#thoughts i think about while mowing the lawn before dad appears and asks why i haven't done it

[allbeendonebefore]

people complain about magpies being the only birds in their yards and whatever and im just like can’t relate, the flickers love me because i leave the anthills in my yard. and people will really blame magpies (scavengers who occasionally bully or kill) for other dead birds and not like. cats (hunt for sport). what ?

anyway putting more peanuts out for the baby pies and leaving all the pine cones in a heap for the finches because lawn culture sucks muahahahaha

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Jason//don’t blame me for falling

Request: Can I request a jason/reader where Polly is jealous of the reader because she's dating Jason and she tries to break up both of them up but the bulldogs and the vixens confront Polly and tells her to back off because the reader and jason are end game and can the reader also be co-captain and Jason Captain of the bulldogs and can the reader being bestfriends with Cheryl! And thank you btw I love your writing!!!!

hey! i hope everyone is having a good day!! i don’t really get/have a lot of jason imagines so this was super fun to write. title is from harry styles’ ‘to be so lonely’. i hope you like this!! k, byeeee

Polly Cooper has done some things in her time. She’s lied, stole and caused more drama than you can wave a commentary youtube channel at. 

But this time, she’s gone too far. 

You knew she was jealous when you and Jason started dating. It was understandable, they’d dated and he’d essentially broken up with her for you. But thats as far as it went. There was never any cheating or lying involved, and Polly was your friend...sort of. 

But everyone could see that Jason was miserable with Polly, whether that was her fault or not, nobody knew. But when your friends saw you and Jason talking to each in the corridor. When Cheryl would invite you over to hang out after school and she’d find you with Jason instead of getting a snack like you’d told her, everyone knew it was inevitable. 

The captain of the football team and the co-captian of the cheerleaders...it’s just destiny. Especially if they’d grown up together. Especially if your best friend was his sister. It was bound to happen eventually, it was just a matter of waiting for the timing to be right. 

And eventually, after years of waiting and pining and staring longingly at each other...it happened. 

You went to a party together like you always did on a Friday night. You snuck both Cheryl and Jason out of their house with a little help from the Vixens and Bulldogs and then you were off to Hayley Grey’s party!

There, the two of you drank a little too much (it was for a good reason, Jason was upset about his very messy breakup and the fact that Polly now hated him and you, even though you weren’t even together then) and by the end of the night you’d played a very drunk game of truth or dare, made out in the bath tub, confessed your undying love for each other and then fell asleep in the back garden.

You were woken up the next day by Hayley’s dad shouting at the two of you to get off the freshly mowed lawn otherwise he’d call the police and the neighbourhood watch. You’d grabbed Cheryl, ran past Hayley being scolded by her mom and went back to the Blossom’s. 

Once you got there, Mr and Mrs Blossom were stood outside the gate with their arms crossed and scowls on their faces, and stood next to them was your parents, also looking more than annoyed. 

The three of you had been grounded for three weeks, but it was worth it. 

Without that party you and Jason would still just be friends, so you silently thanked Hayley Thomson and her parents, while you and Jason stood beside each other, your fingers still intertwined as your parents shouted at the three of you. 

And the rest as they say, is history...

Or at least thats what you thought they’d say. 

But this is real life and nothing is ever that easy. 

Because yes, for the rest of the weekend you were happy. Texting each other in secret with hidden phones the two of you had gotten ages ago so you could continue to talk to each other. 

You told your friends, he told his and they were so happy.

Cheryl the most because it meant she didn’t have to listen to you mope about Jason whenever he was with someone that wasn’t you, or listen to Jason try to subtly mention you in conversations that related to you in no way, and failing. 

Everyone was happy. 

But by Monday morning, word had gotten around and one person wasn’t happy. 

Polly Cooper. The older and arguably more annoying sister of the Cooper children. She’s always been a little wary of you, you did hang around with her boyfriend a lot and she’d heard the bets about how long it would take for you to get together. 

But when Jason broke up with her, that was it. 

Even though you two didn’t get together until like three weeks after they broke up so you don’t really know what she was complaining about.

She had a list on enemies and you were number one, Jason followed closely at two and then Cheryl was three, just because. 

Her hatred started off slow. She would glare at the two of you whenever you walked past her. Then there were the whispers, laughter and of course the name calling, which then bizarrely evolved to middle school-esque notes passed during class that made you roll your eyes and Jason laugh at the crude drawings. 

“Do I really look like this?” He asks, holding up the latest note that has been shoved through his locker. 

“Hmm.” You think for a few seconds, glancing between him and the paper. The hair’s the same colour, but apart from that, “nah.” You shrug and he nods, looking at the drawing one last time before throwing it in the bin. “You’re much more attractive.” You say, a smile tugging at your lips as you lean over the lunch table to kiss him. 

“Slut!” Polly shouts from across the cafeteria and you pull away reluctantly, both you and Jason sharing a look of annoyance. 

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Cheryl asks from beside you, too busy staring at her phone to actually pay attention to anything around her. 

“Its fine.” You say. “I’ve got it.” You turn in the direction of Polly and flip her off, a sweet smile adorning your lips and your friends laugh loudly. “This is the 21st century, there’s no such things as sluts Polly.” 

“You’re the exception to that.” She replies.

“Well done Polly. That was actually really good for you.” You compliment. “You keep working on your insults and come back to me when you have something better than slut. Oh and how did you get in my boyfriends house to put your bra in his bed? We’ve spent hours trying to figure it out and nothing.” The room goes quiet at your revelation and Polly glances at the table, trying to regain her composure. 

She looks back up a few seconds later and the usual smug grin settles on her face. 

“I must have forgot it the last time I was there, which was what Jason? Last night?” 

“I don’t think so Polly because I think I would have noticed you there.” You reply and hushed gasps and giggles echo around the room. 

She shuts up after that, thankfully letting you eat the rest of your lunch in peace. 

You know it won’t last, but you’ll take the small victory. 

----

“Did she seriously put a bra in his room?” Cheryl asks as the two of you walk out of the changing rooms and towards the front doors. 

Vixen and Bulldog practice both finish at the same time so the two of you wait by the doors for Jason and the rest of your friends. 

“Yep.” You reply, popping the p and she looks at your amused. “I genuinely don’t know how she’s getting in there. Jason thinks she never left, she’d living in the walls.” You giggle. 

“But why though? I would never leave any of my bras in anybody’s room. They’re all too pretty.” 

“I agree.” You nod. “I dunno. She’s been trying to break up us since we got together. She’s spread rumors about both of us, left bras in his bed and faked texts between the two of them.” 

“Well thats annoying.” 

“If anything it’s just sad.” You sigh. “I kind of feel sorry for her.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I dunno. I mean, her boyfriend did break up with her and then start dating his best friend three weeks later. He was miserable but it still doesn’t make it any less upsetting for her.” You frown as you speak. 

Despite being together for over 5 months now, you still can’t help shake the feeling that maybe you’re in the wrong. You don’t want to upset anyone, it just so happens that you’ve been in love with Jason Blossom for as long as you can remember. 

“Well, you’re a bigger person than me.” Cheryl shrugs, looking around the empty corridor. “Where the hell is he, this bag is heavy.” She complains and unlocks her phone, sending another text to Jason and huffing loudly when she doesn’t get an answer immediately. 

You laugh and go to rearrange your bag on your shoulder when your realize that you’ve forgotten it. 

“Shit, Cheryl. I left my bag.” You say and she rolls her eyes. 

“How do you forget a bag that big?” She asks and you shrug. “Go on, I’ll wait.”

“Thank you Cheryl, you’re the best.” You smile sweetly before rushing back towards the gym and changing rooms. 

All the way back you feel like you’re being watched. 

It’s not an intense feeling, its just makes you a little bit more aware of your surroundings, a little bit more jumpy when one of the janitors drops a mop on the floor. You look over your shoulder a little more often when you searching for your bag, and when you finally find it you walk a little quicker out of the room and into the corridor. 

You start the slow walk back to the front of the school, deciding to keep Cheryl waiting for a bit longer. And it’ll be even better if Jason is stood with her, both of the Blossom’s annoyed. 

But just when you think you’re safe, Polly appears and you can already feel the headache starting. You force a smile and stare straight at her, trying to feign niceness. 

“Hi Polly. Great practice wasn’t it?” Thats right, she follows you literally everywhere, even to practice, despite not listening to anything you or Cheryl says. 

“Stay away from my boyfriend.” She replies and your eyes widen, now fully invested in wherever this conversation is going. 

“Excuse me?” You blink. 

“You heard me. Stay away from my boyfriend.” She moves closer to you, effectively backing you into a corner and the only things thats keeping space between the two of you is your gym bag...of course it is. 

“Polly, he isn’t your boyfriend anymore. He broke up with you, remember?” 

“Remember?” She laughs bitterly. “How could I forget. You stole the love of my life away from me.” 

“I di-” 

“You’ve been planning this haven’t you. I mean I get it. Your friends with him for ages and then it slowly develops into something more. I understand that. You know, he always told me I had nothing to be worried about whenever I asked about you. That was a lie wasn’t it? Because here you are, happy and in love while I’m alone. But remember this. He chose me first. He was your friend for years and he never wanted you until now.” 

“Look Polly, I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to shut up, and listen.” She says, backing you further and further into the corner. 

“Okay.” 

“I will get Jason back. Slowly but surely, he’ll realize he made a mistake and that he’s supposed to be with me. You’re only supposed to be his friend, nothing mor-” 

“Is everything okay?” A voice asks. 

Polly pauses and both of you move to look who the voice belongs to. A small smile twitches at your lips when you see your friends from both the Vixen’s and the Bulldogs. 

“Yeah.” Polly says through gritted teeth. “Everything’s fine, isn’t it Y/n?” 

“Are you sure? Because from where we’re standing, it looks like you were threatening Y/n. Doesn’t it?” Juliet continues and looks around at the rest of the group. They all nod, glaring at Polly. 

“Jason’s chosen who he wants. Do everyone a favour and back off.” Cheryl says in a cold tone. 

The group of Vixen’s and Bulldogs part to let her through, and as soon as she’s at the front, she’s backing Polly into the wall. You quickly side-step to avoid being squashed and watch as Cheryl continues to subtly threaten Polly. 

Its not how you would prefer to tackle the issue, but she ignores everything else, so maybe Cheryl will do the trick. You don’t know for sure, what you do know is you’re very thankful to have friends that find you when your in trouble, even if they do want to go home. 

Cheryl finishes her threats with a very sweet ‘got that?’, and even you’re a little scared as to how she can change her tone and entire demeanor so quickly. She then grabs your hands and pulls, the two of you walking towards the front doors, your friends following all talking loudly. 

You see Jason stood by the door, pacing up and down while he frantically texts. Once he hears noise he looks up and the worried expression disappears as soon as he sees you. 

“You okay?” Jason asks, his eyebrows kitting together as he takes in your shaken appearance. 

“I am now.” You reply, sending him a small, but relieved smile. He nods, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. 

He knows when you’re lying, he knows everything about you, but he also knows you’ll tell him later if you want to. He knows right now he just needs to see you smile properly.   

“Pops?” He suggests and slings an arm over your shoulder, the two of you set off in a slow walk out of the doors and towards his car. “We can split a milkshake.” 

“Why can’t I get my own?” You ask, feigning annoyance. 

“Because in all our years of friendship, when have you ever gotten your own milkshake?” He replies. 

“Never.” You sigh. 

“Exactly.” He nods. “Just because we’re together doesn’t change anything.” 

“Thats fine by me.” You grin. 

[syilcawrites]

for your zelink prompt,,,how do you feel about a modern AU where the two bike to the beach and have a picnic?

a/n: I added ‘high school’ to the prompt too hope you don’t mind asghjjhas (’: Also this turned out a lot longer than I planned hope that’s okay ;-; I want to practice writing in Link’s voice more so this is in his pov!! Anyway! I hope you enjoy this, and thanks a lot for the prompt <3

ao3

hot buttered apples with chamomile tea

There are two types of monsters: ones that sleep under your bed and ones that sleep behind your eyes. For Aryll, it's the former.

And Link saw a lot in the latter.

He rubbed his eyes to try to erase the bags that rest stubbornly underneath them, but he wondered if he was just making it worse. Probably. But why did it matter anyway? He usually got three hours of sleep tops, so he always liked to think that darkness had become a permanent edition to his features. He tapped his toes against the pavement, waiting, peering around the corner of the school's brick fence, trying to catch a glimpse of the black car that Zelda usually pulled up in. With five minutes left until school started, he was beginning to worry—she was never late. And for the first time in his entire high school career, he was early.

It was a last minute trip they had planned, when they had snuck onto the school roof after class yesterday.

"I want to see the ocean," she had told him, under the summer's unrelenting heat. They were both sticky with sweat, even though they were sitting under a shady area, and the next thing she said made no sense to him. "I've never been to the beach before." Living here and never once going to Hateno Beach? He thought she was kidding at first. But she stared at him dead in the eye with her lips pressed into a thin line, as serious as ever. When he jokingly proposed that they ditch school the next day to go to the beach, she didn't hesitate to say yes.

It had taken him practically the whole day yesterday to convince her to sneak up onto the rooftop, and yet she was completely fine with ditching an entire day of school to go to the beach.

She was weird and unpredictable and he loved it.

He decided to check his backpack again for the twelfth time in the past hour, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. His memory was pretty terrible to begin with. He always found something new that he had forgotten whenever he went to check his backpack. The first time he checked, he realized he didn't bring any cups. Just that one thermal bottle whose lid doubled as a cup. The second time he checked, he realized he had forgotten napkins. If worst came to worst, he guessed he could just offer up his jacket or something, if she really needed to clean her hands or wipe her mouth—would that be any better though? When was the last time he washed his jacket?

"Link?"

Before he could try to sniff his sleeve, Zelda's voice pierced his thoughts.

He zipped up the backpack once more and peeked around the corner again—and finally, he saw her familiar twin braided blonde hair bobbing up and down as she ran toward him.

With… a frenzied kind of pace.

"Link!" she shouted again, breathless, as she waved her arms up and down in panic. Behind her he could hear another person shouting—but it was hard to hear their voice, since it was drowned out by the sound of Zelda urgently telling him to go, go, go.

Fumbling, Link lifted the bike away from the brick fence and rolled it out, hopping onto the front seat.

"I thought you said you had two bikes!" Zelda exclaimed, quickly tossing herself over the second seat without missing a beat.

"I mean, this is kinda like two bikes isn't it?" She only learned how to ride a bike three days ago and he wasn't comfortable with leading her down a rather windy road to get to the beach on her own. The last time he taught someone how to ride a bike was Mipha, years ago, and she almost face planted into a cliff because he let go of her bike and had forgotten to tell her how to brake.

Besides, he had to bribe Aryll fifty rupees to take the tandem bike out today. If he wanted to borrow her regular bike, she would've asked for a hundred. That was equivalent to a week's worth of mowing Tokk's front lawn.

Link was probably getting scammed by Tokk, but he was only 40% sure about that.

"Won't we look ridiculous riding this around?" Zelda scoffed as they began pulling out onto the road. "I thought we were supposed to be discreet? A tandem bike—Oh Hylia!" She kicked his shin with her foot, urging him to hurry. "Impa's coming!"

"Who?" Impa? He didn't think Zelda had mentioned her before.

"Miss Zelda!"

Link glanced at the direction that Zelda had come from, and he saw an angry looking young woman in a black suit racing toward them at an alarming speed. A chill ran down his spine as they locked eyes.

"You!" Impa shouted, pointing a furious finger at him. "Who are you!"

Without a second left to waste, Link clicked into gear and pedaled away fast before that angry finger could intentionally poke out his eyeballs. They shot down the road, with Zelda's exhilarated laughter mixing in with the sound of the rushing wind whistling by them.

For some reason, it was a strange and distinct sound, like it was reverberating all around him; he felt trapped in it.

Until her laughter abruptly stopped.

"Look out—!"

He looked up; but by then, it was too late. An apple that hung low from the tree smacked him square on the forehead with a resounding thud.

——————————————————————

"You know," Zelda said, accepting his hand as he helped her down the rocky cliff that led to the shoreline, "the beach looks different from above."

Link hadn't been to Zelda's home before, but he knew what it looked like from below. It was an odd-looking building that used to be an abandoned lighthouse, but then someone moved into it a couple of years ago, and that someone had hammered on weird platforms and objects to it, so now it looked like Hateno's novelty sculpture.

"Your room's at the top of that lighthouse building right?" Link asked, grunting as he jumped down onto the sand with a hefty thud. He turned around and held out both of his hands to her.

"Mhm. Purah let me have the upper loft when I moved in with her. The view's amazing at night, you can see all the stars." Zelda crouched down and gratefully accepted his hands. Her hands were rough. She jumped down.

Link couldn't see the stars from his bed, because a gigantic tree was right in front of his window.

Her prickling stare withdrew him from his thoughts—she studied his face as if she was observing every detail on it. He could count the sun freckles that had begun appearing around her cheeks; heat climbed to his cheeks as he leaned back a little, finally aware of how close they were.

"I hope that apple won't leave a bruise on your forehead," she muttered, her eyebrows furrowing together, with that little crease appearing between her brows. Always one crease, never two. "You took quite a hit back there."

"I—" he paused, his mouth still slightly ajar.

What was he gonna say? That he was too focused on the sound of her laughter to the point where he wasn't paying attention to the road?

She tilted her head quizzically, waiting for him to speak.

Link let go of her hands to adjust the straps of his stiff backpack. "I know a spot near the rocks," he muttered, turning to a cluster of boulders near the water. It was flat enough that they could place the blanket down and set the lunchboxes and thermal bottle without having to worry about them falling over.

They walked side by side.

"The patterns on the rocks are so symmetrical," she murmured, tapping her chin with her finger. "Like the cliff we just climbed down from—you could tell during high tide the water reaches it, just barely though. I've always found it fascinating that exposure to water erosion could create such beautiful patterns. Don't you agree?"

Link nodded, and a smile quirked up on her lips. The hop in her step was a little higher than usual as she sped up to reach the cluster of rocks faster. He liked listening to her observations of little details, even though he didn't offer much opinion of his own. It was nice to hear and see Hyrule through a different kind of lens.

She was already climbing up the rock by the time Link reached it, and she stood there proud and tall with her hands on her hips, facing the vast ocean.

"We should eat before the food gets cold," Link called up to her, unzipping his backpack to hand her the picnic blanket. It used to belong to his mom. At one point he stole the key to his dad's chest and opened it up to find a bunch of things that used to be hers, probably, because there was a picture of her in there, squished in with a bunch of other stuff. He stole that picture too. And to this day, his dad still hadn't noticed anything was missing.

Link wondered if his dad knew, and just let him... have it.

"Of course," she said, her eyes glinting hungrily. She grabbed the blanket from him, and with it, his thoughts.

She spread it out as he climbed up to her.

Her reactions were always funny whenever Link brought food for her. For some reason, she always tried to mask her excitement—but she was terrible at hiding the anticipation that gleamed in her green eyes, and even more terrible at trying to keep a smile from erupting on her face while he pulled out the two lunchboxes.

"Chamomile tea," Link stated, as he pulled out the thermal bottle next. He paused to watch her, and her mouth formed an 'o' as she greedily grabbed it from him, opening the cap up. He popped open the lid of one of the lunchboxes and slid it toward her.

There were sliced hydromelons, egg pudding, honey crepes and fruits, and her favorite—

"Hot buttered apples!" Zelda exclaimed, reaching for one.

In the other box he had a handful of savory foods—maybe he should've opened that one up first.

"I'm glad you took my suggestion." Her fingers paused just before she picked the slice up. "But first, the tea," she said quickly, as if she was reminding herself. She poured it into the lid of the thermal bottle, handing it to Link.

"I want to see your expression when you try it," Zelda insisted, beaming. She was smiling a lot today—more than she has in the past two years that he'd known her. "You take a bite out of the apple first, and then drink the tea, and then it tastes amazing."

"Just like that?" he asked, eyeing the light crisp color of the chamomile tea she handed to him. It reminded him of apple cider.

"Trust me, Link. You'll want to keep eating it," she promised, tugging down at her two braids. She always did that when she was waiting for something—every time she was standing in line at the vending machines to get the both of them candy pop sodas at school, she did that same little tug. "I'm picky with my food, so you know I wouldn't simply be saying this without meaning it."

Link picked up the slice—the hot buttered apples had turned into warm buttered apples by now, but he figured it wouldn't change the taste all that much. As soon as he took a bite out of it and took a sip from the tea, her eyes sparkled.

The combination of the two warmed his stomach—the pinch of cinnamon she had recommended he put on it really kicked it for him, and he had to refrain from shoving at least ten more into his mouth. Considering how much she was staring at the hot buttered apples, he wanted to save the majority of it for her.

"Good? Right? They both have that toasty taste but it's a different kind of toasty. The chamomile tea, when brewed correctly of course, has that touch of floral kick to it too! And the hot buttered apples with that sprinkle of cinnamon just melts in your mouth and it's the most wonderful thing ever, isn't it?" She quickly thanked him as she accepted the tea when he handed it to her, and she picked up a slice to take an eager bite of her own.

"It's really good." He wasn't the best at expressing himself through words, but despite their simplicity, it seemed to have gotten through to her, as that gleeful glint in her eyes only gleamed brighter. "Did your parents—" He paused mid-chew, realizing just a little too late that his question was going to dampen her brightness.

And it did, just a little.

Idiot.

Whenever he asked about her immediate family, she would tense up—just like now. She cast her eyes down at the lunchbox, eyeing all of the food that he had prepared, her lips pursed. She would always be on the brink of telling him, but then she would turn away in the end.

Maybe… she needed a little push, to talk about it.

"My mom hated apples." The words felt weird in his mouth—he's never spoken about his mom to anyone, and he only brought her up once to his dad. Link raised his eyes to meet hers. Zelda had stopped chewing too, and looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

"That's what my dad told me at least, when I asked him what she hated the most." No one in his family ate apples that much, and it all made sense when he found out about that little fact a couple of years ago. It was hard for his dad to talk about her—time didn't heal the pain behind his voice when he told Link those three simple words: She hated apples.

And behind those three simple words were years upon years of grieving, and he never asked his dad about her again.

He watched as Zelda picked up another slice, her mouth parting slightly. "My mother loved making all sorts of meals with apples."

Loved, Link thought.

Past tense.

They sat in silence for a bit, just munching on those hot buttered apples, while passing the tea back and forth between each other.

"My mother made a snack for me that always involved apples in some way—whenever I was sad, angry, or when she was proud of me." He expected her to look lost in thought as she spoke, but she wasn't. She was as present as she could've been, and he was... it made him feel a little better. Less alone. "Hot buttered apples with chamomile tea was my favorite. She made it for me quite often," she said, chuckling. "What was your mother like?"

She gave him the last slice.

He hesitated; both in accepting the last piece and at her question. The only thing he had was a worn out picture of her, weathered down by age. And that blanket. "I don't know, I don't remember anything," he admitted, taking the slice from her.

Her gaze softened.

Link once punched another classmate in grade school because they asked him, how could he be sad? If he had no memories of his own mom? What was there to be sad about, since he couldn't remember anything? And for the longest time, he didn't let himself be sad over her. How could you be sad about someone you had no memories of?

But one day, Aryll barged into his room—her face red, with snot running down her nose, crying, because she had an argument with their dad. "What if I forget about her, Link?" Aryll had said to him in between her choked up sobs. "I feel like if dad never talks about her, she'll disappear forever."

He knew then that there was pain with memory, and pain without memory. One wasn't more valid than the other.

Because either way, no one won anything in the end.

"I wish I could've met your mother," she said. "I'm certain I could've changed her mind about apples."

There wasn't a lick of a tease on her face. She was serious.

For the first time in a while, Link laughed.

[snelbz]

Lost Time, Chapter Seven

A/N: How does a new update sound, just over a year after the last one? I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but sometimes a story just stops speaking to you. And then, thanks to your kickass bff, you’re feeling it again, and she helps you write it. Co-written, as always, with the amazing @tacmc. Enjoy!

It wasn’t that Miryam was incapable of taking care of the things in the old house. She was only in her late forties, she still had quite a bit of life in her yet. But when Drakon had gotten sick, a lot of things had become unimportant and now she was the only one left to do it. Or so she thought.

She heard a banging from in the garage and when she hurried to the door and threw it open, she found Azriel on his hands and knees, cleaning up a bucket of screwdrivers and drill bits.

“Oh, uh, hey, mom,” he said, blushing.

“What are you doing?” She asked. “What happened?”

“Well, I was trying to surprise you by fixing the back door, but thanks to Dad's impeccable organizational skills...” He shook the bucket for emphasis. “Surprise, I guess.”

Miryam chuckled, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed. “I haven’t been in here in a while. I’m surprised it’s as organized as it is.”

Azriel shook his head, climbing to his feet and dusting off his hands. “I think you and I and dad all have very different definitions of the word organized.”

Her grin widened as she took a sip from her steaming coffee mug. “Maybe so. I appreciate you fixing the door, though. It’s been driving me crazy.”

“I’ve got nothing else to do, figured I would help out,” he muttered, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat that had already begun to form on his brow. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“Oh, baby,” she came down the steps and rested her hand on his cheek. “You’re going to regret asking me that.

Three hours later, Azriel was convinced she had a list stashed away that was full of shit that had never been worked on in the house and was just ticking them off one by one. He scooped out the last wad of wet leaves and other unknown things from the gutters and took a deep breath as he rested his forehead on the top rung. Even though it was still spring, sweat was dripping off of him and he climbed down the ladder before any could drip in his eyes. A fall from a third-story roof is the last thing he needed right now.

The front door shut and Miryam appeared on the porch, a glass of water in her hand. “How’s it going?”

He was still trying to catch his breath as he crossed the lawn and took the glass from her. “All done. Just finished the gutter across the third story.”

Without hesitation, he poured the ice-cold water over his head.

“Azriel!” Miryam laughed, jumping back. She shook her head. “I’ll go get you a towel.”

He pulled the soaked, gray t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the porch, hearing it smack the wood with a wet slap.

He turned his face up to the late-morning sun and sighed.

It had been three days since he’d been to Elain’s. He knew Miryam was right, if he was here to fix his relationship with her, he needed to fix them. And clearly, there was the whole Lucien thing he wasn’t anticipating, so that complicated things.

But he also didn’t want to smother her.

So he’d laid low the past few days, editing pictures, even calling and canceling all of his upcoming bookings. If he was home, he was home. But she was always in the back of his mind.

And Novan. Even if he couldn’t make things work with Elain - the thought nearly gutted him - as more than friends, he still had his son to think about.

Maybe he’d stop by her house again in the morning, but even though mowing the grass wasn’t on the list, the grass was already long, and while he was fixing everything else, he may as well be cutting the grass, too. Today was to be spent helping his mom, the woman that raised him, and brought him ice cold water to drink every thirty minutes as he worked.

Especially before it could get any longer as the Spring heat progressed.

He found the mower in the back shed, but when he tried to start it, it only sputtered.

“Hasn’t worked for a while.”

“Fuck!” Azriel said, and jumped, only to be met with Miryam’s raised brow, a towel in one of her hands, a newly filled glass of water in her other. He muttered, “Sorry. Thanks.” This time, he drank the water and tossed the towel over his shoulder.

She laughed, quietly. “It’s okay, honey, I think I’m aware that you use such language in your twenties. Anyway, Drakon ordered a part to fix it, but he got too sick before it arrived to do so. It’s in the garage, if you want to give it a go.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I can try, but I make no promises.”

