian, pointedly unimpressed, clicks his tongue sharply. “Miss Dupain-Cheng. I’ve been sent to represent my family in a business proposition.”

“A business proposition?” Marinette echoes, unimpressed. Business with the Waynes is a big deal, of course, and internally she’s can feel the familiar excitement and panic prick at the inside of her ribcage, but the way Damian talks, so cold and steely and unemotive, it makes it feel a lot less exciting than it should be. It sets her on edge, and paired with all the stories of young Damian she’s heard from Jon… well, business with the Waynes may be a big deal, but Marinette is already doing well. It may very well be more trouble than it’s worth if Damian isn’t significantly better than he’s appearing. (Who knows what the rest of the family is like, if this is who they send to talk to her?) “What kind?”

“A commission. My father endeavors to support up-and-coming names in many industries. Those less fortunate than us who have to work much harder to find success in business.” Excuse me? Marinette’s brows shoot to the sky as she looks Damian up and down again. It doesn’t look like he’s trying to offend, but then, rich people rarely do. It’s all veiled with people like this, always with some other goal.

When Marinette was with Adrien, she met many people who talk like this. Backhanded insults laced into self-aggrandizement meant to sound charitable. It pissed Marinette off back then, and she doesn’t much like it any more now. “Your name has recently come to his attention.” Damian continues, as if he hadn’t said anything amiss. “And he asked me to approach you, since we have a mutual friend.” Marinette crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, just waiting for him to finish. “Several of our family are hosting a Christmas gala. Would you be able to make their outfits for the event?”

Marinette shares a look with Jon, who shakes his head. She just rolls her eyes. “Depends. Are you asking me because of my work, because I’m friends with Jon, or because I’m so much ‘less fortunate’ than you?”

Damian blinks at her, lending credence to Marinette’s theory that he just legitimately doesn’t think about the words out of his mouth.

She sighs. “Normally, someone who talks to me like that would be on a block list.”

“Talks to- Like what?” Damian asks.

“Like I’m beneath them because I’m not wealthy.” She says simply.

“Hey, Marinette…” Jon interjects. “Don’t you think that’s a little far?”

Marinette shrugs. “What part of all that about how charitable and generous his family is was necessary to ask for a commission?” She keeps her voice casual, like she’s only talking to friends. It’s easy to do, even with Damian, since she already feels like they kind of are. It makes it easier to be honest up front, too. “It’s posturing, and condescending. I dated a famous rich guy for six years; I’m beyond sick of that. Plus, and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, Damian, I wouldn’t if we weren’t already sort of familiar with each other through Jon, but there’s something about you… you’re just so… punchable. I don’t hold it against you, but it makes you sound more condescending than I think you mean to be.”

She says it to annoy him. To test him, because she’s heard stories and she wants to know if she can really stand him. The stories are old, and she knows very well how he’s changed (from Jon’s perspective, at least) but Damian still looks severe and cold, so she’s wary. For his part, though, Damian curls his lip in a strange expression between rage, confusion, shock, and something else that looks strangely like admiration.

“Anyway,” Marinette says airily, “I feel like, given our mutual friend, you should at least give me the basic respect of talking to me like a normal person. I know this is technically the first time we’ve met, but that blatant dishonesty is really annoying, even to strangers.” Marinette rolls her eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you never actually mentioned my work. You just gave me platitudes about how great your father is and pointed out that Jon’s probably the only reason my name is on your radar. Understand why someone might take offense to that?”

Damian narrows his eyes at her. Jon chews nervously at his nails, eyes darting between the two of them. The air is tense and thick until, finally, Damian cuts through it. “Very well. I see your point.”

“Good.” Marinette says, a little surprised that he actually concedes. “Now because of our mutual friend, and because I don’t actually think you meant to offend, if you want to talk about a commission, we can.” She sighs. “I apologize if I stepped over a line. With how much Jon talks about you, I feel like I know you, if only a little.”

Damian purses his lips. “No, it’s quite alright. I should have chosen my words better. I had no intention of offending.”

“Wow!” Jon says with false cheer. “Look at that! We’re all friends, already!”

The corners of Damian’s lips twitch into what might almost be called a smile. “I see why you care so much about her. She is certainly…” His eyes find her and drill into her like he’s looking for her innermost secrets, “impressive.”

“Right?” Jon says, more relaxed this time. “I keep telling everyone she’s the coolest!”

Marinette feels her cheeks warm. “So, you’re here about a commission. A Christmas party? I assume a formal one. How many outfits?”

There’s a strange look in Damian’s eyes that Marinette can’t quite decipher, but Jon is easy to read. As they talk and conversation flows more smoothly, more like the friends they are, Jon gleams with obvious ecstasy. That his two friends are getting along is clearly cause for celebration for him. Considering it took over two years for them to reach this point, Marinette isn’t all that surprised.

As for Damian himself, Marinette thinks she actually likes him. Jon is right that he’s more mature than his old stories about the pair of them make him sound. Though, Jon is, too, so Marinette really should expect that. He’s an acquired taste, but Marinette understands why Jon is friends with him. She thinks, if Damian wants it too, she could be good friends with him as well.

Kasey finds Marinette in their Knitwear class. Marinette has to admit, she’s not too keen on spending much time with the other girl. Kasey seems like a perfectly nice girl, of course, and Jon seems to especially like her friend, but Marinette has gone two years now at FIT with barely more than acquaintances outside of Jon.

It’s never lonely, though. She tries hard to keep in touch with her friends in Paris and between calling all of them during the day (before it gets too late in Paris) and spending nearly all her evenings with Jon, and studying, of course, which she devotes the bulk of her energy to, she just doesn’t need or have time for a bunch of friends on campus. As such, she tends to treat her classmates professionally. She works to establish a relationship, but only a professional one.

It just feels wrong for now, right after her name gets recognized, to be the time her classmates suddenly invest themselves in friendship with her when they’ve been crossing paths for two years already. It feels insincere. She doesn’t trust it.

“Even if she is motivated by your fame,” Wayzz tells her, “that does not mean we should assume she is not earnest in wanting to be your friend. Perhaps the news simply drew her attention to you, and she saw someone she wanted to be friends with.”

Marinette thinks that awfully convenient for Kasey.

Unfortunately, though, or fortunately for Kasey, they start group projects, and everyone needs a partner. Kasey is the first to ask her to team up, and Marinette respects that Kasey is a good student, so she lets it happen.

As they work together on campus and at Kasey’s place (she’s roommates with both Sam and Louise, Marinette learns) Marinette struggles with a familiar feeling. Kasey is so eager and cheerful and friendly that it’s hard to imagine her having ulterior motives for befriending Marinette. She’s just so earnest that Marinette keeps forgetting she’s supposed to be wary.

In a lot of ways, it reminds Marinette of Kagami. Kasey and Kagami are obviously near polar opposites, but Marinette feels like she’s befriending Kagami again when Kasey worms her way into her friendship. It’s a strange mix of growing closer, wanting that friendship, and stubbornly telling herself that she shouldn’t accept that friendship.

With Kagami, it was because she was a rival. Kagami was a serious threat to Marinette, romance-wise. Adrien openly admits even when they’re together that he and Kagami were more than just friends before he fell in love with Marinette. Even when he was crushing on Ladybug, that was the case. And before she and Kagami became friends, Marinette didn’t think she’d ever be able to get along with her. Simply because, as love rivals, they shouldn’t.

That’s a dumb, ridiculous, middle-schooler train of thought, of course, but it was Marinette’s reality at the time. She’s embarrassed it caused her to treat Kagami with such hostility when that wasn’t necessary from the start.

With Kasey, though, Marinette just can’t convince herself of the other girl’s sincerity. A lot of people will use others just to get a step up, and a lot of them will do it with sweet smiles on their faces. Marinette knows the ones that try to use Adrien, she knows the ones that try to use Kagami, and Chloé. She’s seen her own friends attempt to do the same, albeit without malicious intentions, with Lila.

Even if Kasey is a genuinely kind and wonderful friend, she only talks to Marinette to start with because of Marinette’s fame. Will she abandon Marinette the moment she’s not helpful to her anymore? Will she push Marinette to use her connections to Kasey’s advantage? Those are questions only time can tell, but Marinette isn’t eager to even give time the chance. The answers don’t matter when the questions themselves hurt.

Despite it all, though, Kasey is legitimately so passionate about fashion, so dedicated to improving herself, and so open and friendly that Marinette starts thinking of her as a friend regardless.

“That’s so cool!” Kasey bounces on her toes behind Marinette. She isn’t silent on the approach, but even so Marinette takes a breath to calm her nerves from Kasey coming so close while her back is turned. “Are you going to make it?”

Marinette shifts so that she’s more facing Kasey and looks down at her sketchbook. “I’m thinking about it.”

“For yourself?”

Marinette looks again at the design and laughs. “Nah, leather isn’t my style.”

Kasey’s eyes glitter. “For Jon?”

