#to be clear though I’m the one banning myself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tragedy-of-commons · 2 months ago

Text

HOMECOMING.

── dan heng x gn!reader

summary: Your boyfriend invites you to spend Christmas break with him and his eccentric (but lovable all the same) family. You oblige.

contains: modern and university au, established relationship, comedy and tooth-rotting fluff, christmas shopping, the astral express fam all make appearances (pre-2.7), setting is very american-inspired (sorry), cringefail exuberant reader, one hurt/comfort scene

word count: 11.4k oops

taglist: @singularity-sam, @mitsvriii, @tetrachrxmacy, @bladism, @mikashisus

notes: for @azuresaqua, written for the @/stellaronhvnters secret santa 🎄 this took all month, but i hope you like it crys!! also this totally looks fine on dark mode. if you think otherwise then ummm SHHH. dividers by @/cafekitsune!

Your phone blares with its usual grating ringtone, startling you out of your reverie.

Scrambling to pick the device up, you’re pleasantly surprised. So much so that you drop the sweatshirt in your free hand mid-fold. The caller ID reads Dan Heng, lighting up your homescreen with his contact icon.

A warmth buzzes in your chest as you look it over, a giggle erupting from your throat. The selfie is of you and him, with Dan Heng looking particularly spacey in the midst of the bustling street.

You’re now considerably less bored. You’ve been looking for an excuse to procrastinate doing your laundry all day, and it just so happens to entail talking with your lovely partner. Not waiting any longer, you clear your throat, tap the green accept button, and press the speaker to your ear.

“Hi, darling!” you chirp, shifting to sit more comfortably, “I miss you. How’re you holding up? Still in the library studying the day away?”

The other line crackles with life. “Hello. I feel the same,” Dan Heng informs you matter-of-factly, his cadence clear as a river. “And no, I’m not there anymore. It was… too crowded for my liking.”

That’s no surprise. Finals are upon the whole campus in a few days, and it shows. There is a distinct, depressing atmospheric pressure that weighs upon your fellow students.

The scourge of exams, the final boss of the semester, the enemy of mental fortitude and peace. Though Dan Heng loves your university’s expansive library, you can imagine he’d be less enthralled when a hundred tired young adults are populating it to cram.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you wince. “Well, look on the bright side. We’re almost done, yeah? Soon enough, the library will be solely your domain once again, and you can be a doll and skim the archives in my stead.”

His voice takes on a sarcastic lilt, affection hidden underneath the words like a hard-won reward. You think it’s an indulgence for him. “If my memory serves correctly, I had to smooth things over with the librarian on your behalf. I don’t think it’s a wise idea for you to loiter there any longer, as energetic as you are.”

How cheeky! Honestly, you’re not even that loud. Sometimes you laugh a little too hard at benign things (like the way some book titles sound out of context), or react too vibrantly at the wrong times (like exclaiming profanities after tripping over your own feet), but those aren’t crimes.

Even now, ruminating over this reasoning, you still don't understand how you got banned from the library. Unreal.

“Hey, come on now! I don’t even loiter… I just want to spend time with you, even if studying isn’t something I burden myself with. That guy has it out for me,” you insist, growing smile threatening to split your face in two. “Anyway, I’m not saying this to be rude, but…”

“But?” Dan Heng asks cautiously.

“You normally don’t call first. Is everything okay?”

You mean it when you ask. Though you love your boyfriend, he isn’t the best at initiating longform communication. Sometimes you’ll get a text with a link to a video he found interesting, or he’ll update you with life (mostly just classes and endless papers), and then you’ll respond by quadruple-texting and then maybe calling him. For hours. And then asking to come over to his dorm. And then falling asleep with him. All at your request, which he doesn’t seem to mind.

That being said, it’s atypical that he takes up the mantle, which makes you worry. And if you worry, Dan Heng feels guilty. Trying not to be patronizing, you patiently wait for him to speak on his own terms, humming to yourself idly. You could, y’know, do your laundry, but you’re not gonna do that. Free will is so cool and awesome.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he assures, words measured. “I just have something I’d like to run by you, but I didn’t want to interrupt if you were busy.”

“I’m never busy! Spill!” Extremely curious, you pluck your phone from your ear and put Dan Heng on speaker. While you’re at it, you also stand up and pace the short length from your bed to the door of your suite, clothes abandoned on the floor.

“It’s about this winter break. We haven’t conferred on plans yet, but I was planning to ask you if you’d meet my… my family. Of course, it all depends on your availability - don’t feel too rushed to answer, I’d just like to know in advance so I can get things in order on my end.”

Woah, what just happened? You stop walking to think, gears spinning and grinding and pushing all sorts of implications. His family.

Dan Heng has one, yes, he divulges details every once in a while and elaborates on his mishmash of a homelife when you ask, but you’ve never heard him refer to these mystical figures as family. They’ve always been referred to as my friend, followed by their name. You know them well, committing each to memory despite not having met them yet: March, Caelus, Welt, and Himeko.

Of course, you pester your boyfriend about them. Nothing too invasive, just remembering the important details. Asking for updates about March’s creative ventures or inquiring if Himeko’s coffee has gotten any more palatable, to name a few.

In turn, Dan Heng would make a comment about how they also pester him about you. It’s like a big game of telephone - this indirect communication is what you’re used to. It’s kind of surreal to think about actually meeting them after all this time.

Then the joy comes. He wants to share this part of his life with you. Is this the natural next step in your relationship, like all seasoned married couples fondly reflect back on? Dan Heng wants to spend three and half weeks with you, uninterrupted, at home. His home.

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them away, grinning like an absolute fool. Does he really think you’ll say no? You’d already do anything to make him happy. Despite being several buildings and crosswalks away from him right now, your hearts feel impossibly close together.

(It’s not like you have anything else planned.)

That thought is pushed away as quickly as it comes. No time for you to be bitter when it’s the season of giving and all things cheerful! This opportunity is nothing short of a blessing… you’re saved from being cramped up inside the inevitably deserted hall for the entirety of break. You’re saved from having to admit to Dan Heng that I have nowhere to go and nothing to do like everyone else.

Shock, joy, relief.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, breathy. With a repressed-young-man-trained-ear, you catch a soft sigh of relief dissipating on the other line. “Yes, of course I want to meet them! Dude, this is so exciting! What if I died? What if I blew up the entirety of campus in my merriment? What then?”

He is far too used to your theatrics to react too strongly to them at this point. “...I wouldn’t put it past you. But I’m glad you said yes. There’s just the issue of details to work out.”

Dan Heng proposes different times on different days to leave. Well, he probably went more in depth than that - he likes to schedule and plan for the future, even if he doesn’t always stick to those self-imposed regulations in the end - probably droning on about the cost of gas or something. But you’re way too shell-shocked to respond coherently, muffling squeals and noncommittal hums that give away exactly how much you’re not paying attention.

Digesting about half of the information, you bring up what you have left to do before winter break after he does the same: registration for next semester’s classes, turning in textbooks for certain courses (thank the stars renting is affordable here), and the remaining days riddled with finals.

Despite how daunting these tasks are for others, you find yourself enjoying the denouement. Guessing on scantrons has gotten you pretty far, and the other obligations can be swiftly eliminated through sheer will and lots of Christmas music. Your Spotify listening history must look like some kind of tinsel-festooned warzone.

This will be your first ever Christmas with Dan Heng. He’s never been extremely festive by any means, but you cajoled him into a matching Halloween costume a month ago, and he is fond of horror movies despite how silly they can be, offering little bits of trivia or his critiques on the film’s score.

You think this holiday, spent at his home, in his hometown - will be the source of many happy memories. It’ll also, hopefully, be another endless source of teasing.

Images flit through your mind, the most notable of which being your stoic boyfriend in a truly hideous red and green sweater. You snicker to yourself until your amusement is disturbed by Dan Heng promptly clearing his throat.

He says your name in that soft way that makes you weak in the knees. You’re under his spell just as much as he is under yours. You should take to reminding him of that more often. “Just to be clear, is this alright with you?”

It’s so much more than alright, you think. Winter, for all of its bitter cold and unforgiving responsibilities, still teems with life as the leaves die. For every day you’ve spent alone during the last two Christmases, you’ll be repaid with one in kind spent with Dan Heng and the people he trusts most.