She smiled. “It’s okay, hun. If it doesn’t work, I can just buy a new one.”

Azriel had hauled the busted push mower into the garage, but decided he could use a few minutes to breathe. He entered the house and found Miryam in the living room. He fell onto the couch next to her.

She pushed him away. “Get your sweaty self off of my couch right now or you’ll regret it.”

He laughed, but stood and headed back into the kitchen. Opening a water bottle he pulled from the fridge, he downed it in nearly one gulp.

“Good Lord, you didn’t have those the last time I saw you.”

He choked on the water and coughed. “What?”

Miryam smirked, gesturing to his muscles. “You leave and you’re a boy, you come back a man.”

He glanced down at his body, still bare, though his shirt tumbled in the dryer. Running a hand over his abdomen, he mumbled, “I have a very...active lifestyle.”

“Right,” she laughed. “Not to impress all the models you work with every day.”

“Mom, it’s not.” She just looked at him. “Okay, not completely.”

The back door burst open, not a creak to be heard and Novan rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Meme!”

Azriel stilled as Novan ran into Miryam’s arms. She caught him, easily, and lifted him into the air as Novan caught sight of Azriel. “Hi, Azriel!”

Azriel relaxed, the shock factor he still got from seeing his son, especially when he wasn’t expecting it, beginning to wear off. “Hey, bud. How ya doing?”

“Good, mommy let me bring my dinosaur,” he said, as if that was the deciding factor of whether or not he was in a good mood. For emphasis, he held up a little plastic t-rex.

Azriel chuckled, leaning back against the cabinets, arms crossed over his inked chest. “Very nice.”

Then the thought hit him, and he was unsure of why it hadn’t hit him before, but if Novan was here, Elain wouldn’t be far behind. Azriel just prayed that Lucien hadn’t come for a visit, too.

As if on cue, footsteps sounded up the back porch and Elain opened the door, then froze, brows furrowed. For a few seconds, Elain slowly opened and shut the door before saying, “Miryam, it seems that a miracle has occurred, because this is the quietest this door has ever been.”

She would know, too, because they would have a hell of a time quietly sneaking her into that back door in the middle of the night all throughout high school.

“Miracle, WD-40, it goes by many names,” she laughed as she headed into the living room. “To what do I owe this nice surprise?”

Azriel hesitated in the kitchen, realizing that Elain somehow hadn’t noticed his truck out back. He didn’t want to eavesdrop, but he also didn’t want her to leave on his account.

She sighed. “I’m so sorry to do this, but could you watch Novan for a little bit today? I have something really important I need to take care of today.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” She smiled, hugging Novan a little tighter as he giggled. “Az was just about to fix the lawnmower for me, so-.”

“Azriel is here?” She asked, cutting her off.

Azriel could hear Miryam’s hesitation, which was only worsened when Azriel tried to creep out of the kitchen and stepped on a creaky floorboard, just before he could round the corner into the hall, which could be seen through the opening of the dining room, where Elain stood, just inside of the backdoor.

Her eyes shot to him and he froze, fully aware that his cheeks were turning red as he got caught trying to sneak out. “Sorry, I just, I was only...hi.”

Miryam pressed her lips tightly together to keep herself from laughing at her son’s awkward nature, no doubt. Elain didn’t say a word, only stared at Azriel, her eyes trailing down to his chest before quickly, quietly looking away.

“Why don’t you help me water the flowers out front a minute?” Miryam asked Novan, in which he responded with a loud, excited yes as she carried him out of the room.

A few seconds of silence passed before Elain blurted, “He loves using the watering hose.”

“Gotcha.” Azriel nodded. He wasn’t sure why he was nodding, but he also wasn’t sure what to say.

Sorry I snuck out the other day. Heard you and your shitty boyfriend having a fight about me. Wanna get back together?

Right.

Elain cleared her throat. “I was actually going to come by your hotel after I dropped him off here.”

He made no effort to hide the surprise on his face. “You were? Why?”

She was chewing on that lip again and even from across the room, he wanted to work it from in between her teeth and ask what was on her mind.

She opened her mouth to speak but paused, clearing her throat. When she finally looked at him and spoke, he wasn’t sure if her question had him excited or terrified.

“Do you want to go get a cup of coffee with me?”

Thirsty minutes and the quickest shower of Azriel’s life later, they were parked in front of the cafe Elain had worked at during high school.

Az promised Miryam he’d work on the lawnmower the next day, but she said that Novan was going to help her pick a new one out from the home improvement store that afternoon.

They sat down at a table after ordering their drinks, Azriel on one side of the booth, Elain sitting across from him on the other. Azriel searched his mind, desperately, for something, anything to say, but he came up short. He hated doing the small talk thing, especially with Elain, when they had so much history together.

He used to know every little thing about her, but that was four years ago, and things changed, people changed.

He sure as hell had.

A few minutes of silence passed before their drinks were set down in front of them. Azriel, a simple mug of steaming black coffee, which he drowned in sugar, and Elain, a fancy cappuccino of some sort that looked foreign to him sitting in front of her.

She used to hate cappuccinos.

He wasn’t the talker, she was. It was one of the main reasons they’d been so perfect for each other. But it seemed that, although she called this meeting, she wouldn’t be the one starting it. So he’d start it in the most to the point way he knew how to.

“So I assume you wanted to talk to me about something?” He asked.

She was lost in thought, staring at nothing out of the window. His voice brought her back to the moment and she blinked. “Right.” Elain took a sip of her drink and said, “I thought it might be a good idea to give each other the chance to ask anything the other might want to.”

He leaned back, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Okay,” he said, somewhat hesitant. He had a few questions for her, but none as tense as the ones she’d likely have for him.

When neither of them started, Azriel continued, “Am I going first? Or…”

She laughed, quietly, although the light never reached her eyes. “If you have a question, ask away.”

Azriel let out a long, slow breath before picking up his mug and taking a sip. It took him a few seconds to decide what he wanted to ask first, then he decided on one he already knew the answer to. “How long have you and Lucien been together?”

Elain nodded, slowly, completely unsurprised by the question. “About three months, give or take.”

“And he doesn’t live with you,” he continued, quietly, needing it to be confirmed for his own selfish sake.

“No,” she said, staring at her mug. “He doesn’t.”

He nodded, processing the information. He waited for her to ask hers.

She set her cup down and asked, “Do you have a girlfriend back home in New York?”

He shook his head. “No. Nothing in New York but an empty apartment and a gallery full of prints.” She nodded once and gestured for him to go ahead.

“How did-.” He stopped and changed how he wanted to word the question. “When did you find out you were pregnant?”

This is where things were going to get hard.

“Three and a half months after you left,” she said, staring at her cappuccino as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “I went to my annual check-up with my gyno and they came in talking about vitals and progression and asking when I wanted to schedule my ultrasound.” She blinked and Az could see the tears lining her lashes. “It was the first thing I’d felt since I found your note that morning in the church.”

He hated himself for asking the question, even though he so desperately wanted to know the answer. The answer crushed him, though, but he deserved as much.

“And, uh,” he continued, clearing his throat to keep his voice from breaking, “were you well taken care of? I mean, through your pregnancy?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath and blinking rapidly to help keep the tears at bay. “Yeah, my sisters were great, and so were Rhys and Cass, and your parents, of course.”

Everyone in his life but him.

His next question could hardly be heard above the distant conversation and whirring of machines. “Who was in the hospital with you when he was born?”

He knew he was asking a lot of questions, knew he should let her ask one, but he had to fucking know.

“Your mom,” she breathed, “and my sisters.”

Four fucking years. Everyone had known for four fucking years that he was a father, everyone he’d grown up with, his own damn family, and no one had ever said a word.

“I didn’t invite you here to fight, Az,” she whispered. “They kept it from you because I asked them to. It…” She blinked, but she wasn’t able to stop the first tear that finally fell. “It’s not like it was hard. You never called. You didn’t come back.”

“He’s my son, Elain.” He had no right to be mad and he knew it, but still. It hurt him.

“He’s my son,” she said, quietly, but not weakly. “He just met you, and I won’t feel bad about it, Az, because you left. You left, and if you stayed, you would’ve been there for all of it, since the day he was born, but you didn’t. How the hell was I supposed to know that you’d want anything to do with him if you didn’t want anything to do with me?”

He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. She was absolutely right and that’s why it hurt him so badly. He just sat there, watching as tear after tear streamed down her face. There was nothing he could say to resolve what he’d destroyed in the past, he could only try to salvage his future.

“I’m sorry, Elain,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, so fucking sorry for leaving you. I fucked up. But I’m here now.” He swallowed hard. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighed, letting her head fall into her hands. “How can I believe you, Azriel? You promised to love me for the rest of my life, yet I’ve been on my own for the past four years.”

He couldn’t have stopped the words if he tried. “I haven’t broken my promise.”

The silence settled between them and he regretted the words, even if he had already told her he still loved her.

She finally looked up at him, those brown eyes showing him how broken she truly was. “How can I trust that you won’t leave him, when you left me?”

Azriel felt a surge of anger that quickly faded, only to be replaced with sadness, longing, pain. She had a right to ask that question, even if it hurt like hell. Yet, he said the first words that came to his mind. “Do you really think I’m so horrible? I made a mistake, El, yeah, I’ve owned up to that, but I would never….I’m not like my parents were, okay? I’m not going to be some shit, heartless asshole who neglects their fucking kid.”

From the look that crossed her eyes, Azriel knew that she knew he wasn’t talking about Miryam and Drakon. Azriel had rarely acknowledged his birth parents through the years, but he meant every word: he wouldn’t be like them.

His mother, she hadn’t been the problem. She was sweet and kind, but life wasn’t kind to her and she’d died before Azriel had even turned five years old.

But his father and step-mother. They were evil for the fun of it. Last he’d heard, his father was in a penitentiary along the coast and his stepmother was in a psychiatric hospital.

Elain’s face softened. “I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt him, but...he’s been asking where his daddy is since he learned that all normal families have a mommy and a daddy.”

Normal families.

The words cut him, but he said, “And what have you told him?”

She simply said. “It’s not your question.”

The want to argue was overwhelming, but he pushed it down. “Fair enough.”

She nodded, and took another sip from her cup. After the long sip was finished, she finally got the nerve to ask, “Have you been with anyone else? Since me?”

Azriel’s mug stopped halfway to his lips. He wanted so desperately to lie, but knew he shouldn’t. With a sigh, he set his mug back down before he could take a drink. “One. About two years ago, and I was horribly drunk, and it was really awkward, and I beat myself up about it for...well, still.” He laughed, quietly, but there was no humor in it, it came more from his complete discomfort. Azriel wasn’t the kind to sleep around, nor was he the kind for one night stands. When Elain said nothing, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing serious, though,” he continued. “I haven’t dated, not really. Went on one about six months ago, but I ate bad shrimp and puked, so...that ended poorly, too.” Elain, despite herself, chuckled, and this time, it nearly reached her eyes. “I haven’t wanted to be with anyone else, Elain.”

She nodded and saw that his cup was nearly empty. “Are you ready?”

He looked at her cup still mostly full. “Yeah.”

They stepped out into the warm spring day and as they walked, Azriel slid his hands into his pockets. “So what are his favorite things to do?”

Elain pursed her lips. “Right now, it’s the LEGO kits. He’ll build one and tear it down in one day.”

He whistled. “Smart kid.”

She nodded. “He’s already begging to go to school.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “He must have gotten that from you.”

This earned him a small smile. “Yes, he did. That and my outstanding organization skills. It’s very impressive for a four-year-old.”

Azriel grinned, hands still in his pockets as he glanced sideways at her. “I’m sure. I did notice when I was in his room the other day that his cars are color-coordinated.”

Elain laughed. “Yes, always.”

Azriel's grin widened as he nodded. “Alright, your turn.” He figured nothing could be worse than his shrimp-date confession.

She took a moment to think before asking, “Do you like New York? What’s it like?”

He blew out a breath. “It's...different, that's for sure.” They walked across the street towards the new park in the town square. “It’s never closed. You can get whatever you want whenever you want it.”

She looked around. “Much different from here, hmm?”

He glanced at her, but kept walking. “You’d like it, you know?”

She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t. It’s too busy.”

He raised his brows. “You don’t like the busy nightlife anymore?”

She shook her head, slowly. “I stay home a lot, but I don’t mind it. I like the quiet and, believe it or not, I’ve grown quite fond of our little town.”

There were a ton of things that Azriel could have said in response, he went with repeating, “Quite fond? That would be a phrase that’s in your vocabulary.”

“It’s in Novan’s, too.”

Azriel laughed a breathy laugh. “I’m not surprised.”

There were still a thousand things he wanted to ask her, but he fell into a silence as she smiled, a full-fledged, full-teeth smile, and Azriel knew it was because they were talking about Novan, and perhaps that made the sight even more beautiful. He was taken back, his breath taken away. He stared, and he didn’t care that he was staring, didn’t look away. She was so incredibly beautiful that he had no idea how there had been a time when she had loved him, too.

He didn’t realize his feet were slowing until Elain looked over at him, her smile fading as she asked, “What? Is there something on my face? In my teeth?” Her hand was quickly flying over her mouth.

“No, I just-.” He hesitated, wondering if he should be honest or lie his ass off. “You look beautiful today.”

That smile returned, not quite as bright, but her eyes softened. She blushed, pink staining her cheeks. For the first time, Azriel felt like he was seeing his Elain again. “Thank you,” she breathed.

He reached out, brushing the loose hairs behind her ear, his hand lingering by her face. Without realizing it, she leaned into his touch.

A little cry from the playground reached them, and regardless of the fact that their son was safely with his Meme, they jumped, looking toward the cry.

Elain noticed the close proximity and cleared her throat. “Do you have another question for me?”

Azriel walked over to a bench underneath a tree and sat, bracing his elbows on his knees. She sat next to him, closer than she’d originally planned, but there was a look on Azriel’s face that worried her.

He didn’t look at her, just looked at his hands hanging between his legs. “Have you slept with anyone else? Lucien?”

Elain took a deep breath. She was also staring at his hands, he noticed, and he had the sudden urge to hide them, but then he reminded himself that it was Elain, and she was not scared away by his scars.

“No,” she said, at last. “We’ve done….no, I haven’t slept with anyone.”

Azriel reached up to scratch his nose, although there was no itch, hardly able to believe that she had gone four years without having sex, even though his list of flings since Elain remained short, too.

He looked up at her, then, just now realizing how close she sat to him. He could easily take her hand, could easily grab her face and bring it toward his lips, and the urge to do so made him ache, but he didn’t. She was watching him, too, though, thoughtfully.

“Does that surprise you?” she asked, quietly.

He looked off towards the Sidra. “No. Yes.” His voice was as quiet as hers was. “I don’t know.” She nodded, understanding. He glanced at her, wanting to see her when she answered. “You’ve...only been with me?”

She swallowed hard. “It’s only been you.”

He stood and held out his hand. She looked at it, a look of confusion on her face. “What?”

He smiled. “Come on. I’ve got something for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, but she took his hand to stand. They walked side by side to his truck, plenty of space between them, but not quite as far as they had been before.

There was a kind of calm that Azriel hadn’t felt in years. Being with Elain, it was just easy. The silence wasn’t tense, it wasn’t full of unanswered questions, though many still hung between them, and as they neared his truck, she asked, “Are you staying, Az? For real?”

He stopped, and faced her, making sure his eyes had connected with hers as he said, “Yes. I’m staying, I promise.”

“I want to believe you,” she breathed. “I really want to believe you, Az.”

“Then believe me, please,” he begged, his voice a quiet plea. Those tears In her eyes were returning, and he was shaking his head. “Elain, believe me. I made a mistake once, and I won’t make the same mistake twice, okay?”

She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze. He didn’t blame her. If he were her, he wouldn’t believe her, either.

“I got something,” he said, unlocking the driver’s side door. “For Novan. If that’s okay.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh. Wow, okay. Of course.”

Azriel reached behind the seat and grabbed the camera he’d bought earlier in the week. “Here. This is an old model, it’s not expensive, so he can be a little rough with it.” She took the box in her hands and stared at it. “I know he’s too young now, but photography is something I’d like to share with him one day.”

Elain ran a delicate hand over the box. She was silent.

He asked, “Elain?”

“Azriel, this is…” Her voice broke and when she looked up, she was crying again.

He breathed, “El…”

“Why did you have to ruin what we had?” She whispered. “We could have been so happy. We were so happy. Why did you have to run?”

He couldn’t have stopped the words if he tried. “Baby, please, let’s just-.”

“Don’t you dare call me ‘baby’.” He could hear the pain in her voice, and she physically took a step back.

His eyes closed and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Elain, I didn’t mean to.”

Her eyes were hard as she said, “I have a boyfriend, Az.”

“I know you do, it just slipped out,” he said.

She bit out, “Then stop acting like it’s you.”

All the words on Azriel’s tongue faded away and he was left staring at her, his lips parted, his breaths uneven.

He could tell her that wasn’t his intention, but it would do no good. He had been vocal about his feelings for her, but she never returned them. It was clear she had moved on, and as much as Azriel didn’t want to admit it, the pain in her eyes, the venom in her voice, told him enough: he had ruined whatever he and Elain could have had four years ago.

And that was all on him.

So Azriel turned his back to Elain and continued to walk toward his truck. “I’ll drive you back to your car.”

He meant for his words to be steady, strong, as if her statement hadn’t completely destroyed him, but he failed. His words were uneven, low, broken.

“I’ll walk.”

Before Azriel could even turn around, she was already walking away. “Elain, please!”

He caught up to her and reached out, catching her wrist. She pulled her hand from his grip and glared up at him. “Don’t touch me. I’ll knee you in the balls, I already got what I needed from them.”

He took a step back. “Are you kidding me, El?”

The venom faded from her voice, the ice from her veins. “Az,” she breathed.

“Just get in the truck.”

“I’m sor-.”

“Just get in the fucking truck,” he snapped, quietly, taking a step backward toward the old truck, his jaw locking. He unlocked the door and threw it open, hauling himself inside and starting the engine, not bothering to watch if she was coming or not.

Anger and frustration and pain and embarrassment boiled beneath the surface, but all that showed of it was his white knuckles as they gripped the wheel.

A few seconds later, the passenger side door opened and Elain helped herself in, silently.

He didn’t bother to tell her about the other gift in the box she clutched in her lap as they silently drove back to Miryam’s. The gift he’d gotten for her.

Because he wasn’t her boyfriend and he needed to stop acting like he was.

[kuramirocket]

Sandwiched between private properties in Southeast Austin sits a little-known cemetery off Hoeke Lane, just west of U.S. 183. From the outside, there’s nothing that indicates the site is the final resting place for a number of Mexican and Mexican-American residents who died decades ago.

It’s a wilderness. The headstones, many of which date back to the 1940s, are easy to miss. The weeds are overgrown, and trees and shrubs cover much of the 4.5-acre plot.

The cemetery has been called a couple different names over the years — the Montopolis Cemetery and San José II. But no sign will tell you that. In fact, there’s scarce information available about the cemetery’s history at all.

But members of the community and a team of researchers are trying to change that. They want to trace back its history and ensure the cemetery, along with its sister site in nearby Montopolis, is preserved.

Diana Hernandez is the lead researcher for (Re)claiming Memories, a research group out of UT Austin that seeks to restore and preserve missing histories in communities of color. She and her team have been collecting death certificates and reaching out to descendants of those buried at the cemeteries to help piece together the history.

“Once we start to research the people that are buried here and start to find archival documentation for each person, we start to see the community come to life through the cemetery,” she said.

The History

To understand San José II, Hernandez says, we have to start about 2 miles north at San José I. This historic Mexican and Mexican-American cemetery was built around 1919. It sits between two churches off Montopolis Drive, though neither of them own it. The site is believed to be unclaimed, or orphaned, meaning no one is responsible for its upkeep in any official capacity. But neighbors and community members have taken care of it as best they can over the years, mowing the lawn, pulling weeds and cleaning off gravestones.

A metal archway stands at the entrance and reads “San Jose Cementerio.” The cemetery was founded by a mutual aid society called the Union Fraternal Mexicana, and it served the migrant sharecropping community. This was during segregation.

“Mexicans weren’t necessarily allowed to be buried in white cemeteries,” Hernandez said. “In some cases I've seen where there's a white cemetery, and then right next to it is the Mexican section … In this case, it was just a completely different cemetery."

When Cementerio San José started to get full, the second one was created in 1949 in Del Valle. Over the years, the cemeteries changed hands. The original San José hasn’t had a known owner for several decades. San José II has an owner, but she’s believed to be in poor health and unable to maintain it, according to Hernandez. KUT reached out to the owner for this story, but did not hear back.

Based on their research so far, Hernandez and her team estimate San José I and II have more than 350 burials combined. But understanding how many burials are at each individual site is a challenge. That’s partly because on death certificates, the name Montopolis Cemetery was often used interchangeably for San José I and II. And not every burial has a gravestone.

Many people buried at the cemeteries died during concurrent epidemics, like influenza, tuberculosis and pneumonia.

“They were getting so many bodies that they were burying people in layers on top of each other, and they stopped documenting who all was getting buried,” she said. “Because there's no documentation for the number of layers for the people that were being buried in these mass graves, we're just never going to know. There's going to be layers of people that we're never going to be able to identify.”

Hernandez began researching the San José cemeteries at the end of 2019, just before the area was hit with another outbreak of a deadly disease — COVID-19. And again, this predominantly Latino neighborhood was hit harder than others.

“These histories repeat themselves,” Hernandez said. “I think that’s one of the reasons why this work is important, because it kind of sheds light on these pasts that weren’t acknowledged the way they should have been. We can use this knowledge to improve our present.”

The Descendants

Frank Monreal remembers the days when Montopolis Drive was just a dirt road. He and the other neighborhood kids, some 50 years ago, would play on the giant oak tree that stands in the middle of Cementerio San José. Instead of bicycles, he and his friends had horses.

“Everybody rode horses back then,” he said one day while at San José I. “We used to come out here, and they were our lawn mowers. They let them eat the grass and keep the grass low here.”

Monreal has relatives buried at San José I and II. From an early age, he understood death was a natural part of life. He often helped out with funerals. He remembers one burial happening at Cementerio San José when he was a kid. But it’s been a long time since anyone was buried there, he says. Most gravesites appear to date back to the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s.

There were more gravestones back then, he says, but some have weathered or broken over time. He used to walk through the cemetery on his way to school. He’d often see people putting flowers on graves, something he doesn’t see much anymore. Now, many relatives have died or left.

“That’s inevitable, you know, because generations change,” he said. “People move away.”

Preserving the cemetery, though, is important, he says, especially as gentrification has altered the landscape of Montopolis over the years.

“[The cemetery] is sacred ground to us, from our ancestors,” he said. “I don’t want to see it gone.”

Micaela Johnson, a 19-year-old artist and activist, can trace part of her family tree back to the Cementerio San José. She’s a member of the Limón family, one of Austin’s founding families whose descendants now number upwards of 3,500.

Many of her family members grew up and had businesses in Montopolis, like the Limón Bakery. She said her grandparents probably have connections to at least a quarter of the people buried at San José.

In her family, passing down stories from generation to generation is a common tradition. She remembers hearing stories about Aurora, her grandfather’s sister, who died in 1940 of pneumonia when she was 11 months old. She was buried at Cementerio San José, and her gravestone was decorated with marbles. But Johnson hasn’t been able to locate it.

She also remembers stories of Concepcion Trevino Garcia, her great-great-grandmother who died in 1939 from tuberculosis and was buried at San José. She left behind her husband and five young daughters.

“She was one of the strongest women that I have ever heard my family talk about,” Johnson said. “She was very driven and very loving.”

Garcia's grandchildren still visit the cemetery on Mother’s Day and leave flowers, Johnson said. Her family’s connection to the cemetery has inspired Johnson to get involved with (Re)claiming Memories and help ensure the San José cemeteries are well kept.

“It’s not just a place where people are buried,” she said. “It’s the life and the heart of a lot of our ancestry.”

One of the more recent headstones at Cementerio San José belongs to Augustina Rosales, who was at one time believed to be Austin’s oldest living resident. She died in 1994 at age 116. Near the back of the cemetery, she’s buried next to her husband Marcos, who died in 1951.

Rosales had 13 children and raised several others who were relatives or orphaned as if they were her own. She liked to dance to conjunto music and cook for her family, according to an Austin American-Statesman article about her death. Rosa Moncada, Rosales's great-granddaughter, says “she was awesome.”

Maintaining The Cemeteries

Moncada has several other relatives buried at San José, including grandparents and two older sisters who were born premature and died. Growing up in East Austin, Moncada would go with her mother and siblings to visit the cemetery. But they went less frequently over time, in part because the grass was often so high they couldn’t easily walk through it.

When they heard about the work Hernandez and her team are doing to help maintain the cemetery, Moncada and her sister Juanita Moncada Bayer started visiting again. And now they’re trying to keep it maintained, bringing relatives together to mow the lawn and clear out dead tree branches.

But maintaining the cemetery consistently isn’t an easy task. San José I is 2.5 acres.

“We thought, well, let's do what we can,” Bayer said. “But unfortunately, our mind tells us we can do it. But our bodies — like, that's hard work.”

(Re)claiming Memories and members of the community hosted a cleanup for San José earlier this year and hope to host more. They have been reaching out to city and county leaders, asking them to allocate more resources to the cemeteries' maintenance.

The more challenging endeavor will be cleaning up San José II. The site is difficult to access, making it hard for people to visit and maintain it.

Monreal remembers going to San José II as a kid to visit his grandfather’s grave with his dad. Back then, San José II had a proper entrance and was easier to get to.

Now, a locked chain-link fence blocks the main path that leads to the cemetery. Several sources told KUT the fence was put up by the property owner next door, perhaps to keep people from trespassing. KUT reached out to the law office that owns the property and was told it didn’t have anything to do with the gate. Hernandez and the research group are trying to get to the bottom of the issue and hope to create a proper entrance, so descendants can visit.

The area has long had problems with people dumping trash and gravel. A mound of dirt and debris now presses against fencing on one side of the cemetery.

And warehouses are being built on the southeastern side. This worries Hernandez because the cemetery hasn’t been surveyed; some burials could be outside the perimeter and could be disturbed. Community members have expressed concern that debris from construction is impacting the cemetery.

When KUT reached out to the construction manager for the company that’s developing the site, he was surprised to learn there was a cemetery next door. (“That is a jungle,” Brent Ramirez said.)

The cemetery itself is zoned for warehouse and limited office use, which some are concerned could make it vulnerable to development. (Re)claiming Memories is working with Council Member Vanessa Fuentes to get the proper zoning for it and a historical designation. Fuentes toured the cemetery earlier this year.

“It’s sad to see because it looks as if it’s been neglected and dismissed, especially with the development that’s right next to it,” she said. “Those are families and families’ history and legacies and relatives that are buried there. Those are stories that need to be told.”

Currently, pink marking flags stick up in various spots within the shrubbery of San José II. That’s the work of Joaquin Rodriguez, an Austin resident who has been going out to the cemetery to remove litter and clean off and mark gravestones that have been covered up over time.

He first learned about the cemetery late last year while researching his ancestry. Rodriguez, who was adopted, had taken a DNA test and learned he had relatives buried at cemeteries throughout Austin, including San José I and II. After seeing how neglected San José II was, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

The (Re)claiming Memories team wants to eventually create a digital map or database where people can upload information about the people buried at the cemeteries. Hernandez hopes this crowdsourced online resource will help bring the stories of the deceased together and shed light on the history of the Mexican and Mexican-American community in Montopolis.