“Not his style either.” Marinette says. “He’d pull it off, though.” Even if it’s just once, it might be worth putting him in a leather jacket. Or leather pants. She snickers to herself, imagining his face if she gives him leather pants. Oh, that’d be worth it. He’d just look at me like, “Is this really what you think of me?”

“Aw, that’s a shame. He’d definitely pull it off.” Kasey says, sitting down next to Marinette. “Then who would it be for?”

“A friend back home in Paris.” Marinette says. “Kagami doesn’t usually wear leather, either, so it’d still be an exploration for her, but it’d suit her better than Jon or me. I probably won’t make it, though. I can make something better.”

“I think it’s cool.” Kasey says, peering over her shoulder at the design. “What would you change?”

Marinette hums, examining the sketch as well. “If I were committing to making this for Kagami, then… I’d change the silhouette just a bit – shorten this here, bring this in tighter, maybe a belt? Yeah, I like that.” Marinette starts sketching in a corner of the page, smaller, just a rough idea to show Kasey her modifications. “And a lot of the details, like these accents here, would be altered slightly. I might even make it red, but I’d have to think more about that.”

Kasey’s jaw hangs open as she watches the new design take shape. “I would never have even thought of that.” Kasey says softly, mostly to herself.

“Well, you don’t know Kagami. I made those changes with her in mind. If you were designing for one of your friends, you’d think of things I wouldn’t, too.”

Kasey purses her lips for just a moment before she nods resolutely. “You’re right. But that’s so impressive what you can do so quickly! I like this design even better than the original! How long have you been designing?”

“Oh, since I was little.” Marinette giggles. “I used to upcycle my dolls’ clothes all the time, then I started doing it for my own clothes. What about you?”

Kasey grins a little awkwardly. “Honestly, I only got into it in high school. It started with expanding my pockets, then I realized I could make a lot of little alterations that make my clothes better, then I was tailoring my clothes, and now I’m here. Honestly, I’m a much better seamstress than designer. I thought I’d get better here at college, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as talented as you.”

Marinette pats Kasey’s arm. “Don’t be silly. You just said I’ve been designing for what sounds like several times as long as you have. I just have more experience. If you keep at it, you’ll be a brilliant designer. You’re already good.”

“You think so?” Kasey smiles openly, a friendly and earnest and happy smile that warms Marinette’s heart.

“Of course, I do. I mean, look at your dress today! You made this, right?”

Kasey gasps and stands and twirls with a giggle. “You could tell?”

“I could! And I love it! It’s so you!”

Marinette is suddenly tackled, but she just laughs along as Kasey exclaims, “You’re the best, Marinette! I’m so glad we’re friends! I can’t believe I thought you were intimidating.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette almost chokes on air at the very thought. “You thought I was intimidating?” She stares incredulously at Kasey and gestures to her own tiny frame. “Me?”

“Yes!” Kasey keeps their arms looped together and leans into her shoulder even as she talks. “You’re always so focused in class! And when you’re working. It’s like you’re in and out, no distractions. Plus, I noticed right away how talented you are. You just always had this air of… of… ah…” Kasey frowns and taps her chin with her free hand. “Of, uh, purpose, I guess? Like you’re only here for your education, so even though I always wanted to be friends with you, I assumed you’d just brush me off.”

Marinette is a bit taken aback by Kasey’s confession. “I admit, I had no idea people saw me that way.” Marinette says, carding her fingers through her hair. “Back in Paris, I was always considered one of the most approachable ones out of my friends. To the point where it honestly sometimes got annoying because everything would always go through me even when it didn’t need to.”

Kasey giggles. “Now that I know you better, I totally understand where that comes from. You’re just the sweetest person I’ve ever met!”

Marinette fights off the embarrassment from the compliment and shakes her head. “Thanks. You’re sweet, too.”

“And then you just twist it all together, and it sort of acts like a needle, but there’s no bulky eye that gets in the way.” Jon says, leaning close to Louise on a bench, showing her something on his phone.

Louise’s eyes are wide. “And that’s a boar bristle?!”

“Yeah! Apparently, a lot of things can work. They’re not a replacement for metal needles, of course, but since you’re not actually poking the holes with the needle itself, it doesn’t need to be so firm.”

“That’s so clever! I had no idea they did that!”

“It really is very interesting.” Sam says, leaning over Jon from his other side to look. “You’re so smart, Jon. Where’d you learn this?”

Jon giggles. “YouTube. Then I did some research. I thought Louise would like it.” He nudges Louise playfully with his elbow, making her laugh loudly.

Marinette watches him fondly. She’s considered friendly, at least back in Paris. Most of her friends are more or less brought together by her. They’ve even explicitly called her the center of the large group, but when she watches Jon so effortlessly get along with people, she’s still amazed by him.

Maybe it’s because her ticket to people’s hearts is usually food and gifts, whereas he just charms their socks off with pure personality. Someone so magnetic like that is a special thing.

Marinette and Kasey are separated from the other three just a little, all together in a park at Kasey’s insistence. Marinette and Jon are both well on top of their schedules, so they find no reason to refuse. Kasey sheepishly tugs at Marinette’s sleeve and smiles. “Hey, Marinette… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

The weather getting colder only makes Kasey’s retreat into herself more pronounced as her jacket starts to swallow her. “What is it?” Marinette asks.

Kasey flushes red and twirls her hair. “Ah, well, uh… Jon. Sam is…”

Marinette glances over to the bench where Sam is leaning into Jon, respectfully not touching him, but shifted to face him and leaning forward and laughing and batting her eyelashes and… otherwise is just kind of being obvious. “She likes him?” Marinette guesses.

Kasey covers her face. “Yes. She wanted me to ask you if you’d help set them up. Just a date! See how it goes.”

Marinette sighs heavily, remembering her collège days. Never again. “Look, Kasey…”

“It’s okay! I understand. I thought you might be interested in him yourself, so I figured it was a long shot.”

Marinette frowns. Saying she’s interested in Jon doesn’t bother her, exactly – she certainly doesn’t react like teenage her would have – but it still strikes into her unexpectedly. But there’s more curious about this situation than that. “Why’re you the one asking me? If Sam wants that, she should ask me herself.”

Kasey ducks her head again. “I- I mean… Maybe, but I’m closer with you than she is. She just figured she’s got the best chance this way.”

“Does she?” Marinette purses her lips. Jon isn’t stupid. He’s smart. Maybe not the most adept when it comes to people flirting with him, but he’s not completely clueless. “Weren’t you pretty interested in him when we met?”

Kasey flushes a brilliant crimson and hides once more. “I- well, I- uh… Sam likes him. I’m not going to get in the way.”

Marinette watches the three, entertained a little by how Sam tries to capture Jon’s attention. Unfortunately for her, when he is focused on her he’s just perfectly friendly and polite as always. Hilariously, it’s when he’s focused on Louise that he actually looks engaged and interested. Marinette can see even from some distance away how frustrated Sam is getting from his behavior.

Internally, Marinette tenses and promises to herself to keep watching closely. If Sam escalates out of frustration and crosses the line past Jon’s boundaries, Marinette will step in. She knows Jon can handle himself, but even if she’s not a hero, even if she won’t ever throw another punch in her life, she’s still a guardian. She’s still a protector, and Jon is her best friend. Even just watching this has Marinette itching to go insert herself between the two, to give Jon some distance from her. He’s not overtly uncomfortable, which is why Marinette doesn’t do so, but he’s clearly not interested. Marinette hopes Sam gets the hint.

Frankly, based on this image alone, Marinette will sooner help set Jon up with Kasey than Sam. Though, in her defense, Sam is still respectful about how she flirts, even if she doesn’t back off. Marinette can respect it; she’s not told to back off, after all. Marinette just doesn’t respect it enough to set up her best friend with someone whose advances he’s so obviously unreceptive to.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything to get in the way of to me.” Marinette says calmly.

Kasey squeaks. “Sam would be angry with me if I tried to make a move. I can’t do that to her.”

Marinette shrugs. That’s Kasey’s decision, ultimately. Marinette isn’t going to encourage more girls to flirt with Jon regardless, since he openly admits to not being interested in a relationship in the first place. Plus, Marinette does understand Kasey’s position. It’s like Marinette and Kagami, back in the day, vying for Adrien’s love. Kagami couldn’t give up despite wanting to stay friends with Marinette, and Marinette felt the same way.

Luckily for them both, Marinette won in the end, and Kagami is no sore loser. They are still great friends to this day because they didn’t let that battle get between them or let themselves get angry at the other. Marinette still looks back on that, occasionally, and wonders if she would have been so graceful had she been the loser. At the time, Marinette has to admit she probably would not have. She likes to think she and Kagami would still be friends in that alternate universe, but the truth of the matter is that she just can’t be sure. Marinette was young then. Young and stupid with love, and that made her do some things she’s still ashamed of.