You’re blessed with the sweet thought that you’re now a part of those treasured, trustworthy few as well.

You know you’ve been treasured for a long time, but feeling it actualized, solidified in action, is as homey and warm as a burning hearth.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I am, darling. I’m so excited that I think I’m shaking!”

You tighten your grip on your phone, almost leaving indents in the shitty case, attempting to still your vibrating fingers. His response is a mumble along the lines of you should probably eat something, and I’m glad. Dan Heng can be a little awkward, especially over the phone, but that just speaks of his sincerity. He’s glad you’re coming.

You scuttle over to the window beside your bed, yanking the blinds askew to peek outside. A glimpse of the first frost coating the student parking lot promises something more. Something magical and childlike.

Joy. You have a feeling you’re going to be extremely insufferable to any and all scrooges (people rightfully sick of dealing with your chipper attitude) in the coming days. Oh well, they can suck it up because it’s the most wonderful time of the year, and you’re in love with the most amazing person in the world.

You tell him not to worry, which he sighs at, and then the brunt of the conversation is over. The following silence is calm but electric, dragging on for just the right amount of time. A well-deserved respite, you think.

“I love you,” you confess.

“...I love you too. Touch base soon.”

With that, the call ends abruptly. Your cheeks feel hot and you’re reinvigorated, daydreaming of Dan Heng’s expressions obscured by distance - you want nothing more than to see him, but you know your partner well enough to realize when he needs a break; to realize when he needs his alone time. You would never begrudge him for it.

That was a fucking whirlwind.

You shove your phone in your pocket after nudging the blinds back in place. There’s so much to do, and you’re definitely gonna need another run-down of the schedule (preferably in person), but for now, you’ll let yourself be over the moon and overrun with task paralysis.

Triumphantly, you turn to flip off your abandoned pile of laundry. Free will is so cool and awesome.

“We are so back!”

You’re so impatient that you’ve started counting the hours.

The final stretch is a lot more boring than you thought it was going to be. Picking a time to check out of your dorm, fixing up any scuffs on the walls from your shitty posters before room inspection, actually passing your classes. The normal stuff.

Both you and Dan Heng decided that you would leave at around three in the morning on the first day of break. It sounded bewildering at first, and you had levelled him with a look that made him hurriedly elaborate.

“In order to get there at a reasonable time, it’s the best way to go,” he’d said over coffee. “The drive isn’t more than a few hours, but if we leave right after routine inspection, we’d be arriving in the middle of the night.”

Though the mental image of showing up on a quaint little home’s doorstep in your pajamas and waking up the whole neighborhood with your knocking is funny, it’s not funny enough to quell your nerves.

You’ve noticed, usually in the midst of trying to be productive, that the excitement is weighing heavily on your heart. Your hands are perpetually shaky, you’re sweating disgusting buckets, and you’re sure you look as if you’ve lost your marbles to any soul brave enough to strike up conversation.

That last part came to your attention when Bronya, your desk neighbor in your Interpersonal Communications class, dared ask you if she could borrow a pencil. She barely got the question out before she asked if you were alright. And if Bronya asks you if you’re alright, it means that you must look terrible.

Sure enough, you are getting less and less sleep, and you’ve been prone to twitching. In retrospect, you probably had that wild look in your eye that screamed I am at rock bottom and it’s in the public’s best interest that I’m contained.

But you’re not at rock bottom! You’re just nervous, and it’s weird when you’re nervous, because such an occurrence is as rare as a blue moon. You’re going to be meeting Dan Heng’s family in a matter of days, and you’re expected to behave as a normal, functioning member of society. Unbelievable. Even the love of your life has noticed the difference in your behavior - he seems disturbed but respectful.

You recall him asking if you were ill, which you had vehemently denied. Then he kissed you under the thin covers of his bed, and everything was fine for a moment.

But you think you’re feeling better on this day in particular. To distract yourself from the anxiety, you’ve sunk deeper into the holiday cheer. With Dan Heng at your side, you’ve blown off classes for the day to go gift shopping. The outlet mall near your university is always bustling, but during this time of year, you’d think there’s an overpopulation crisis wreaking havoc on your city.

Escalators are crammed with excited children dragging their parents along, there are decorations painstakingly put up in every nook and cranny, and you have a mission to see through.

“Thanks for ditching to help me out,” you preface. “It’d be way too difficult to shop for your family on my own. Just the idea of stress-buying things they may not even like… ugh. Also, wow! I realized you haven’t told me jack shit about them! I’m actually clueless.”

Dan Heng is not amused, but he doesn’t outright refute your assertion. “I suppose you have a point. And I didn’t ditch class,” he emphasizes, ears red. “Psychology got canceled.”

Here, among the sea of people, Dan Heng looks his least confident. While you, the person known for befriending every stray cat you meet, look your best.

The juxtaposition makes you feel fuzzy, and you know in your heart that he would've helped you anyway, even if he had class. He can be so obvious but so subtle at the same time. You tug on the sleeve of his sweatshirt once, purely affectionate.

“Right. Uh, where do we start? Who’s the easiest to shop for?” you wonder aloud, crossing the stretches of marble and doing your best to peer down the massive store-lined strip. “We could start with March. She’s into crafty stuff, right?”

Your boyfriend tames a cowlick in his dark hair. “Yes. You seem to have a plan figured out already, but she uses up heaps of film while taking photos. An arts and crafts store would likely have the 600 type for her Polaroid. That’s what I had in mind in terms of a gift she’d appreciate.”

“We seem to be on the same page, but that just sounds so… impersonal! Bit of a safe choice, don’t you think? Let’s play it by ear and see what they have. I’m sure she’d also appreciate something handmade. I think I have enough time to DIY a gift; they probably have kits for all sorts of stuff.”

Dan Heng is starting off in the direction of the correct storefront. The display window is easily spotted, plastered with all kinds of paper mache ornaments. “You don’t need to fret. Knowing her, she’ll love anything that comes from you.”

You blink, grinning. “Really? Didn’t know I was so popular.”

“You have no idea,” sighs Dan Heng.

Warmly titled Make n’ Create, the door chimes, signifying your entry. Immediately, you’re assaulted by the smell of candles - a few hundred thousand, you hazard.

Scents of vanilla and evergreen paired with cinnamon burn your nostrils as you survey the aisles of winding shelves overflowing with endless possibilities. Almost forgetting to return the greeting of the woman behind the counter, you snap out of your stupor and drag your boyfriend along.

Everything looks enticing… your savings account is telling you to be responsible, but your heart is telling you to snatch up and squirrel away any item of interest just in case. You wander the marble floor under the bright fluorescents, humming under your breath. “Hey, we can probably save some time and split up. Could you go look for the film? We’ll definitely get that along with whatever catches my eye.”

Relieved to have something to do, Dan Heng nods and disembarks from your side, perilously weaving between other shoppers buzzing with excitement. He mentioned that he deliberately put off Christmas shopping since you insisted on doing it together, the thought alone satisfying.

The prospect of scrawling both of your names on the same box, passed off into eager hands. The words will read From: Dan Heng and his partner.

Rounding a corner, the pottery and ceramics section calls to you like a siren. There are stocks upon stocks of white, unpainted Christmas trees and wreaths, advertised as blank canvases to decorate as your own - paint included. Those are cute, but something relevant year-round would probably be received better.

Impressions, impressions. Your gaze drops lower, dutifully searching…

Aha!

Ceramic jewelry dishes. Same gimmick as the trees and wreaths, but not necessarily seasonal. There are a few different types among the kits - heart-shaped, some with hinges that open and close, even some with music box elements with heftier price tags.

Your intuition slaps you across the face multiple times. March will love one of these, you just know it! Cautious, you spare a shifty glance from left to right before squealing to yourself. The package in your hand is crisp and promising as you check over the price and instructions.

Dan Heng returns to witness your perfect find. You know this because you recognize the soft padding of his footsteps anywhere (which is not creepy). You turn to see him and the fond look in his eye - and the aforementioned packages of film he’s clutching.