The team is also putting together an exhibit on the cemeteries for the Mexic-Arte Museum in September. Johnson plans to perform a poem called “We Are Lost History” and sell shirts she designed, the proceeds from which will support the cemeteries' upkeep.

Johnson said she recognizes that Austinites who are not directly connected to the cemeteries may not see a reason to care about them, but she thinks they should.

“They might just see it as another gravesite or another old ancient Mexican burial ground, and they might [think] it doesn’t matter because it’s not a part of them,” Johnson said. “But it is a part of them. It’s a part of the history of Austin.”

And as development continues to alter the look and population of the Montopolis neighborhood, she says, it’s urgent to keep conversations about the cemeteries going.

“If we’re not actively trying to be like, ‘Hey, this matters,’” she said, “it’ll get washed away.”

[ronoken]

The Case of the Shattered Window

My youngest daughter was reading some old Encyclopedia Brown books and liked them, but wanted some geared towards girls.

That’s fair. Nancy Drew didn’t hit with her, and also that’s, like, the only girl detective series we could find. I’m sure there’s more. I would hope there’s more.

So, I’ve been working on something in my spare time. I have several done, but here’s the first.

The Case of the Shattered Window

 Nothing much happened in the small town of Billsburg. At least, that’s what the adults would tell you. From the outside, the town seemed completely ordinary. From the hot summers filled with the sounds of children playing in the streets outside and splashing down at the public pool, to the chilly, snow-filled winters that blanketed the roads and cancelled school, Billsburg seemed like the most unimportant, mundane little burg that anyone could ask for.

The children of Billsburg knew otherwise. For you see, living on an unassuming cul-de-sac in a two-story brick home was a trio that had become legends to anyone under the age of eighteen. They were the Frye sisters, and if the town was normal, the Frye sisters were anything but.

Now, that’s not to say that they didn’t behave like ordinary girls. They bickered and fought with each other and went to school and played with their friends like most girls their age. However, when trouble reared its ugly head, you could count on the Frye sisters to take center stage. When a kid in the neighborhood had a problem, the Frye sisters were the ones everyone went to. Each sister had their own special talent, and when they worked together, there was practically nothing they couldn’t accomplish.

The oldest, Lilian, was your standard pretty blonde middle schooler. While at first glance she might have appeared like a wisp of a thing, she was the muscle of the group, and did not put up with her sisters (or anyone else for that matter) getting bullied. Everyone, even the rough and tumble teens of Billsburg knew that it wasn’t worth it to get into it with Lilian. Not unless you wanted a black eye, that is.

The middle Frye sister, Elanor, was known for her ability to persuade anyone to do practically anything. Under her long, messy brown hair was a set of wide eyes and a disarming smile, but those weren’t her biggest weapons. She was a talker, and she knew exactly what to say to get people to do what she wanted. While this concerned her parents to some degree, it had served to help Elanor and her sisters to get into and out of trouble more times than anyone could count.

The youngest, Gwendolyn, was where the trio went from impressive to legendary among the children of Billsburg. The tiny, usually messy redhead could be found digging for worms, playing in leaves, and doing everything she could to get herself dirty when playing, but when a mystery needed to be solved, there were few people out there who could match her sharp, deductive mind. She was the sleuth of the group, and even if it didn’t seem like she was paying attention, you’d better believe that there was nothing that got by her keen gaze.

So, when a child needed help, and when it was the kind of help that adults are unable or unwilling to provide, that child knew that they could turn to the Frye sisters. For a fee, of course. It was Elanor that handled the books, and while all three sisters were happy to lend their services where they could, they admitted it was nice to collect a dollar a job.

One such job arrived on a normal, June day in the form of a sweaty young man standing at the Frye family door. Lilian opened the front screen to reveal Tommy Lawson from one street over. He was covered in grass stains and looked like he was about to cry.

“I need to hire you,” he said as he wiped some sweat from his forehead. Whether it was because they were bored or they had heard him, the other two Frye sisters appeared behind Lilian and took in the sight of their messy neighbor.

“Well, we’re always up for a new job. So, what happened to you?” Elanor asked.

“I was mowing Mrs. Wilkinson’s yard down the street,” Tommy said as he pointed down the lane. “It’s part of my new business.”

“Business?” Elanor perked up. “What business?”

Tommy dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card. It read

TOMMY LAWSON: LANDSCAPE SERVICES

“You’ll get plenty of work in this neighborhood,” said Gwen. “Have you tried Mr. Linkletter down the street? He can’t mow with that bad back of his.”

“I won’t be getting much of any business now,” Tommy sighed. “Not after what happened with Mrs. Wilkinson.”

All three girls asked at once. “What happened?”

“Well,” Tommy started, “I had spoken with Mrs. Wilkinson about handling her yard, and she was fine with it. I charged her ten bucks for the front and back, and she threw in a bottle of pop since it’s so hot out.”

“That’s not too bad,” Lilian said.

“Anyway, I had just gotten done with the front and went around to the back shed to get her gas can to refill her mower when I heard Mrs. Wilkinson shout for me. When I came back around to the front, her bay window was shattered. Mrs. Wilkinson said I must have hit a rock and smashed it, but I didn’t! Her window was fine when I went around back.”

“That’s rough,” Lilian said.

Tommy nodded. “Mrs. Wilkinson told me to go home and that she was going to make my dad pay for the window, but I wasn’t the one who threw the rock.”

“You think someone smashed it on purpose?” Gwen asked.

“I sure do,” Tommy said. “I was back there for a good few minutes. Someone had time to throw a rock and book it out of there, easy.”

“So, who do you think threw the rock?”

“Well,” Tommy said, thinking about it for a moment. “Mrs. Wilkinson told me I could mow her yard because the other kid she hired was doing an awful job. I think she’s the one who smashed the window.”

“She?” Elanor asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Sally Parker.”

“Parker,” Lilian growled. She cracked her knuckles as her face darkened with anger. “Well, that explains everything.”

Sally Parker was known by most parents in the neighborhood as the most perfect little angel this side of Heaven. The local children, however, knew her to be quite the devil in disguise. Anytime there was mischief, you could bet your last penny that Sally Parker had something to do with it.

Lilian started marching past Tommy to go give Sally a talking to, but Gwen grabbed her arm. “Wait. We can’t just go over there and beat her up, Lils.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.” Lilian pulled her arm free and started walking again.

“We need proof that Sally broke the window,” Gwen said. “If we can get that, then Tommy’s dad won’t have to pay for the damage and Tommy won’t lose a customer.”

Lilian thought about this and then put her hands in her pockets. “Fine,” she grumbled.

“Speaking of clients,” Elanor said with a smile as she scooted in front of Tommy. “We would be happy to take your case, provided you can pay?”

Tommy nodded. “If we can prove Sally did it, then Mrs. Wilkinson will pay me, and then I can pay you. Does that work?”

Elanor sighed. “Yeah. Gotta admit, this feels a lot like a charity case…”

“Oh, stuff it, Lanes. Tommy’s a friend,” Gwen said. “Come on, Tommy. Let’s go talk to Sally and get to the bottom of this.”

Sally lived several streets over in a tidy house with light blue siding. Gwen knocked on the door while the others stood close behind.

After a few moments, the door opened and there stood Sally Parker. She was tall, as in a full head taller than even Lilian. She towered over the group and sneered at them with her hands on her hips. She also had curly black hair that she wore short. Gwen suspected it was because Sally thought it made her look mature. Sally claimed that she had gone through a growth spurt, but a lot of the neighborhood kids suspected she had just been held back a year.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Sally said in a voice that was both sweet and sarcastic all at once. “The three little pigs and the big bad doof. What do you losers want?”

“You know why we’re here!” Tommy said angrily. He started to advance, but Lilian put her hand on his shoulder. She was itching to give Sally a piece of her mind for a number of reasons, but at the moment, this was Gwen’s show.

“No, I really don’t,” Sally said with a bored expression. “I’m honestly surprised to see you here. I haven’t even been out today.”

“Really?” Gwen asked. “Tommy here thinks you smashed Mrs. Wilkinson’s window earlier while he was helping her out. Do you know anything about that?”

“Excuse me?” Sally asked in an irritated tone. “You wanna accuse me of something, jerk?” She balled her hand into a fist and made to move on Tommy, but one look from Lilian made her stop. Lilian was the only kid in the neighborhood who had ever stood up to Sally. It had been a disagreement the summer before about a bike; Lilian had bought it with her chore money and Sally decided it belonged to her, instead. One quick punch from Lilian put the matter, and Sally, down for good.

“Were you at Mrs. Wilkinson’s earlier today?” Gwen asked.

“I told you,” Sally huffed. “I was inside all day. I couldn’t have seen this loser mowing her lawn; I was busy watching TV. There’s a reality show marathon about tiny houses and I’ve been positively glued to it. Go bug someone else, jerks.”

Sally stood aside to prove her point. Behind her was the living room, and on the television was a show focusing on what appeared to be very small homes.

“Huh,” Tommy said. “I could have sworn that it was her.”

Elanor patted Tommy on the shoulder as Sally started to close her door, but before she could, Gwen put her foot out and blocked her. “Before you go back to your show,” Gwen said, “I was curious, is you mom home?”

“What do you wanna know that for?” Sally asked.

“Well,” Gwen said, “it’s like this. You’re either going to come with us and admit to Mrs. Wilkinson that you smashed her window to make Tommy look bad so she would hire you back, or we tell your mother you not only smashed the window, but tried to lie your way out of it. Now, which is it going to be?”

 HOW DID GWEN KNOW SALLY WAS LYING?

   Solution to the case of the Shattered Window

Sally claimed that she had been inside all day watching television and that she couldn’t have been anywhere near Tommy or Mrs. Wilkinson’s house, but if that was the case, how did she know Tommy was mowing her yard? All Gwen had ever said was that Tommy was helping Mrs. Wilkinson, she never said how he was doing it. Once Gwen pointed this out to Sally, Sally confessed that she had thrown the rock to make Tommy look incompetent as a mower. Sally then admitted everything to Mrs. Wilkinson and paid for a new window out of her savings.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

as a fellow akaashi whore, may i request s/o being the manager nd dating him in secret or something?? idk just fluff i just love him

sooo…. when you requested this you probably expected a short little scenario, but… uh… take a look at that word count yikeslook, idk what happened but this scenario has taken over my life for a week now. and here are the results. (oh, and, spoiler alert: his s/o isn’t the team’s manager… uh… oops? also, akaashi whores UNITE) 

most importantly: round of applause for my beta reader, editor in chief, very good friend who has way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit and dumb ideas, @heichou-in-my-head, better known as pip. i don’t know how you do it, but holy shit is this honeybun grateful for you pippy. sorry my trouble with tenses gave you a hard time with this one, but what else do you expect from me? (seriously, thank you for all you do for me! ^_^) 

without further ado….. word count: 7883fem reader

-

“This is Akaashi.”

Back when your parents told you they’d be hiring a new gardener, you’d expected someone just as old as your last one. It appeared they’d managed to find a college student who was the same age as you instead.

“You can call me Keiji, if you want to.”

And it was weird - your parents quickly accepted the boy into your family. You recall feeling as though they expected the two of you to develop a relationship resembling something like siblings.

But after two months of him working for your family, you’d done nothing but embarrass yourself in front of him.

Even the other morning, you’d walked into the kitchen wearing what you’d slept in - a t-shirt and your underwear - toothbrush in mouth, bedhead out in full force, just about to grab a bottle of water from the fridge when you noticed: the boy was standing at the sink washing his hands, eyeing you with vague amusement. You remember gratefully noting that he didn’t glance down to your lower half.

How polite.

The snicker he gave you wasn’t very polite, though.

“Good morning,” he said, “sleeping beauty.”

You pulled your toothbrush from your mouth with a scoff.

“It’s not that late,” you mumbled, grabbing the bottle and beating a hasty retreat to your room.

—

Akaashi ended up doing more than just gardening work; observing his competence and willingness to do just about any task they could come up with, your parents immediately decided the entire house needed some work done. And there was no job Akaashi couldn’t do! He built shelves, painted walls, repaired fences - you’d even seen him under the hood of your dad’s car. He added these uncomplainingly to his main tasks of mowing the lawn, tending to the flower beds and bushes, weeding and re-potting, and occasionally working on the garden furniture. It was a wonder he had any time for school.

You stare at him now; he’d just knocked on your door, pulling you out of a deep Youtube video hole, and greeted you with, “I’m supposed to take down your curtains.”

“…what?” You glance back at your window confusedly.

“Your curtains - I’m supposed to take them down. And put these new ones up.”

“Oh.” You’d assumed your dad would change your curtains, but at this point it’s a given he’d get Akaashi to do it. “Uh… sure, okay.”

You settle back into your bed while he brings a step stool and a few tools in. The silence as he works is awkward, even tense, and it doesn’t seem like Akaashi’s going to break it - you decide you’ll have to do it.

“So, do you only own dark blue t-shirts?”

“Do you own pants?”

Damn. You’d hoped all those times you’d walked around in just your underwear had gone unnoticed by him.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you shoot back, trying to mask your embarrassment. “You know, I used to be able to roam freely before my parents adopted you.”

He snorts. “Adopted?”

You sit up to get a better look at him. “What, you don’t feel like they’ve adopted you?”

“Considering I go home at the end of the day, no.”

“That’s the next step, Keiji - we have a spare room!”

He chuckles, instantly lightening the tense atmosphere. You realise this is the first time you’ve seen him smile genuinely and not just out of politeness - the old curtains are now down and the golden sunlight shines on his face, enhancing his features softly. For some reason you can’t take your eyes off him.

“I don’t think my own parents would appreciate me getting a new family.”

“I guess that’s true,” you laugh. “What do you have left to do today?”

His tongue sticks out just a bit as he focuses on twisting a screw into the wall. “Mow the lawn.”

“Perfect excuse to make lemonade then, don’t you think?”

Akaashi takes a step back to judge his work. The curtains are up, they’re even, and they look nice.

“Cliche,” he says, looking over to you. “But I agree.”

—

The summer sun is hot. Much hotter than you remember it being last year. And the best place to get away from that heat? Your air conditioned bedroom, obviously.

Your mom isn’t inclined to agree, though.

“Why don’t you get out of bed?”

“Mom…”

“Y/N, you’ve had two weeks of summer break and you’ve spent the whole time cooped up in this room. Your father is worried sick!”

You groan again. “I’m relaxing!”

“Well, you need to get some sun,” your mother continues. “Akaashi is outside painting the fence. I told him you’d be joining him. Get going!”

She leaves your bedroom with a huff, and you force yourself to roll out of bed. You put on appropriate clothes for painting and head to the backyard.

Akaashi’s wearing his trademarked blue t-shirt, paint supplies on a tarp next to him.

“Nice to see you out of that cave,” he says without looking at you.

You roll your eyes in response, crossing your arms and waiting for him to give you instructions.

“You actually want to help?”

“I don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, turning around to see your mother watching you from inside the house. You wave at her dramatically, and she waves back before walking away from the window.

He kneels down to prepare the paint. “I’ve already cleaned it and applied a primer,” he tells you. “So we can start painting now.”

You’re not sure what primer is for, but the quicker you finish painting, the quicker you can get out of this heat - you’re not going to bother asking.

He hands you a large brush and a tin can of white paint, and then walks away.

“Is that it?”

He laughs. “It isn’t rocket science! Just start painting!”

As it turns out, Akaashi had way too much faith in you. You’ve only finished painting about a third of the fence when he stands next to you, having already finished the other two thirds.

“Someone likes to take their time,” he says, painting the last panel.

“You’re just too fast!”

“You didn’t have to be so meticulous.” He takes the paint brush and can from you. “But thanks for the help.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before we started?”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

“Hey, it looks good!”

Both of you turn around to find your mother judging the paint job.

“How did she do, Keiji? Be honest!”

The boy looks over at you with a smile. “She didn’t do half bad. It was nice having company.”

“She’ll have to help out more often.”

After that, your parents jump at any chance to have you help Akaashi with his work. Without giving you payment, of course.

“You could learn a lot from the boy,” your dad says later on. “You need to learn how to do some hard work.”

“I think we managed to hire a trustworthy boy,” your mother chimes in.

“He can teach you about taking care of yourself. At least until you find a man like him to do it all. Someone with deeper pockets, hopefully.”

For some reason you’re really not a fan of the tone of voice your father uses, but at the same time you don’t really know what he means by it. Rather than being offended for Akaashi’s sake, you continue the conversation.

“Can’t I just hire someone like you guys?”

After a moment of thought, your mom speaks up. “Of course that’s an option! Maybe Keiji will even be around to work for you.”

You nod, not really knowing how to reply. You couldn’t genuinely see Akaashi working for you - but maybe working the whole summer with him wouldn’t be so bad, if it meant getting to know him better.

—

A knock on the front door pulls you out of the movie you were watching. When you answer, you find a familiar face.

“Is your dad home?”

You shake your head. “No, he’s having a late night at work. Won’t be back until early in the morning.”

“What about your mom?”

“On a trip,” you reply, bringing Akaashi inside.

“Well, do you have any idea why your dad called me here, then?”

“Oh, probably for me, sorry.”

His brows furrow, and the smile you sent him only confuses him more.

“My bathtub’s drain was clogged, but I told him I’d figure it out myself. I guess he didn’t trust my plumbing skills.”

“Did you fix it?”

“I…tried!”

He sighs. “Which bathroom?”

“The one in my room…”

You have no idea how he plans to fix the clog with no tools, but you don’t stop him as he makes his way to the bathroom. You sit at the kitchen table and wait for him to come back.

It takes much less time than you expected, and he’s drying his hands with a towel when he walks into the kitchen.

“Did you fix it?!”

He nods, wiping his brow. “Maybe I should’ve used that as a teachable moment for you.”

“No thanks. I never want to look at a drain again - I tried looking up instructions, but nothing would work. I tried for at least thirty minutes!”

“It isn’t that hard,” he replies under his breath. He sits across the table from you. “What are you doing home anyway? Don’t you have friends to keep you company? You know, instead of your gardener.”

“Are you implying I told my dad to invite you here on purpose?”

“A clogged drain isn’t that dire, but your dad definitely made it out to be.”

“Whatever,” you scoff. “I was going to make dinner, and since you’re here, you can help.”

“I’m a gardener, not a chef.”

You stand and begin pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “That’s what recipes are for - I won’t let you mess anything up, don’t worry.”

“Fine - don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Thirty minutes later the entire kitchen was filled with smoke.

“How did you burn rice?!”

“I don’t know - all I did was pour it into the pot!”

“With or without water?”

“…shit.”

—

Akaashi was hopeful that when fall came around, it’d mean less work. He was very mistaken. You’d even told him, “knowing my dad, he’ll find something for you to do.”

And the man did. For a month, Akaashi had to rake leaves once a week - which included cleaning the gutters - and when he wasn’t doing that, he was cleaning old tools that had been in your garage for years.

The first day he does the raking you watch him through the living room window in agony, waiting for him to get a big pile collected.

And as soon as he turns his back…

Your giggles were the only warning he had before he saw leaves go flying.

“My dad told me to help, so I thought I’d give you more work!”

“Y/N,” he says with a groan, but your laughter forces him to laugh with you. “That took half an hour!”

“I’ll rake them again! Help me up.”

He grabs your hand - only to be pulled down into the remaining leaf pile beside you, making you laugh even harder when he groans.

“Isn’t it fun?”

“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” he says. But you notice that as he stands up and pulls you with him, he doesn’t deny it. “Once I jumped in a pile of leaves my dad was raking, and he was so pissed,” he admits with a laugh, looking happy at the memory.

“Did you have to rake them up after that, like I have to?”

He answers by handing you a rake. “I had to rake them for the rest of the season. For everyone in our neighborhood.”

“God, that must’ve sucked.”

“It paid well,” he replies. “I was able to buy my parents Christmas gifts that year because of it.”

“That’s sweet, Keiji.”

“Enough ass kissing, get to work.”

He walks away while you scoff, leaving you alone to rake up the mess you made - but you both have smiles on your faces.

—

As winter approached, Akaashi was spending even more of his time with you when he was meant to be working. You’d call him into your room for his opinion on an outfit or make him stay an hour longer so he could have lunch with you; you even often texted each other. Your friendship flourished, and the two of you felt more than comfortable around each other now - a stark comparison to nearly six months ago.

He was at your home every Monday and some Thursdays ready to work, without fail. They quickly became your favorite days of the week.

This Monday the wind was roaring outside as you curled up on the couch, fireplace ablaze to keep you warm. You were sure Akaashi wouldn’t come today - the last time you looked outside everything was covered in snow, even parts of the road - so when the doorbell rings it makes you jump a little.

You open the door, knowing Akaashi would be on the other side. “You’re late!” you say before hurrying back to your spot on the couch.

He pulls his beanie off, letting his messy hair free. “I know - the snow was getting bad. Had to shovel my driveway.”

“Tardiness is unacceptable, Akaashi.”

He scoffs at you. “Tardiness is next to godliness -”

“That’s timeliness.”

Your dad walks into the room from the kitchen, interrupting your conversation. “Akaashi, what’re you doing here?”

“Wasn’t I supposed to work on something in the attic today, or… something?”

He takes off his scarf as he speaks, and you stare at his rosy cheeks. His skin must’ve been flushed from the cold - you think he looks absolutely precious.

He catches you staring at him, but you didn’t look away. Before you probably would’ve been embarrassed to be caught eyeing the boy, but now you were looking forward to him teasing you for it.

“Well, yeah, but have you seen the weather? I didn’t think you’d bother showing up.”

Of course he’d seen the weather - but he also hadn’t seen you in a week. And for some reason, he missed you - so he made a point to get to work today.

“I appreciate the work. Especially since the holidays are coming up.”

“Alright…” your dad says with an understanding sigh. “Come on, then.”

You assume your dad leads him to the attic. Before walking away, Akaashi pulls his hoodie off, giving you a good view of his toned stomach when his shirt raises up. And instead of hanging it on the coat rack, he throws it at you with a smirk.

“Hey!”

“It’s to keep you warm!” he laughs before quickly catching up with his boss.

You don’t see him again until you’re having dinner. Your mother invites him to stay and eat, and when he sits across from you, you make sure to give his leg a playful kick.

“Shouldn’t you write Keiji up for being late today, bossman?”

“I had an excuse,” the boy argues.

“But you were a good four hours late.”

Keiji finally kicks your leg back, rolling his eyes.

“At least I showed up at all,” he replies. He looks down at his watch and half-gasps at the time. “I should get home, though - thank you for the meal.”

He stands up and your mother follows him. “Are you sure the roads are safe?” Nobody responds as she walks over to a window, seeing nothing but thick snow falling from the evening sky. “The road’s completely covered! I don’t want you driving in this weather. You should stay here for the night.”

“Keiji, we get to have a sleepover,” you tease.

“I couldn’t impose -”

“I insist,” your mom says. “You can sleep in the living room. Help him feel at home, Y/N.”

“Sure,” you reply. You would’ve given a sassier reply just to tease Akaashi even more, but you were busy wondering about his worried expression.

“Maybe the snow will lighten up soon,” he says.

“I doubt it,” your father says to him. The man stands and puts a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. “Just stay here until the morning, don’t bother risking the drive. Y/N, don’t pester him too much.”

“I’ll try.”

After wishing you goodnight, your parents head off to their bedroom for bed.

“Do you want me to get the futon out for you?”

“If you don’t mind,” Akaashi says as he pulls out his cell phone. With a sigh, he continues. “My brother is going to be pissed.”

“You have a brother?” you ask, making your way to the closet where the futon and blankets are stored.

“Yeah, he’s 7.”

You had known Akaashi for what felt like a long time, and you thought you knew him well. But even after all this time, and after learning so much about him, you knew almost nothing about his home life.

Wanting to know more, you ask, “what’s his name?”

You turn your head to find him with his phone pressed to his ear.

“Hey, can you put Koichi on? Yeah, thanks.”

You turn back and focus on setting up his futon in the middle of the living room, but you can’t help overhearing his phone call since he’s only standing in the doorway.

“Hey, kid. I know I was supposed to be home before it got dark, but… no, playing in the snow is going to have to wait until tomorrow… I know I promised, but I have to stay here - no, the roads aren’t safe to drive…”

You find yourself feeling very curious about what Akaashi’s brother is like, what their relationship is like; you just want to sit and talk to him about his life and family, learning everything about him. But you’re sure he’d feel uncomfortable with that. It’d probably feel more like an interrogation to him.

It does seem unfair though. He knew virtually everything about you and your family. Would you have to become his handyman in order to learn more about him?

“Hey, you didn’t have to do all that for me.”

You look up and see he’s now back in the living room with you, phone call completed. You were already done setting up his futon as well as spreading out the bedspread.

“It’s fine!” you say. “I’ll get you an extra blanket, too.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“No problem, Keiji.”

You get the blanket for him and decide to turn in early, heading back up to your room with a cheerful ‘good night’.

When you wake up, the first thing you think is how cold you are. It’s unbearable; you curl your limbs into your body, pull your blanket up to your chin, but it’s no use. It feels like the blanket is only making you colder.

You open your eyes to check the time; you expect to see the sun shining through your window, but it’s still dark out. You click your phone on and are surprised to find that it’s only 1 am - and also that your phone isn’t charging, even though it’s plugged in.

You switch your bedside lamp on: nothing.

“Huh.”

The snow must have knocked the power out. That would explain your room’s temperature.

There’s no way you can fall asleep in your cold bedroom, so using your phone as a flashlight, you make your way to the living room, with thoughts of the fireplace and a certain boy and the warmth both of them can offer.

You’re excited to see Akaashi already has a fire burning in the fireplace, and he’s sat up in the futon, the hood of his hoodie pulled up over his head.

“Keiji,” you whisper before sitting next to him. “I need warmth!”

“You’re in the right place, then.”

You sit down next to him in front of the fireplace, sitting much closer to him than you first intended.

“You’re shivering,” he says with a laugh, pushing his hood down. “Are you really that cold?”

You nod, pulling your knees up to your chest and hugging them close.

“Here,” Akaashi says, pulling his hoodie off and handing it to you. “It’s warm.”

“Won’t you be cold?” you ask, pulling the sweatshirt on. You immediately feel warmer, and the scent of Akaashi’s cologne quickly takes over your senses.

He shakes his head. “Not if I’m under a blanket,” he says as he scoots up, getting under the two large blankets. “Do you want to lay down with me?”

Instead of answering, you just crawl over to him. He holds the blanket up for you, inviting you under, and you gratefully accept.

“Do you feel better?” Akaashi asks after you get comfortable.

“I’m so warm,” you say, almost in disbelief. You open your eyes and give him a wide, content smile. “Are you warm?”

He nods. You’re sharing a pillow; his face is quite close to yours. But not uncomfortably close. You like laying next to him like this.

“…are you still worried about your brother?”

“A little,” he says with an awkward laugh. “He wanted to play in the snow together.”

“He’ll be okay, I’m sure,” you say before yawning. “I didn’t know you even had a brother. Does he look like you?”

Akaashi smiles. “Basically identical.”

“I’d love to meet him.”

Your eyes are closed now, and you can feel yourself falling asleep, but you try to hold it back.

“I’d like that,” Akaashi replies, and his voice is much quieter than it was before.

He closes his eyes too, but he’s nowhere near falling asleep. He isn’t even tired. How could he manage to fall asleep while you’re laying right next to him?