If Sam really will get angry at Kasey, then Marinette thinks that’s a mark on Sam, and not a mark of a good friend. They’re not kids barely old enough for romance, they’re in their early twenties. A true friend, like Kagami, competes and accepts a loss with grace, not forces their friend out of the competition to start with. It is complicated, though, and Kasey’s decision is a respectable one, too. If it’s done out of concern for Sam, and not out of fear of Sam’s anger.

Though for a normal person, one who has not been through everything Marinette and Jon have, perhaps fear of anger is respectable, too. Marinette decides to be patient with that.

Something about Sam ticks the wrong boxes for Marinette. She’s respectable, refined, and nice enough, and she’s never given Marinette reason not to trust her, even if she can be a bit nosy and forward at times, but even so she rubs Marinette the wrong way. Kasey and Louise don’t, just Sam, which is odd, since Marinette would expect that any malintent would be group wide.

Unless… No. Marinette shuts down that train of thought quickly. She refuses to theorize about how her friends will stab her in the back. She refuses to see enemies in every shadow. That’s not her life anymore.

She’s just paranoid. Remnants from her days as a hero. Still, she’s got a close eye on Sam. Paranoia may be bad, but caution is the only reason she’s still alive. And Sam is still flirting with Jon.

“I can tell her you’re interested in him, though.” Kasey says quietly. “I’m not sure she’ll back off, but she might. It’s pretty clear that he’s most interested in you.”

Marinette just laughs at the very idea. “No offense, Kasey, but I’m not interested in schoolyard drama. Jon and I aren’t a thing, and even if we were,” she looks pointedly to the three on the bench once more, “I’m not threatened by her. Last time I dealt with dumb love drama like this was, god, over eight years ago. I like to think I’m more mature now.”

Kasey looks between her and Sam with thinly veiled shock for a moment before she sighs. “I guess you’re right. It’s silly to fight over a boy, isn’t it?”

“Definitely. Never let a boy come between you and your friends.” Marinette nudges Kasey, smiling. “I learned that way back then. That time I mentioned. My rival at the time was also my friend, and even though the boy we liked ended up choosing me, she never once let it come between us. I was more awkward about it. That’s an example I want to follow.”

“Me too!” Kasey exclaims. “She sounds like a really cool girl!”

“Oh, she is. You’d like her. We’re still great friends.”

“Now I want to meet her!”

The two share a laugh and a connection that convinces Marinette a little more that Kasey really is alright. She actually seems embarrassed to have been focusing so much on all of them liking Jon and Marinette knows simply from how she’s stepping back for Sam that she’s not the type of girl to prioritize a crush over her friendships. It’s reassuring.

It’s also self-sacrificing, which itches under Marinette’s skin like a mosquito. It’s Kasey’s cross to bear, though. None of Marinette’s business.

“Nah, Marinette’s a much better cook than me. Right, Marinette?”

Marinette comes closer to Jon and the others again when he calls out to her. “I’m a better baker, but you’re no slouch for cooking.”

“I didn’t say I was bad.” Jon rolls his eyes. “I’m saying you’re better!”

Marinette laughs. “I’m not going to agree with you, you know. You’ve gotten a lot better since we met.”

“Because you taught me!” Jon insists.

Shaking her head, she ruffles his hair. “Don’t let this goofball be modest.” She says to Sam and Louise. “He’s an awesome cook.”

Jon pouts, frowning up at her through his disheveled bangs.

Marinette winks at him. “What? You may not be able to measure to save your life, but you’ve got good taste.”

“I can measure just fine if I’m not using your weird scale! You’re the one that insists on European recipes.”

“It’s literally two buttons, Jon. It’s not difficult to use.”

“It’s the principle of the matter!” Jon sticks his tongue out at her. “I have to represent my country!”

Marinette dramatically raises her head to the sky and sighs, “Americans.”

Jon starts giggling uncontrollably, which sets all the girls off as well. When that dies down, though, Sam asks, “So what is Paris like? It’s one of the fashion capitals of the world, you must have had so much inspiration.”

Marinette hums in agreement. “I was there during all the Hawk Moth business, not sure how well known that is outside Paris…”

“I know it.” Sam says, eyes turning soft. “I try to keep up with Paris for the fashion, and it came up a few times.”

“Right. The city itself is beautiful, and I have a lot of great memories there, but overall, it’s pretty much like living anywhere else. At least, New York. I do miss the architecture, though, but the big city is the big city. Now, country boy Jon might have some different tales to tell.”

Jon laughs. “I think I told you this our first year, but everything’s so noisy here. Like do New Yorkers ever shut up?”

Sam snorts. “Not a chance.”

He rolls his eyes. “Only thing I really miss is the stars, though. When you’re out in the country, you can actually see the galaxy. It’s amazing.”

“That sounds beautiful.” Sam says, leaning close to him again.

“It is! I like to sit in this tree on the farm and just look out at the stars. Oh, Marinette! You should totally come visit one of these days! You’ll love it there!”

Sam makes a face, but Marinette just laughs. “It sounds nice, but I don’t get much time back in Paris as it is. My friends would be mad at you if you dragged me away during break, too.”

“Hey, if it means I get you for longer then they can just be jealous.”

Despite herself, Marinette blushes at the comment. Sometimes Jon just says the cutest things without even thinking about it. “You’d love Paris, too, you know.” She says. “The history there is all in the architecture. I can already see you geeking out.”

Jon gasps. “Is that an invitation? Can I come to Paris?”

Marinette sighs because she knows if he really wants to go, he can just fly there. It’s not so simple or quick as hopping over to Metropolis or anything, but it’d still be faster than a plane and Jon wouldn’t have to pay for airfare. It’s surprisingly reasonable for Jon to visit her during the holiday. And on her part, she supposes she does have access to the horse Miraculous if she really wants to. So, she humors him. “Maybe someday we’ll have a little exchange. It would be cool to see your farm.”

Jon grins from ear to ear and just about squeals. “You agreed! No takebacksies! This is going to be awesome!”

——-=——-

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cherryyharryy · 5 years ago

Text

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence.

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.”

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many.

“Chinese?” I offer.

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.”

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain.

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks.

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother.

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong.

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it.

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table.

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s.

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window.

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles.

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning.

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh.

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs.

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez.

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.”

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!”

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us.

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it.

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing.

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings.

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday.

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere.

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle.

“This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.”

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it.

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit.

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away.

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning.

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back.

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class.

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky,

Yours, until the rivers all run dry.

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook.

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines,

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him.

I'm gonna stay right here by your side,

Do my best to keep you satisfied

Nothin' in the world could drive me away

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag.

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten.

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs.

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice.

And I'll be yours until two and two is three,

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea

In other words, until eternity

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor.

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back.

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here.

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago.

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am.

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home.

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent.

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you.

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says.

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention.

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name.

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials.

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature.

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction.

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again.

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete.

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here.

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in.

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time.

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before.

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park��Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death.

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry.

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today.

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island.

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone.

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time.

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day.

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself.

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years.

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer.

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest.

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs.

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs.

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again.

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me.

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing.

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment.

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument.

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

****************************************************************************************

Next Chapter

Let me know what you think!

Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @aileenacoustic and @bathrobesinparadise!!!!!!!!!

#ta!harry #burning words #harry styles #harry styles writing

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terraclae · 7 years ago

Text

Disturbance

lore pings: @yuushanoah-fr @cityofinoue @rasvimhia

A bit of a brief chapter today. It's mostly dialogue heavy but I feel like it was needed between Kassa and Arodan at the moment.

'Dan.' Arodan had barely made his way up the stairs and he already was being spoken to again. This however wasn't Carmen's melodic voice or the booming timbre of Balam's, but the more nasal sound of Kassa. He slowly turned and found them standing behind him in a for their standards humble outfit. 'Do you have some time to spare?'

'I kind of was planning to get ready for bed.' Arodan started. He swallowed harshly before he continued. 'Is it urgent?'

'If I told you it wasn't you wouldn't come along.' Kassa said, their heavy eyelids barely hiding the red glow of their eyes in the dark. They spun on their heel and walked off. 'Follow me.'

He didn't intend to follow them but his curiosity acted faster than his reason. Arodan followed Kassa down the hall and soon he found them by their room, waiting by the open door. 'What's this about?'

'Broken things.' Kassa said, downcast. He could name a few things that would have gotten Kassa down but didn't intend to assume. All he intended was to be careful since he had not started trusting Kassa again. 'Don't stand there slack jawed. Come in.'

'... Fine.' Hopefully this is not a trap in some way, Arodan thought. He held his breath and entered. All the windows were open and Arodan only now noticed Kassa had taken a long cloth and hung it as a curtain in front of the door. Currently it was rolled up above it. The room was otherwise pretty devoid of personal baggage, save some fabrics. 'So-'

'Don't close the door behind you darling, but tug that curtain above your head alright?' Kassa interrupted Arodan, not meeting his eye. The came to sit cross legged by the pillows on the bed and pat in front of them. 'Give this room some air.'