“Hey, you,” you chuckle. “You found it, great! Anyway, look what I stumbled upon. Do you think she’ll--” “Yes,” he breathes, suddenly decisive. “She will. Especially the heart one.”

Quickly heeding the ever-rare suggestion from Dan Heng, you discard the now inferior package and seize the heart-shaped one. “I trust your judgment. She has good taste, honestly. Thanks for your help, love, I appreciate it. I know for a fact she likes pink, and though my hands are a little clumsy… I’ll make a masterpiece outta this, trust me.”

He exhales through his nose. That’s a laugh if you’ve ever heard one. “You sound so resolute…”

“Duty-bound, if you will,” you grin. “We can move on to the next place if you’d like. Didn’t expect to be done here so fast.”

“...wait.”

You tilt your head, following his line of sight back to the shelves. He seems transfixed on something else there, and a few seconds go by in silence as you’re left to figure out what it is on your lonesome.

Dan Heng has gotten better at speaking his mind - he was never bad at it, but sometimes words get tangled up in his reticent hesitation. You understand this well. So, you try to determine what’s caught his eye. The understanding you come to is a nice one. The lowest rung of the shelf, almost overshadowed, are more ceramics - no surprise there. But it feels like fate the way that they’re displayed; two sturdy coffee cups with intricate handles, then a miniature raccoon forever inlaid with a devilish expression, practically commanding a paintbrush to make its mischievous grin come to life with color.

Himeko, Welt, Caelus.

You laugh, loud and bright, grabbing your boyfriend’s hand with a conspiratorial grin. “Four birds with one stone, huh? We’re gonna need a cart!”

Dan Heng is blushing. It’s subtle, not at all burning or obvious to any nosy bystanders, but it’s enough to make your heart sing with delight. You take it he’s glad that you picked up on his thoughts so wordlessly.

He excuses himself after muttering something about going to get the cart while you smile like an idiot. A lovestruck idiot. A lovestruck idiot with a soon-to-be overdrawn bank account.

…well, not exactly. After you gather everything and go to check out, he insists on paying for all of it. You make sure to argue with him in front of the very amused cashier, reaching a compromise in no time at all thanks to your amazing negotiation skills. He’ll pay for this load (whatever), and you’ll pay for any remaining splurges today. It’s only natural you need to stop by a few more places, considering March has two gifts while the others only have one.

By the time Dan Heng’s social battery is drained and yours is frayed, you have everything. An apparel outlet that you would’ve never stepped foot in normally now has your patronage; a golden brooch in the shape of a rose (that’s surprisingly affordable) for Himeko, a classy but patterned tie for Welt, and a trendy jacket for Caelus.

You think you’re the most jealous of that last one - it has many pockets and takes up enough space to suffocate a small orphan.

Hauling the bags into the icy parking lot, you suddenly stop in your tracks, feeling the generous weight of your spending in the process. “Hold on.”

Your tired but loving partner heeds your command. “What? Is something the matter?”

“We forgot to shop for each other,” you point out, sheepish and breathy. Seems you’ve both been so caught up in the tradewinds that you forgot. “Should we go back inside?”

“No,” he blurts, “I’ve already acquired your gift.”

Gobsmacked, you almost drop your share of the bags. He’s been holding out on you?! The surprise quickly fades into mushy limerence before it dulls. “Huh? When did you do that? Oh shit, I haven’t gotten you anything yet… dude, I’m sorry, I’ll head back inside, all secret mission-esque and find you something while you wait in the car--”

Dan Heng shakes his head. “You… you don’t have to.”

The hell? Does he even know how Christmas works? “Of course I do, come on,” you push forward. Knowing you’ve already forgotten where you’ve parked, he strides out in front of you and leads the way, preparing to argue his case. “We’ll put these in the back, and I’ll find you an amazing gift, you’ll see.”

You both reach his little beat-up sedan (which you’ve aptly named Granny), while he fumbles for his keys. He sighs, rolling the frigid joints in his shoulders as he opens the driver’s seat to unlock the trunk. Setting the bags down on the gross pavement is unfortunately inevitable. You throw the thing open, already loading.

Dan Heng’s rebuttal is almost startling.

“I don’t need an ‘amazing gift’. I have you.”

You freeze. Where did he pull that from? Are you hallucinating again? Is this like the time you stayed up for two days straight to half-ass a dozen unfinished assignments? Or maybe it’s selective hearing… such a line is probably from an old romcom that you’re mentally regurgitating and then projecting onto him.

But you don’t tease or ask him to repeat it. Instead, you choose to fully believe and embrace that compliment, warming your heart and your cheeks. His expression is obscured from your position, but he probably looks the same.

“I’m… really glad you think so, Dan Heng,” you almost whisper.

Before he can say anything else that’ll ruin the moment, you decide that’s your job! and slam the trunk closed, deafeningly loud.

“But that’s unacceptable! I’ll find you something perfect in the coming days no matter what!”

You hear him sigh before you hear his approaching footsteps. “Try not to stress too hard about it. Also, open that back up, there are more bags.”

“Oops,” you giggle. “Why not ask me nicely, like in that Romeo way you did five seconds ago?”

Your other half rightfully elects to ignore you.

As you finish wrapping up with him at your side, the subsequent ride back to campus is in comfortable silence. The buzz of what’s to come lingers on your mind as you stare out of the passenger window at the familiar scenery. You’ll find time to squeeze in finding a gift for Dan Heng, you’ll make sure of it.

But for now, what to pack for the impending trip…?

You wake to the sound of your blaring alarm. Scrambling for your phone to make the thing shut up, you’re blinded by the time. It’s 2:30 in the morning, you’re disoriented, and you desperately want to go back to sleep. But when you really come to a minute later after hitting snooze, it all sinks in.

Your room inspection is over with, your finals have been taken (you didn’t fail any of them, yay), and you have to leave campus with Dan Heng in about thirty minutes. Surreal that you’re awake at this hour, you go about getting ready - this includes texting the man of the hour to make sure he didn’t oversleep.

To your satisfaction, he responds swiftly. To your horror, he mentions that he’s ready and waiting. Unfair, in your opinion - why is he always punctual, and why are you always late?

You look in the mirror at your haphazard reflection. Not too shabby; just a leisure t-shirt and some sweatpants, pulled together by the thickest jacket you have since it’s grown even colder out. Your bags are already packed and practically bursting at the seams, loaded with your essentials, and of course the presents for Dan Heng’s family.

You spent all of your free time crammed between everything else painting the ceramics while he wrapped and made everything else look pretty.

(You almost got crudely mixed pink paint on your dorm wall - well, you did just a little bit. Luckily it came off without the need to go sprinting to the nearest hardware store in pursuit of a cover-up job. That would have been bad. Very bad. Also, you left the primary suite door open to ventilate, and at least three students walking down the hallway witnessed your perfectionism-driven breakdown. Also, your suitemate hates you now.)

All of that’s over, though. Making sure you have everything once, then twice, then three whole times - you decide it’s finally time to go. You lug everything out of your dorm, down the hallway, into the elevator, and wait as it descends.

You check your phone, updating your boyfriend as the cabin grinds to a halt on the ground floor. Outside is nothing short of beautiful, if not hypothermic.

Snow falls in tiny flurries that make the dark cement purgatory look like a dream. The floodlights leave some corners of the parking lot shadowed, but illuminate Dan Heng just right. You spot him and his old ass car smack dab in the middle of all the empty spaces, just about everyone having vacated already.

“Hi, darling,” your breath syncs with the air as a wispy cloud. You kiss his cheek. “You ready?”

“I have been for the better part of an hour,” he informs you, perhaps a little grumpy from waking up so early - or it could just be that wry sarcasm rearing its head.

You find that Dan Heng is neither an early bird nor a night owl, oscillating between the two like nobody’s business. He’s up when he needs to be, including now, softened under the touch of your lips.

And so, without much fanfare, the road trip commences. It’s notably different than the other times he’s chauffeured you around - so silent and grave. It kind of puts a damper on the Christmas spirit you’ve so painstakingly adopted, but you think twice about cranking the radio. He is the one driving, after all.