So he opens his eyes again, and lets himself look at you. The fire lights up the room with an orange glow, gently cascading on your face. And he’s gone; his heart is beating fast, he’s smiling for no reason, his entire body feels warm - and he’s sure it isn’t because of the fire.

He wants you to wake up. He wants you to look at him like he’s looking at you. He wants to keep talking to you, to tell you everything about himself.

But at the same time, he loves how peaceful you look. He never thought he’d get the chance to see you sleeping - and he kind of feels like a creep for watching you, but he figures that just this once, it’s okay. After all, you did crawl into bed beside him.

You snuggle into the pillow and your hair falls into your face, and Akaashi takes a chance and brushes it away. His touch is soft, he’s sure, but when he pulls his hand away your eyes slowly open.

“Are you cold?”

He shakes his head, but you scoot closer to him anyway.

“I can keep you warm,” you say softly, wrapping your arm around his waist and pressing your face against the top of his chest. “I haven’t cuddled in so long…”

“Me neither,” he replies. He’s trying to relax, because he’s sure you can feel how tense he is.

“Then we should cuddle more often.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He swears he’s going to pass out, because he’s holding his breath and his heart is beating so fast and his mind is racing.

He’s not sure if this is appropriate - in fact, he knows it isn’t. He feels dizzy just thinking about what your father - his boss - would say if he knew the two of you were here in each other’s arms.

But maybe that doesn’t matter for now, and maybe he could get away with doing this just once.

So he relaxes and he breathes and he closes his eyes, but he doesn’t fall asleep for a while - he has to keep an eye on the fireplace, anyway. He lays there with your body pressed against his, your arms wrapped around him, for what’s probably hours. And he’s never felt more comfortable.

—

Even though it wasn’t his intention, cuddling together turns out to be more than a one-time thing.

For the rest of the winter you made a habit of inviting him to your room, always to keep you warm. And he never really had any complaints until the day you expressed that you want to do more with him.

It was overwhelming. So much so that after you had that conversation with him, he had to avoid you. It was hard to avoid someone who lived in the house he worked in, though, so his attempts were unsuccessful.

One day he’s in the kitchen washing his hands when you come into the room and pull him out into the hall.

“What’s up?” he asks as you lead him around the corner, holding his hand behind you. “I’m not done working -”

You stop and turn to him, leaning against the wall behind you. You pull him closer and take a deep breath, remembering the conversation the two of you had a few days ago, when you expressed your feelings and told him how badly you wanted to be closer to him - and when he told you he feels the same way.

“You already know.”

He tries his best to hold back his reaction. He knows what you mean. But still, he shakes his head.

“I want you to… kiss me.”

He’s avoiding eye contact with you now, and you squeeze his hand. He doesn’t squeeze back.

“What?”

“Don’t you want to?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Keiji…”

For the first time that evening, he looks at you in the eye. “Don’t… say my name like that.”

“Why not?”

Blue eyes bore into yours. You know he’s trying hard to keep that exasperated look on his face. You’re trying hard to swallow the lump forming in your throat. Had he lied when he said he wanted you too?

“Keiji… you said you want to.”

His eyes close, his hand squeezes yours tight.

“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head. “If your parents found out -”

“No one has to know.”

“They’ll know,” he replies.

“One kiss,” you say, looking at his lips. The curiosity was eating away at you now. “It’s harmless.”

Akaashi knows that isn’t true. And if you genuinely believe that then his feelings are already hurt. Because this isn’t harmless - especially if it really is just one kiss.

You’d spent the last few months being forbidden fucking fruit - one taste wouldn’t be enough for him. He knows that. You should too.

So he shakes his head again, letting out a breath that sounds like a groan, and he keeps his eyes squeezed shut so he doesn’t have to look at your tantalizing lips again.

“I… I can’t.”

Being rejected isn’t something you expected to happen. So you look down to your feet. You drop Akaashi’s hand. After getting used to your touch, he misses the feeling already.

“Okay…” you reply. It’s hard to speak to him now, knowing that he didn’t mean what he said before, and you’re embarrassed.

You know your next words will sound pathetic, but you can’t hold them back. “If you… change your mind, you know where to find me, I guess.”

And then you walk away, knowing both of you would regret your actions that day.

—

After that, the two of you were back to square one. You remember feeling as if the last few months hadn’t even happened - you stopped talking, you stopped cuddling, you even stopped looking at each other.

It was hard for both of you. Akaashi was convinced that after he rejected you, you started purposefully walking around the house scantily clad even more than before. It’d been two weeks since then, and it was driving him fucking crazy.

He could deal with it, though.

That day, however - that day was the last straw.

He’d walked into your house - at this point, your parents had told him to just let himself in. And the sight he walked in on was something he’d never get out of his head.

You were on the couch…and you weren’t alone. You were lying with someone else on top of you, your lips attached to his. To make it worse, it was a guy Akaashi was sure he recognized from his high school volleyball days.

It was like walking in on a car crash. His heart sank into his stomach, it felt like he was going to throw up, he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to pull his hair out, he wanted to yell, to cry. But all he could think to do was run out. He forgot about the job he was meant to be doing today.

And then he sat alone in his car for awhile.

He hoped you got what you wanted - because he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to walk into that house again.

—

“Long time no see,” you mumble when you walk into the kitchen. You see him stiffen at the sound of your voice.

Akaashi had taken a two week “vacation”, according to your dad, but you knew the real reason he’d stayed away.

“Wonder why,” he replies, his sarcastic tone matching yours. He definitely wasn’t happy to be speaking to you.

“Yeah,” you say. “I wonder.”

Akaashi can’t take it anymore. Not only is your tone absolutely unbearable, but the way you’d been treating him - even before he caught you with another guy - was nothing but disrespectful.

“Do you get off on hurting my feelings or something?”

“What -”

“You know what you’re doing. Don’t act innocent.”

He turns to look at you, clearly feeling confident. You don’t feel the same.

“I didn’t mean for you to walk in…”

“We both know that’s bullshit -”

“No it isn’t.”

After a beat of silence, Akaashi asks a question that he’s been dying to ask for two weeks now. “What, is he your boyfriend or something?”

“No.”

The truth is you did hate yourself for being caught like that, if only because you were sorry it hurt Akaashi to see it.

“You don’t want to kiss me. But he did. So I kissed him.”

That had been a bad choice - you knew it the moment you invited the boy over. It wasn’t helpful to anyone, particularly the guy whom you had no feelings for.

“And I don’t understand why you’re so upset when you never wanted me in the first place -”

“I wanted to kiss you!”

“Then why didn’t you?!” You know you shouldn’t raise your voice, but Akaashi doesn’t seem fazed by it.

“Because I could lose my job! And I wouldn’t be able to stop myself - it wouldn’t just be one kiss, but you don’t - you don’t understand that!”

You take a while to reply. Akaashi takes that chance to look away from you, to run a hand through his hair, to realize what the fuck he just said.

“What if I don’t want you to stop?”

“Don’t say that.”

“I still want to kiss you, Keiji!” you say loudly, glad your parents are at work. “Even after you rejected me - and you can do it again! I don’t care!”

Then kiss me - he’s so close to saying it. But he can’t open his mouth.

“I’m going to my room. Go do your work -”

“Wait -”

You stop in your tracks and wait for him to continue.

“If I lose my job for this -”

“You won’t.”

He walks closer to you, ignoring what you said. “If I lose my job for this, you’re buying my brother’s birthday presents.”

“You aren’t going to get fired, unless you’re a bad kisser and I make my dad fire you so I never have to see you again.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you want me to kiss you or not?”

You don’t bother replying, because Akaashi puts his hands on each side of your face. He pulls you close, but he goes slow, as if he’s working up the courage to do it.

“Is this your first kiss?”

“Shut up.”

And then he kisses you - it’s sweet and soft and gentle, and while you expected all of those things, fireworks don’t fly like you thought they would. You don’t feel sparks of electricity across your whole body. Maybe it’s because it’s not rushed, or because it isn’t spontaneous.

But the way his hands are holding your face feel perfect. His thumb grazes your skin carefully, and his hands are gentle despite being rough and worn from countless hours of hard work.

It doesn’t last very long; he pulls away before you can even move your lips much. And when you open your eyes, his are still closed - and he’s smiling so wide.

You know kissing is supposed to lead to more, in fact you assumed you’d be taking each other’s clothes off by now, but all you really want to do is cuddle with him for a while.

“When will you be done working?”

“I don’t know, why?”

“Because I want to take a nap.”

“We can take a nap,” he laughs.

“And I want to kiss you more.”

He nods. “I’ll kiss you more. As much as you want.”

—

You think back on the period that followed with great affection, the blessed honeymoon phase. As spring approached and the weather started to get warmer, your relationship with Akaashi blossomed along with the wild daffodils in your backyard. Even though he was nervous about your parents finding out, requesting that you keep your relationship status a secret so he wouldn’t risk losing his job, you both felt very happy with how things were going. You were comfortable with him, and he absolutely adored you.

When you informed him of your love of spring flowers he demanded you help plant some in the flowerbeds. He told you he’d plant whatever you wanted, even taking you to a flower shop so you could pick them out.

You decided on red marigolds. Akaashi planted the seeds with tender care, and you made sure to water them on the days he wasn’t working.

The two of you bonded over waiting for the flowers to bloom - you were impatient, and Akaashi was worried they wouldn’t grow.

But they did - the two of you were over the moon when they sprouted, you remember fondly, sitting on the edge of the porch with him, both looking at the flowerbed.

“I’m so excited for them to bloom,” you say.

“Me too.”

You turn your head and look at Akaashi. He gives you a small smile, and you feel your heart speed up just looking at him. He’s so cute that it hurts, but you can’t even look away from him.

But you have to; you look around, making sure no one just so happens to be looking, and then you quickly steal a kiss from him.

“What was that for?” he asks.

You shrug. “You just look cute, that’s all.”

Akaashi looks around in the same way you had, before kissing you again quickly.

“Right back at you,” he replies, before letting his hand rest on yours.

You lean your head against his shoulder and smile wide as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You flip your hand over so you could lock your fingers together.

Akaashi feels something he’d never felt before, not with anyone else or even with you, until right now. He’s so comforted by you; this moment is cozy and relaxed and tranquil and every other word like that he can think of. He wants to be with you, right there, for as long as he can.

He squeezes your hand. He wants more of this - more of you.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, and you pull back to look up at him.

He smiles again before ducking down to kiss you one more time. This one lasts longer, he kisses you hard and makes the most out of the short time before he has to pull away.

He doesn’t want to pull away at all, but he’s glad he did - because the door behind you opens right then.

“Keiji, I’m glad I caught you before you left -”

Your mom is none the wiser, or at least it seems so. Akaashi pulls away from you quickly, praying she didn’t see anything.

“We’re having a little neighborhood get-together tomorrow here at noon, and I thought it’d be fun for you to come!”

He nods, looking back at her. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Great! Oh and Y/N, the neighbor’s son is home for spring break and we’ve invited him too. You’ll have to wear something nice.”

You nod in response and Akaashi stands. “Well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. I better get going.”

With that he walks to his car, and you stand to face your mom.

“What were you two doing?” she asks.

You shrug. “Just talking.”

“He’s a nice boy,” she says with a knowing smile. “But, you know, the Kindaichi’s son has been away at university at Cornell. You know, your father’s old alma mater. And he’s on the road to joining your father’s company.”

“That’s nice,” you hum, trying your best to avoid the conversation altogether.

“I’m just saying, that’s the kind of man your father and I want for you. So we think you should give Yutaro a chance, okay?”

You simply nod along as she speaks, trying not to blow your cover and expose your and Akaashi’s relationship. This appears to be good enough for her as she retreats back inside soon after, leaving you to ponder.

You aren’t thinking about your future or what kind of man you want for yourself right now. At this point, the only thing you know is that you want to date Akaashi - even if your parents don’t approve. Their opinion of Akaashi isn’t really clear to you, but what you do know is that in some way, they judge his home life.

He doesn’t share much of it with you, but you know his life isn’t easy. He doesn’t have much, and everything he does have is the product of hard work. He definitely isn’t away at a prestigious school and there would be no well-paying suit-and-tie job waiting for him in a few years, either, no handy contacts to help slide him into a junior partner position at a family friend’s company.

But do those facts make him less desirable than someone with more money in their pockets?

You know your parents have good intentions, they mean well, they only ever wanted the best for you. But to you, the best has never meant smart or rich - the best always meant down to earth, caring, personable, supportive and encouraging. Akaashi is all of that plus more.

Even so, you know you have to put on a show for your parents’ sake - or rather, for Akaashi’s sake.

And the next day, that’s exactly what you do.

You aren’t able to talk to Akaashi much at the party because your parents are too busy basically trying to sell you to the Kindaichi’s, but after about an hour or so you’re able to get away from them. You grab Akaashi and make a break for it, trying your best not to get spotted.

You bring Akaashi around to the front porch and sit in the same places you sat the day before.

“This is the worst,” you say, covering your face with both hands.

“At least you look nice.”

You sigh. “Mom forced me to wear this dress. Apparently red is Cornell’s school color or something.”

“He really goes to Cornell?”

“Yeah. And it definitely shows in his bland as fuck personality.”

Akaashi nods. “Are you considering…”

“What do you mean?” You look over at him. “Not in a million years. I don’t care how much money he has.”

“Your parents seem to like him, though.”

“Well, we both know who I like. And he doesn’t go to Cornell. And I’m going to tell them that.”

“You’re what?”

“Y/N - there you are, I’ve been looking all over. Aren’t you going to tell Yutaro goodbye?”

You turn and look at your dad. “Do I have to?”

“You need to make a good first impression -”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”

When your dad reluctantly walks away, Akaashi grabs your arm.

“You can’t tell them -”

“Why not? You’re great at what you do, if they fire you then you can get a job almost anywhere else - and if they don’t approve, I don’t care.”

“Y/N -”

“Keiji, I want to take us more seriously.”

Akaashi closes his eyes and shakes his head. And you don’t want to stress him out with this - you know he already has a lot going on.

But if he doesn’t want to tell them now, will he ever? Will he choose to keep your relationship a secret forever? And will you always have to settle for it?

You don’t know - nor do you really have the time to think about it right now.

“Okay. Sorry. I won’t tell them anything.”

With that, you get up and go back to the backyard where your parents are waiting expectantly. Akaashi isn’t far behind you.

He’d been feeling awkward the entire party. And having to watch you, dressed up nicely for another guy, faking interest and forcing smiles - it just makes him feel shit, especially because if he could just get over his fears of judgement then you wouldn’t have to deal with this stupid charade.

But he also has to admit to an even more powerful emotion: he’s jealous. He realizes that he wants to be the guy your parents are rooting for, he wants to be the one they believe could take care of their daughter, he wants to be the one you dress up for. But he doesn’t even know if his community college had school colors. And he does know that your parents would never accept him as a match for their daughter.

But he’ll be damned if he’s gonna lose you to some goofy-looking guy whose most interesting characteristic is that they go to a prestigious school - and just watching the boy awkwardly trying to touch your shoulder pisses him off. Can’t he see you shying away?

‘Cornell’ tries again; Akaashi sees you flinch.

That does it.

“It’d be a nice day for a drive, don’t you think?” he hears as he approaches you both.

“…yeah, sure,” you reply, brushing your hair behind your ear. You aren’t even making eye contact with the guy - Ivy League apparently isn’t smart enough to take the hint.

Once he’s close enough, Akaashi puts his hand on the small of your back. “Hey, Y/N.”

You send him a grateful look for the interruption, but the guy in front of you only looks annoyed.

“Excuse me - who are you? I don’t think we were introduced.”

The guy’s fake politeness only added fuel to the fire.

“Akaashi.”

“You can call me Kindaichi - or Yutaro.”

He holds his hand out, and Akaashi doesn’t shake it.

“Look, no offense, but I don’t think my girlfriend is all that interested. Try not being so oblivious.”

With that, he takes your hand and leads you away over to the empty patio.

“Were you jealous, Keiji?”

“Shut up.”

“Just admit it!” you laugh.

He rolls his eyes and refuses to admit anything - even though he knows you’re right.

You tug on his hand; he turns and looks at you slowly. You see the exhilaration mixed with anxiety in his eyes. It matches what you feel in your heart.

“That’s the first person we’ve told about our relationship, by the way.”

–

Later that night, Akaashi texts you and tells you he’s done keeping things secret - he’s ready to be more serious about the relationship, too. You agree to tell your parents the next morning.

Akaashi proceeds to demand that you call him when you’re finished with the conversation; when you do finally call him, he spends at least two minutes anxiously asking questions - you can’t get a word in.

“…are they disappointed? Do they want you to date someone better? With more money? Shit - do I even still have a job?”

“Do you want an answer, or do you just want to keep asking questions?”

His answer is a sigh, and there’s a long silence before you tell him how things went.

“…you know they already knew?”

“They… what?”

“We didn’t do a good job at hiding things, apparently,” you laugh. “And they both talked it over last night, and they agree you’re probably better for me than anyone else.”

“You mean I was worried for nothing?”

“Yeah, babe. Oh, also, dad says you have a lot of yard work to do Thursday, so you should get here early.”

“Sure.”

“Wait - get here extra early, and we can have breakfast together.”

He snorts. “By early, you mean noon, right? I know you like getting your sleep -”

“Shut up!”

—

That Thursday, you wait impatiently for your boyfriend to arrive - you stand at the door to keep a look-out for him. When you see his car pull into your driveway, you quickly run outside.

“Keiji, they bloomed!”

“The flowers we planted?”

“Yeah, come on, you have to see them!”

You pull him around the house to the flowerbeds, where dozens of red and orange marigolds are freshly bloomed.

“You were worried about them for nothing,” you say. “Growing flowers is easy.”

“We all know I worry too much, you don’t have to bring it up anymore.”

His words make both of you laugh, and you stand there together looking at the flowers for a while.

“Aren’t they pretty?”

“They are,” he replies. Standing behind you, he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder so he can still see the flowers.

“What should we plant next year?”

“Hm… something bigger. A bush, maybe?”

You nod in agreement before leading him back inside to have breakfast - your parents will be joining you, after which he’ll get on with his chores for the day. He’s surprised at how comfortable he feels around your parents, how nothing feels different. He was worried for nothing - he’d have to remember to stop worrying so much.

But next year, when the two of you plant rose bushes, he can’t stop worrying about whether they’d bloom or not - they took a while, much longer than the marigolds. But all that worrying was worth it for the day he came over to find you sat on the porch, holding a red rose.

“I think all your worrying helps them grow.”

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes he replies, “I think you’re right. For once, anyways.”

He decides marigolds are easier, though. And that’s what you’d go with from now on. 

[jinniesmeow]

Felicity - Bang Chan

➵ Pairings : chan x reader

➵ Warnings : explicit language 

➵ Summary : ‘A feeling of intense joy’. That’s what sparks in you when you’re together. 

➵ Genre : best friends to lovers!au ; fluff (corniest stuff out there bruh)

➵ Word count : 3k

➵ Note : happy (belated) birthday bro @nanjaemin :’)) it’s not much at all, but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway >:) chan still ur bias right? unless you swerved again... I'd still love you anyway, you rosbif :) (I even took the time to make the gif jUST for you bro look at dat poor quality)

“This town will never forget you, Elon Musk” 

You munch on a crisp, adding two more in your mouth before even swallowing it as you watch Homer and the rest of the Simpson family say goodbye to cartoon animated Elon Musk as he climbs back into his rocket, leaving the surface of Earth. Then, it’s the end of the episode and you happily hum along to the tune of Starman by David Bowie as they play it while the credits appear. 

Just as you’re swallowing, a sudden banging on your window makes you choke and you’re scared for your life for a second, thinking just maybe you’ll die because of a lousy prank someone pulled on you and you died asphyxiated by a crisp stuck in the middle of your throat while you were watching season twenty-six of The Simpsons in your — ironically — doughnut pyjamas. Maybe it’s better than to die after slipping in the shower though. 

Sitting up, you cough for a good ten seconds, eyes tearing up while the pain settles in your chest area. You finally manage to get that piece down the tunnel and take a breath in, eyes rolling back in relief. You’re saved from an untimely death, and you have the rest of your life to choke on more crisps while spending time in your pyjamas at eight at night, just like every normal person should. 

Exasperated, you still turn to your window, only to see Chan’s face stuck to it as he tries not to fall from your window border and break his legs two floors down on your dad’s freshly mowed lawn. With a sigh, you get up from your comfortable spot amongst five of your pillows you’ve set on the floor, facing the television. 

“You better have something urgent to tell or I'll push your ass until you land on it down there, accidents happen so fast” you tell him as you open your window but stand in front of him, not letting him set a foot inside. 

“Oh come on” he groans and tries to push past you, almost losing balance and you think he’s actually gonna fall off for a second and your heart skips a beat, imagining your best friend breaking his back in your garden because of you. “it’s date night” he says as he finally manages to get past you, dreading he will fall for real if he makes another unthought move. 

“It’s what night, now?” you whip around to face him as he stretches his sore legs in the middle of your room, not caring about the mud stains he’s leaving on your carpet in the slightest. 

“You know,” he grunts as he touches the tip of his feet with his hands, ass facing you (which only makes you roll your eyes), “it’s Friday night and we always hang out on Friday nights” he says as he finally starts untying his shoes, although keeping his weird position while doing the deed. 

You furrows your eyebrows and frown. “Okay, and? Since when are we calling that ‘date’ night?” 

Chan heaves a long sigh as he stands back up, putting his hands on his lower back to push his pelvis and get his bones to crack. “Since I decided it” he says and without waiting for you to comment on it, he takes his shoes off and throws himself ass first on the bunch of pillows you’ve put down for yourself earlier. “What are we watching tonight?” he casually asks as he finally spares you a glance. It’s actually more because he’s looking for the remote and of course, you have it in your hands. 

You roll your eyes and let out a curt sigh, biting the inside of your cheek. “Nothing, I have other things planned for tonight” you tell him. 

He scoffs and points at the TV and the bag of crisps laying next to him on the floor. “Like what? Watching the Simpsons all night long while eating junk food until you explode or something?” he jokes. 

He thinks he’s clever, but the corners of your lips don’t even move up a tiny bit. If anything, they turn further down, because as much as Chan said that mockingly, that’s exactly what you had planned on doing tonight. Alone. That means without him, but it’s a subtlety he seems not to understand. He’s so invasive, and all you want is to have one night to yourself while you can. Weekdays are too busy for you to do anything at night except going straight to bed, so weekends are your only occasion to turn into a giant junk food-eating slug, and for once in your life, you would actually appreciate it if Chan gave you some space. 

Space. 

A word Chan undoubtedly doesn’t know the definition to, as he just pats the spot he just made for you next to him. “Come on,” he pleads, “I’ll let you choose the movie” he says but you don’t move. 

You’re torn, because you definitely want to spend time with Chan and you can’t lie to yourself anymore, there’s definitely more to your feelings for him, not just plain friendship, but that’s exactly why you don’t want him here in your room tonight, because you can't think if he’s right next to you. And the whole ‘date night’ thing? Not helping. 

No matter how hard you want to kick him out, you can’t win a fight against the devil, and you know for sure Chan isn’t just going to accept and obediently leave you alone, because his mind is set on spending the night with you, so that’s just what he’ll get. 

You close your eyes and let out a defeated sigh. “Fine,” you comply and he instantly starts grinning, “but since you said I'm choosing, I'll pick a Ghibli movie” you add and his smile instantly disappears. 

“Please don’t make me watch that Mononoke thing again” he says with pleading eyes. You give him an evil smile, turning around to pick one of your DVDs. 

“Oh,” you say as you turn to face him again before putting it in the player, getting Chan to look at you with wide eyes, animated by a glint of curiosity paired with an ounce of fear of your next words. “you only get one bathroom break, and if you stay in there longer than five minutes I swear I will break that door down and drag your ass back in here myself, I even have my winter gloves prepared specifically for that” you smile innocently (it’s all fake though) and turn to push the DVD inside the player. 

Chan whines behind you. “Is that a way to treat the person you cherish most?” he’s being dramatic and you chuckle at his antics. 

“In your dreams, Bang” you reply, back still facing him. 

“Maybe..” he says lowly, and though you’re not supposed to hear it, you do. 

Totally (not) in control of your own mind and body though, you show no sign that you have and just turn around to sit next to Chan at a reasonable distance of about five centimetres, your mind set on keeping that between the two of you all night this time, for the sake of your own heart. You hit the ‘play’ button and watch as Porco Rosso starts playing on the screen. 

“Why are you doing this to me” he complains after barely five seconds when the movie hasn’t even started yet. You hit his chest with your left arm, using only the knuckles of your hand. 

“Will you shut up already? This one’s my favourite”

Your resolution has flown out the window not even twenty minutes into the movie after you’ve let Chan drag the pillow you’re sitting on towards him without protesting. 

You can try, but you know already your mind can’t win the fight against your heart, and you let your head fall on his shoulder while he snakes his arm around your form, pushing you further into him. You’re doing the best you can at keeping a steady breathing and a normal heart rate, but he’s not helping when he turns his head a little to have his lips brush against your forehead. 

To be honest, you’re losing it. But the storm is raging only on the inside, and all you can do to ease your pain is close your eyes and hope it’ll help make the feelings go away, somehow. 

Big mistake. It does make you focus on your breathing, helps you stabilise it and even slow it down. But it works so well that you end up falling asleep right there in his arms, lulled to sleep by the sounds of the movie playing in the background and the heat of Chan’s body pressed against yours. 

You only wake up four hours later and it’s past midnight. You want to kick your own ass when you realise what’s happened, but you can’t throw a fist at your own face right now. Chan has laid you down with him — on the floor, because your bed is a single one unfortunately — and you’re kind of stuck in his embrace, your back pressed against his chest. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck and you want to scream at how ticklish that makes you feel. 

You don’t move for an uncertain amount of time. It feels like hours, but barely four minutes have actually passed when you start chewing on your lip, knowing already what you’re about to do is probably — most likely — a mistake. 

Not listening to yourself, you turn around, rolling on your other side so you’re now facing him. You’ve been in similar — if not the exact same — positions with Chan countless times. And yet, this time it feels weird for you, like you shouldn’t be so close to him, like it’s wrong. 

Truth is, you think your feeling for him are wrong, because you feel like you’ve betrayed him. Friendship is definitely the purest and strongest bond two people can share, and you’ve established exactly that with him for years and years, and now you’re on the verge of blowing it because all of a sudden your dumb heart can’t behave? 

Even if you do date. You’re both young, and unless a crisp brings an end to it before you can do anything, you still have your whole lives to live. You can’t be sure you’ll stay with him for long, and you can’t stand the thought of not having him in your life. Besides, a change of relationship could most definitely impact your behaviour towards each other and make things weird between the two of you — like it sort of already has on your part. 

You’re having a life crisis, and Chan is just laying there, snoring into your face. The stress induced by all your self-questioning has made you wiggly, and your leg is actually bouncing lightly now, without you noticing. Though Chan is a quite heavy sleeper, that paired with your repetitive sighs and the fact you’ve been tossing around for fifteen minutes is enough to pull him out of his slumber, and just as you’re turning again to face away from him, he puts his hand on your arm to stop you from moving. 

“You know the bathroom’s next door if you need it, right” he grumbles in a hoarse voice. 

“I don’t need to-”

“Then, stop moving” he cuts you off. 

So you just lay there on your side, forced to face him. You sigh deeply. 

“Something wrong?” he asks, although it looks like he won’t be awake long enough to hear your answer. 