'Right. Okay.' He pulled the cloth above him and it elegantly unwound to hang in front of the door. 'Aren't you wary of being overheard?'

'Well, what do you think I want to talk about?' Kassa sat upright and tilted their head. 'Are you expecting blackmail, a proposal for theft or arson, laundry scams? Hon, you know that is not the sort of person I am.'

'You know exactly why I'm wary of you.' Arodan grunted. He hesitantly sat on the foot of the bed in front of Kassa. 'Yeah, you have new gloves, what's different about the ones you wore first?'

'They're magical. Carmen took an old pair and magically imbued them with anti-Shade magic Sachi knew.' They waved their hands besides their head for emphasis, a bored yet annoyed look on their face. 'Look, Danny, these are also welded to my hands. I can't take them off, only Carmen, Sachi and Balam can by way of magical incantation.'

'And they will give me the same answer if I ask them?'

'I'm surprised you haven't asked already, but yes.'

That seemed that for the moment. No, he still did not trust Kassa on their word, but if it was true he at least had nothing to fear. 'Okay. What did you want to talk about?'

'How are you doing?'

'... How… How am I doing?' Arodan blinked a few times, then gestured at himself. 'You want to know how I'm doing? Why?'

'Because we are in a way still allies darling.' Kassa leant on their hand and looked at him in sideways glances. 'I've made a mistake. You're allowed to kill me for it. Is it not okay to ask about how your day was then?'

'I don't trust you, that doesn't mean I want you dead.' Arodan quickly responded. A hard look from Kassa brought him back to answering his question. 'I'm fine though. Saw town today, I met some people.'

'What did you see in town?'

'... Well… This city seems to be divided in neighborhoods who all have populations consisting of one specific flight each. Plague dragons stick to each other, as do water dragons. I've seen lightning dragons living in Water's quarter however, so it depends.' Arodan started, summing up the logical details first. Kassa was listening intently. 'This city was not built for dragons, but for two legged folk. There's people here that don't even know how to shift, did you know that?'

'I've heard of it.' Kassa responded quietly. Their eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. 'Are you going back?'

'Perhaps? I've met interesting people there and it would be rude not to at least stop by once more.' He looked over Kassa who sat hunched on their bed. '... Are you okay?'

'Well, that's a first to hear.' Kassa hummed, perking up. 'I could be doing better, but I could also be doing worse. It's a win-win really.' They waved their hand idly. 'Why ask?'

'... I don't know.' Arodan's gaze drifted off to elsewhere in the room so he didn't have to meet Kassa's eye. 'Back on the boat you said that after all of this, after all the Shade was purged from us, you intended to die. Did you mean that?'

'I keep a lot of secrets but yes, I meant that.'

'Why?'

Kassa shrugged, and then it seemed their turn to be too hesitant to look at Arodan. 'I mentioned I have a difficult relationship to the Shade. It's the one thing that gives me true power over those like me but it also might drive me mad someday. I don't intend to see the day that happens.' They said, rubbing their hands. 'You know, I came from a small town, from a very humble family. Living day after day is a blessing because that's just how it is in this world.'

'Then why not purge yourself from it?' Arodan asked. 'There's people out there that can, people trained in purging Shade.'

'Then you'd have to cut off my hands. Thing is, when I bartered with the being that gave me my Shade they stated there would always be some sort of repercussion. In my case that was that my Shade would be fully ingrained in my hands.' Kassa held up their hands and wiggled their fingers. 'It's odd. These gave me my talent for sewing and control, but it is the most awful thing about me.'

'Are you sure it isn't your secrecy?'

'Always sharp.' Kassa snickered and continued. 'I hate it, and I love it. Without my hands, no one will have me. What a dilemma huh?'

'And you intend to help us all still?' Arodan asked, tilting his head.

'Of course. I'll help you. Said you were a good egg, didn't I?'

'Good egg, huh?' Murmured Arodan, mostly to himself. 'Why do you think no one would have you without hands Kassa? Who are you really?'

'That's a good question. Who am I?'

'Stop being cryptic.'

'But I like being cryptic!' Kassa exclaimed, a big grin on their face. They threw their hands up in an unknowing fashion. 'Again, where I come from it was very much kill or be killed. That did not always mean people wanted to see blood, sometimes that meant stealing ideas, stealing possessions, whatever to further yourself. It's not a secure life to live but that's how it is in this world sometimes. I left that place because of that sentiment, I wanted more. So here we are.'

'How did Balam find you then?' Arodan dared to ask. Kassa responded first with a long sigh. They then stretched, like maybe a cat would which was odd to see at the very least.

'He did not find me. I found him by chance, when he was younger, more mischievous than he is now. Waldemar was king back then and he did not like-' Kassa raised their hands and curled their fingers to communicate quotation marks. '-my type. Fair enough, I was a con artist at that time with longer hair, different pronouns, but it is still hurtful thinking about it. What made me change was Balam.' Kassa lowered and folded their hands pensively. 'We used to play a lot of pranks back then, some involved stealing things. Balam made me return them but we laughed about it nonetheless. I don't know what it was about him but I didn't feel like leaving his side anymore at some point.'

'That's up to you.' Arodan stretched too but he could not mimic Kassa's particular movements. 'This once home of yours, was it a bad place?'

'No.' Kassa said, with no doubt to their answer. 'There are those that look out for you too even if they don't have a lot to spare because their sentiment is that an eye for an eye will not keep us happy, just breathing for another day. Plague folk are tough and introverted sometimes, that doesn't make all of them cruel.' Kassa smiled, red eyes glimmering with a fondness for a memory Arodan would not get to know about. 'There's those that embrace pack structures and that's what keeps us happy. It's what I ended up doing it seems, shame I near destroyed it.'

'You're still here. No one's dead or anything.' Arodan lay down idly, allowing himself to relax. 'I don't think I mind it anymore you nearly killed me on Paramo's bunker, but that is because we have bigger things to focus on.' He met their stare, fiercely so. 'That doesn't make you forgiven or that I'm not keeping my eye on you, but it just means we are back on neutral terms.'

'Just that one eye? I'm honored.' Kassa flatly responded. Arodan shot them a glare and Kassa only could grin looking at him. 'Neutral terms works for me darling. Does that mean I get to make you an apron now?'

'No, because I don't need one. Why did you make those for Dmitri and Balam anyway? Did you guys talk?'

'I talked for quite some time with Balam, very much like we are now. We talked things past, present and future, and even now we are somehow alike.' Kassa hummed. They averted their eyes then, towards the piles of fabrics. 'I'd rather keep that between him and me, but you know what? I'm glad we did. It felt like how things used to be. Then Marlowe was all "Oh, you sew?" and gave me his wife's old collection of fabrics and I made Balam an apron while we talked some more.' Kassa laughed softly to themselves, a blush deepening the red color of their skin. 'I wonder why I'm the way I am.'

'Again, I can't tell you that.' Arodan sat up and he found himself reaching for Kassa. His hand hovered on a distance when he remembered he probably shouldn't touch Kassa if his own Shade could perhaps act up and he would see something he wasn't supposed to see. 'I just know you need to be the best version of yourself, or something like that.'

'Thanks Dan.' Kassa said. Their eyes flitted to his hand for the briefest moment, then back to his face. They particularly were focusing on his eyepatch now. 'You know, Caer wouldn't even give this a second thought… But Stratus knows how to make artificial limbs and organs.'

'Wait, what?' Arodan blinked a few eyes in response and his hand flew up to his eyepatch. '... Does that actually work? It doesn't kill the wearer right?'

'As far as I know they have working examples.' Kassa stroked their chin and focused more deeply on Arodan's bad eye. 'Interested?'

'Well… I have adjusted to living with just one eye for a while, but it'd be nice to look people in the eye properly, or see more depth again.' He rubbed his eye, and it stung just slightly. 'How do I know this would be safe and could I even afford this?'

'Oh, they're dang expensive. But Balam's friends with Odin so you can always ask him.'

'But Odin didn't want to help us immediately.'

'He's a businessman, that's just the way it is. Back in the old days he had more time to drop everything to come help out but now he doesn't. These are volatile times we live in.' Kassa responded, more bluntly than before. 'Look, he might just ask you about your eye. I know this because-' Kassa pulled a letter from underneath their pillow. '-we have been invited to a gala of sorts in a week's time. The others know this too and I suspect that's when we get to hear what will be Odin's decision.'

'A gala? A week? Really?' Arodan said, baffled. He pinched his nose and took a deep breath so he wouldn't start speaking too loudly. 'All of us?'

'All of us.'

'I'm not a party person. Is it mandatory?' Arodan had a difficult look on his face as he said this, his brow locked in a deep frown that near made a crevasse in the middle of his head. Kassa nodded silently and defeated he slipped from the bed onto his feet. 'Okay, fine then. And I should expect to be questioned about my eye?'

'Yes, that's what I'm getting at. What color suit do you want?'

'Do dark blue or whatever you think suits me because I am not going to doubt your knowledge on fashion.' Arodan held up his hands and started to back out of the room. 'I should go though. It's getting late and I'm sure Atlas is waiting for me.'