You offered to switch with him halfway, and to his credit, he thought about it. But then Dan Heng politely shook his head and muttered something about bad weather and hydroplaning. Whatever a hydroplane is, you aren’t sure what it has to do with you being untrustworthy behind the wheel.

The pleasant blast of the heater, the occasional robotic warbling from the GPS app, and the noise of the light drizzle outside are your more talkative companions. You’re getting antsy; you feel it in the bouncing of your leg and how you mindlessly chew on the dead skin of your bottom lip.

Should you try to ignore it? Put on your headphones and tune out? The thought is appealing.

Instead, you pipe up a few minutes before you’re due to turn on the interstate.

“Wanna get coffee?” you singsong. “I mean, you especially are going to need the caffeine to keep awake. Sleep deprivation is, like, the number three reason people get into car crashes.”

Dan Heng huffs in amusement. You’re glad that got some kind of reaction out of him, glad that the stoney silence has been broken. But if you’re being completely honest with yourself (which you really hate doing), this detour suggestion is just an excuse to delay the inevitable. For all of your joy, lingering anxiety chips away at your trademark smirk.

You decide to bribe him just a little. “I’m buying.”

He turns into the nearest place without any further prodding. The coffee, which you have successfully paid for by the way, is nice. The searing light of the menu options, clambering over Dan Heng to place your orders as loud as you can because you know it’s hard for them to hear anything - fleeting memories of taking orders at your high school part-time job and all that.

As you take the cup holder tray from your partner, ferried through the drive thru window, he speaks up, much to your chagrin.

“You’re nervous,” he says, leaving no room for doubt. You continue to situate the drinks and glance into the side view mirror, taking a sudden rapt interest in the line forming behind you.

You decide to lie. Maybe he’ll be merciful and let you work this one out on your own. “Me? Nervous? Whatever gives you that impression? Perhaps you needed the coffee more than I thought… poor Dan Heng, so tired that he’s hallucinating…” you whistle.

Gaslighting, unfortunately, doesn’t work. Persuasion check must’ve rolled off. Dan Heng says your name, soft but stilted in a way that makes your heart ache. He rolls out of the drive thru after checking the rearview mirror, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. They gain their color back after he realizes you’re staring at them.

“I’m nervous too. Extremely.” You’re back on the highway, and you fiddle with the GPS to get yourself back en route, taking in his words as they come. Dan Heng is being candid with you; encouraging. “Going back home is always an… ordeal.”

You deflate a bit, conflict warring on your face. Considering how flustered he gets when you dote on him, albeit within his limits, you can’t imagine how exhausting being fussed at from all angles would be. Not like he’s a kid, but that he’s returning home after another semester of being independent.

“Yeah, um, I can imagine. I don’t know much about that stuff, but it’ll probably be amplified with me coming with you. We’ll get through it together and have a great time.”

You say it to convince yourself more than him, but it works. Perhaps that was his plan all along?

“Yes,” agrees Dan Heng. “We will.”

The interstate stretch, predictably, is the most sizable chunk of the trip. Temptation whispers in your ears tantalizingly, the idea of a nap or two at the forefront of your sleep-addled mind. The soft pitter-patter of the rain against the windshield battling with the snow makes it even harder to resist.

So, you doze soundly in your reclined seat, nice and warm. You think you feel a hand, cold and calloused, brushing against your cheek, but fighting it would require waking up to demand he focus on the road! It retracts, and you’re out for a good long while.

You know that for a fact, because when you wake up, dawn is encroaching. The stars are still visible against the bleeding horizon. You feel much better, even if Dan Heng suppresses a smile at your expense - you seriously must look wrecked from a few simple hours of rest. Geez.

You yawn, waking up to chat. Your boyfriend looks unruffled, cool eyes scanning road signs for a place to apparently fuel up.

He tells you that there’s only about an hour or so left, the ETA checking out. Nerves flood your system, but after a deep breath and stepping out to stretch your legs, you feel better.

“Who knew you were so good at pep talks,” you tease, if not to hide the fact you’re completely enamored with him. You fill up the tank after he cuts the engine, purposefully yelling so he can hear your words through the rolled up windows. “My man, the motivator!”

You hear his ensuing groan, claiming mental victory as the pump dings. Easy.

Staring at the signs of his hometown, a foreign sense of wonder engulfs you as you split from the interstate. Has that diner been there since Dan Heng was a kid? Did he even spend all of his childhood in one place? Should you ask, or is that too invasive?

The trees lining the grassy outcrops are tiny and thin, likely just having been planted by the city. How much has changed since you’ve started monopolizing his time?

Your questions spill out, and he does his best to answer them - but he also seems nostalgic, wistful and pained. Your earlier revelation rings true; you don’t know much about Dan Heng’s past.

That’s slowly changing as he tells you some stories, though his words are messy and create a muddled image in your head. You don’t push too far, chattering his ear off in response to keep things lighthearted.

(Maybe you’ll be more open about yourself too. Maybe.)

Then you careen into a residential area. It’s more suburban than you expected for a city-town hybrid of this size, streets of apartment units and then gated communities of houses. You whistle because you’re almost there, you can feel it!

“Which one is it, huh?” you pester, practically pressing your face against the glass. “Come on, pick up the pace a little!”

“I am not keen on getting a ticket this far in. A few more turns.”

True to his word, a row of townhouses come into view. They’re not massive, but the few you see are brimming with character. Full, decadent awnings and aged brick matched with just the right colors to make your brain happy. They look lived in, filled with memories that you’re eager to digest and, hopefully, be a part of.

Dan Heng pulls into the driveway of the oldest-looking one and parks. The GPS drones on, informing you of your arrival. Your anxiety has almost entirely abated at this point, thank the heavens and stars, and it’s near time to face the music with open arms.

“What a nice place! I guess we should greet them, and then start unloading?”

He nods. It’s still cold out, but less so than at school. Stepping out onto the pavement gives you a little thrill, and you trail behind Dan Heng, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets as you stare at the front door.

It has a little brass knocker in lieu of a doorbell, and you reach out to grasp it on instinct. Your hand brushes his that had reached out at the same time.

You wiggle your eyebrows at him.

He sighs and finally knocks after you reel your grubby hand back. It all comes down to this - kind of anticlimactic from someone else’s perspective, but paramount from yours. Who will answer the door?

The answer is immediate: Welt. The thing creaks open, revealing a tall, older man with graying brown hair and glasses. He’s utilizing a cane and looks exactly like you imagined, distinguished and fitting right into the scene with his creme turtleneck and kind eyes. He regards you both, first Dan Heng, then you.

“You’re here early. Welcome back - and I see you’ve brought them, as promised,” Welt’s voice is warm, and you get the feeling the small smile he’s wearing is quite rare. “Come in, we’ve been waiting on you two. It’s an honor to meet Dan Heng’s esteemed partner.”

You’re utterly awestruck, responses forming on your tongue only to dissolve into garbled nothings. As you robotically follow inside, you watch as Dan Heng falls into an awkward-looking side hug with Welt - quickly averting your eyes so they can have a moment. Then, you can’t contain it anymore, speaking to your heart’s content.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot - well, not a lot, but enough,” you ramble unapologetically, taking in the decor of the foyer, “and I’m really excited to be here, you have no idea. Are those Ray Bans? You have a lovely home!”

Your boyfriend, wetting his chapped lips, communicates silently with Welt. You think it’s something like a greeting, a familial synergy you can’t quite grasp yet. Maybe it’s a warning: I am dating an idiot chatterbox, please be nice to them.

That seems unlikely; necessitates further observation. This is just like Animal Planet.

“Thank you, I recognize your sincerity. It’s a rare trait, these days,” he mutters mostly to himself, probably reminiscing on some mysterious past. He goes on to curtly answer your more frivolous questions while leading the two of you deeper inside. Dan Heng squeezes your hand and you share your own telepathic glance with him.

This is going well!

The interior of the living room is striking, bearing the marks of age and care. You recognize most of the furniture as antiques - leather couches and loveseats with beautiful upholstery, a sage grandfather clock standing tall near the stone fireplace, and overflowing bookshelves that’d satiate even the most voracious of readers.

Paintings adorn every wall, not a square inch left blank. The mantle boasts many trinkets and baubles of various cultures, some of which you recognize - and some of which you don’t. Those could definitely be a great conversation starter!