“No, n-not really” you stutter. Chan opens his eyes anyway. It takes him like what, three minutes? but he does. You can’t even believe he interrupted his sleep for you, and that only adds to your uncomfortable feeling. 

“Spill it” he just says, blinking rapidly through barely open eyes to try and stay awake. At least, long enough so you can get whatever’s bothering you out. 

You bite on your lip. “I think..” you stop yourself, changing your mind before you can say something too straightforward. You choose another way around things instead. “What if.. I had feelings... for someone and didn’t know how to tell them?” you say hesitantly. Chan’s eyes are closed again, breathing heavy, but he’s not asleep yet. 

“If it’s not me, I'll chop their legs off” he says bluntly, and in any other circumstances you would have exploded into fits of laughter at the contrast between his words and his pouty, bloated by sleep face. 

You chuckle nervously, trying to ignore the huge jump your heart just made in your chest. “Whaaa- that’s pretty gore, you got them feelings for my person or something?” you try to laugh it off and speak with a dumb accent, but regret your words as soon as they’re out of your mouth, because you can already feel the pain of what you think he’s about to say hit you, and every trace of what looks like a smile disappears from your face instantly. You try to make things right before it’s too late. “I mean-”

“Yes.” he answers, “been a while, thanks for noticing” 

Thankfully, you’re already on the floor. You can’t even register what the fuck is going on in your body and mind right now, but you’re pretty sure you’re just plain frozen. The machine just broke. 

Chan opens his eyes and looks into your wide ones. You feel the pain of heartbreak coming back quickly when you think he’s about to erupt into laughter and tell you it’s a joke. It’s like Chan is reading right through you though, because he doesn’t even let you say anything that would potentially put yourself down. 

“Do I have to kiss you to prove I'm telling the truth?” he says but it’s not even a question, because he’s gonna do it anyway, and somewhere deep inside you know he will too. 

And that’s just what he does. His eyes look down to your lips a second, and the next his lips are on yours, preventing your heart from jumping out of your chest that way. He’s so gentle, you just think you’re still dreaming and you actually never woke up in the first place. Is your whole life even real or is it just some twisted dream? Are you just going to wake up in a room with plain white walls and realise that was all your imagination? 

But you don’t. It’s been seconds, minutes, hours maybe, and you still haven’t woken up. It’s actually very real, and you finally allow yourself to kiss him back after getting over the shock of the events of the night. You’re lost in the feeling of his lips on yours, of his hand on the small of your back as he puts it there to push you even closer to him, if it’s possible. 

You pull back a few centimetres so you can renew your oxygen stock in anticipation to more of kissing his plump lips, if he allows it. Chan chuckles. 

“Nice” he just says. You’re not sure you’ve heard well. Did he just-?

You hit his chest. “Nice? Nice?? That’s it?” you gasp at his reaction. You’ve felt like exploding with butterflies right there and that’s all he has to say? 

“Hey!” he quickly defends himself, pushing your hand away so you can’t hit him anymore, “I’ve been waiting for this for years, I’m allowed to be at a loss for words too” 

You almost choke again, on your own spit (and maybe a bit of his too) this time. 

“Wha- years? Chan what the fu- why didn’t you say anything?” you attack him as your eyes are about to pop out of your face with how shocked you are. Years, he said. 

He just sighs. “Didn’t want to ruin our friendship, and I was kinda scared you would reject my ass” he explains. “does this ruin our friendship?” he asks hurriedly, a hint of worry obvious in his voice. 

Your entire self softens instantly. “No, of course not” you say. You’re sure of it. Your worries, just like his, had reasons to be, but after giving it about enough thinking, you’re about one hundred percent certain it’s just another way of seeing your relationship, like another step, something like that. Yes, a new side of the dice. 

“Oh thank god” Chan says and you giggle a little at his relieved face. He turns serious again quickly though. “Now whose legs do I have to chop off?” he half-jokes, although worry (and a dash of jealousy) are hidden carefully in the depths of his sleepy voice. 

You smile genuinely. You’re not cruel enough to make him believe it’s someone else or to tell him he can’t know, and to be true, you really just want to get it out of your chest and let him know how you feel too. 

“Yeah, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about chopping anyone’s limbs off” you whisper with an airy chuckle. 

Chan quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he inquires.

Saying he’s relieved, saying he’s happy, saying anything about how he’s feeling is an understatement anyway. He can’t put words on it himself. All he knows is that he’s feeling amazing, like it’s too good to be true. He’s happiest when he’s with you, and he’s happier than he’s ever been right now. It’s a feeling he doesn’t want to go away.

“It is so” you confirm. 

It’s just spreading into his limbs, settling in his body everywhere. That’s the kind of way it feels when you’re together. 

He hopes it lasts. 

(quick a/n: it’s late right now that I'm (trying) to edit this before posting it and I'm leaving at 5:30am tomorrow to work so like if there were any typos and shit that doesn’t make sense I definitely did not see it. please excuse me for that :’))

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @artisticpixie!

*****

Just in Time for Christmas

Stiles’ soulmark was often described as a fox’s tail (he learned to say it like that when he learned there was an actual plant named foxtail that looked nothing like it), it was a reddish swoop near his left shoulder that ended on a white tip.

Stiles didn’t pay much mind to his soulmark, or at least not as much as Scott, who began imagining his own soulmark on any girl he had a crush on. Stiles didn’t see what the point was, there was only one person his soulmark would attach to, and that was his soulmate, whenever they first touched.

The stories about how soulmates meet are a whole Thing. Everyone’s trying to one up each other in how marvelously magical it was. Stiles found it kind of annoying, since most of them really boiled down to “we met, we touched, our soulmarks verified that we were meant for each other.” His own parents’ story was never too embellished. Noah pulled Claudia over and while handing her a ticket for speeding she unsuccessfully tries to charm her way out of they realized they were soulmates.

He still gave her the ticket. Stiles never figured out if that part of the story was true.

So, of course, the guy who felt meeting your soulmate was easy would touch his soulmate and not know who they are.

It wasn’t his fault, ok? There had been a kanima. Jackson, asshole of the year (and of course it would be Jackson’s fault, the guy lived to torment him), had managed to get some random Alpha to bite him. Of course Jackson, asshole of the decade (Stiles was pissed, ok?) did not take to the bite well and began turning into a monster.

Thankfully, there are protocols for things like these. Still, when the scent of omega lured Jackson’s then reptilian ass to The Jungle the call to evacuate created a bit of a panic. Within that panic the lights went off and someone grabbed Stiles’ arm, which made him feel like his heart was about to burst out of his chest and like he needed that hand to stay there for the rest of his life. He thought he was having a panic attack.

Scott found his other arm and pulled him, taking him quickly outside to safety alongside Isaac. Paramedics outside found him, asked what was wrong and Stiles said he was having a panic attack because, in his defense, he did not know what being touched by your soulmate for the first time feels like. One of Beacon Hill’s deputies found him and offered a ride home, since he seemed to only be having a mild panic attack (that wasn’t a panic attack) and the ambulances were needed for people paralyzed by kanima poison.

Stiles went to bed, feeling weird but not understanding why.

Finally, when he saw himself shirtless in the mirror next morning, he understood. His soulmark was there, the familiar red and white swoop, but now another swoop had joined it. This one was jet black and circled around his own like a shield. 

There are stories of people in similar situations to Stiles’ but most of them were romance novels where the circumstances for it were laughable and the soulmarks pulled both of them to meet quickly. Stiles felt no pull, just an absence.

He woke up and expected someone to be there. Grabbed his phone and expected to be able to call someone to tell them how his day had gone. His heat came and no toy was good enough. It’s like his body knew he had an Alpha. Which he did. He just didn’t know where that Alpha was.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried to find him. He had gone to back to The Jungle often, but the staff there had said that no lone Alpha had come with the same problem. The newspaper had a section in which people who thought destiny needed a hand in putting soulmates together would publish their own soulmarks and wait for people who thought might make a good match for them to contact them. Stiles didn’t know if it worked for those people, but it certainly didn’t work for him.

It’s not like Beacon Hills was that large of a town. The rumor mill would be bound to turn up another person looking for their soulmate at some point. His father asked the nosiest of his deputies and none had an answer. For a moment Stiles worried that Jackson, asshole of the century, had managed to kill his soulmate but no one had died during the incident.

Stiles was close to simply parading the town shirtless and hope for the best. He only didn’t because although the incident had happened in June, it was now December and way too cold to be parading around town shirtless.

He also didn’t do it because a sad voice inside him was telling him that his soulmate was out there, and he knew who he was, and was thanking all his stars that he had managed to get away from him the way he did.

Stiles knew he wasn’t a model omega. For starters, he deeply questioned the idea of a model omega and had written a long piece for an op-ed on the town’s local news website on how that idea was more a cultural than biological thing. He had gotten some hate mail out of that. He was loud, he didn’t have the graceful coordination omegas were supposed to have, and he reacted to authority figures with a mixture of mockery and anger.

When he shared this with his father, somewhere in the middle of December, the older beta hugged him tightly. “Don’t even think that, any Alpha, beta, or omega would be lucky to have you.”

Stiles wiped his nose on his sleeve. “But it’s been almost half a year. Why haven’t they tried to find me?”

“Maybe they have, just in a place you wouldn’t usually think of,” his father answered. “Come on, it’s like you to give up.”

Stiles nodded, calming down.

“I just wish I could find them before my heat this January,” Stiles added. “Last one was unbearable.”

His father nodded, obviously still worried. “By the way,” he said, “what would you think of spending Christmas Eve at the Hales?”

Stiles perked up a little at that. “The Hales? They invited you?”

“They invited us,” Noah corrected. “When I told Laura’s mother we would be spending the holiday alone, she insisted.”

Usually they’d spend it with Scott and Melissa, but they had booked a cruise to warmer weathers. 

“Sounds great!” I’ll bake a pie or something.

“I’m sure Talia had that in mind when he invited us.”

Talia Hale, Alpha of the Hale pack, had a sweet tooth. So did her children, and Stiles’ confections at any bake sale they happened to appear were always praised by her. Alpha Talia was also a rarity in that all of her children were Alphas. Laura, who would replace her mom after she retired. Derek, the most handsome man in all of Beacon Hills as far as Stiles was concerned. Cora, the most intimidating girl Stiles had ever met. And even the youngest, George.

Stiles, like almost any omega in Beacon Hills, enjoyed seeing any of them around town. They were all beautiful and nice, unlike other Alphas who seemed to always be close to brawling to show superiority.

Stiles would usually spot Derek around town always doing something to help someone. Once he saw him carrying some furniture, apparently helping a younger couple move into their new apartment. His arms flexing ever so temptingly. He had been driving to see his father with a healthy lunch otherwise he would’ve stopped and stared. More. There had also been that time when he walked out of his house and saw Derek mowing the neighbor’s lawn. Shirtless. Stiles got on his jeep and fled the scene before Derek saw him drooling. No use getting too attached to that scene, anyway, Derek had already found his soulmate. Laura had told his dad as much when he asked her.

Which was a shame because Derek, as far as Stiles was concerned, was the perfect Alpha. Tall but not too tall. Wide and muscular but more like a fitness model than a bodybuilder.  And while he was usually seen with his trademark frown, his smile was dazzling. Stiles had spent more than one heat imagining those strong hands on him.

“I’ll make a pecan pie, she seemed to like that at the Fall Festival,” Stiles mused, grateful for the distraction. He enjoyed baking, not only because it seemed to do wonders against his anxiety but also because at some point he had felt that was the only thing he had to convince his soulmate he was worth keeping. He was a bit better in the self esteem department nowadays, but he still hoped for the day he could make his soulmate the perfect birthday cake.

After some digging around for special recipes and deciding he would wow the town’s Alpha before asking for her help on finding his lost soulmate, Stiles landed on a bourbon pecan pie recipe that looked too good not to make. He learned from his father that Laura liked cheesecake and that sounded way too much like a sneaky way to make him bring cheesecake, so he obliged.

So, on the early afternoon of the 24th, Stiles and Noah rang the bell to the Hale mansion. Noah had a cheesecake on one hand and a bourbon pecan pie in the other. Stiles had yet another bourbon pecan pie, because he remembered the Hales were a large family, and a box filled with gingerbread wolves in the other.

“I may have overdone it,” Stiles said to his dad for the twentieth time that day.

“I don’t think they’ll mind,” he answered. The door opened and Talia Hale herself was there to greet them.

“Noah, you made it! We’re so glad you’re here. Come in, come in. Cora, take their coats. And what’s this? Pecan pie! Two of them! I’m tempted to keep one all to myself, they smell so lovely. George, please take these to the kitchen, we’ll bring them out for dessert. And cheesecake? Did Laura ask for this? Of course she did, I’m sure. Cora, take it to the kitchen, too, and don’t let Laura stick her finger in it. Come with me, we’re in the living room at the moment but I heard Claudia’s jeep approaching and I simply had to be the first to greet you. Derek can bring some mulled wine or hot cocoa to warm you up. Derek? Derek why are you standing there like that?”

Stiles stopped when he saw him, not understanding why Derek was looking at him so intensely. Derek was famous for how his look could stop other werewolves in their tracks, but this wasn’t a look of anger at all.

“Stiles?” Noah’s voice was low but just as hopeful as the omega’s own heart felt.

Derek walked towards Stiles, slowly but surely. The noise from the living room seemed to have vanished, and Stiles could only hear the thumping of his own heart, apparently in rhythm to Derek’s footsteps. Stiles noticed the way his jeans hugged his strong legs, the way his chest stretched the sweater he was wearing, just like his arms filled up the sleeves so nicely. Derek had let his beard grow ever so slightly, and it framed his lips perfectly. His green eyes were focused on him like none had ever been before.

“I knew it was you,” he said in a low voice, his hand reaching to touch Stiles’ cheek. The moment Derek’s fingers made contact Stiles nodded, because it was obvious. Because it was true. Stiles would’ve dropped the box of cookies to jump into Derek’s arms had Talia not stopped them.

“Derek,” she said, firm. “You will behave yourself. You know he’s mated.”

Stiles felt like he could hear a record scratch at the sound of that statement. He turned to her.

“I’m not mated,” he said. “I mean, I am, kind of, but-”

“You said he had found his soulmate.” Laura had, at some point, appeared next to them and was looking at Noah.

“I said it was complicated,” Noah answered, defensively.

“You said you had talked to him.” It was now Talia who looked accusingly at Laura.

“I did!” Laura almost yelled. “Kinda,” she added, lower.

The argument went on, each trying to figure what had happened. Stiles himself was curious, but he was ok with figuring out later. Right now, Derek’s hand had found his hip and when he turned to face him, the Alpha was looking at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the whole world. Stiles felt sure that his eyes said the same thing.

Stiles moved his hand to rest on Derek’s shoulders and when they kissed Stiles could only think two things:

1) He felt like if they took a photo of them now, it would look like a cover for one of those cheesy romantic novels, but Christmas themed. Both of them wearing sweaters, Stiles holding a box of gingerbread wolves on one hand, while standing on a tastefully decorated hallway. It would probably have an awfully appropriate title like “Home for the Holidays” or “Just in time for Christmas.”

2) Every single sickly sweet description on how it felt to kiss your soulmate for the first time on those novels was right. It was like falling into syrup. It was like a thousand boxes of your favorite cookie. It was like falling asleep into a dream you’d always want to go back to. 

When they finally broke the kiss, Derek rested his forehead on Stiles’ and inhaled deeply. Stiles chuckled, loving the way Derek’s arms wrapped around him.

Talia cleared her throat, and both of them turned to her like this was the hundredth time she had found them making out, lost to anything and anyone else, and not the first. Noah and Laura were both there, smiling embarrassedly, and so was George, his cell phone out no doubt to post a picture to annoy Derek with later.

“George,” Derek said, “I will break your phone.”

“Not before he shares the picture,” Cora said. “Now could you please come over to the living room? Or at least let Stiles give me the cookies before you take him up to your room?”

“He can take Stiles to his room after dinner,” Talia said. “Now, if you please, Derek, some mulled wine for Noah while I introduce Stiles to the rest of the family.”

They share a small kiss and Stiles walks into a living room of smiling faces. The story comes together in pieces. Stiles would’ve found it frustrating if he wasn’t riding a massive high from kissing Derek.

After Derek touched Stiles, he was torn. On the one hand he could feel his soulmate being taken away, on the other he had to make sure people got out safely. He had stayed outside Jungle, hoping for his omega to come back and finally left, sad but determined to find him. 

He returned to Jungle, but never thought of leaving a message with the staff. He felt foolish, telling someone he had found his mate and had let them go. He relied on Laura as part of the Beacon Hills police department, but after he had learned Stiles was already mated his drive waned.

Had he known Stiles was also looking for his lost soulmate, Derek would’ve shown up at his door, but instead he simply waited for the day he could meet the lucky person that was mated to the author of one of his favorite op-eds in the local news website. He had done a couple of questionable things in his quest to get close to Stiles, like offering to mow the lawn of one of the Stilinski’s neighbors. He of course did it shirtless because if Stiles, like he supposed, matched his soulmark; he was bound to notice it then.

Each detail on how they kept on missing each other made the people in the leaving room groan with frustration or howl with laughter. Derek had dropped the couch he was holding seconds after Stiles had left the scene of the move, distracted by the feeling of his mate close by.

“Oh, god, did you hurt yourself?” Stiles asked.

“Dropped the couch on his foot,” Erica, a friend of the family said, and everyone laughed. “Thank the stars for werewolf healing.”

Their story blurs into the background as the other couples share the stories of how they met, and when Derek sits beside Stiles it’s too easy for him to lean into his warmth. Under the watchful eye of their parents (and the teasing eyes of Derek’s siblings) it’s hard to not just excuse themselves so they can make out for a while, see each other’s soulmarks on each other.

Seats are shuffled for dinner so they can sit together, and after dessert, when everyone is done complimenting Stiles’ pie and cheesecake (and more than one comment on how they expect more baked good from him is made) the Hales’ extended family retires to guest rooms and hotels. Noah correctly guesses Stiles will stay over, and Talia tells Derek he doesn’t have to do the dishes this time, George and Cora had volunteered.

“Don’t be too grateful,” she says at Derek’s surprise. “They also posted several photos of the two of you looking at each other like loons.”

Stiles laughs, both at that and Derek’s frown. The Alpha looks at him and his face instantly softens. “You’re adorable,” he says.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, blushing.

“I mean that literally,” Derek states. “You’re worthy of adoration. You’re beautiful, funny, and-”

“Derek,” Cora yells from the kitchen. “We offered to do the dishes precisely so you could do this lovey dovey bs in your room where it’s soundproofed.”

Derek laughs and takes Stiles hands, leading him upstairs. Derek’s bedroom is large, with a queen size bed on one side and a desk on the other. Derek apologizes for the mess and by “mess” Stiles assumes he means the two socks that aren’t in the hamper. Derek closes the door and the kiss they share this time is soft and tender, like a the nuzzle of a mate coming home to their den. Derek guides them to his bed.

They take off their shoes and begin undressing each other slowly. Derek is wearing a button shirt and Stiles says “Merry Christmas to me” as he begins to unbutton it. He pulls on it to reveal Derek’s soulmark and his own, both of them together in Derek’s body the same way they are on his. As sure as he was, as right as it had felt to be with Derek the whole day, it was nice to have visual confirmation. Stiles plants a kiss on it and Derek growls low before forcing Stiles out of his own shirt. He stared at the soulmark on Stiles’ body adoringly before licking a stripe from it to Stile’s neck, where he sucks, apparently intent on leaving a mark.

“I’m already marked as yours, you know,” Stiles giggles, but stretches his neck.

His words seem to affect Derek, and the Alpha stops.

“Everything ok?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods, and arranges them so he’s spooning Stiles. He hugs the omega tightly and inhales deeply. Stiles turns his head awkwardly until they face each other.

“I feel your anxiety, you know?” Stiles says. “It’s like mine but different.”

“It’s dumb,” Derek says.

“Anxiety usually is.” Stiles plants a kiss on Derek’s nose. “Tell me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me,” Derek says. “I thought you’d made up an Alpha to keep me away. I thought you thought I was grumpy and mean and-”

Stiles kisses his Alpha, not only because it hurts him to imagine a world where he would be stupid enough not to want Derek, but also because he can’t express with words how wrong he is. Derek returns the kiss, and he seems to get the message.

“I also thought, you know, something like that,” Stiles confesses when they break the kiss. “I thought maybe the Alpha had seen me from a distance and ran away, glad to have dodged this bullet.”

“You’re kidding,” Derek says. “You’re perfect.”

“You say that now but just wait until you have to deal with an actually messy room, or half an hour of anxious blabbering because I have a doctor’s appointment later that day.”

Derek grins.

“No, really, you’re all grins now but one of these days you’re gonna walk in on me unshowered, half panicked because of some deadline or the other with a half-eaten box of cookies in one hand and then what will you do?”

“Good question. I think I’d take that half eaten box of cookies and put it away to eat later, I’d make you some tea to calm you down and help you meet your deadline, and then I would shower with you to fuck any remaining worries out of you.”

Stiles is for once, speechless.

“Does that sound good?”

Stiles nods.

Derek kisses him again, and this time he doesn’t stop. Stiles is glad the room is soundproof because he didn’t know he could be that loud for that long. Derek looks unbearably smug the next morning.

“Stop it,” Stiles says, once he’s awake enough.

“Stop what?” Derek asks innocently. He’s wearing flannel pajamas and enjoying the sight and smell of Stiles wearing one of his shirts.

“Stop staring at me like that. I’m human, your werewolf stamina is gonna have to wait a little longer.”

Derek laughs. “Yeah, specially since mom wants us down for breakfast. Come on, we can shower together, it’ll be my birthday present.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Christmas present, Derek. It’s Christmas.”

“It’s also my birthday,” Derek says, pulling Stiles to the edge of the bed.

“Wait, really?”

It takes an emergency run to the only store open in town but Stiles manages to bake his soulmate the perfect birthday cake. Or at least the first birthday cake, Stiles is sure he can improve the recipe for next year.

——

A little extra: The Conversation between Noah and Laura

“You seem frazzled, boss,” Laura said leaving a cup of coffee on Noah’s desk. The sheriff nodded.

“Stiles found his soulmate, but it’s complicated,” he said before taking a sip from his mug.

Laura sighed, enjoying her own cup of coffee. “Yeah, the same thing happened to my brother just yesterday.”

“I don’t think the same thing that happened to my son could happen to two people.”

Laura laughed. “Same with my brother.”

Before either of them could ask the other to elaborate, Officer Parrish yelled there were donuts in the break room.

Six months later both will insist that they said much more than that. But they didn’t.

[waste-nautical-battlements-cat]

I Decided It Was Worth It To Risk It

I just needed to get out of my funk, and I really want to write for this ship so, here you go

Childhood Friends AU

WC: 2553

***

“What are we doing here?”

“Having fun, Harrington.”

Steve groaned as he followed his best friend through the trees. Billy had climbed up to Steve’s window and had woken him up. Steve hadn’t been too upset, but he wasn’t expecting a three am trek through the creepy woods around Hawkins. It was only the second time his parents had left him home without a nanny and Steve would have preferred to be spending it gorging on all the snacks in the house and reading his dad’s Playboys. Not out in the dark, cold and tired. Oh, what he did for friendship.

“Billy”, he whined, nearly stumbling over the tree roots and wet leaves.

“Will you quit whining, we’re almost there.”

Billy rolled his eyes at his friend. He knew when he had decided to head to Steve’s house that the boy would be complaining the whole time. But after his dad kicked him out, he just wanted to walk through the forest and get high with his best friend. The fourteen and thirteen year old had been friends since they were six and seven. The Hargrove’s had just moved up to Indiana and Billy has been angry at everything and everyone in the town. Then Steve had hit him in the head with his lunchbox and basically coerced Billy into being friends with him. And here they are, seven years later, still best friends.

At least, Billy was Steve’s best friend. To Billy, Steve was a whole lot more. Not that he could ever tell him.

“And, here we are”, Billy proclaimed proudly as they reached the spot he had found a few weeks ago. The trees opened up into a glade with a skate ramp sitting in the middle. Billy wasn’t sure how it got there, but enough weird stuff had happened in Hawkins since he had been there, that he had stopped questioning it.

Billy jumped up into the skate ramp and sat down, legs hanging over the edge. Steve scrambled up as Billy pulled a small Ziplock bag from his backpack. When Steve saw what was in the bag, he nearly fell off the ramp again. Billy laughed at the look of shock on his friend’s face.

“Is that marijuana?!”, Steve gasped trying to grab the bag. Billy held it away, rolling his eyes at his pout. He pulled a sheet from the bag and sloppily rolled a joint. The dealer had shown him the basics, but he was still thirteen. Once it was rolled, Billy pulled the lighter from his pocket and lit the end. He took a puff before handing it to Steve.

“How did you get your hands on this?”, Steve asked, handing the joint back to Billy.

Billy gave him a look as he smoked, “How do you think? I bought it.”

“With what money?”

“My lawn mowing money from this summer.”

“Dude”, Steve huffed out in surprise, blowing smoke. “That must of taken at least half of it.”

Billy shrugged and turned away from his friend. He took another hit before handing the joint back to the other boy.

Steve watched his friend. The weed was starting to make him all floaty, but Billy looked unfazed. As the joint burned away, so did Steve’s inhibitions. There had been a question in the back of his head, but only now got the courage to ask it.

“Why did you climb my wall tonight?”

“What? The weed not good enough for you?”, Billy asked, avoiding the question.

Steve didn’t answer and eventually Billy sighed and fell back against the ramp. Steve matched his movement and leaned back. They watched the sliver of sky they could see through the trees.

“He kicked me out”, Billy said finally. “Literally.”

Steve felt his heart clench at his friends words. He knew what Billy’s dad did to him, but they never really talked about it. He hated that he had to go through that. Nobody deserved that, especially not Billy.

Steve thought for a minute before whispering, “You want to stay at my house tonight?”

It was quiet and Steve was tense, afraid Billy would clam up and brush him away. But finally he said, “Sure”, and that was the end of it.

When the joint had well and truly burned out and the sky was light enough to retrace their path without the flashlights, the two boys made their way back to Steve’s house. Billy tried to climb the wall again, but Steve just walked around the house and opened the door with the key under the mat. They headed up to Steve’s room and he threw some clothes at Billy before heading to the shower. He felt damp and dirty from the hike and wanted to be clean before knocking out for the rest of the day.

Billy laid in Steve’s bed and Steve’s clothes as his head was filled with thoughts of the brunette. Billy knew Steve liked girls, but he couldn’t help but hope that maybe his friend could be more. He fell asleep as a tired Steve fell into the bed beside him.

Billy woke up a few hours later to find Steve nearly wrapped around him. The other boy had his face nestled into the crook of his neck, one arm across the blonde’s chest and a leg wrapped around one of Billy’s. Billy watched his friend for a bit before bringing his hand up and running it through the curls on Steve’s head. The boy made a noise in his sleep and leaned into the touch. Billy was vaguely aware that he probably shouldn’t be doing this when he heard, “That feels nice.”

The blonde froze as his friend slowly woke up. Steve frowned a bit, asking, “Why’d you stop?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Keep doing it”, Steve mumbled, cutting him off and burrowing back into Billy’s neck. “I liked it.”

Hesitantly, Billy resumed his motion, Steve relaxing more in his tired state. Eventually, Billy relaxed as well, humming quietly as he played with the chocolate curls.

“Hey Billy?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

Billy tensed, but didn’t stop his motions. “Why d’you ask?”