'Yes, yes, go to your sweetheart.' Kassa waved at him and smiled. 'All I wanted to do is ask about what color suit you wanted, so that's enough for me.'

Arodan stopped in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. 'Then why all the preamble?'

'Because I felt like it.' Kassa rolled around and gestured for Arodan to leave. 'Night Danny.'

Arodan stepped into the dark hallway and made sure the curtain covered the doorway neatly. On that note he took his leave, towards his and Atlas' room. Occasionally he heard snores, other times he heard stumbling around and he wondered who was up at this hour, who it could be. The sounds in the distance had to be patrons of the adjoining establishment sneaking through the courtyard. He arrived at his room with a wandering thought of what exactly he had spoken of with Kassa and what he felt about it. To be fair, he didn't know what to think.

The door quietly opened and Arodan slipped inside. Atlas already was asleep, wrapped in the blankets of the bed and Arodan didn't feel the particular drive to pull them from his grasp. He took the easy way and pulled a new one from the closet, laying it out next to Atlas.

'You okay?'

Arodan perked up, his hands on the lining of his shirt. He took it off before answering Atlas who was watching him with golden eyes from his moon illuminated spot on the bed. 'I am, it's just been a long day. We can talk about it tomorrow if you're tired.'

'Hm, sure.' Atlas murmured, wiggling himself deeper into his blankets. 'Come here though, I missed you today.'

'Yeah, I'm on my way.' Arodan said, a giggle escaping him. He set his bag down next to the bed, slipped out of his pants and crept close to Atlas who pulled him right into his blanket pile. Whatever it was he was thinking of, it fled him and soon he was fast asleep in a dreamless sleep.

#my lore #fr #ch: Arodan #ch: Kassa #ch: Atlas

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suranflower · 7 years ago

Text

Clothes for a graduation

Title: clothes for a graduation (check it on ao3)

Words: 4768

Summary: Jimin hates shopping, but he goes shopping with Hoseok because they both need to buy something appropriate for their friend Jin’s graduation. There, Hoseok finds his old friend Kim Namjoon and Jimin meets a charming boy called Taehyung that lives with Namjoon.

Park Jimin loved Jung Hoseok. He truly did. He loved him with all his heart… But he didn’t like shopping, and he certainly hated going shopping with Jung Hoseok. Not that Jimin didn’t like fashion, he liked it a lot. What he didn’t like was the act of shopping itself. Hoseok loved shopping and he could spend hours just watching the clothes and buying nothing. Actually, most of times when they were at the mall, Hoseok kidnapped Jimin and took him to the stores, and Jimin could do nothing against it. So many times, they just went walking by and eating ice cream and Hoseok would say something in the lines of “oh, have you seen that jacket?” And Jimin would answer: “not today, hyung—” just to receive the same words every time. “It’ll be just one second”. And then they entered the store. Hoseok could spend a good hour in the same store, until finally they went home, most of times empty handed.

Today it was a little different. First, because they had money to spend. Second, because they needed clothes. They were buying clothes for a friend’s graduation. Hoseok had selected about seven different outfits just for himself and about other five for Jimin. Jimin wanted to go home, really. He insisted that Hoseok was the first one to try all the clothes.

“Jiminie.” said Hoseok. “Can you take these same pants but about a size smaller?” He threw a pair of black pants over the curtain that divided the changing room from the rest of the store. Jimin could see his bare feet there, struggling to put another pair of pants.

“I’ll be back on a moment.” Jimin said. He was carrying lots of clothes, and they started to feel heavy. He managed to find the piece of clothing while still holding the rest of the stuff. It took him about an eternity. He threw the pants at Hoseok. “There you go.”

“Thanks. But next time don’t throw them at my face.” Jimin laughed and excused himself in a whisper.

“Will you ever get out?”

“I’m trying to see how it could look better. Be patient.” a deep sigh emerged from Jimin’s plump lips. He realized someone looked at him in that precise moment. Apparently, when he was away looking for the pants, another boy had arrived. He was just as busy with clothes as Jimin and he was also waiting in front of an occupied changing room. However, he looked way more patient than Jimin. He gave the boy a full-body look —scan would be a more appropriate word. He must have been around his own age and he had a messy light brown hair that had pieces of a lighter color in it, like the ones a recent hair dye can leave. He was also wearing his shirt in a very particular way. But that’s not what got most of Jimin’s attention. The boy was honestly stunning, like the idol-worthy kind of beauty. The boy smiled at Jimin and he thought that was probably the cutest thing he’d seen. Ah, yes.

Park Jimin.

Born in Busan.

21 years old.

Art student.

Shopping hater but good friend.

And also a smiley fool easily impressed by some stranger’s looks.

That was him.

“It’s taking him long, right?” said the stranger.

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s sure going to be worthy, I bet you’ll look good.” Jimin smiled again.

“I hope so. Are you also looking for graduation outfits?” Jimin pointed with his eyes at the clothes the boy held. They were formal, and very similar to his. It was about time for graduations, so it seemed logic. The boy nodded.

“A friend is graduating and we have to be there. I mean, we are his friends and all.”

“You don’t look thrilled.”

“I am nervous. I can’t believe he is finally graduating”.

“Well, time goes by. What do you study?”

Exactly in the moment the boy opened his mouth to answer, his friend called from inside the cabin.

“TaeTae, honestly, I can’t believe you really thought this suit was a good idea.”

“C'mon, hyung, get out and let me see it!”

“No way” the other complained. “I look ridiculous.” Jimin was observing the scene with amusement, and didn’t realize Hoseok was already out, standing in front of him to show him his look.

“Jiminie!” Jimin turned to him.

Jung Hoseok.

Born in Gwangju.

22 years old.

Literature student.

Shopping lover and a terrible friend.

Looks incredibly good dressed all in black.

“I like it”.

“What kind of feedback is that?”

“You look good” Jimin shrugged.

“I can’t go to Jin-hyung’s graduation looking just good.”

“What do you want me to say, then?”

“We’re not going anywhere until I am slaying.”

“You slay, hyung.”

“Nice try, but I have to see it in your eyes. And you have very expressive eyes.” Hoseok buried himself into the cabin again. The boy beside him laughed. His friend was already in as well.

“You look like good friends.” he commented.

“We are. In fact, we live together,” Jimin raised his voice so Hoseok could hear him “along with another boy that could have perfectly came here with him.”

“Shut up!”

The boy tried to cover his laugh, unsuccessfully.

“We are roommates too. Though it looks like we have nothing against shopping.” There was a moment of silence. Jimin wanted to continue the conversation, but he didn’t know what to say. He was about to bring up the ever-recurring climate theme, when the boy spoke. “I study film making.”

“Wow, that’s cool!”

“Yeah. I’d like to direct movies. And then I’ll win at Cannes and probably an Oscar too. You’ll se me on TV, be sure of it. I mean if you like cinema.” Jimin couldn’t help but laugh.

“I do like films. And I hope I’ll see you” the boy smiled, a lovely boxy smile.

“What are you studying?”

“Art.”

“Oh, really?” the boy gave him a excited look and Jimin started feeling very shy. “Do you paint then?”

“I try.” Jimin’s voice lowered and he was sure his cheeks were burning red, but if they were, the boy didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Well, that’s amazing. I wish I could paint. Do you like Van Gogh?”

“I love Van Gogh.”

“Oh my god. You’re definitely my kind of guy.” Jimin laughed, as the boy’s friend came out.

“Woah. Hyung, you look amazing!”

“Really?” the other guy didn’t seem convinced.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it a little… Too much for a graduation?”

“It’s perfect, truly perfect.” He gave Jimin a look. “My friend here agrees with me, right?”

“Me? Huh, yes,” it caught Jimin by surprise. He gave the older boy a look. It was true that he looked very good. But it was also true that maybe it was a little too much for a friend’s graduation. “Though maybe it’s too, mmm, formal.”

“See? It’s too much.”

“Ah, friend, why did you betray me this way!” said the boy to Jimin, dramatically.

“Jiminie, do you think it could look better with blue shirt?” said Hoseok as he went out. The other two stared at him. Jimin didn’t have time to say anything because in the precise moment Hoseok turned his head, he shouted.

“Namjoon!”

“Hoseok! I can’t believe! What are you doing here?” they got closer, raising their hands to shake them after. Jimin and the boy shared a surprised stare.

“I’m buying clothes for a friend’s graduation, what about you?”

“Same here. Jin-hyung invited us.”

“Yes, that’s where we’re going” Namjoon laughed and make so comment about how it was funny that they met again because the same common friend had invited them to his graduation.

“By the way, this is Taehyung,” Namjoon pointed at the boy. He shook his hand and smiled at Hoseok and Jimin. “He’s my roommate.”

“I thought you had a shared apartment with Yoongi-hyung”.

“Yes, we’re living together with him. And nice to meet you, too.”

“I’m Jimin, and I’m living with Hoseok.”