So charming, so quaint, so rich in history! You’d wax poetic and stare at each nifty little thing until your eyes bled if you could.

“Darling, I didn’t know you were so well-off! Maybe I should start calling you Mr. Old Money.” “...please don’t.”

Welt hides a chuckle in his gloved hand before surveying the room. “It seems everyone is doing their own thing. I’ll go get Himeko, she must be in her study,” he throws a look over his shoulder, uttering your name with just the right amount of phlegm. “Welcome. Don’t be afraid to make yourself at home.”

And you’re left alone to breathe for a short minute. You run your thumb over Dan Heng’s knuckles reverently, pondering aloud. “He’s so cool! He’s an animator, right? I’ve heard you mention something like that before.”

He nods. “Indeed. He’s worked on various pitch bibles for all kinds of IPs, but he’s more content on assuming quieter roles in the industry, or so he’s told us. His passion is what carries him, not the spotlight.”

“...that’s a great way to live,” you marvel. The air feels vulnerable after that, the nature of something as intangible as family running through the undercurrents of the house. “Do you think he’s right for being so humble?”

“It is not my place to comment, but… I can say that I look up to him,” he admits, giving your hand a shy squeeze. “Himeko is similar. She’s--” “--enthralled to finally meet your acquaintance?”

A new voice cuts in. Himeko is also a vision, donning a winter shawl that wraps around a sepia-colored dress with tights, topped off with a beret. She looks absolutely stunning, and you’re overwhelmed with the urge to compliment her profusely. She stands at a comparable height to Welt, expression softened with mirth.

“It’s long since overdue,” Himeko extends a handshake which you take. Your jaw must be scraping the floor, which Welt and Dan Heng see fit to ignore.

She whips a ruby curl out of her face to scrutinize you - shit, you probably should’ve worn something nicer. First impressions and all that!

She greets Dan Heng with a hardy embrace after letting your hand go. He stands rigid.

“I was beginning to think he was making you up,” she teases. “When you both settle in, we have a lot to catch up on. Can we help you with your bags?”

You grin at your boyfriend, nudging him with your elbow. “Whaddya say, huh?”

He nods, shoulders slumping as if he’s made it past some great obstacle.

“Great,” Welt interjects, heading back towards the front door with Himeko in tow. Dan Heng turns to you, voice akin to a whisper.

“March and Caelus are probably in their bedrooms or,” he sighs, “conspiring elsewhere. If you’d like, you can go on and look around while we deal with the luggage. It’s a lot to get used to, and you’re better off getting your curiosity out of your system.”

You gasp, splaying a hand over your heart. “You say that like I’m some unruly child! I’m not going to break anything…”

Dan Heng gives you a look.

“...this time,” you begrudgingly add.

Before he can hurry after them though, you gingerly (roughly) grab him by the collar and give him a smooch. It’s over as quick as it began, and you barely get a glimpse of his scandalized visage before you set off to explore.

The adjoining hallway leading you out of the living room is painted stark white, all kinds of framed photographs hanging on display. Most of them are noir shots of famous people; movie stars, historical figures and the like. You stop in your tracks to look each of them over.

Some aren’t so impersonal. For example, there’s one of Himeko standing in a train station, posing on the platform with a massive and austere steam locomotive behind her. There is also a gray-haired dude at her side, pointing at the train with an exaggerated expression of shock. Caelus. And the photo’s signature - March 7th.

Right on time, before you can continue snooping, you hear the distinct noise of bickering further down the hallway. You grin, sensing drama like a blood-sniffing shark.

The muffled racket becomes clearer as you approach what is probably a bedroom door, and you hesitate for only a second before not-rudely throwing it open. You can deal with the consequences later. After all, this sounds more like banter than a serious argument - you would know!

The first thing you see are two figures with their backs turned to you. Pink and gray hair hunched over a desk - Caelus sitting and clicking furiously with March pointing at the one of the three flashing monitors, posing a threat to this hell of a gamer setup.

“You actually suck at this! Log off already, Dan Heng and his guest are going to be here soon,” she chastises as Caelus huffs, him dying moments later (in Pac-Man of all things). “Seriously, this is as boring as watching paint dry. I don’t know how you have so many viewers…”

You blink, scrutinizing the monitors again. Yes, there’s Pac-Man, but there’s also a live chat that seems to be going crazy, dozens of messages burying even more dozens of messages. There’s a facecam too, framing all three of you - wait, three?

Oops. You’re live on Twitch.

“March is just a grade-A hater,” Caelus declares to his audience, “always betting against me. I’ll have all of you know that I, Whisperer of Dumpsters, Toilet Destroyer--”

A groan. “Not this again.”

They seem oblivious to the fact that you’re here, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh. Clippers must be going nuts right about now…

Dan Heng never mentioned that Caelus took this career path - but then again, you can imagine he was trying to avoid the headache of you pestering him with stream references. Either way, you’re here now, and you’ll be damned if you pass up an opportunity this golden.

“They’ve been keeping me in the basement for three years!” you yell, causing both of them to jump and turn in bewilderment, “They’re frauds, kidnappers, liars--”

“We’ve been what?!” March shrieks. She’s either 1.) quickly adjusting to your improv and playing along or 2.) now wholeheartedly convinced that you’ve been held captive here under the floorboards.

The chat lags from how fast messages are coming in, and Caelus cackles maniacally before mashing a shortcut on his keyboard to switch to a Be Right Back screen. What a performance, and you also burst out in laughter, not unlike his.

“Well, you certainly uh… made an entrance,” March grimaces, looking only slightly mortified. That sourness fades into a friendly smile as she scratches the back of her head. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Oh my god, c’mere!”

Caelus stares at you with beady eyes as she bounds towards your form in the doorway, engulfing you in a giant hug. You feel like crying again. This was supposed to be unserious, but you can’t help but already feel at home.

“It’s nice to meet you too. Your hair clips are so cute!”

You exchange pleasantries for a moment before you hear creaking. Caelus has stood up now, an unreadable expression on his face as he approaches slowly - like molasses slowly. One menacing stomp in front of the other like he’s trying to intimidate a bear. You tilt your head curiously while March spins around to look at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Group hug. Bring it in,” he answers cryptically.

March wrinkles her nose. “Why do you sound like that? You’ll creep them out!”

Caelus turns to you, looking for confirmation. Immediately, you understand what you must do. This chemistry you share with this kindred spirit should be studied in a lab under a microscope.

“Collective embrace,” you parrot. “Bring it in.”

“...so you’re both weird, huh? Just great.”

You respond by smushing both of them in a crushing hug, a chorus of giggles echoing off the walls, all three of you being the perpetrators.

This year’s holidays are off to a great start.

Things surprisingly don’t drag on.

What that means is a little hard to quantify; nebulous like carbon monoxide. You can’t see it, you can’t taste it, but it certainly takes its toll.

The first day comes to a close after a shared dinner, a feast, really - you’d never seen so much food in your life and you scarfed it down like a starving man in between conversation on every topic under the sun. You’ve fallen into the swing of things so naturally, and while that’s good, it’s a little too good.

You’ve never considered anxiety to be a formidable foe in your life. You carry conversation, pass the cornbread, spice up everyone’s lives (sometimes at the detriment of your reputation), and most importantly, you do it with a smile.

But after a night or two spent in Dan Heng’s almost spartan bedroom, tossing and turning, you’re starting to believe you’re in more trouble than you thought previously.

The nerves are easy to suppress when you’re bouncing energy off someone else, lost in the moment, because you do truly enjoy the socializing - but that feeling lingers.

And when you’re left with nothing to do, staring at the ceiling with a vengeance on the third night of your stay, all of the doubt catches up. It gains ground until your heart thunders in your chest.

You’ve learned that Himeko is buddy-buddy with the department of transportation, doubling as an engineer and cartographer. She’s even had a part in restoring defunct trains to their former glory, spearheading many vacations along the way.

(You don’t deserve to be privy to such a meaningful story.)

Caelus can’t ride a bike. Neither can you. Upon coming to this seismic revelation, he offered to take the plunge with you in an attempt to learn if you were interested. You agreed before he could even get the full sentence out.