Steve’s face tinged read as he pulled away a bit to look at Billy. “Well, Nancy said that she knew she liked Jonathan because she thought about kissing him, and…”

“And?”, Billy urges softly, curious.

“And I thought about it”, Steve continued hesitantly. “And realized that I’d be okay with kissing boys or girls, but I’ve really only thought about kissing you. So I was wondering if maybe you’d want to kiss me.”

Steve was blushing furiously and couldn’t look at Billy. Billy felt like his heart had stopped. Steve was starting to look uncomfortable and was about to say something—to brush it away or make an excuse or something—but Billy cut him off.

“Yes.”

Steve looked up in shock. The blonde acted quickly, grabbing his friend’s face before bringing their lips together. Steve recovered from his shock quickly and kissed back.

It was awkward, as first kisses are sure to be, and it only lasted a few seconds, but it took both of the boys’ breaths away. Once they had pulled back a bit, they gazed at each other with wonder and fondness, Billy continuing to thread his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Steve grinned slowly and leaned his forehead against Billy’s. He closed his eyes and hummed at the feeling of his friend’s hand in his hair. Billy frowned suddenly, a thought intruding into their perfect image.

“Steve”, Billy said, watching the boy’s eyes flutter open. “I don’t think we can tell other people about this.”

“I know”, Steve replies quietly. “Doesn’t mean we can’t do this, though.”

Steve pulled the other boy closer and connected their lips again and the outside world melted away.

***

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Billy, I have to get back to work.”

“Work can wait.”

Steve groaned against his boyfriend’s lips as they continued to make out in the back room of Scoops Ahoy. Steve had taken his fifteen minute break twenty minutes ago when Billy had come in after his shift at the pool. Robin had glared at Billy when he started to pull Steve into the back and Steve had sent her an apologetic look. After Robin had come out to them, Billy hadn’t hesitated to take up all of his boyfriends free (and occupied) time.

“Billy”, Steve whined again as Billy started to make his way down his neck.

He finally pulled away with a groan. “How does your boss expect me to let you work when your dressed like this?”, he complained, gesturing to Steve’s uniform.

Billy had nearly died the first time he saw Steve in his Scoops uniform. Billy had known that his lifeguard uniform would send Steve into a flustered mess—even after five years together—but he hadn’t expected the same in return. Billy had nearly face planted walking into the store the first time he saw Steve. Max had found that particularly amusing as she and her girlfriend ordered their ice cream.

“Yeah, well, if I have to watch you up on that chair for hours while every girl in a mile radius ogles you, you can keep your hands off of me for the rest of my shift”, Steve argued, pulling away from the blonde.

Steve exited the storage room and Billy followed, grudgingly. Fortunately, the only people in the shop were Robin and the Nerd Squad.

If you’d’ve told Billy five years ago that he would be chaperoning his little sister and his boyfriend’s adopted kids, he might’ve knocked your teeth out. As it was, that had quickly become the case when Max and Jane had (secretly) started dating. Steve’s four child friends—who had only really known Billy from the times he had looked ready to kill them for interrupting the very limited time he had with his boyfriend—had quickly joined them. And know, he was the very reluctant shepherd to his and his boyfriend’s pack of six rowdy sheep.

“Stop stealing my only coworker, Hargrove”, Robin demanded as the pair appeared. Billy shot her a smirk before heading over to the kids who were currently arguing about what was bound to be nothing.

“You nerds ready to go or are you gonna sit here and yell at each other all day”, Billy’s voice cut in. Max, Lucas, and Mike—the usual offenders—glared at him, while Jane and Will gave him apologetic glances. Dustin ignored him and went over to talk to Steve. Billy rolled his eyes as the argument started up again and slid into a chair.

Customers came in and out and Billy’s eyes never left his boyfriend. Five years, and hiding still wasn’t any easier. He wished he could openly flirt and show his live for Steve in public, but people in Hawkins were idiots. Not to mention his dad would kill him. Steve caught his eye and seemed to know what he was thinking. He gave him a sad smile before turning back to the woman in front of him.

Quietly—as was his habit—Will Byers slipped into the chair on the other side of the table. He didn’t say anything and Billy let him collect his thoughts.

“How did you know you liked boys?”, the small boy finally asked softly, so as not to be heard by anyone else. Billy had been expecting the question but it still took him a minute to think of an answer.

“I didn’t really”, he finally answered. “I knew that I loved Steve and it wasn’t until I hit middle school that the way I loved him was how I was supposed to love girls.”

Will nodded and Billy could almost see the cogs in his head turning. He was quiet for a minute before asking, “How did you know if he would like you back?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t even expect him to like girls.”

“Then, how did you ask him out?”, the boy asked, confused.

Billy chuckled before saying, “I didn’t.”

Will looked even more confused, but the conversation was interrupted by the raising of voices at the kids’ booth. Billy rolled his eyes and got up. He dragged Mike and Lucas out of the shop, Max following after, still arguing. Jane and Will followed once they had pulled Dustin away. Billy drove them all back to Steve’s and made sure they called their parents before starting whatever it was they did.

It was about two hours later when Steve nearly fell through the door. Customers had been almost non-stop once the crew had left. Plus, Robin took a half an hour break as revenge for his makeout session with his boyfriend. When he got home, he collapsed into Billy’s lap on the couch. The other boy’s hands quickly went to his hair and his back, making Steve feel better through touch alone. Steve definitely had made a good decision by keeping him around.

He was nearly drifting off when Will suddenly asked, “How did you two get together?”

Max has groaned, having heard the story hundreds of times before. Jane and Dustin both stopped what they were doing, also having heard the story before, but loving it. Lucas and Mike begrudgingly payed attention.

Steve groaned, facing heating up, as he tried to burrow farther into his boyfriend’s thigh. He could feel Billy grinning at him, knowing how embarrassed he was by the story.

“The summer before Steve’s freshman year, I scaled his wall and made him follow me through the woods to smoke weed I had gotten”, Billy began.

“Don’t do drugs, kids”, Steve cut in here.

“We smoked a bit and he asked if I wanted to sleep over at his place. I agreed, and we came back here and fell asleep. When I woke up, he was half curled around me. I started doing kind of what I’m doing now—I was tired and still kind of high and he’s cute when he’s sleeping, sue me—and he slowly woke up. When he did, he asked if I wanted to kiss him. When I asked what he meant, he told me that Nancy had told him that you knew you liked someone when you wanted to kiss them. He said he wanted to kiss me and he wanted to know if I wanted to kiss him. I said yes, and...”, here, Billy paused and grinned. “And yatta yatta, now we’re here.”

By the end, Jane and Dustin were smiling, Will was deep in thought, and Lucas and Mike were giving Steve a strange look.

“You asked him if he wanted to kiss you?”, Mike asked.

“Hey, I was fourteen and tired, you cannot blame me for my actions”, Steve argued. “Besides, I got a boyfriend out of it, so I’d count it as a win.”

Billy grinned and that seemed to be the end of that because the kids turned back to whatever it was that they were doing before and promptly ignored the couple. Billy leaned down and pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple before whispering, “I’m really glad you asked me.”

“Yeah”, Steve said, turning to give his boyfriend a propped kiss before laying down again. “Me too.”

And if the following week the couple saw two boys kiss in their old smoking spot, no one had to know.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #218

“give me liberty or death. ... ah, fuck it, just give me death.”

Do you know anyone who had to have tubes put in their ears as a baby? Me. What is the nearest glass object to you? A cup. Were either of your parents baptized? I'm sure my mom was, but I have no clue about Dad. The last concert that you were at, was there a mosh pit? No. What was the last computer game that you played? World of Warcraft. If you had to choose a new cell phone, what phone would you pick? Some sort of iPhone. I hate my Samsung. Has anyone killed one of your pets before? People have run over our cats before, but I'm certain that wasn't intentional. Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No. Are any rooms in your house themed? No. Is there a song that as soon as you hear it you are happier? At least to a degree. Do you have a push lawnmower or a riding lawnmower? We don't have one; Mom pays someone to do it. He uses a riding one, though. When was the last time someone teased you? Idr. Would you trust a vehicle that automatically parallel parks for you? Lmao could probably do it better than I could. Have you ever hit a car while parking? No, but I rarely drive anyway and never park close to others. When you are eating fast food, do you tend to get burgers or chicken? Burgers. When was the last time you used Microsoft Excel? No clue. What was the last thing that you recorded? I was WAY too excited the rare felhound mount dropped for me in WoW so I had to show Sara while I screamed lmao. Have you ever edited an article on Wikipedia? No. Do you like the show Futurama? I've never been into what I've seen. Have you ever found an arrow head? I don't remember ever having had. Have you given up any bad habits for someone? Don't think so. Who is with you? My cat's in the room, as is of course Venus. In what part of your life so far, have you learnt the most about yourself? 2017-2018, probably. Have you ever been in a fist fight? No. What aggravates you most about people in general? I guess if you want to put all humans together, I guess you never know what's gonna hurt who. When they have a valid reason to be hurt by it, anyway. Are your ears pierced? Twice in each lobe and then my right tragus. What did you last say out loud? Something to Teddy about wanting so much attention. Not at all in a bad way. Do you like anything about being angry? Fuck no. Did you have a summer job this year? No. Where do you wish you were? I've been dying to be at Sara's BAD LATELY MY MAN. Do you get surprises often? No, nor do I like them. I get too nervous. Name a crime you have committed? Illegally downloading things. Do you tell people when they get on your nerves? No, not normally. You're in jail… Who bails you out? Dad, most likely, taking money into account. I don't even know if he could afford bailing someone out, though. Are your feelings hurt easily? YEAH. What’s the ultimate cake topping? Just frosting. Have you ever ridden a motorcycle? No. Do you ever forward or reply to chain mails? Never. Have you ever tried to make your own alcohol? Nope. If you were to join one of the armed forces, which would it be? Lol no. Have you ever been to see stand up comedy? No. Have you ever needed stitches? At least twice. Have you ever been in a submarine? No. What would you do if someone proposed to you tomorrow? I'd say no, even if it was Sara. We're not ready for that yet. Which fictional character do you wish was real? Sobs all my favorites of everything are villains and therefore shouldn't be brought to life. Uhhhh. Idk. Maybe Harry Mason from SH 'cuz the entire human population deserves a dad like that. Do you own a lava lamp? I wish. Have you ever been in a hot tub or sauna? Yes to hot tub, but you couldn't pay me to set foot in a sauna. Have you ever had chicken pox? No. Do you believe there used to be dragons? No. We would've found fossil evidence by now, I think. Who’s your favorite god from ancient history? Man, idk. I love mythology. But memory is pretty faint though so I don't remember what most did/what they stand for. What was the last present you received? Uhhhh I'm not sure. Could you go out with someone who had a child from a previous relationship? No. I am not being a mother figure for anyone. What was your first alcoholic drink? Hard lemonade. What was your first detention for? I've only ever had detention for excessive tardies. Did you ever have a treehouse as a kid? No. Have you ever appeared on YouTube? EW LET'S FORGET THAT. Have you ever been on radio? No. Do you like your own name? I do. Could you ever have an affair with a married person? Fuck no. Could you ever split up a couple for one reason or another? I mean I'd urge one to leave the other if they were abusive or not really in love or something like that. I wouldn't out of my own interests. Which celebrity do you find the most annoying? The Paul brothers are fucking obnoxious trash. Is there anyone you work with that you don’t get along with? Why? N/A Have you ever been romantically interested in a coworker? No. Have you ever been romantically involved with a coworker? No. What is the game you’re currently playing most often on your phone? None. Do you have an opinion on adopting/purchasing a pet? Adopt. I understand the temptation of wanting a certain breed of pet, but you've gotta think beyond your desires here. There are so, so, SO many homeless cats and dogs especially that need homes. When was the last time you climbed a tree? Never, I believe. Why were you last pulled over? I never have been, thank GOD. Do you have any friends that own a private lake? I can just about guarantee no. Are you cool with swimming in a lake? It would depend on the lake. Do you have a drone? No. Do you have any t-shirts from any local businesses? No. Do you listen to any talk shows or podcasts? Only Mark's and his friends'. Do you know anyone who’s had their own podcast? I don't think so. Where were you the last time you stayed in a hotel? The beach. Do you know anyone who is freaked out by cats? No. What kind of music do your parents listen to? Mom loves (classic) metal and rock like me, but she also enjoys Christian music. Dad likes rock and classic metal/rock. What do you do when you can’t escape thoughts of your ex? I mean, I'm a bad person to ask, because my PTSD is tied to my ex. My case is far more extreme. All you really can do is try to do things to distract yourself. What do you think about indoor pets? Love 'em. How it should be most of the time for most animals. Would you agree that love is blind? Very. Did your first real significant other change you at all? Yes. Are you waiting to have sex until you’re married? I don't think so, if I was to ever be in that situation with a man again. How many schools have you been to? Five, but I'm about to start my sixth. Do any songs give you goosebumps? I get goosebumps very, VERY easily when it comes to music. I don't even have to really like the song. What do you think about divorce? Sadly necessary in extreme cases. What’s your favorite way to eat peanut butter? In a Reese's lol. Do you still watch any cartoons meant for kids? I don't watch TV now, but if I was still into watching shows, I'd totally still follow Pokemon. What’s your favorite kind of cereal? Man, idk. Maybe Cinnamon Toast Crunch. What were you doing the last time you were on a roof? Just sitting up there. Do you have any stickers on your car? Mom has I think one? Have you ever given someone flowers? I'll always remember this one Mother's Day where I went down our old path with my sister and friend and we picked up SO many flowers to put in a glass cup as a bouquet for Mom. So yeah. Do you have any stickers on your laptop? No. Do you listen to Nirvana? I don't usually search them out, but they're on my iPod, and I won't generally skip 'em if a Nirvana song comes along. What is one thing stopping you from becoming a veterinarian? I hate seeing animals in pain and/or dying. Are you easily scared by horror movies? Not at all. How old were you when you were first pulled over by the police? I've never been pulled over. When was the last time you drank out of a champagne glass? I've no idea. Do you enjoy plane journeys, if you’ve ever been on one? If we're just talking the ride and not the process leading up to it, and so long I've the window seat, yeah, they're fine. What’s the last movie you’ve seen in theaters and can honestly say you enjoyed? I adored the live action TLK, truly and thoroughly. I didn't at all get the hate. Like I know a common criticism is they took the realism too far (they were lacking in expression), but I liked that, honestly. It made it feel all the more real. I mean honestly, I possibly liked it more than the animated (save for the "Be Prepared" singing), and that movie is sacred to me. Have you ever seen your father cry? I've only seen him tear up like once in my life. How would your parents react if you got pregnant? They'd be confused as fuck because I'm the polar opposite of promiscuous, monogamous, advise that to only happen after marriage, and am with a girl. If you’re in a relationship, how is it going? If you’re single, are you looking for someone? It's going great. We're just ready to no longer be long-distance. How big is your bed? Queen-sized. Do you believe the Holocaust happened? No??????????? fucking????????????????? shit??????????????????????????????? Ever spent any time on a military base? No. Have you ever tried putting black pepper on mac ‘n’ cheese? (It’s good!) Yes, delicious. Has a wild animal ever been loose in your house? Not our current house. We lived in the woods beforehand, and we did have mild mice problems in the winter. Have you ever felt a temperature below 0? No. Have you ever seen a volcano? Not in person. Are you a fan of Janis Joplin? I've actually never really listened to her. Have you ever mowed the lawn (even a little bit)? No. What’s the closest river to you? The Tar River. Don't mind sharing considering it's ginormous. Who were the last 3 males you talked to? My nephew, his dad, then my own dad. What was the last form of communication you used to speak to your best friend? (e.g. text message, phone call) Text. What was the last alcoholic drink you tried for the first time? Uhhhh I think some kind of white wine? Did you like it? Not in the slightest. What’s your favorite feature of the person you’re currently interested in? She has the cutest random little freckle on her hip. Do you remember the first CD you ever bought? I believe the first I personally wanted and got was the Swan Songs album by Hollywood Undead. Where is your favorite place to get fries? You have NOT lived until you've eaten Bojangle's fries. They have a special seasoning that is absolutely spectacular. The Bojangle's experience is so important that it's the first place we went when Sara first came here lmao. Do you know anyone who was raised by their grandparents? Don't believe so. Have you ever made your own pie from scratch? No. What is your favorite gaming console? PS2, always. What was the last major city you visited? Chicago. I mean, or Raleigh, if you count it as a "major" one. How many romantic relationships have you been in so far? I only really consider Jason and Sara as "romantic" relationships. Have you ever used a leaf blower? No. What would you say is the worst part of high school, period? The shift from child to young adult. Hormones make the experience so, so much more difficult than it needs to be. What is your favorite color of apple? Red, green or yellow? Red. They're usually the most crisp. If you were dying who would you say goodbye to first out of everyone? It'd either be Mom or Sara, definitely. I can't really say without being in that moment, idk. Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? Fuck no. I've only ever done it once and never will again, even though the one occasion went fine. Who was the last person to call you fat, if anyone at all? Myself lmao. What color skin does the last person you danced with have? White. Has your mother ever called your school because of your grades? No. What is the worst name a friend has ever called you? Do you remember? I can promise you one has most certainly called me a bitch or worse. Have you ever wanted to be in a band? What position exactly? At the start of high school, I remember I'd sometimes daydream about being a guitarist, but it was never something I like, actively craved. Who is your role model or hero in life if you have one? *blinks* Do you ever call your cousins just to talk to them randomly? No. When did you last spend the night at someone’s house? December of last year. Do you ever have to wash your clothes at someone else’s house? If I'm at Sara's. Do you prefer it when it gets darker earlier? NO. I'm much unlike I used to be in that I prefer brightness. It actually does affect my mood; I recommend to aaaaanybody who suffers from depression to stay in a bright room. I used to live in the dark as well, and I promise, it makes a difference. Have you ever learned any self-defense? If not, would you be interested in learning? No, and yes, especially with how incredibly paranoid I am. Do you like Gushers? Yaaaaas hunty. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? No. When was the last time you felt like you didn’t have anything to worry about? LOL HUH??????? NO WORRIES??????? How old was the last child that you spoke to? Three. What is the name of the last perfume you put on? "Crazy Lady." That perfume is years upon YEARS old. It was a birthday present from Summer, and seeing as I barely ever wear perfume, it's still in my room. Expired, I'm sure, lol. Are you waiting for something to arrive in the mail? No. Have your parents ever forgotten your birthday? No. Do you like your orange juice with lots or no pulp? NONONONONONONO. I absolutely will not drink orange juice with pulp. Did the Spanish classes have an “El Dia de Los Muertos” (Day of the Dead) fiesta at school? I think so? How long have you had the hairbrush you are currently using? I use a comb now that we've had actually forever. What projects are you doing now for school? I'm not in school, not quite yet anyway. :') Do you know what durian is? Do you like it? No. I would never try it. What’s the most number of comments you have on a Facebook picture? What is the picture of? I don't know, and I don't plan on looking. Most likely some selfie. Do you like coconut flavored things? NO. Coconut is disgusting. Have you ever met a famous author before? No. Do you know anybody who has been raped before? I don't think so, and I truly hope not... How often do you get a fever? Like, never. What kind of laundry basket do you use? It's just a plain, white, plastic one. As a child, did you ever have a clown or a magician at your birthday parties? I actually believe I had both. I know I had a pair of clowns once, and with how into magic I was, I would expect I've had had one. Do you have a permit or license? I have my permit. It's more than due time I work more towards my license... List all the stores you’ve been in this past month. I think the only one is PetSmart. Have you ever thrown food at a stranger in a movie theater? No, because I was never that childish. Does/did either of your parents serve in the military? No. Do you like sour candy? My favorite! Where would you like to go on your honeymoon? Most likely Pink Sands Beach in the Bahamas, but honestly I'm terrified of the Bermuda Triangle, so that's unlikely, lmao. That black sand beach in Hawaii, however, will do. Are all nighters something you have grown used to? BIIIIIIITCH I've outgrown that shit. I'm rarely up past 10 at the latest these days. Is there anybody you’re not ashamed to tell anything to? Anything, no. Smoothies or slushies? Slushies. Ignoring nutrition, could you live off veggies for the rest of your life? Nooooooo. Elaborate on a way you have volunteered? I once volunteered at PetSmart during an adoption event, giving the cats and dogs attention while people visited. I absolutely fell in LOVE with a dog there that I begged Mom to get, and she came pretty close. I cried leaving, ha ha... Does anybody know about your sex life other than your partners? No. If you could see any musician live, front row, who would you choose? Um, Ozzy????? Duh??????? My Dad???????? Is great?????????????? If you had to choose between a million dollars or to be able to change a regret? And here you have it, the stupidest question I've seen on a survey. Have you ever been around someone who was high? Yeah. Could you handle living with a male roommate? No, with how afraid I am of men. It'd only work if it was with a long-time bf. Have you spoken to your mother today? Father? For once, both. Do you live by yourself? No. Do you shower every day? No, it's unhealthy and I don't find every day necessary. Especially when you live my hermit life. Is English your native language? Yes. Who is your favorite character from Harry Potter? N/A Do you watch PewDiePie? Very, very rarely. I'm not that into his content anymore, and his humor changed from more original to heavily meme-ish. Are you married? No. Did you ever color your hair pink? No, but totally not apposed. Do you have any subscribers on YouTube? Yeah, some. Do you salt your popcorn? Sadly. Do you like McDonalds? Don't even try to bullshit, you don't mind McD's. Do you have a Steam account? Yeah. Have you ever played Five Nights at Freddy’s? No. It's a cool series though, and I enjoy watching LPs of it. Do you like horror movies? YESSSSSS my favorite. Is your favorite animal a dog? No. Do you like chicken nuggets? mmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMM What color is the ceiling in the room? White. Do you like religion? It's interesting, but has done a shitload of evil. However, it has also made wonderful people. It depends on how you use it. Have you ever tried Akinator? Yeah. Can you twerk? Idk and idc. Do you like dabbing? It looks remarkably stupid/like you're sneezing into your elbow. Do you like fishing? I do, but I've stopped doing it. I feel too bad for the fish. Do you like sleeping? Oh fuck yeah. What do you think of Fifty Shades of Grey? Fucking disgusting, whether in book or movie format. Do you swear in front of children? No. Which Pirates of the Caribbean do you like the most? Never watched 'em. What do you think of Rob Zombie? I enjoy a lot of his music. How far out of your age bracket would you date? Once you hit 10 years, it's a no for me. Have you ever had an STD? No. Is the area you live in more liberal or conservative? I live in the South. Take a wild guess. Have you picked out flower petals, saying, ‘He loves me, he loves me not?' No. Do you like to pace? It's not that I "like" to, it's just a habit. What’s the greatest thing about science? Learning about the world around us. Discovering how life works. Does it annoy you when people dumb themselves down to be cool? It's not "annoying," it's just stupid. Intelligence is cool. What’s a song you like from the genre you hate? "When The Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw is a heavy exception. I adore that song. Are your parents divorced? Yeah, they separated when I was like, 16-17. Who was your first friend? Brianna. Have you ever been to Germany? Hell, I wish. What do you hear right now? I'm currently obsessed with "Brand New Numb" by Motionless In White. Have you ever been ice skating? No. Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty? No. Would you consider yourself a shy person? I am one of the shyest people you will ever meet in your life. Do you like techno? Yeah, actually. I've really gotten into electronic music. How many windows are in the room you’re in? Two. Can you whistle? No. My lip ring is probably what makes me unable to anymore. How many X-rays have you had in the last 2 years? Three. One of my knees, then over the course of two years, I believe two for my teeth at the dentist. Are you on good terms with your last ex? Yeah. Do you own an Xbox? No. Favorite Snapchat filter? I've never used Snapchat before. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two. What’s the worst thing you have ever done? Depends on how you mean "worst." Most damaging to me, let myself turn Jason into a god in my head and nearly kill myself for it. As far as most immoral, probably be partially responsible for why my former best friend and her bf broke up because he wound up liking me because I was a dumb 12 y/o. What's your favorite candle scent? Probably coffee or cinnamon rolls. Do you take any medications daily? Yeah. What is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) An annoying combo. What type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) A small one. Are you going to change your last name when you get married? Yes, I hate my last name. Last person you called? Mom. Chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? I don't like sprinkles at all. The texture ruins treats. Who was the last person you cried in front of? Mom, I'm sure. Do you think vlogging in public is scary? I wouldn't say "scary," just incredibly awkward. You'd never see me do it. Would you want to be in a collab channel on YouTube? I don't even want to risk popularity, so no. Do you watch any collab channels? Which ones? Game Grumps and Sam & Colby, mainly. What colors have you dyed your hair, if any? Black, purple, and red. What is your gender and sexual orientation? Female and bisexual. Have you been to an escape room? Was it a success? No, but they seem REALLY fun. Ever performed on stage? Was it scary or amazing or both? Yeah, many times for dance. It was really neither for me. Have you ever recorded a cover of a song? No. Have you tried the Beyond or Impossible burger? Thoughts? No, but I want to, especially as I plan on returning to vegetarianism at one point. When was the last time you ate your all-time favorite candy? Oh wow, months. When was the last time you made friends with old enemies? Some time last year, Rachel and I reconnected. She's cool as hell now. When was the last time you took time to pray? It's been a long time. I don't believe it does anything. What is a movie that you heard about recently that you do NOT want to see? Is that "Cats" movie real or was the trailer a fever dream???? What do you do during long trips in the car? I just blare music. Best kind of music to dance to? And the worst kind of music to dance to? I really love "different" songs that warrant a modern sort of dance style. It was my favorite when I took dance, and it's by far my favorite to watch. Worst, I guess like, screamo. How would you dance???? Last candy you tried that you did not enjoy? Or one that you did enjoy? Oh my god. So I tried that new Reese's doughnut from Krispy Kreme today, and it. Was. Repulsive. A candy I actually liked, idk. I rarely ever have treats anymore. Were you a chubby or thin baby? I was normal. Have you ever not given a tip at a restaurant? Why didn’t you? N/A, y'all know my money situation. What is the most outrageous thing you’ve considered doing lately? Okay, I'll admit I at least briefly pondered the possibility of getting a nipple pierced after an eternity of saying I never would lmao. I'm not, tho. Have you ever known somebody who ran away? Most likely. What are your thoughts on Batman? I think it's cool he has that policy of never killing anyone, and he also doesn't have any actual powers, does he? I don't remember. The whole Batman universe (or comics for that matter) is one I don't really connect to anymore, as it was Jason's obsession, so it's a dangerous topic for me. When I say Dr. Seuss, what is the first thing that comes to mind? Green Eggs and Ham. I loooved that book as a kid. Rollercoasters that go upside down… yes please or no thank you? Hell to the motherfuckin no thanks. Is there a certain place or store you especially hate going to? Grocery stores. What was the last animal/pet that you met? There was a BEAUTIFUL standard poodle Mom and I briefly interacted with at the pet store a week or so back. Is there something in particular you always seem to forget? Straighten the shower curtain after I get out so it dries properly. When was the last time you had to wait in line for longer than a few minutes? *shrugs* Have you ever written a review for a product you bought online? No. What was the last board game you played? I think it was all the way back when Sara, Girt, and I played Scrabble.

[triggeringthehealing]

welcome to the neighborhood

Derek/Stiles | 2961w | G | AO3

Summary: Normally he'd be working at the window, with a clear view of his front yard, people-watching as he types the essay that he's supposed to hand in tomorrow. The one that he was meant to work on for the past week. However, there has been a distraction right outside his window. Or rather, across the street. 