“So you finally found a flatmate?” Namjoon’s voice was very calming, or at least that’s what Jimin thought. He spoke with confidence and calmness.

“I did! We did, really. We met years ago, in college and we are renting an apartment with a friend of his from Busan.”

“That’s nice.” Namjoon and Hoseok kept talking while Jimin and Taehyung kept quiet, not knowing what to say in that kind of situation. Finally, Taehyung tossed.

“Hyung” he started “I think other people might want to use this place, why don’t you hmmm, try the clothes while you keep talking?”

“Nah, I’ll keep this outfit” said Namjoon. Jimin stared at Hoseok, who just nodded. He hadn’t even asked for feedback, he was just excited to meet again a friend who apparently he hadn’t seen in a long time. Maybe that was the solution for when they went shopping. If Jimin could make secret arrangements so Hoseok met all his classmates from primary school maybe��

“Yeah, you can get in already”. Jimin couldn’t believe what Hoseok was saying. He entered the changing cabin with a deep sigh. Right beside him, he could hear Taehyung changing his clothes. He could even watch his bare feet. Jimin went straight to the black suit, with black shirt buried in the pile of clothes he had. He checked the size was right and that he could move freely. He did. He changed his clothes and went out.

“I’m done”.

“Already?” Hoseok gave him a raised eyebrow. “Let me see”.

“Not today, hyung”.

“I think it’s about time you guys go. This will take forever and Hobi told me you are busy today” said Namjoon.

“Sure. I’ll see you in Jin’s graduation, then?”

“We’ll be there for sure. Yoongi is also coming, but he worked today so he didn’t come. I bet he’ll be happy to hear you’re coming.”

They smiled and payed for their clothes and that was the end of the story… For the moment.

A couple of days passed by and Jimin couldn’t help but think of that beautiful boy, Taehyung. How high was the possibility of meeting him, or that they had friends in common? How high were the chances Taehyung was thinking of him like he was doing? Jimin got butterflies just thinking about it. He felt a little confused and seriously excited for meeting him again on Friday. He decided to ask. And of course, he asked his close friend who hadn’t been in the concrete situation that left him thinking of what could he say to Taehyung when they met again. They had already found (and followed) each other on Instagram, but Jimin didn’t know how to start that conversation and Taehyung hadn’t done it neither. So yes, he asked Jungkook.

“Kook” the younger one didn’t look at Jimin because he was busy playing on his PS4. He nodded, like telling Jimin to sit by his side on the sofa. So yeah, that was him.

Jeon Jeongguk.

Born in Busan.

19 years old.

Majoring in computer programming.

Video games lover. Witty but shy. Knew nothing about relationships so probably Jimin should ask another person.

“How do you— how do you, you know, like talk to someone you like?”

“Like, how to talk to your crush?”

“No, I mean someone you like.”

“Isn’t it the same?”

“Well—”.

“So you don’t know how to talk to people?”

“I— I know how to talk to people. I think”.

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you ask Hoseok for that kind of advice?”

“I’m asking you”. Jungkook kept a moment of silence. Then he raised his voice, and turned his head towards the kitchen.

“Hyung!”

“Yes?” shouted Hoseok from his side.

“How do you talk to your crush?” Jimin blushed and felt like killing Jungkook right there. He had been speaking in whispers so Hoseok wouldn’t listen, but Jungkook didn’t care about it and didn’t bother to be discreet.

“Woah. Wait, you have a crush?” Hoseok’s voice was truly surprised as he went into the living room.

“Not me. Him”. Jungkook pointed at Jimin for a second and then his fast fingers went back to the console. Jimin really felt like killing his best friend in that precise moment. He felt his cheeks hot as Hoseok directed his eyes, big with surprise, at him. Jimin swallowed and tried to smile.

“Is that true?”

“No, Kook made it up.”

“Well, you just asked me, don’t call me a liar if you don’t want to face the facts, Jiminie.” Ah, such a rude kid. Jimin knew his cheeks were burning red by now.

“It’s not a crush”. Jimin insisted. Jungkook laughed, but Hoseok nodded and as he leaned on the back of the sofa where Jungkook and Jimin were sitting.

“Ok, we won’t say it’s a crush. What is it then? What��s the whole problem?”

“I— I like this person.”

“But like let-me-fuck-you sort of like or the you-are-cool-and-interesting sort of like?” asked Hoseok. Jimin opened his mouth. He didn’t expect that question and it took him a moment to answer. Jungkook was faster than him.

“If he’s not saying it, it’s the let-me-fuck-you-but-I-won’t-say-that-out-loud type of like”.

“No!” Jimin punched Jungkook’s arm and he complained about how Jimin would make him lose that game. “I think it’s more the you’re cool and interesting so I’d like to know you better type”.

“So you don’t really deny type one?” Hoseok continued.

“Hmm”. Jimin looked to the floor, trying to control his blush. “I guess I wouldn’t mind. But it’s not the most important thing right now”.

“Ok, ok” Hoseok hesitated, with his fingers pressed against his chin. “And where does this person come from? Where did you meet?”

“Recently. Turns out we had a common friend”. Jimin was so sure he sounded like he was lying that he was convinced Hoseok would immediately know who he was talking about. But he didn’t.

“Ok. And how many times have you spoke?”

“One time”.

“Just one time and you are already asking for advice? You haven’t had time to screw it,” Jungkook teased him. Hoseok couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s the name of that individual anyway?”

“It’s a secret” Jimin laughed.

“Oh, hyung, you’re so mysterious” Jungkook rolled his eyes. “I bet you’re talking about a coffee shop worker”.

“I’m not. And anyway, what if I did?”

“Well, I think conversations while you’re being attended in a store don’t really count as conversations, do they?” Jungkook was saying this very calmly as killing thousands of zombies whose ugly faces showed on the TV screen.

“He’s not a store employee, and it was an actual conversation”.

“So who is he? Tell us, we’re curious” insisted Jungkook. “Is he from college?”

“I don’t know, please don’t insist” Jimin said with nervous laughter. He had had enough admitting out loud his crush was a boy, he still wasn’t sure about Hoseok’s possible reaction to his gay ass.

“Ok, so your mysterious boy” Hoseok continued, his eyes sparking with amusement. “What’s the deal with him?”

“I just don’t know how I can talk to him.”

“Do you have his SNS?”

“Yes.”

“Then just talk to him”. Jimin’s palm was in his face so fast he didn’t realize he had done that movement until his palm clashed against his face.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“Just naturally. Talk about the weather”.

“Oh no—“

“Really, it might work. Send him some funny post. Do you know if he likes a group or something? You can send him a song or something” Hoseok nodded, in agreement with his own comment. “Yes, something easy like that could be very casual and eventually lead to something else”.

“Well, he likes van Gogh” answered Jimin.

“Listen” Jungkook said as he left his console on the table, as he finished the game. He looked at Jimin. “Hyung” he told Hoseok “can you candle me that chocolate over there?” Hoseok did, and Jungkook ate the chocolate as he spoke. “Why don’t you publish something van Gogh related and see if he answers? I mean, try to check if he’s online first and then just go for it. If he comments something, you’ll have a good excuse to start a conversation and get to know him better and also if he’s interested in you as well”.

“That’s” Jimin was blinking. He raised his head to meet Jungkook’s big brown eyes and his bunny-like chocolate eating. “That’s a pretty good idea”.

“Then there you go. Now come and help me prepare dinner” Hoseok patted Jimin’s head and laughed as they went into the kitchen. “Jiminie has a crush lalala”.

“Aww, please stop��.

“Jimine has a not-crush lalalala”.

“What did I do to deserve this?”

Following Jungkook’s master plan, Jimin posted, first, a picture of the last movie he had watched, commenting on how amazing the director was. He got no response. He tried van Gogh then. First he posted a painting, with no caption and a day later, he posted the sketch of that same painting he had made in his sketchbook. Again, he got no response, much to his despair. He was about to tell Jungkook his plan hadn’t worked when the graduation day came. He was strangely excited for his friend’s graduating and a little nervous to meet Taehyung again, but honestly? He had been losing all his hopes and by now he didn’t think too much about it.

That morning, Junkook was out because he had to study and Hoseok was about as well because he had morning shift at the library. Jimin didn’t have to wake up until later. When he woke up all alone, he found there was no milk in the fridge, so he decided to get out to get a coffee and something for breakfast on his way to buy milk. He entered a small café near his place that was in the middle of the road to the grocery store. He ordered an americano and some bun that seemed to be tasty. He was still very sleepy and concentrated in looking at his coffee, so he didn’t realize—

“Jimin?” he raised his eyes to meet the deep voice that was speaking to him and he almost jumped when he saw Taehyung there.

“Hey! How are you?”

“I’m alright” Taehyung answered, with a big smile. Jimin thought, for a second he must be dreaming. He went quite often to that café and he had never seen Taehyung. “This is my first day”.

“Oh, really? I come here a lot because it’s near my place”.