(You’re only good at goofing around.)

March insisted that you be a temporary proofreader for her own university essays, most of which being on topics you could never wrap your head around in a million years.

Shenanigans ensued until you ended up denouncing higher education as a whole, choosing to believe in her own freestyle structure rather than whatever hellish rubric was being peddled.

(You’re too airheaded to help in a normal way.)

You’ve even grown closer with Welt. You two listened to the crackling of the old gramophone in his respective study, chiming in with your own thoughts on his archaic but classic music taste. There was a little bit of discussion on media preservation, your earnest passion pairing well with his own.

(You’re coming off too strong.)

But you feel the worst about the man sleeping next to you.

You’re supposed to be in your highest spirits, but Dan Heng has gotten good at spotting your tells. The tightness of your smile comes off as overjoyed to your new friends, but strained to him. The guilt of possibly ruining it all is unforgiving, tightened about your neck like an evil scarf.

He knows something’s up, and you know that he knows. It’s on you for not being forward about your struggles - hell, you’ve scolded him countless times about how he clams up about feelings and all that mess. You’re just a little bit of a hypocrite, then. What would you even say on the subject?

Sorry I’m such a buzzkill? Sorry I haven’t been more open with you? Sorry that I’m the actual wors--

You muffle a sob, burying your face in Dan Heng’s pillow. You just need to calm down, even if that means getting snot on his nice shams. You hiccup, and to your muted horror, the mattress creaks with movement.

Voice rough with sleep and alarm, Dan Heng calls out to you. You tense but otherwise refuse to lift your head up from your comfy sanctuary, chest rising and falling in snappy bursts.

You can’t face him like this, so tangled in everything you feel. You feel so unbelievably guilty, even if a more sensible part of you knows you’re just overthinking.

“Please look at me.”

If you’re making comparisons, Dan Heng must be the wind. Gentle and mild like a calming gale, never a torrent eager to knock you off your feet. No, he is sobering like a wayward breeze. His plea is so soft, and you only hate yourself a little bit for giving in and meeting his eyes.

His hair is sticking up in every direction just like yours. It’s not a foreign sight - you’ve slept in the same bed at least a hundred times, but the worried frown tugging at his lips is new. You sniffle and wipe your face, words a jumble of nonsense.

“Try to breathe. It’s going to be alright,” he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’ll wait.”

That last part might sound impatient in some other context, but right now, it’s resolute - it’s a promise. He’ll wait until you’re ready, however long that will take.

You crumble, shakily inhaling and exhaling until you sit up to mirror his stance. You fumble to embrace him, which he accepts readily - not unused to your spontaneous acts of affection.

However, there’s a stutter in his movements. He’s not used to seeing you so put out, you hazard, unable to even produce coherent speech.

“I love you so much,” you gasp.

“...is that what this is about? Or is there more?”

Dan Heng strokes your hair through your tearful explanation. You know you don’t make a lot of sense right now, but it’s all you can manage. He still listens with scholarly attention to detail, not doting or prying. He’s here. He’s here for you, just like you are for him.

The dam has burst. “Have I ever told you about my family?”

“No,” he admits. “Do you want to?”

So you tell him enough. You only paint a vague picture; recounting endless disagreements and fighting, being kicked to the curb and ostracized, scrambling to pick up the pieces of your barely adult life before being thrusted into college all alone with no one to watch out for you. You’ve only dropped hints beforehand - after all, who wants to reopen old wounds?

Silence can be just as powerful of a response as spoken words. Dan Heng understands, you know that already, but the way he holds you is compelling evidence alone.

Dan Heng’s family is wonderful; being part of it makes you feel a little sick inside, somehow made worse by his ministrations. “It may be unfair of me to say, but… I think I know how you feel. My life before I came to live and travel with everyone was lonely. Lonely and painful, and you don’t deserve to feel that way. Ever.”

When you don’t respond, he continues.

“But I’m now content to call them my cherished companions. And you,” Dan Heng emphasizes, syllables unsure despite his best efforts, “are one of them as well. We haven’t pried too much into what is painful, but I’ve always felt like we’ve never needed to. That was my mistake.”

He makes a point of thumbing the residue of your episode away, an apology in and of itself. Of course he blames solely himself, you muse, biting back a playful reprimand that wouldn’t land well right now. Your breathing regains a semblance of normalcy as you muster up enough gusto to respond.

“No, don’t be silly. I want to talk to you more about our lives before each other, I think. Together, y’know? I-Isn’t that just so romantic? Being emotionally constipated doesn’t do either of us any favors.”

Your tone has lightened, enough for him to notice and furrow his brows in concern. Given, you rebound at the speed of light, never wishing to linger on the bad - partially because sadness is unpleasant and uncommon, but mostly because you feel like you’re unable to. That’s just how you are. However, the way he looks at you is encouragement enough to move forward.

You feel better, you do, but your eyes are still red and puffy. The night outside is still cold and unpredictable.

“Whatever you need,” Dan Heng nods. He can only be so sworn in his promises - so determined - before you crack a smile.

“Alright, easy on the white knight talk,” you chuckle. Realizing how close you actually are, there’s a pause. You can smell the mint of his shampoo, and your arms are tangled with his in some kind of human knot that’d have Houdini sweating. “It’s weird…”

He stares at you, unimpressed. “I thought you wanted me to talk to you in a ‘Romeo’ way.”

You only huff, unable to come up with a retort for once, which is fine. You wipe your face again and drag him down with you back onto the bed, which he allows, because Dan Heng is too good for you and also happens to be a complete pushover. At least you can use your frazzled, unstable emotional state to get what you want.

Case in point: you spoon him. The covers assume their original position after you wrangle them to behave, holding him close from behind. A little part of you does this so he can’t see if you start up the waterworks again, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“It’ll be alright,” Dan Heng reminds, surrendering to your whims as always.

The dust settles and you’re inclined to believe him. There is still much time left, with Christmas day being the focal point of your visit, and you’re starting to get sleepy again. That’s always a good sign; sleepy, relaxed, and with a head drained of pressing worries - at least for the present moment.

Your eyes close, bereft of tears as you murmur your agreement.

To your surprise and horror, this house didn’t have a Christmas tree. It’s not like it mattered that much, but it was still shocking nonetheless. With a building exploding with life, there wasn't an evergreen decked out in ornaments or a pine covered in lights to tie the room together.

Honestly, where were they going to put their presents?

However, you forgave this transgression a day or two later under the condition that you would be allowed to pick one out. Everyone seemed to be fine with it, with you offering to cover the cost this close to the 25th - and your determined expression that would’ve been pointless to argue with. Santa Claus works hard but you work harder.

Caelus and March jumped to go with you, much to the others’ relief, and that was more than enough hands on deck for you to hop in Caelus’s car and drive to the nearest tree farm in the dead of winter, borrowing some mittens and a cute knitted hat from March so you wouldn’t become a human popsicle before your 30s.

Uh, you did get a bit lost. You had to interrogate the shit out of the GPS and one poor local to get there; the latter was not your fault by the way! Caelus just so happened to be carrying a bat and had a concerning look in his eye. That put you in good enough standing to make it there, even if the selection of trees were picked over, leaving only the runts on sale.

All three of you turned away with your hands empty, opting to make a last minute shopping trip to the mall to buy a fake one. You were against it, but your suggestion to buy three small trees and place them really close together was vetoed. “Majority rules” is totes unfair…

But the mall trip turned into a lot more when you actually got there. Both of them ganged up on you with a reminder that you haven’t gotten Dan Heng a gift yet! Honestly, you could say you regret confessing that to them earlier, but you totally needed to hear it.

Imagine you, waking up on Christmas morning with nothing to give the love of your life! Deplorable, unforgivable, and tragically heartbreaking.

And you had a council there to help you; people that know Dan Heng just as well as you do.

“He’s so hard to shop for,” March had groaned, flicking through racks of clothes with a dark aura surrounding her. “Trust me, I’ve tried in the past. He always says he’s fine with anything, giving me zero hints…”

“Maybe get him nothing,” Caelus suggested after, more occupied with trying to steal coins from the nearby wishing fountain. Like one does. “You could run him over and he’d thank you politely.”