A/N: Written for the @multifandomwritingchallenge - December prompt: “I must have been an awful person in my past life.” (theme: dialogue prompts) (as per usual, I can’t make things on time :/ I’m sorry!) 

Stiles glances out of his window again, for the tenth time this morning. Then he sighs and walks away from it, rubbing his eyes and clenching his teeth as he walks across the room to where he temporarily set up his laptop.

Normally he'd be working at the window, with a clear view of his front yard, people-watching as he types the essay that he's supposed to hand in tomorrow. The one that he was meant to work on for the past week. However, there has been a distraction right outside his window. Or rather, across the street.

The neighborhood where he lives is a quiet one, the houses privately owned and the residents strictly the owners of said houses, with the exception of the small one that he and Scott live in. They're renting from—of all people—Scott's father, who's been trying to mend his relationship with Scott and the house is one of the offerings. Scott had been reluctant to accept it until Stiles pointed out how much quieter it would be compared to dorms and how much cheaper if he played his cards right.

It was a delight living here for the past two years, most of their neighbors lovely people who have been supplying them with food and the occasional fix of Stiles's Jeep—one of them is a mechanic—while Scott and Stiles offered grass mowing and car washing services in return.

Only one house had been unoccupied, according to Rafael for years before the boys moved in, and it's the one right across the street. The only movement in the house was an occasional visit from a cleaning service and a gardener who were keeping the house in a habitable state despite their being no actual inhabitants. That changed almost exactly a week ago, when a black Camaro pulled up, followed by a moving van that unloaded several boxes into the driveway. Stiles was just on his way out then, so he didn't see their new neighbor until the next morning.

At 7am sharp, while Stiles was stumbling out of the door and into his Jeep so he'd get to a class on time, the front door across the street opened and out walked... Stiles's wildest dream and his worst nightmare all rolled into one man. Who was obviously heading out for a jog, if his skin-tight shorts, loose tank top and trainers were anything to go by. He didn't say hello, didn't seem to even acknowledge Stiles's presence and he set off into a run, leaving Stiles watching his tanned back and the flashes of a black tattoo on the man's back. Stiles absolutely did not glance below the man's waist to see the curve of his delightfully bubbly ass.

That would have been extremely rude.

It's also why he's sitting on the couch in the living room now, curled into a slightly uncomfortable position, instead of taking advantage of the perfectly positioned desk and the chair that makes hours spent in it seem like nothing.

Because the desk is right at the front window. The same window that faces the house across the street. And while it's not 7am—their new neighbor is punctual with his morning jogs—it seems that it's perfect lawn-mowing time instead. Just as it was car-washing time the day before, house-painting time a few days earlier, window-washing time another afternoon. There's been something every single day, as if the man across the street knew when Stiles had to be sitting at his desk and having the perfect view of his muscled back and wide shoulders, the dark swirls of the tattoo on his back—a triskelion, as Stiles found out on the window-washing day when tank tops were apparently unnecessary—and the swell of his ass whenever he bent over.

"I must have been an awful person in my past life," Stiles mumbles to himself, the empty house offering no sound of consolation.

It's been the longest week, catching glimpses of their new neighbor no matter how much Stiles tried not to. He didn't even know the man's name—Rafael only remembered that there used to be a family years ago, then he mentioned something about a fire and how the house was rebuilt—but he did see the tall and beautiful woman who made an appearance one of the mornings. She'd been in casual clothes and kissed the man's cheek as he left for his jog, then she got into a shiny Jeep—a model way newer than Stiles's—and drove off.

"No wonder he's taken," Stiles muttered then, any dreams of a meet-cute with the potential of getting to know the man in every way possible dashed into smithereens.

He's about to give up on the essay and grab himself something to drink when he hears the rumbling of Scott's bike.

Dinner time, Stiles thinks.

He sets down the laptop and heads towards the kitchen, figuring that now that Scott's home, they might as well figure out something to eat. Stiles is looking at an all-nighter the way his essay is going, so he's going to need the energy. His head is stuck in the chest freezer as he rummages through whatever they have that's easy enough to make when the voices from the front door carry all the way to his ears.

"It's not a bother at all," Scott says to someone who's obviously coming into the house with him. "We should have that spare bulb. Anytime you need anything man, just knock. Stiles is home most of the evenings, I'm home in the mornings, one of us is bound to be around."

"What's a Stiles?"

It's a soft voice, one that Stiles doesn't recognize, but a vague sense of panic washes over him. He knows all their other neighbors by now and since this is someone new, it can only mean...

"Hey Stiles, where are you?" Scott calls out from the living room when he finds it empty. "Come meet our new neighbor Derek!” Then he adds more quietly, clearly to Derek, their neighbor: "Stiles is my housemate and best friend."

"Is he the one who owns the death-trap Jeep?" Derek asks, amusement ringing through his voice.

"Yeah, it's one he had since he learned to drive," Scott says, then adds something more quietly.

Stiles figures it's the fact that the Jeep used to belong to his mom, if the acknowledging hum from Derek is anything to go by. Scott calls his name again and Stiles hisses when he startles and hits the back of his head on the chest freezer's lid.

"In the kitchen," he replies just so Scott doesn't call him again.

The thing is though, he's been home all afternoon, trying to write his essay. And his studying clothes are very much comfort over style, so he's in his pajama bottoms—the soft and worn out ones—and a T-shirt that has more holes and stains than fabric. Which is not really the best first impression he wanted to make on their hot new neighbor. Then again, said neighbor already noticed Stiles's old Jeep and clearly had reservations about its functionality or looks or whatever, Stiles doesn't care. He loves Roscoe and would go to bat for him, especially to snobby owners of shiny Camaros who—

He doesn't get to finish the thought because Scott strolls into the kitchen with Derek right behind him, still in his sweaty and loose tank top and the running shorts that have been driving Stiles to distraction. Who even wears running shorts to mow the lawn? Stiles has been asking himself that question every time he glanced out of the window.

"Hey, Stiles, this is our new neighbor from across the road, Derek," Scott says with his usual cheerful demeanor. "Derek, this is my housemate Stiles."

"Hey," Stiles says, glad that he managed to at least open his mouth without making a complete idiot of himself.

Then again, the day's not over yet.

"Hey," Derek replies, eyes roaming up and down Stiles's body, eyebrow rising as he takes in the state of his clothes.

Stiles can't help it, he returns the same look to Derek, pointedly looking at the clothes he is wearing. To mow the lawn. Because what the hell.

"Derek's lightbulb in the garage blew, so I offered one of our spares," Scott says, glancing between the two of them as they continue their glaring stand-off. "Are they still in the hall cupboard?"

It's only reluctantly and with yet another pointed glare at Derek that Stiles looks away and turns to Scott instead.

"No, the shelf in the garage, above the washing machine,” he says. "Remember your dad moved all that crap so we had space in the hall?"

"Right, yeah," Scott replies, then he glances at Derek. "I'll be back in a moment."

Then he looks at Stiles and gives him his patent what are you doing? look. Stiles knows that one, it's been a constant presence in his life throughout high school, usually when he was lying to his father about something. He disappears before Stiles can—even just nonverbally—defend himself.

And it's Derek and Stiles in the kitchen, alone. With Derek and his tank top and his dark hair and big expressive eyebrows and tanned skin and why is Stiles even looking into his eyes like a creep and trying to figure out what color they are?

"So, uh, you all moved in?"

It's the only question he can think of, most of his mind spinning around the fact that the hot neighbor whom Stiles thought was completely unapproachable is now in his kitchen and probably judging Stiles's dress sense. For a good reason, really, not that Stiles is about to admit that out loud.

"Yeah," Derek says, then he smiles and glances towards the window.

Oh my god bunny teeth! Stiles’s mind supplies very unhelpfully when his eyes land on Derek's smiling mouth.

"My sister will probably say that my interior design skills are severely lacking and she'll redo everything," Derek keeps talking, "but the house is livable now, at least."

"Sister?"

Stiles's mind is reeling from the lightness of Derek's tone, such a a contrast to the distant man he seemed to be whenever Stiles saw him heading out for his runs in the mornings.

"I think you might have seen her a few days ago," Derek says, frowning. "You were headed to... school? Work?"

"School, yeah," Stiles says, then his brain catches up. "That was your sister? And I didn't think you noticed me, like, ever."

"Yeah, that was Laura. My older sister, as she likes to point out frequently, though it's only by a few minutes," Derek says, sounding a little grumbly, like siblings tend to be about each other.

Stiles would know, that's been his relationship with Scott even before their parents started dating and made their brotherhood official. There's fondness in Derek's tone though and Stiles remembers the news he saw about the fire at their house and the amount of casualties that there were. If his internal math is right, Laura is the only family Derek has left.

"I did notice you," Derek says. "At the risk of sounding creepy, you have classes—" he pauses and there's the most adorable blush rising in his cheeks and down his chest, "—on Tuesday and Wednesday morning. And you tend to be barely awake that early in the morning. You probably shouldn't be driving like that."

"I've been driving since I was fifteen, I'm good," Stiles says defensively. "And not everyone is up and jogging at an ungodly hour like that. Every day."

Oh shit, Stiles thinks, realizing that Derek only knew about the mornings when Stiles was actually outside and leaving his house at the same time as Derek was heading out for his run. But now he knows that Stiles is aware that the runs are daily. Which he clearly realized, if the way his eyebrow shoots up is any indication.

"Have you been driving that Jeep since you got your license?” Derek asks instead, then he pauses and narrows his eyes. "You're Mrs Stilinski's kid."

Stiles's eyes widen in surprise because he hasn't heard his mom being referred to that way in years. Since before she died, really, because she hadn't been teaching for the last few years.

"You knew her?"

"She was my year's homeroom teacher, when I was in Beacon Hills," Derek says quietly.

"Oh. And yeah, I've been driving Roscoe from the first day I was allowed to," Stiles says, not wanting to dwell too long on the past and memories that probably aren't pleasant for either him or Derek.

"Does it still run on duct tape and prayers?" Derek asks, smirking.

"How do you know about that?"

"From her, actually," Derek tells him. "She used to refuse any help from the guys who were fixing their own cars and offered to look at it. Said getting it fixed properly would ruin the car's integrity."

Stiles smirks to himself and feels a pang in his chest accompanied by fondness.

"That sounds like Mom," he says, quietly.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Derek says then, just as quietly. "She was my favorite teacher."

Stiles nods. There's not much else he can say—it's been years since his mom died and he still gets the occasional comment like Derek's, from people who remember her—and he's a little thrown by the link that Derek has to Stiles's past. But then he can't help it, his curiosity too strong to just let it go.

"It's weird, I didn't realize there was anyone in the area who knew Beacon Hills," he tells Derek. "Just Scott and I. And Rafa," he adds, then explains when Derek's eyebrow lifts in confusion. "Scott's Dad. He owns this place, we're just renting."

"Ah. Not many renters in the area, usually," Derek remarks. "We moved here before I finished high school. Mom's job pulled her out."

Stiles doesn't ask about her. Or about the fire. It's not a "just getting to know you" conversation, despite the fact that they've already touched on Stiles's loss of a parent.

"So, you'll be here for another few years?" Derek asks then.

"Two more, probably, depending on how college goes," Stiles replies. "Scott's in vet school, so he'll stick around."

"You won't?"

"Depends on which academy I get into," Stiles says, then realizes that he needs to elaborate. "Police academy. Following in Dad's footsteps, hopefully. Or at least a similar direction. Might be Quantico, for all I know."

"High hopes," Derek says, smiling. "So, will it be weird to ask you out?"

Stiles's mind screeches to a halt.

"What?"

"Coffee. Maybe dinner, if you'd be up for it," Derek says, like he didn't just completely blow Stiles's mind. "If it's not something you want to do, forget it. And I hope it won't make things awkward."

"Only if you don't really mean it," Stiles says. "You're not like, pulling my leg because you know that I noticed you beyond what's casual and normal."

"Why are you talking about normal?" Scott asks, just walking into the kitchen. "That can't be about you."

Stiles groans in frustration. Like it's not bad enough that his first few impressions were less than stellar, Scott's now driving the stake into an already shaky image. Which Derek obviously didn't hate. Until now.

"Normal is overrated anyway," Derek says and grins. "So, coffee?"

"Oh no, did I walk into something?" Scott asks, looking alarmed and apologetic. "Here's the lightbulb, don't mind me, I'll just go... park the bike or something."

Stiles watches his best friend stumble out of the kitchen and towards the already perfectly parked bike outside—Stiles knows this because he's never seen Scott not be careful with it—leaving Derek and Stiles there, in awkward silence. That doesn't last too long though.

"So, coffee," Stiles says, forgetting to make it a question.

"If you want to," Derek tells him and he looks hesitant and like he's bracing himself for a rejection.

Which makes zero sense at all, because who would refuse an offer like that? Not Stiles.

"That would be great," Stiles says, maybe a little too fast.

He's way past trying to look like a regular and well-adjusted person though. All things considered, it's pretty pointless anyway.

"Tomorrow? Or is that too soon?" Derek asks, his hesitation turning into a hopeful expression.

"I want to say yes. I really do," Stiles tells him, apologetic. "But I have this essay due tomorrow and I'm pretty sure that I'll need an all-nighter to finish it because I got nothing done this afternoon."

Since you were outside, mowing the lawn and being a distraction, Stiles doesn't say.

"Well, good luck with that and... let me know when you're free?"

"I know where you live," Stiles blurts out, then he feels his cheeks heat up. "I mean, in a completely non-stalkery and non-creepy way, because you're right across the street and I see you all the time. Because you're always outside, doing things."

Derek chuckles.

"I'll see you soon," he says. "Maybe in the morning? Around seven?"

Then he walks out of the kitchen while Stiles is still looking at him with an open mouth and wide eyes.

—

They get coffee the next day, when Stiles stumbles to Derek's front door right after he gets home from handing in his essay. He's barely awake, his hair looks like a mess and his clothes are only a step above what he was wearing when they first met properly. But there's the promise of coffee and getting to look into Derek's eyes and well, Stiles's sleep-deprived brain thinks it's the best idea ever.

It turns out that Derek doesn't disagree.

[another-weather-story]

A Summer Breeze Through Winter: Act 1

Chapter 2: Neighbourhood

Gean

Miracles had to be real, because how else would you explain this? It was almost pure luck that he moved into the house just across the street.

I had prayed one day I’d see Otoro again, and I guess my prayers were heard.

I heard news around the block that someone or some people would be moving in the house. The details weren’t clear and there was definitely some controversy about the situation.

At first it was owned by a sweet old man who would always pick fresh vegetables from his garden to share with the street residents. When he was too old to live on his own, one of his grandchildren apparently moved him to a retirement home. Ever since then no one had lived across the street. Every one missed him and his tomatoes. I never knew him very well and didn’t really care to.

My little sis Rachel kept making up stories about it being haunted and that was the real reason the old man left. But that isn’t as important. What is is that he was the one who moved in.

I saw a car pull up to the structure one day, maybe a week after the news. It was silver and shined brightly in the afternoon sunlight. At the time I was in my room on the top floor. I had been waiting there for a few days to see when the family would arrive.

A man stepped out first. I stared at him, excited. Who was he? How did he look? Unconsciously, I began studying him.

He had short borderline white hair that stuck to his head. He was medium toned and short, just taller than the window.

I was captivated in the moment. I don’t know why, but I had just then realized that was the family.

I opened my window and let the summer breeze in and closed my blinds slightly. I didn’t want to seem so obviously staring at them.

The man yelled something in a foreign language at the inside of his car, probably to another person.

It became apparent there was indeed someone else in there.

This was the first time I saw Otoro. My heart jumped in my chest. I clutched my chest as a warm heat filled up my body, and a lump formed in my throat.

It was like he was a new person. When I found him last year after I got lost he had long, brown hair that was held together in a fragile side ponytail by a weak hair tie. Now his hair was down and only reached his shoulders. It curled at the end and bounced whenever he walked. Before, he had bangs that would cover his eyes. Now you could clearly see his light blue irises, glowing no matter the time of day.

I had to catch my breath as to not make any sound. I needed to be silent so I could hear everything.

My heart jumped when I heard him speak in the same foreign language as who I could only assume his dad was. It slipped off his tongue so perfectly, I was jealous and in awe.

They exchanged a few words as they studied the house, backs facing me.

The dad then opened the trunk of the car. Mounds of boxes and luggage sat inside. The boxes were labeled in what looked like Chinese.

If that was indeed Chinese, then Otoro knew how to speak Chinese. The lump in my throat grew bigger at this thought.

A half an hour passed and another car drove up. This one was a solid white colour, with more volume than the other.

Out stepped a woman who looked nothing like the dad. Probably the mother. She had solid brown hair with greying roots, a pale skin tone, and antique-looking glasses.

After her came another girl. She looked about Otoro’s age, very young, and bitchy. A resting bitch face and constantly crossed arms signified she was a troublemaker. She looked more like the father with shoulder long black hair and fair skin. That must have been Otoro’s sister he always talked about. I forgot her name, but it most definitely started with an A.

Otoro was the tallest. The sister came in a close second place, then the mother and father. I studied them and their posture, making a hypothesis about each family member as they made their way around the plot.

A only spoke English. Whenever anyone else talked, A would always jump in and mention how she couldn’t understand them. Otoro would need to translate most everything as the parents would persist in talking in Chinese. I could only assume she didn’t know Chinese because she didn’t care enough to.

The mom was optimistic. She wore a constant smile, even when Otoro and A would be tearing each other's heads off.

The father seemed too tired to healthily function. He would seem to fall unconscious for periods of time and when he would start yelling at A or Otoro his voice appeared to trail off.

I didn’t need to study Otoro, but still I did. He didn’t change at all. He was ever so childish, happy, and teasing. His upbeat personality always lifted everyone’s spirits. Even if he was loud and everyone else got easily annoyed by it, I loved it.

I watched everyday as he and his family worked. Eventually I learned they were speaking Japanese and not Chinese. Also that A’s name was Akasai. And she was indeed a cunt.

One day I was looking at Otoro through his window. He was relaxing on his bed, his back facing me. Everything was calm and for once no one was screaming. I was resting my gaze on his reflection in the big mirror set up on his opposing wall. He looked so beautiful, even in a low quality resolution.

It caught me off guard when he suddenly turned and looked directly at me. It took me a second to realize, but once I did, I panicked. When I closed my blinds I almost ripped them and nearly fell off the barstool I had set up by the window. I collected myself and sat on the ground underneath the windowsill, biting my nails.

‘He saw me. Holy shit.’ My heart was pounding and my mind began playing the entire scene on repeat. It kept speeding up each time.

Finally, after a while I stood up. The sun had gone down. For a while I stood in the middle of my room, then made my way to my bed.

I needed sleep.

Rachel barged into my room suddenly.

“GG!”

I jumped and bumped my head on my bed frame. “Ah! Rara-”

“Wanna go say hi to the neighbours? Mommy said we could go and see them now!”

She had startled me awake so quickly I lost any grip on reality. “God, what time is it?”

“3 pm. You missed breakfast and lunch.”

I had slept in, damn. It was already noon.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just get out of my room so I can change.”

“Yay! I’ll do the same, I want to make a good first impression. Don’t take long, too.” She whispered, “Mommy’s gonna beat your ass if you do.”

I waved her off. “Okay. Now leave.”

She skipped away, beaming.

It took a minute for me to sit up, but just a few seconds to remember what happened yesterday. My face heated up quickly. My heart sped up again.

‘No, wait. Don’t think about that. Just change and if he asks, explain everything.’ I thought to myself.

I rushed to get ready. A solid t-shirt, jeans, shoes. That was all. I snatched a small handful of cereal from a box and shoved it down my throat so I wasn’t starving. I didn’t have time to grab my phone, but then again I didn’t really need it.

Before I knew it, I was standing with my mom and Rachel on their front doorstep, anxious and nervous. I was bouncing and chewing my knuckles. Mom rang the doorbell and waited calmly.

Otoro’s mother opened the door.

In English, she greeted us. “Hi!”

My mom waved politely. “Hi there! We’re your neighbours and wanted to say hi.”

She nodded and grinned brighter than before. “You must be from across the street. I saw you mowing your lawn the other day.” Her hand stuck out. “My name’s Katherine, but you can just call me Kathy.”

My mom took Kathy’s hand and shook. “My name’s Irene. These are my kids, Gean and Rachel.”

Rachel waved and grinned “Hi!”

Kathy took her hand back as my mom did. “Wait, did you say Gean?” At the same time she greeted Rara.

My head perked up.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“I think my son may know him. Has he ever gone missing?”

“Uhm… yeah, he has. Why, exactly?”

“I knew the name sounded familiar. My son’s name is Otoro, Gean may know him.” Cathy paused. “Ah! How rude of me! Please, come in!”

“No, it’s alright!” My mom laughed and stepped in. Rachel followed.

The mothers continued talking. Rachel turned and grabbed my hand.

“Are you coming or what?”

I jumped. “Yeah, I am.” I stuttered, not realizing I was still outside.

Then I saw him.

My heart pounded again.

All I could wave as he stood dumbfounded on the steps.

It took him a minute to come down.

He began talking after Kathy said we were neighbours.

“Uh, hi? My name’s Otoro. Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

I stopped biting my knuckle and fiddled with my shirt. “Er- Gean. We’ve met before.”

“We have?” He thought for a second. “Oh! Izmael?”

“Yeah…”

“We have! God, it’s been so long! I’m so sorry I forgot!” He seemed less awkward now and much happier.

“It’s all right.”

We talked for a while there in the foyer, catching up little by little.

“Hey,” Kathy jumped in. “Otoro, why don’t you go show Gean your room and hang out while I talk with Irene?”

“Sure! C’mon, Izzy. Let’s go, I’ll show you my room.”

I nodded and followed him upstairs.

I didn’t leave his side since that day.

[words-with-wren]

Detroit: Remain Human - Chapter One

Summary:  A year after the android uprising and things have settled down somewhat in Detroit. But tensions are still running high and the humans are not as accepting as the androids as was hoped. Then, while investigating a crime scene, Connor and Hank find evidence of an android murderer. Alice doesn't return home from school. And Markus gets word that androids are goings missing. The uneasy coexistence between humans and androids is threatened and those who want to keep it strong need to act fast before their world crumbles around them.

Words: 1,557

Warnings: Nothing in this chapter

A/N: So, I posted this chapter like a month ago on my main blog but didn’t post anymore. I’ve kept writing it, but lately, I’ve run out of steam a little so hopefully if I start sharing it people will motivate me to keep writing! Enjoy it! Big thanks to @sassy-in-glasses for being my beta reader!

| A03 |

 The music was almost as loud as the siren when the car screeched to a halt. Police lights flashed, lighting up the crime scene and casting reflections in the puddles left over from a rainfall earlier that day. Connor stepped out of the passenger door, sending droplets of water flying as he placed his foot in a puddle. He sighed, glancing over the car roof to his partner, Hank, who was currently heaving himself out of the driver’s seat. He was muttering to himself again.

   “Why do we always get called out at the worst time,” he complained, leaning against the car door.

“It’s our job, Lieutenant,” Connor said simply.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I have’ta like it.” With a sigh, Hank straightened out and pushed himself off the car. “Alright. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Connor examined the surrounding area. It was a simple and well-kept residential area; houses with neat gardens lit dimly by the glow of street lamps. The house in question was surrounded by a small group of people, kept at bay by the holographic police tape. Connor and Hank shouldered their way through the crowd as they approached the crime scene, ignoring questions put to them. The house itself looked much the same as the buildings around it, recently painted, lawns mowed and well kept; a respectable place to live.

One striking difference told this house apart from those surrounding it. A noticeable smashed window, glass shards littering the garden and glass below.  It looked like it had been broken from inside, and Connor scanned the area around for any further clues. At first glance, nothing came to light and he decided to investigate more thoroughly after the briefing.

         Hank was already in conversation with Ben Collins when he stepped up the stairs outside the house and joined them on the deck.  

         “…got a call from one of the neighbours who heard the window smash,” Collins was saying as Connor arrived. “Dispatch found the dead body of a Thomas Wilson– and traces of red ice. We thought it best to call you up.” Hank muttered something unsavoury about red ice under his breath as the briefing continued. “The victim was a well-respected businessman, well off, though his fortune had gone down after the androids got equal rights. He’s a widower with two sons, one currently living with him. The crime scene is being documented, but I’ll leave you to what you do best.” Collins nodded at Hank and turned to leave. Connor stepped to the side, knowing from experience that he was expected to move.

         “Alright,” Hank said reluctantly. “Let’s get this over with.” He moved into the house, cursing red ice under his breath.

         Connor turned his attention to the garden, examining the broken window and the garden below it. From the state of the garden, it looked like someone had leapt out the window. Satisfied for now, he moved inside.

         The scene that greeted him was like many he had seen during the last year; a dead body, a mess of a scene, and a story waiting to be discovered. The body was slumped in the corner of the living room and Hank was already crouching over it. A quick facial recognition scan and Connor confirmed the victim as Thomas Wilson.

Working efficiently, Connor examined the room, piecing together what had happened. From what information he could gather, the victim and suspect had been sitting the sofas, across from each other. The suspect had attacked the victim with a knife, leaping across the table and knocking a couple of glasses over, spilling water onto the floor. He had then stabbed the victim, who had tried to run but had been stabbed again as he escaped.

         Having seen enough, Connor’s next course of action was to investigate the kitchen for any further clues. But first, he joined Hank by the window.

         “Found anything?” Hank asked.

         “Not really. From what I can tell the attack was unprovoked.” He frowned, noticing for the first time a bullet hole in the window frame. “Have you seen any signs of a gun, Lieutenant?”

         “Nah, nothing like that. Did find that though.” He nodded to a smoking pipe on the cabinet in the corner – obviously used for red ice. “This case has nothing to do with stopping the epidemic. We need to find the source – not those who take it. Especially not after they’re already dead.” He scowled, turning to look out the smashed window.

         “I was going to look in the…” Connor trailed off, something catching his eye. He frowned, moving closer to the window. A small smear of blue liquid was sticking to the shattered glass. Ignoring Hank’s disgusted look, Connor dipped his finger into it and brought it to his mouth.

         “Thirium,” he said after a second of analysing.

         “The killer was an android?” Hank asked.

         “That’s a possibility,” Connor said slowly, glancing at the officers moving around the room.

         “That’s not good,” Hank muttered.

         Connor frowned, wiping his fingers clean on his pants. It really wasn’t good. Only a year after the android uprising and tensions were still high. If an android was killing humans that conflict could arise again very quickly. And that was not something any of the androids wanted to go through again. Not after they had fought so hard for freedom.

         “Don’t tell anyone yet,” he said quietly. He wanted Markus to know before any of the humans did. Hank nodded.

         “Makes sense. Don’t want the humans all upset.” He sighed, turning his attention back to the room. “This is a dead end. What are we even doing here.”

         “We need to learn what happened,” Connor said.

         “Just because red ice is on scene suddenly it’s an excuse to call us in.” He snorted. “This job’s simple enough even Reed could do it.”

         “It’s worth a look around – maybe we can learn who his supplier was and find another lead. I’ll investigate the kitchen.”

         Hank nodded absently, crossing his arms and looking around the room, lost in thought. Connor left him to it and moved into the kitchen.

         The kitchen was a good size and seemed undisturbed. A large table filled the middle of the room, a few chairs sitting around it. There didn’t seem to be any clues in here, but Connor began to move around the room anyway.

         He was halfway around when he paused, hearing something. A small noise coming from the pantry, like an animal in distress. Wary, Connor moved towards the pantry, carefully pushing the door open.