“Then I guess we’ll be closer now” Taehyung handed Jimin the receipt and the bun in a plate, his eyes smiling. Jimin felt like melting in the spot as he took those things and gave Taehyung the money. “Take away?”

“Yes, please”.

“I watched the movie you mentioned and I loved it. I wanted to respond but I had a problem with my phone so—“.

“What happened?”

“My phone logged me out and I forgot the password and everything so I can’t log back in”.

“That’s pretty shitty”.

“It is” Taehyung gave him the bun in a paper bag and the coffee. Their hands touched for a moment and Taehyung smiled again. “We’ll meet again this evening, right?”

“Yes”. Jimin suddenly felt shy, but that only seemed to amuse Taehyung, who giggled in a way Jimin thought was adorable.

“I’m impatient for tonight” Jimin left the place smiling and he waved his hand at the window. Form the other side, Taehyung winked while he was attending another client.

Jimin felt as if he was walking on clouds.

“How do I look?” Jimin asked Jungkook. Jungkook made circles with his finger, telling him to turn around. Jimin did.

“You look good”.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Can you help me with the tie?”

“I can’t believe you still don’t know how to make this” Jimin commented, but he started working on the black tie with a smile. “There you go. Hyung, how do I look?”

“You look good. You would be looking better in other color. You two are wearing almost exactly the same clothes”.

“It’s a classic” Jungkook said, shrugging. “Black and white never fail”.

“It’s b o r i n g, kids” Hoseok was fixing his hair, occupying the whole mirror.

“Ugh, I look so…” Jimin complained

“So what?”

“So serious. And look at this” he pointed his chin. “This won’t go”.

“What is it?”

“The most terrible pimple ever” he grinned. Jungkook got closer.

“I can’t see anything”.

“Look carefully”. Jungkook pointed the pimple.

“This? Aw, come on, no one will see that”.

“Here” Hoseok handed Jimin some foundation. “But Jungkook is right”.

“I don’t know. I look terrible”. He couldn’t just go and let Taehyung see him like that. And oh, the pics. The photographs would be terrible and—

“You’re very handsome, Jimin” commented Hoseok. “Now let’s go or we’ll be late. Namjoon told me they’re almost there.”

Jimin was nervous all the way and fixed his hair again and again using the taxi’s mirror. When they arrived, the first person they saw was Namjoon, waiting to get in.

“It’ll start in ten minutes” he informed. Jimin had done his homework, and now he knew about Hoseok’s friends.

Kim Namjoon.

22 years old.

Born in Ilsan.

Majoring in English.

Lived together with Yoongi and Taehyung. Old friend of Hoseok and childhood friend of Jin.

First, Namjon was all alone, but soon, another boy came to greet them. Hoseok was so excited to see this person.

“Hey, dude, I thought you had totally forgotten about me!” this dark haired not-too-tall and sassy-looking individual couldn’t be anyone but Min Yoongi.

23 years old.

Born in Daegu.

He studied music? Jimin wasn’t sure.

He lived with Namjoon and Taehyung and was an old friend of Hoseok and Namjoon. Apparently, for a time they had formed a gang all teachers were scared about in high school.

Hoseok introduced Jimin and Jungkook and explained their story. Jimin and him had met in college almost four years ago and they had become friends. Now, when they looked for an apartment, Jimin suggested to share it with an old friend from Busan that was coming to study to Seoul. And so they did.

Yoongi immediately gained Jimin’s friendliness, as well as Jungkook’s. Jungkook told Jimin that he reminded him of his older brother. Jimin told him that they looked nothing alike and Jungkook answered that that was precisely the reason. Taehyung was late. He arrived running and excused himself. When introducing himself to the other boys, he left Jimin to the last, and he gave him something that was almost a hug in the most casual way, as if they had been friends for so long.

Kim Taehyung.

21 years old.

Born in Daegu.

Film student.

A big dork with a big smile and art lover and the friendliest person in the world stared at Jimin as if he was the only one present there.

More college friends soon came. They were making noise and generally being happy. Jin was right in the eye of the hurricane and he only stepped out the mess composed by the rest of his friends —Jimin knew he was very popular— to greet his parents and tell the boys to come in. Jimin felt like a proud mom for some reason, seeing Jin dressed with his graduation clothes.

Kim Seokjin.

24 years old.

Now majored in theatre.

Loved by everyone, the most popular guy in town and a caring friend.

Jimin’s friend who he loved so much and was so proud of.

Jimin sat right next to Yoongi and Jungkook. The ceremony was not long and it was truly very funny. Jimin could tell that Jin was a little teary, even from that distance. Since he was very popular and one of the best in his promotion, he had to give a little speech. And when it ended, his friends clapped like crazy.

The six boys gave Jin a moment to talk with his parents and college friends before going to dinner. Jimin was thirsty so he went out, avoiding the crowd of newly graduated, family and friends. He got a bottle of water and decided to go to the toilet, thinking that it would be the only place that wouldn’t be full of people. So he went there, to the big and clean toilets. Only one cabin was occupied. Jimin washed his hands and quietly drank water. Someone patted his shoulder from behind. It was Taehyung, who just came in. Jimin smiled at him.

“So, how was it?”

“Hyung was amazing.”

“Yeah.”

“Now that he is officially an actor, you could put him in one of your films” Jimin said, jokingly.

“I was thinking about it too, but we’ll see in the future. Can I have some water?”

“Sure” Jimin handed him the bottle. Taehyung checked his phone and a notification popped in Jimin’s phone. Taehyung had liked the post of his van Gogh sketch. He smiled at Jimin. Jimin laughed.

“You found your password?”

“I did.”

“I’m right here, you could just have told me you liked it.”

“Well, now everyone can see I liked it. And it was a funny thing to do.”

“If you say so”. Jimin couln’t help but laugh. “What ae you doing here?”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Oh”

“Isn’t that enough reason?”

“Yes? I just thought you would use the toilet or something.”

“Honestly?” Jimin nodded. Taehyung turned to him, his lips revealing a half smile with a hint of embarrassment.

“Yes.” Jimin was, of course, interested in knowing the truth.

“I followed you. Does it sound weird?” Taehyung showed his clenched teeth.

“Honestly? Yes.” Jimin laughed, and he covered his mouth with his hand. “I just came to run away from people”.

“Really?”

“It was hot in there and I was thirsty”. Taehyung hesitated.

“That’s true. Do you want me to go?”

“No, it’s fine”. Jimin felt his cheeks burning again. Taehyung smirked with amusement, checking Jimin’s face, but he pretended he didn’t see how his cheeks were turning hot pink. “Why did you follow me?”

“I wanted to talk to you. See, I already know Namjoon and Yoongi hyung. I wanted to talk to the new friends, but Hoseok was busy talking about memories with Yoongi and Namjoon and your other friend, Jungkook, was nowhere to be found. I saw you were going out so I followed you”.

“Now it sounds better”. Now it was Taehyung’s time to laugh. They didn’t say anything else. Jimin felt a little nervous being there with Taehyung and he didn’t know what to say. But he felt like silence was the right thing in the moment. Taehyung was apparently concentrated in his own thoughts.

“You know what, Jimin?”

“What.”

“I can already tell we’ll be close. It’s like a feeling… Do you know when in movies the main character just knows something? And he’s not sure about what and the audience won’t know until later but everyone can truly smell something coming?”

“I know what you mean.”

Jimin later discovered that he did like Taehyung. In every sense of the word. With the dinner that night, the occasional visits to the café near his apartment, nights out with the boys and the eventual meetings where they were just together, Jimin could tell that his so-called crush for Taehyung when they first met was nothing compared to how he felt lately. They soon discovered that they had many common interests and passions. Hobbies too. Jimin thought of Taehyung as a strange and beautiful creature he was getting to know better and better every day, like solving some kind of puzzle, and he found that process truly fascinating. He didn’t know that Taehyung thought of him pretty much in the same way. They spent hours just looking at the clouds and finding funny forms, inventing stories about aliens or talking about rabbits on the moon. They prepared together a short animation for a music clip that Yoongi later used. They commented manga all the time. They went out dancing and just spent the night like that. They had karaoke duets while the rest of their friends patiently listened but also laughed out loud. They watched movies together. They soon became each other’s companion: they went together pretty much everywhere. So much that Jungkook commented he couldn’t remember a day when Taehyung wasn’t home. And sometimes, they just said nothing and stared at each other, as if sharing something only they knew. After all, Taehyung was right. And Jimin couldn’t be any happier.

#so here it goes #the other fic i posted today #well so it's jin's graduation #vmin #college!au #college!bangtan #and yes a sweet sweet jimin having an instant crush on tae #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bangtan scenarios #bts fanfic #mine #fanfic #bts #originally published on ao3 #park jimin #kim taehyung

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jojen-hewitt · 8 years ago

Photo

“Better luck next time.”

Bank Robber AU for @ambiguous-eyepatch for the Valentines @aftgexchange!