Similar experiences there. He’s always been more attuned to your wants than his own, which you’ve been trying to get him to work on at his own pace. Unfortunately, the place was about to close for the night since you already spent the day gallivanting around.

The burly mall security guard looked dangerously close to kicking your trio out, with at least one of you kicking and screaming, so you had to leave empty handed again.

The others assured you that you’d find a present in time. You decided to go with the flow and hope that the heavens above would drop one into your lap by the day of.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t! Because Christmas day is now here, and it all seems hopeless. Well, aside from the fact that you’re all settled around the coffee table and a big, burning fire is roaring in the fireplace.

There’s still a smile on your face as Welt and Himeko tear open their presents with wise, softened gazes. You can’t let your own mistakes ruin the moment, after all.

“Truly, thank you both,” Himeko croons, looking over her respective mug and brooch with awe. “I was prepared to perhaps play up the excitement a bit, but… I’m very impressed. Dan Heng, you’ve picked well.”

He flushes. “They helped me,” he nods to you.

“No,” she laughs, “I meant you picked a good partner.”

Before you can stammer out a reply, Welt chimes in. He’s inspecting the quality of his tie with muted gratitude - his new mug seems to only serve as a reminder that he has to drink Himeko’s coffee out of it. Hey, at least your heart was in the right place!

“I have to agree. Both of you must have collaborated seamlessly to shop for our preferences.”

Caelus, wearing his big ass jacket that you and Dan Heng bought him, sprawls out across one of the couches like a housecat. “This is a lot better than what you got me last year, Cold Dragon Young.”

Dan Heng bristles and you burst out laughing at the expression he’s making. “Cold Dragon what?”

“Ignore them,” he pleads, lips twitching upward just a smidge; a ghost of a smile. Dan Heng really does like the teasing more than he lets on.

March was almost reduced to tears by the jewelry dish you painted for her - which is more of a jewelry box at this point - but she recovers from her reverie and endless thank yous to giggle at your partner’s expense, something that’s swiftly turning into a group effort. “One time, we all got roped into fistfighting these bad guys in a club, and after Dan Heng took care of them--”

“I was left with no other choice--”

“--then that became his ring name. Cold Dragon Young!” she finishes.

Himeko and Welt exchange an exhausted look. You immediately decide that the moniker is going to become his contact name in your phone until the end of time. You also start wheezing (and also kind of blushing) at the idea of Dan Heng, the near-pacifist, duking it out with someone. “S-Sounds like you guys have been everywhere…”

“...we have,” your boyfriend clears his throat. You sense a topic change, or even a segue, drawing your attention. You sit up a little straighter and wipe the comically-induced hysteria from your eyes.

He’s looking at you expectantly with some of the earlier heat coloring the tips of his ears. The room lulls into silence as he makes his way over to the tree to retrieve a box from underneath the branches, wrapped in pastel yellow with no bow.

Dan Heng hands it over, and when your skin brushes against his for a fleeting second, you feel the clamminess of his palms.

“Oh, me next?” you blink. Shaking the thing a bit too aggressively, listening for any indication of a bomb (just in case), you get a good feel of its weight. Light and mysterious. You’re too busy making mental guesses that you don’t notice Welt shepherding the others out of the room.

“Yes. I hope you like it,” he watches as you tear open the wrapping paper and the box itself. Dan Heng is so beautiful it’s almost criminal, unintentionally batting his lashes in a way that has you swallowing drool.

You scoff. “Of course I will!”

Inside the box rests… two tickets? Your mind jumps to movie tickets first and foremost, but that’s obviously not the case; the ones here are golden with faded ridges and accented with red, sparkling as you fawn over them. Then you read the printed text lining the bottom of the thin cardstock.

The Astral Express. They’re two boarding passes.

“No way,” It’s the name of the restored steam locomotive in the picture, the very same one that Himeko told you about working on during the height of her career. “Does this mean…?”

Dan Heng drinks in the surprised part of your lips, scratching at his neck. “You mentioned that you wanted to travel. I, and the rest of us, thought you’d like to accompany us on a trip. If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine,” he promises. “I can get refunded, and we’ll all stay. But it’s scheduled to start the day after tomorrow and last until the new year.”

You don’t want to cry again, even if they’re happy tears, so you launch yourself into his arms as a welcome distraction. You may be imagining it, but you think you feel him slump in relief. Again. How long will it take to get it through his thick skull that he could never disappoint you?

“Duh, of course I want to! Darling, what kind of jerk would I be if I said no and made everyone cancel their plans? Oh my god, oh my god--”

“You m-may want to breathe.”

His concern is so genuine - that’s not even meant to be teasing. You scream into his shoulder, already thinking of nights spent in velvet cabins and days spent watching the cross-country scenery go by on the silver rail. With good food. Lots of it.

“I’m breathing,” you huff, in fact, short of breath. “Thank you, Dan Heng. I love it so much.”

You pull back, box and tickets still safe in your grasp despite your earlier flailing. The magical moment fizzles, your joy stunted as guilt emerges. “But I… I didn’t get you anything. I’m so sorry, we shopped all over, and everything’s been so hectic…”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I meant what I said.”

“Huh?”

“When we were shopping all that time ago,” he clarifies. “I don’t need anything but you. And with the others coming along,” Dan Heng gestures to the tickets, everyone else’s likely stowed away somewhere safe, “It’s the best gift I could ask for, more than I could ever want.”

You don’t rebut him this time.

The guilt has all but vanished, and you pull Dan Heng into a tender kiss. This has, no joke, probably been the best break of your life so far. Not to mention you have a whole new trip to look forward to, with a whole new family at your side.

Just as you think this perfect moment is unshakable, hoots and jeers break out from behind you. You whip around, dazed, and Caelus is cheering both of you on like his life depends on it.

“Wooooo! I told you they’d like it, dude! May your love burn bright for years to co--”

…then March clamps a hand over his mouth and hauls him away.

Dan Heng is so embarrassed that he chokes on a laugh. You make sure to join him in kind, the present moment also holding the infinite possibilities of the future.

thank you for reading! it means the world to me 🎅🎁 on ao3

#hvntersecretsanta #my writing #dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x you #hsr x you #dan heng hsr x reader #hsr fluff #dan heng x gn!reader

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syatbs · 1 month ago

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Suck the Drug

summary: When Y/N wants to set farewells to her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Nam-gyu, she uncovers something terrifying.

➳genre/au: Nam-gyu x reader [she/her, female anatomy}, smut, plotwist, 18+, Dom Namgyu, Dom Reader, explicit content.

➳ Word Count: 2.624k

Find me on Ao3 for more frequent updates.

“Don’t let that asshole foul you, Y/N.”

The words of my closest friend reverberated within my head like obnoxious little bells. She always tries to protect me from the painful outcomes, but I just don’t fucking listen.

I was fully aware of where this relationship was leading, but I still chose to tear my insides apart until nothing remained but the empty words that I loved him.

Him… The guy who ignited a spark within my heart and the same one who purloined it like a thief in the night.

Nam-gyu.

That’s his name and crossness spurted in my chest. It was resentment for myself who melted at the thought of his name for a tad second. How the vision of his handsome features entering my mind, made my pulse hammer against the veins.

I was a lost cause, yet I was desperate for him.

Not in love as I thought when we first crossed paths. Just yearning for affection from a man who only gifted me with mixed signals and nothing else.

“What’s wrong?” A deep voice bloomed in the dim red room, my rumination fizzling out like the smoke of a cigarette.

Following the sound, I was met with two pairs of eyes. They had the deepest color, so dark that oftentimes I had the impression that what I was seeing was the abyss of the ocean… So deep like forbidden secrets that are banned from being professed.

I didn’t realize when I was pulled into a privet room, the loud music now becoming dull, and fainted through the soundproof walls that were enclosing us. I wasn’t even permitted a proper period to grasp what a terrible mistake I had just made… Where instead of being in my bed and asleep, I had visited the club Pentagon in search of a man I should be running away rather than lusting over.