         A loud bang rang through the kitchen. Connor jumped back, a bullet whistling past his head. A curse came from the other room, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Hank and a couple of other officers rush through. He shook his head, gesturing for them to stay back, and turned to the figure huddled in the pantry.

         It was a boy – maybe twelve years old - gripping a gun tightly in his hand. He was shaking and obviously terrified. Connor crouched down, holding his hands where the boy could see them.

         “It’s alright,” he said calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The boy stared at him but slowly began lowering the weapon. “My name is Connor. I’m a police officer – I’m here to help.” He held out his hand, slowly. “May I have the gun?”

         Shakily and warily, the boy reached forward, handing the gun to Connor. The android gently took it from him, flipped the safety on and slid it across the floor - out of reach.

         “What’s your name?” Connor asked, though he already knew from facial recognition. The boy looked up, blinking.

         “Sam,” he muttered.

         “Can you tell me what happened, Sam?”

         The boy dropped his gaze, obviously remembering.

         “A man showed up. He was asking about an old android we used to own. Then he pulled out a knife and…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut and hugging his legs.

         “Do you remember anything about the android this man was asking about?” Connor asked. Sam shook his head.

         “It was a couple years ago. I think she got stolen or something.”

         “Do you have an android working for you?”

         “No,” the boy said, shaking his head. “Dad didn’t want to hire anyone.”

         “Alright. Just a few more questions. How long has your father been taking red ice?”

         The boy looked down, seemingly embarrassed.

         “Since Mom died. About a year ago. I tried to get him to stop.”

         “Do you know anything about that?”

         Sam frowned, scuffing his shoes on the tiles of the floor.

         “I know where he gets it from,” he said quietly.

         “That would be a big help.”

         “I followed him one day.” He seemed rather proud of that fact. “He was over in Virginia Park area.”

         “Thank you,” Connor said, standing. He stepped back and let one of the other officers take over, helping the boy up and talking softly to him. Hank moved beside him.

         “So we got your lead after all,” he said.

         “It appears so. However, I’m more worried about the motive of the killer. It appears he was an android – if the thirium is anything to go by. And who is the android he’s looking for?”

         “Beats me,” Hank muttered.

         “Whatever the case, I need to let Markus know what is happening.”

[redeemed-wren]

Detroit: Remain Human - Chapter one.

Summary:  A year after the android uprising and things have settled down somewhat in Detroit. But tensions are still running high and the humans are not as accepting as the androids as was hoped. Then, while investigating a crime scene, Connor and Hank find evidence of an android murderer. Alice doesn't return home from school. And Markus gets word that androids are goings missing. The uneasy coexistence between humans and androids is threatened and those who want to keep it strong need to act fast before their world crumbles around them.

Warnings: Bit of blood/violence. Major character death maybe.

Pairings: Luther/Kara. Hank & Connor (not ship. Don’t tag as ship) 

A/N: Wooo new story! with a really original title, I know *glances at pile of unfinished fics* *Coughs and shoves pile away* Let’s go! 

| A03 | Next Chapter |

 The music was almost as loud as the siren as the car screeched to a halt. Police lights flashed, lighting up the crime scene and casting reflections in the puddles left over from a rainfall earlier that day. Connor stepped out of the passenger door, sending droplets of water flying as he placed his foot in a puddle. He sighed, glancing over the car roof to his partner, Hank, who was currently heaving himself out of the driver’s seat. He was muttering to himself again.

  “Why do we always get called out at the worst time,” he complained, leaning against the car door.

“It’s our job, Lieutenant,” Connor said simply.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I have’ta like it.” With a sigh, Hank straightened out and pushed himself off the car. “Alright. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Connor examined the surrounding area. It was a simple and well-kept residential area; houses with neat gardens lit dimly by the glow of street lamps. The house in question was surrounded by a small group of people, kept at bay by the holographic police tape, that Connor and Hank shouldered their way through. The house itself looked much the same as the buildings around it, recently painted, lawns mowed and well kept; a respectable place to live.

One striking difference told this house apart from those surrounding it. A noticeable smashed window, glass shards littering the garden and glass below.  It looked like it had been broken from inside, and Connor scanned the area around for any further clues. At first glance, nothing came to light and he decided to investigate more thoroughly after the briefing.

         Hank was already in conversation with Ben Collins when he stepped up the stairs outside the house and joined them on the deck.  

         “…got a call from one of the neighbours who heard the window smash,” Collins was saying as Connor arrived. “Dispatch found the dead body of a Thomas Wilson– and traces of red ice. We thought it best to call you up.” Hank muttered something unsavoury about red ice under his breath as the briefing continued. “The victim was a well-respected businessman, well off, though his fortune had gone down after the androids got equal rights. He’s a widower with two sons, one currently living with him. The crime scene is being documented, but I’ll leave you to what you do best.” Collins nodded at Hank and turned to leave. Connor stepped to the side, knowing from experience that he was expected to move.

         “Alright,” Hank said reluctantly. “Let’s get this over with.” He moved into the house, cursing red ice under his breath.

         Connor turned his attention to the garden, examining the broken window and the garden below it. From the state of the garden, it looked like someone had leapt out the window. Satisfied for now, he moved inside.

         The scene that greeted him was like many he had seen during the last year; a dead body, a mess of a scene, and a story waiting to be discovered. The body was slumped in the corner of the living room and Hank was already crouching over it. A quick facial recognition scan and Connor confirmed the victim as Thomas Wilson.

Working efficiently, Connor examined the room, piecing together what had happened. From what information he could gather, the victim and suspect had been sitting the sofas, across from each other. The suspect had attacked the victim with a knife, leaping across the table and knocking a couple of glasses over, spilling water onto the floor. He had then stabbed the victim, who had tried to run but had been stabbed again as he escaped.

         Having seen enough, Connor’s next course of action was to investigate the kitchen for any further clues. But first, he joined Hank by the window.

         “Found anything?” Hank asked.

         “Not really. From what I can tell the attack was unprovoked.” He frowned, noticing for the first time a bullet hole in the window frame. “Have you seen any signs of a gun, Lieutenant?”

         “Nah, nothing like that. Did find that though.” He nodded to a smoking pipe on the cabinet in the corner – obviously used for red ice. “This case has nothing to do with stopping the epidemic. We need to find the source – not those who take it. Especially not after they’re already dead.” He scowled, turning to look out the smashed window.

         “I was going to look in the…” Connor trailed off, something catching his eye. He frowned, moving closer to the window. A small smear of blue liquid was sticking to the shattered glass. Ignoring Hank’s disgusted look, Connor dipped his finger into it and brought it to his mouth.

         “Thirium,” he said after a second of analysing.

         “The killer was an android?” Hank asked.

         “That’s a possibility,” Connor said slowly, glancing at the officers moving around the room.

         “That’s not good,” Hank muttered.

         Connor frowned, wiping his fingers clean on his pants. It really wasn’t good. Only a year after the android uprising and tensions were still high. If an android was killing humans that conflict could arise again very quickly. And that was not something any of the androids wanted to go through again. Not after they had fought so hard for freedom.

         “Don’t tell anyone yet,” he said quietly. He wanted Markus to know before any of the humans did. Hank nodded.

         “Makes sense. Don’t want the humans all upset.” He sighed, turning his attention back to the room. “This is a dead end. What are we even doing here.”

         “We need to learn what happened,” Connor said.

         “Just because red ice is on scene suddenly it’s an excuse to call us in.” He snorted. “This job’s simple enough even Reed could do it.”

         “It’s worth a look around – maybe we can learn who his supplier was and find another lead. I’ll investigate the kitchen.”

         Hank nodded absently, crossing his arms and looking around the room, lost in thought. Connor left him to it and moved into the kitchen.

         The kitchen was a good size and seemed undisturbed. A large table filled the middle of the room, a few chairs sitting around it. There didn’t seem to be any clues in here, but Connor began to move around the room anyway.

         He was halfway around when he paused, hearing something. A small noise coming from the pantry, like an animal in distress. Wary, Connor moved towards the pantry, carefully pushing the door open.

         A loud bang rang through the kitchen. Connor jumped back, a bullet whistling past his head. A curse came from the other room, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Hank and a couple of other officers rush through. He shook his head, gesturing for them to stay back, and turned to the figure huddled in the pantry.

         It was a boy – maybe twelve years old - gripping a gun tightly in his hand. He was shaking and obviously terrified. Connor crouched down, holding his hands where the boy could see them.

         “It’s alright,” he said calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The boy stared at him but slowly began lowering the weapon. “My name is Connor. I’m a police officer – I’m here to help.” He held out his hand, slowly. “May I have the gun?”

         Shakily and warily, the boy reached forward, handing the gun to Connor. The android gently took it from him, flipped the safety on and slid it across the floor - out of reach.

         “What’s your name?” Connor asked, though he already knew from facial recognition. The boy looked up, blinking.

         “Sam,” he muttered.

         “Can you tell me what happened, Sam?”

         The boy dropped his gaze, obviously remembering.

         “A man showed up. He was asking about an old android we used to own. Then he pulled out a knife and…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut and hugging his legs.

         “Do you remember anything about the android this man was asking about?” Connor asked. Sam shook his head.

         “It was a couple years ago. I think she got stolen or something.”

         “Do you have an android working for you?”

         “No,” the boy said, shaking his head. “Dad didn’t want to hire anyone.”

         “Alright. Just a few more questions. How long has your father been taking red ice?”

         The boy looked down, seemingly embarrassed.

         “Since Mom died. About a year ago. I tried to get him to stop.”

         “Do you know anything about that?”

         Sam frowned, scuffing his shoes on the tiles of the floor.

         “I know where he gets it from,” he said quietly.

         “That would be a big help.”

         “I followed him one day.” He seemed rather proud of that fact. “He was over in Virginia Park area.”

         “Thank you,” Connor said, standing. He stepped back and let one of the other officers take over, helping the boy up and talking softly to him. Hank moved beside him.

         “So we got your lead after all,” he said.

         “It appears so. However, I’m more worried about the motive of the killer. It appears he was an android – if the thirium is anything to go by. And who is the android he’s looking for?”

         “Beats me,” Hank muttered.

         “Whatever the case, I need to let Markus know what is happening.”

| Next Chapter |

[primatechnosynthpop]

A Rose Shall Bloom (And Then Shall Fade)- part 4

Once, at a holiday party, Claire and a few of her friends sat around the kitchen table, drinking and talking amongst themselves. Claire decided to tell them some entertaining stories about difficult customers she’d had at work. Her friends, most of whom no longer worked themselves, nodded along and laughed as she recounted a story of one woman who had come in two minutes after closing time and demanded to be served.

“And then she said, ‘but I have a reservation!’” Claire imitated the loud, squawking voice of the customer. “Turns out she had a table reserved for that night… for three hours earlier! So I asked why she hadn’t shown up then, and she said her husband had been out with her car all day.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Hiro jumped in. “Yesterday, Ando and I got a call from a man who wanted us to mow his lawn for him. Can you believe that?”

“We told him no, of course,” Ando added.

“Although,” Hiro sighed, “that was the only call we got all day. Our business just isn’t in demand much anymore.”

“Well, maybe you guys should retire,” Peter suggested. “I’d say you’ve earned it.”

Claire involuntarily flinched. It was true–all her friends were now at or above the average retirement age. Hiro, though… it was so odd to think that time affected even him. Wasn’t he supposed to be able to control time? Why did it have to retain jurisdiction over him? As immature as it was, she didn’t want her friends to acknowledge that they were getting older. If everybody could just pretend that everything was staying the same, that they would all always be there, then maybe it would be enough to convince her, even for a moment, that none of them would ever leave her life.

“Maybe you could wait until Satoshi is grown up and let him take over the business,” she suggested. “How old is he now, anyway?”

“He just turned nine,” Ando informed her with a proud smile. “You should see how much he takes after his mother.”

“Oh, he takes after Kimiko?”

Ando nodded. “So I don’t think he’ll want to take over the Dial-a-Hero business even once he is old enough–which won’t be for quite a long time.”

“It’s unfortunate, but once we retire, our little business will have to come to an end,” Hiro agreed.

“Well, that doesn’t have to happen just yet,” Claire said, doing her best to present it as a casual remark and not a desperate plea for everyone to stop getting so damn old and, god, I’m going to end up alone one day, and– “You guys can keep working as long as you like.”

Peter shot Claire a raised-eyebrow look from across the table. No doubt he remembered their conversation from a few months ago. They hadn’t spoken much since then, and while Claire hoped he had reconsidered her proposal, she got the feeling he hadn’t. However, he said nothing and simply took  another sip of his glass of wine.

“I don’t know, retirement is pretty rewarding,” Matt put in. “It gives me more time to spend with Janice.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t have to happen yet,” Claire repeated, a little more forcefully this time. “Nobody here is that old! You’ve all got plenty of your lives left ahead of you!”

A couple seats over from her, Tracy raised an eyebrow. She was still very poised and dignified even now that she was growing older. She almost reminded Claire of a light-haired version of Angela.

“I appreciate the compliment, Claire, but we’re all over the hill now, so to speak,” she said. “None of us are getting any younger. And for someone who has a dangerous job like Hiro and Ando do…”

“…No, I’m with Claire,” Hiro decided. “I want to keep saving people for as long as possible.”

“Really?” Ando asked, looking a bit concerned. Hiro nodded; Ando sighed and squeezed Hiro’s hand. “Well, if you’re going to keep working, I guess I can’t let you do it alone.”

Claire smiled to herself as she took a sip of her tonic. It fizzled on her tongue, providing her with a brief spark of enjoyment even though the alcohol did nothing to her. She couldn’t stop her friends from getting older, but just keeping things how they were for as long as she could was a small victory.

-

Unfortunately, nothing ever stayed as it was for long. It was a lesson she had learned time and time again, and would long continue to do so, but it still stung every time she was forced to relearn it.

One spring, during a particularly cold and rainy spell, Claire got a call from Sandra’s nursing home telling her that Sandra had fallen ill. Claire held out hope for a while that her mother would recover, but as days turned to weeks and then to months, she realized that it wasn’t going to happen. Sandra was transferred to a hospital, where she remained for several long, difficult months before she eventually succumbed to her sickness. The time leading up to her death was extremely hard on Claire, especially since Lyle was out of town for the whole ordeal. Once she called his number intending to call him out for not being there to support her, but when he didn’t pick up, she hung up the phone without leaving a message. She couldn’t blame her brother for avoiding her. She wished she could have avoided being there too, gradually watching her mother’s health dwindle, but unlike Lyle, she had no excuse.

Claire was there at her mother’s deathbed, and held her hand as Sandra closed her eyes one last time. She had long wondered if it was better or worse to be there to see it when someone she loved died, and now that it finally happened, she still wasn’t sure. She didn’t think she ever would be.

Now that both her parents were gone, Claire clung even more desperately to those in her life who remained. She even grew more attached to her boss at work. He jokingly asked if she was angling for a promotion when she brought him a tray of cookies she’d baked for his birthday. She put on a smile and said that it wasn’t her intention, but she certainly wouldn’t be opposed to getting promoted. Her boss chuckled and said, “how about a raise instead?” She was pleasantly surprised to discover that he wasn’t joking. But a 3% raise, while she was grateful for it, didn’t solve her problems.

When she told her coworkers that her mother had died, they reacted with varying degrees of shock and sympathy. “What happened to her?” asked a young woman who must have been about the age Claire appeared to be.

“It was natural causes,” Claire said. “She just got sick, and then…”

She trailed off, shrugging, as she turned her attention to a container of plastic straws. She distracted herself by fidgeting with the straws while the other workers pestered her with questions. Someone asked how her dad was holding up, and she considered lying and making something up, but she decided to be honest and say that he was dead too. This garnered a new wave of sympathetic murmurs.

Claire appreciated that her coworkers cared for her struggle, but they didn’t understand what the problem really was. Most of them didn’t know how old she really was, so to them, the mere fact that her parents were dead was a tragedy in and of itself to them. While she was of course sad about losing them, that wasn’t really the tragedy of it all. Noah and Sandra had lived long, happy lives, and nobody could live forever–except for Claire. She could, and most likely would, live forever. That meant that she would never be reunited with her loved ones, whether that be in an afterlife or another life or simply a boundless void.

(Claire wasn’t sure if she considered herself religious. Growing up in Texas, she had certainly had Christianity forced upon her for most of her early life, but it was hard to decide for herself what to believe, if anything. She wanted there to be an afterlife, though; it was the only thought that provided her any real consolation when she thought of all the people she would outlive.)

Summer came in, bringing leaves to the trees and grass to the earth. It was good while it lasted, but come fall, it all faded away again. Everything always changed. Everything always ended, from seasons to lives. But Claire stayed the same as she’d always been, and always would be. Oddly enough, people at work never seemed to notice that she didn’t age. Then again, few people kept working at the restaurant long enough to catch on. Her boss was growing older too, and had started talking about handing the business down to her one day soon. Claire had no idea what constituted “soon” in this case. The length of time was such a relative thing.

-

More time went by. Children grew up, and adults edged ever closer to the eventual but inevitable end of their lives. Eventually Claire’s manager retired and she took over as manager at the restaurant. Initially she thought it was insane for her to be a business owner, but when she thought it over, she realized that she was perfectly qualified. She had decades of experience, after all; despite her appearance, she was nearly sixty years old now.

Having so much responsibility was thrilling, but before long, people stopped coming to the restaurant. Nobody trusted someone who looked like a college student to run a business. As profits dwindled, Claire scrambled for a solution. She lowered prices, introduced new menu items, and offered more specials. It took a while, but eventually business started to pick up again. The restaurant–her restaurant now–wouldn’t be closing its doors anytime soon. As a business owner, Claire did her best to pay her workers fairly. It meant she made less money overall than the previous owner, but she didn’t need that much money anyway. She had a good life, and without any pets or children to supply for, Claire found that she was making more money than she needed. She began donating more often to charities, and got in the habit of spending more money on gifts for people. She figured that if she was going to be alive forever, it would be best to at least make a positive impact on the world.

During the weeks leading up to Claire and Gretchen’s thirtieth anniversary, Claire pestered her wife with questions about what she wanted to do. As long as it was nothing too over-the-top, Claire could probably afford it, and she really wanted to make the occasion as special as possible for the both of them. However, Gretchen always said the same thing: thay she didn’t care what they did, as long as they got to spend the day together. In the end, they ended up staying at home that day. Claire took the day off from work, and they spent most of the afternoon snuggled up in bed together, reminiscing about the old days.

“Remember how I found out about your power?” Gretchen asked, absentmindedly fiddling with a lock of Claire’s hair. “When I looked out the window and saw you sitting there putting yourself back together, I knew I was in love with you.”

Claire wrinkled her nose, recalling the mortification she had felt under her then-roommate’s incredulous stare. “Really? That’s what made you fall for me?”

“I mean, I had it pretty bad for you before that,” Gretchen said with a laugh. “But it was at that moment when I thought to myself, ‘I want that woman to be my wife one day’.”

“Well, Gretch,” Claire said, squeezing her wife’s hand under the blanket, “I guess your wish came true.”

They both smiled, looking into each other’s eyes, and for a moment it was like no time at all had passed since that day. Then Gretchen wiped sweat from her brow and muttered, “Can we get out from under this blanket? I think I’m having a hot flash”, and the illusion of timelessness vanished quicker than Claire could smile and say, “Oh, yeah, that’s fine”.

So much time passed by, and Claire did her best to appreciate all of it as best she could, but it was so hard to enjoy life when she was faced with constant reminders of everybody getting older. With people her own age or older it was one thing, but even people younger than her looked noticeably older than her now. Lyle, Molly, and Micah were all middle-aged themselves now, and Matt Jr. was in his late thirties. One day he booked a reservation at the restaurant for himself and a woman who Claire was shocked to discover was his wife. Even Natalie Petrelli was a grown woman in her late twenties now, and Satoshi Masahashi was currently in his final year of college. And then all those people just kept getting older, and more mature, a second generation who Claire would outlive as surely as the first.

Claire came to hate calendars. She didn’t want to think about the passage of time. Instead, she covered her walls with framed photos of times she wanted to remember. Before long, her walls became cluttered with memories. She wondered what she would do when she ran out of room.

-

One Sunday evening, after a long day of errands, Claire flopped onto the living room sofa, exhausted. All day, people had been mistaking Gretchen for her mother. A couple of people had even thought she was her grandmother. That was a new one as far as Claire could remember, and she absolutely hated it. She especially hated the fact that the people who’d jumped to that conclusion had been completely justified in doing so. There was so much gray in Gretchen’s hair now, and she had so many wrinkles, and recently she was starting to complain about arthritis. The worst part was that Claire had nobody to turn to for comfort. When Gretchen herself tried to offer consolation, it just meant that Claire had to look into her wife’s eyes and see a sixty-four year old woman looking back at her. That only made things worse.

Unfortunately, Gretchen was persistent in her misguided attempts to help. She sat down on the arm of the sofa and started running her fingers through Claire’s hair, humming a sappy song under her breath. Claire didn’t bother telling Gretchen to go away. If she didn’t have to look up at her, then she could just pretend that her wife looked the same as always. Besides, even if it only made her feel worse, she still appreciated the effort. She didn’t want to punish Gretchen for loving her.

Later, when they were in bed together that night, Claire scrolled through her phone’s photo gallery. Some of the pictures there were decades old now. She was running out of storage again, meaning that soon she would have to delete some photos on order to make room for more. But she’d already gone through this process so many times that all the photos she had saved to her phone now were ones she valued. How could she choose between deleting a photo of her with the Petrellis and one of her adoptive family? She just wanted to keep them both forever, and the same went for all the other photos she had saved.

“You know, honey,” Gretchen remarked quietly as she watched over Claire’s shoulder, “I think maybe you should make some new friends.”

“What?” Claire screwed up her face, unsure of how to react to the puzzling comment. “I have plenty of friends.”

“I know, I know,” Gretchen sighed. “But… you’ve said it yourself, Claire, countless times. The people you’re friends with now aren’t going to be here forever. When they’re gone–when I’m gone–I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Claire stiffened. “Don’t talk about that.”

“Well, why not? You talk about it to me all the time,” Gretchen pointed out. “I don’t want to die any more than anybody else, but we’re all going to some day, and I don’t want you be left alone when that happens!”

Claire could hardly believe what her wife was saying. Putting her phone down on the headboard, she sat up and turned to glare at Gretchen.

“So you just want me to replace people?” she said. “Like getting a new dog to replace an old one? Is that what you want me to do for you–for everyone?”

“Well, no…”

“I can’t just replace people, Gretch! I can’t do that!”

“You don’t have to replace anyone,” Gretchen told her. “But you can’t just spend the rest of your life wallowing in self-pity, either, especially not if your life is going to last forever. An eternity alone? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And, Claire…” She gulped, placing a tender hand on Claire’s shoulder. Claire realized that there were tears forming in Gretchen’s eyes. “Claire, you’re my wife. I love you. I need you to be happy.”

Claire tried to force a smile, but her face refused to cooperate. All she could think of was how, with every passing moment, she had less and less time left to spend with the people she cared about. Time had already run out for some of those people. Who would be next? What would she do after everyone was gone? She couldn’t go on living after that, she just couldn’t. For a few years, maybe–a decade or two, even–but not forever. And growing close to new people, knowing that the exact same thing was eventually going to happen to them… she didn’t see how that could possibly help her. More people to care about was just more people to eventually lose. It didn’t matter if she made friends with every person on the planet, because not one of them was going to be there forever.

“I’m not saying you should forget about me, or anyone,” Gretchen went on. “But memories can’t be all you have. You need to let new people into your life.”

Claire massaged her temples. She was so tired of this circular argument. Neither of them could really understand where the other was coming from, and she hated arguing with her wife. It was better to just put the issue to rest and call it a night.

“You know what? You’re right,” she said. “I’m going to try to meet some new people.”

Gretchen smiled and leaned forward to kiss Claire on the forehead. “Good choice.”

-

The morning after their discussion, Claire was woken up by a flashing sound followed by heavy breathing and gasps of pain. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she sat up to see Hiro standing in her bedroom, clutching a gaping wound in his side. With his free arm, he clutched a mangled body that Claire was horrified to recognize as Ando. As she watched, Hiro sunk to his knees, letting out a moan.

“Holy shit,” she whispered as she scrambled out of bed and to the drawer where she kept her syringe. “What happened?”

“W-we got a call… someone was being mugged,” Hiro told her, his face contorted in pain, while she jabbed the syringe into her arm and drew out a sample of her blood. “The mugger had superstrength. I tried to teleport us away, but my… my back went out, and…”

“Well, don’t worry. You’re going to be okay,” Claire said. She took Hiro’s arm and injected her blood into the first vein she could find. “You’ll both be fine.”

As the blood took effect, Hiro’s injury began to close up. He blinked gratefully at Claire while she drew another sample of her blood and prepared to administer it. Although Claire’s heart was hammering with anxiety, she tried to calm herself down. As she administered the second blood sample to Ando, she told herself that everything was going to be fine in a minute. She tried not to think that this was her fault. It didn’t matter that this wouldn’t have happened had she not talked them out of retiring a couple years earlier, because it was going to turn out fine either way. Hiro already didn’t have a scratch on him. It would be like nothing had even happened.

But something was wrong. Ando’s wounds weren’t healing up. Why wasn’t Claire’s blood working on him? As Hiro’s anxiously stroked his motionless friend’s thinning, graying hair, Claire noticed that there was a large, jagged rock jabbed into the back of Ando’s head. Shuddering, Claire yanked the rock out and held it up.

“How did this happen?” she asked Hiro.

Hiro shook his head, eyes wide with dismay. “I didn’t… I don’t know.”

“Well, now that that’s out of his head, my blood should work,” Claire said. She wasn’t even sure how much she believed herself. A few seconds creeped by, and then a few more. Nothing happened. “M-maybe I can give him some more blood.”

She tried this, but once again, nothing happened. Hiro kept glancing up at Claire, then back down at Ando, and then back to Claire. There was an increasing volume of desperation in his eyes. Claire’s throat constricted as she took a shaky step back and shook her head. Her voice caught in her throat as she reached an awful conclusion.

“Hiro, there’s… there’s nothing I can do.”

“No,” Hiro whimpered, his arms curling tighter around his friend’s sickeningly contorted body. Scraggly gray hairs framed his weathered, tearstained face. He’d never looked more frail. “No, you have to save him…”

“Claire?” Gretchen, who up until that point had remained soundly asleep, sat up on bed and rubbed her eyes. “Baby, what’s going on?”

Claire cursed under her breath. She didn’t want her wife to see such an upsetting thing. Gretchen was so easily disturbed sometimes.

“Go back to bed, honey,” she called over her shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

Gretchen blinked, stunned, at the scene before her. “What–?!”

“Just look away,” Claire told her urgently, rushing over to Gretchen and holding a protective hand over her eyes. “You don’t want to see this.”

Claire’s head swam with guilt. She should have just let them retire all those years ago, and they would be safe now, and this wouldn’t have happened. Ando was dead because of her selfishness. Hiro must have absolutely despised her now. She’d done this, it was her fault, one of her friends was dead and it was her own goddamn fault–

“Claire, what happened?” Gretchen demanded, dragging Claire’s hand away. “Is that…?”

“Gretchen, please,” Claire said, trying her best not to cry. She didn’t deserve the chance to cry for something that was her fault. “You don’t want to see it. Please.”

She heard the flashing sound again, and when she turned to look behind her, Hiro was gone.

He didn’t speak to her again for a long time.