I had a lot of fun drawing these and I hope you like it! 😃

I realized too late that this wasn't exactly what you meant by your prompt, sorry about that, but I hope it's still okay!

The rest of my mini-fic/headcanons/ramblings about this AU are below the cut:

Okay, so right off the bat I got a little carried away with this AU and its way longer than I thought it'd be, so tldr version; Andrew and Neil are rival thieves who sometimes help each other out. Neil gives fake names, Andrew finds him interesting. Two finger salutes are used back and forth. The others make appearances. Neil's a little shit to Riko. Totally impractical, illegal, and very convenient scenarios ensue. Exactly what you'd expect from what was supposed to be a Bank Robber AU but turned more into a Cat Burglar AU. Again, sorry about that!

So, *rolls up sleeves*

Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky are a gang of thieves (Aaron is the tech/medic guy, Andrew's the thief, Nicky is usually the distraction/get away driver). The three of them have been doing this since the twins were in high school. ("It's expensive raising two twin boys as a single parent. Especially when one has expensive tastes in cars and the other wants to be a doctor!" "For the last time Nicky, stop telling people we're your kids!!")

Although Andrew has been doing this on his own for a while (it's how he got himself thrown into juvie)

Neil takes to becoming a thief after his mom died. They still went on the run because they stole from his father, so he thought that would be the best way to keep up some kind of income. He changes name and appearance to avoid police and his father (heads up now, this is the last time Nathan's mentioned, didn't know how else to add him).

Neil threw his outfit together at a thrift store (Orange was the only colour of bandana left, ok).

Andrew of course bought nice, expensive, dark clothes that can blend easily in a crowd. Also to make him look ninja like, not like anyone but Nicky would dare to admit it though.

These two first meet at the Hernandez Museum in Arizona. Neil tries to steal a painting; Andrew whacks him in the gut with his poster portfolio before grabbing the painting and high tailing it outta there, (Not before he gets a fake name from Neil (probably Stefan)),

"Better luck next time." *two finger salute*

As Neil moves on to South Carolina, sometimes the orange gets recognized, so the papers have taken to calling him The Fox ("Really, Matt? That's what they call him?" "Yeah, you know, orange face mask and he's a thief. Dan came up with it. Makes sense if you ask me.")

Side note, Neil is Matt's new roommate and Matt has no clue what's going down, but accepts that his roomie runs at weird hours and prefers to keep things surface level in conversation. They're still bffs during the day when their schedules intersect.

Dan, the investigative reporter interested in this string of robberies, lives with Renee next door to the cousins, those shifty looking guys who are always angrily whispering in German at each other and coming and going at weird times, but Nicky seems nice enough and Dan thinks Renee has a thing for Andrew, (she does not, they just spar together once a week, and Renee may or may not teach Andrew some lock picking techniques... maybe), so they let it go.

Allison is a close friend of the girls and owns some of the valuables/buildings that get targeted. She's sort of confused when some of these items return a few weeks after Dan reports about them stolen, with a fox sticky note attached

(Neil may steal for a living, but he feels bad when he finds out some of that stuff is hers, so returns the more sentimental items. Andrew does not.)

Kevin is the detective trying to catch these thieves with his new partner - Andrew, who uses info to get a good location/hit or cover his trail. (also puts that criminal justice degree to some use).

*I debated making Kevin a security guard but liked the idea of Andrew being his partner while also being the criminal they're trying to catch dynamic better*

Kevin eventually joins up with Andrew's crew because Riko (Kevin's old partner, also on the robberies case) just took things way too far and sort of snapped, almost injuring Kevin. He won't take part in the robberies himself, but he'll help give a lead or distract the attention of the other officers when Andrew needs it. (He just wants Andrew to help keep him from Riko again.)

Kevin takes his job very seriously, but when he finds out Neil, an old childhood acquaintance, is The Fox he warns him to run before more trouble starts up with Riko (Neil does not, he's found a life here, even if some of its a lie, and he's gonna fight for it).

Kevin starts drinking around this time. (seriously, all he wanted was to be a good detective like his mom and dad, now he's covering for two thieves he's supposed to be apprehending for lord knows what reason)

Seth is a security guard who Nicky takes great pleasure in knocking out (he overheard the guy said some shitty things about gay people while they were staking out the place earlier)

Erik is the cousins' international seller.

Wymack is the police chief/commissioner and doesn’t get paid enough.

Now back to the thieving.

Neil keeps running into this guy at his heists and it turns into a sort of one sided rivalry of Neil trying to case the joint before Andrew gets there.

It barely works, Andrew always beats him there, but he gets better at it. (and someone would be lying if they said Andrew doesn't wait sometimes to see if the Fox shows up)

Neil's taken to calling Andrew the Monster because Allison hates whoever keeps stealing her stuff (also, getting hit by a portfolio tube hurts, Andrew, of course he's gonna think you're a monster at first) but after one time he hears Aaron yelling over Andrew's earpiece, he extends the title to "the Monsters".

which is also roughly when Andrew gives him some sort of name in return to Neil's alias (Chris this time around) because this has been going on for months now.

Andrew eventually makes a deal with him to help each other out because this thief is a train wreck and is gonna get them caught eventually (Andrew will keep the police off his tail and Neil just has to help Andrew with some of the trickier robberies).

Andrew tends to chat a little with this weird Fox named Alex or Stefan or Chris or Duncan or whoever he is today, just 'cause these robberies have started to bore him, but this,

this guy is something interesting

And they start to learn little seemingly inconvenient things about each other

("Oh, there's knives in those? Good to know." "Your mom's dead? Same for my brother. Paid for my car." "Favourite color is grey actually!" "You're more a raccoon than a fox." "Actually my family never celebrated holidays. What brings you to a jewelry store on Thanksgiving?" "I don't like being touched." "Tell your friend that I can in fact understand what he's saying in German... And fuck him too." "Ice cream is the best goddamn food in the world and I will gut you for saying otherwise!")

... Ok, last one is more context than verbatim, but you get the point...

As he gets better, Neil starts to leave little fox sticky notes behind with insults towards Detective Moriyama (because fuck that guy, he keeps bad mouthing The Fox in the news and saying it'd be easy to catch "an amateur like this flea"!!)

Kevin and Andrew have mini heart attacks when they find them ("why agree to my protection when you clearly have a death wish?!")

Eventually, Neil has perfected the art to the point where he can get the item/money before Andrew arrives, but against his better judgement (and the screams of his mother in his head to "Just run! Run! Get out of there while you can!") he stays, even just to leave Andrew with a new fake name.

One of these nights Neil almost gets caught by Riko on patrol, (who is still rather enraged by the last note; how does the Fox even know about his daddy issues?), so he has to change his appearance last minute to not get recognized on the streets.

Matt is the most surprised by the new auburn hair and blue eyes, but again, he rolls with it. Recommends that his girlfriend's roommate is really good with dying hair if he wants to mix it up again though.

Andrew and Aaron get into some trouble (*cough*Drake*cough*) so the Monsters are out of commission for a while.

Neil feels slightly responsible (somehow his tip off to Andrew leads to it, I don't know).

They haven't seen each other since that night.

Andrew eventually gets back into the swing of things ("Andrew are you sure..?" "Yes Nicky, now get in the fucking car.")

One night Kevin gets him a tip off about an opportunity at the EVRMR Private Bank (inside info from Jean who just so happens to hate working there and the Moriyamas, who own the place).

So as Andrew makes his way to the roof, he hears something below (hurried foot steps from all too familiar worn out shoes below) and he takes a glance and sees a flash of orange.

And there's that bothersome shadow who was only supposed to be a brief distraction from routine,

but now he's got a slightly new look and what appears to be a duffle full of what's supposed to be Andrew's cash.

Neil senses eyes on him and sees a figure on the roof and just knows.

Cue two finger salute. "Better luck next time!!"

And he's gone.

(Andrew still checks the vault and finds a fox sticky note that says 'Abram')

*cue Aaron's screams of annoyance and Nicky's demands to know if this guy is at least hot if they keep letting him take their marks*

(Kevin probably is downing a vodka bottle somewhere, but that's a given)

Next day, Riko is out for blood. Jean eventually quits and goes to work at the Trojan Bank.

Later, Dan decides to throw a house party for reasons (maybe a successful article? Matt got a promotion? A doomed attempt to get Renee and Andrew together?)

Renee calmly asks Andrew to come and he agrees for the sake of free booze (also Nicky has been making annoying puppy dog faces at the door ever since Dan asked him and he had to say no)

He's bored and tired and hates that his boss and Kevin are there

(Dan spends so much time hounding the police station for stories that Wymack has essentially adopted her)

Then Matt comes in with a quiet, auburn haired roommate called Neil.

That's when things start to get interesting.

#foxhole court #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #aftgexchange #ambiguous-eyepatch #aftg art #my art #my writing #sorta #gift exchange #bank robber au #i really hope you like it #you are such an amazing artist btw!#i felt honored making this for you!#:D #sorry its not really what you asked for... and is really long...

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