It only dawned when Nam-gyu was between my legs with the purpose of pleasuring me. His long thin fingers that were clad with silver rings, grazed the inner side of my thighs, a peculiar expression creasing his handsome face. It was crystal clear that this man wanted to devour me whole, though when he saw I was spacing out, he seemed rather reluctant.

And it shouldn’t pester me one bit for the reason why Nam-gyu looked quite different from our past encounters.

Conversely, it did. A lot.

Though when that sensation festered me like a hurricane brimful of unfortunates, I shook my head mentally.

No. This time what I’m about to do is for my own selfish benefit. For once I will spoil myself without giving something in return.

In instinct, the edge of my lips was tugged into a smirk. “Nothing. Just the thought that we had a long time to see each other.”

Kissing now the exposed skin, I had to swallow a whimper.

“Is it?” Nam-gyu mused as his kittenish demeanor returned. His teeth skimmed over the inner of my thigh before sucking down lightly, only to draw away and leave his teeth marks on the other leg.

My back arched as I moaned and my French Manicure nails sunk into the velvet cushion of the sofa beneath me.

There was no more hesitation in his motives.

With hazy eyes, I stared at his fingers grazing the upper of my legs, while his mouth was busy leaving mark after mark, and traveled them up to the hem of my leather skirt.

“Look at you so eager… I started to believe that you actually missed me.” I teased, though there was some truth alongside my telling.

On the other hand, he didn’t waver to my words only to crane his neck and gaze up at me in a look that made butterflies waltz in my stomach.

“I always do.”

At that everything around me ceased, trapping me in an environment that was only just the two of us. No music from the speakers or laughter from the guests who were gliding outside. Every length of my body was now trembling as I was not able to contain the sadness that took over. I wondered if he was genuine or if it was another of his believable lies… To push me further in the obsession I have for him.

Before I could open my mouth and demand an answer to my troubles, his fingers disappeared into my short skirt, and hooking his index fingers at the edges of my panties he pushed them down to my legs. Then shoving them into the back pocket of his dark trousers, with a drag of my hips, Nam-gyu forced my wet pussy close to his face.

My bloodstream was now racing with the exhilaration of my heartbeat as blush crept on my cheeks. Despite being no stranger to this man, such intimating moments were always making me shy away.

I felt vulnerable, yet simultaneously, the most delectable woman in the club. It was ridiculous such ideation; therefore, it gave me a sense of power that I never knew existed.

“So fucking beautiful.” He rasped, his voice dropping an octave.

Parting my legs even wider, he darted out his tongue and licked the wetness that coated my walls since the very moment I spotted him in the club. He slowly traveled it up to my sensitive bud and sucked it between his front teeth before two fingers were shoved inside me in replace of his tongue.

They weren’t that deep and I had to move my hips in desperation to find some friction. Perversely my craves soon came to a halt when his free hand forced me to stay immobile.

“Nam-gyu…” I mewled his name.

In an instant, a growl rumbled within his chest as I knew that he was getting off with how addressed him by his first name. However, his hold didn’t grow slack. In lieu, he nibbled harshly on my clit, earning a scream from me.

When I threw him daggers, a lethal expression took over his exterior and drawled. “Patience is the key, Y/N. So be a good girl and take what I’m giving you.”

At that goosebumps blazed down my spine, his dominance having a foreign effect on me. In the past, our intimating moments weren’t so intense and ardent. There was no eye contact or words, merely the animus to bring ourselves into the high.

This time, however, he was acting on a different hue and to be frank, I didn’t like it. At all.

Because it made me feel. Because this sudden meet-up was for me to visit him for one last time before I take our memories and burn them in the flames of what I call “moving on”. To forget for once and for all that, this man made me more alive than any other mortal being and not dwell on the webs he set for me, so he could keep me as his lover prisoner.

Placing my legs on the edge of the sofa, my fingers ran through his long dark hair, and taking a fistful I pulled until a low hiss fell from his lips.

“There is no patience if there is no time.” I heaved.

I could see my words echoing within his skull, and once he understood the message his jaw clenched.

He finally realized that what I was doing wasn’t our usual routine, where I visited the club where he works, getting railed, and once the building closed he would take me to his apartment so we could continue from there.

It was a hook-up. A farewell to the failure of our relationship.

Once he makes me come undone, I will depart and never return.

In a trice, Nam-gyu’s nostrils flared as fury licked his dark orbs. His breaths became ragged, causing his chest to deflate and inflate in rapid rhythms that still simmer with control, and his face was stone-cold with a lingering vibration that screamed authority upon this situation.

Of his silence for a moment, I had the deliberation that he would leave me hanging sans doing something to complete my plan — to give me the upper hand and the satisfaction. But when his fingers curled inside me and deeper than previously, it settled in me that Nam-gyu was letting me win.

He pushed them in and out of me while our eyes were locked, and my lips parted in silent moans. With each second, my warm walls were clamping down his fingers like a vise, the craving to reach my climax more potent than ever.

By my eagerness, he picked his pace up, and dipping his head once again he sucked my clit hard. The sensitive bud was either flicked by his tongue or his teeth were lightly biting at it and when he noticed my legs starting to sake by his assault, he changed motive.

Replacing his fingers with his mouth, Nam-gyu was tongue-fucking me as his hands hooked around my legs to bring me closer to his face.

Conversely, one of my hands had been placed beneath my head while the other one was at his head — pushing him harder against my opening. My nails were scraping his skull and a low groan of his vibrated through me.

It was such a euphoria that I never wanted it to end. A Nirvana I never experienced before… Somehow it felt quite bitter when I knew it wasn’t a situation that would last, no matter how much I begged to maintain.

A pinch of my clit and his tongue being shoved in my pussy was all it took for me to cry out and my fluids to coat his lips and chin. My breaths had now turned uneven, the high I was entrapped had me spinning and seeing stars.

Our gazes never strayed from each other and the dim LED lights of the private room gave me a slight glimpse of my glistening arousal on his lips. Peculiarly, such a spectacle that was displayed in front of me made me wonder if I ever would be able to find a man so spellbinding as him.

A man who still shines with handsomeness notwithstanding the flaws that corrupt him whole.

Slowly or rather cagily, I took his hand and sucked his coated fingers clean. His eyes followed the movement of my pink tongue swirling around them as if what I was sucking was his veiny cock, and my Louboutin heel was planted on his sternum.

Letting his fingers with a pop, I pushed him harshly on the floor straddling him with my hips. Bewilderment overpowered his features when I reached for his belt.

He always was my Dom, though this time I will be the one to ruin him and ravish him.

Like an expert, I unbuckled the leather material around his waist, the sound of it snapping from his jeans’ loops, having him gasp silently. Smirking in his way, I seductively bent over my torso, my hot breath grazing over the shell of his ear.

“Wrap it around your throat.”

I could feel his body stiffen beneath me, a body language that spoke louder than words that signified he hated being controlled. Yet the tightness of the center of his trousers and hips slightly raising to dry hump my wet pussy was a hint that there was some liking at my sudden dominance.

Reluctantly, he took the belt and placed it around his neck giving me now the initiative to loop it through the buckle and pull it tight. So tight that the metal bit into his skin as the belt constricted.

Nam-gyu choked and his back arched as panic flashed before his vision, thus a single caress of my hand down to his cheekbone and a soothing voice, his muscles relaxed.

“Relax. You can breathe.”

With one hand now holding the edge of the belt like a leash, my other one found the zipper of his trousers and undone it, my palm pressed hard against the swollen of his manhood.

He was bigger than the average size, having my core skated with dark desires. I wanted his dick inside me, the sensation of being filled compelling me to move quicker and hastily. Without any further ado, I pulled out his swollen length from the waistband of his boxers, and giving a few strokes of my palm — while my thumb traced his pre-cum — I then rubbed it up and down my coated folds.

Soon, I sink into him, taking bit by bit every inch and my eyes roll at the back of my head as my opening burns at the sudden stretch of his thick length.

Once he was fully inside me, both of us groaned in unison.

“Y/N…” He growled once my hips started rocking against him. He attempted to grab and guide them with a more brutal bounce but a single tug of the belt restrained his efforts.

“Patience is the key, Nam-gyu. So be a good boy and take what I’m giving you.” Throwing his words back in his face, something dark gleamed in his eyes.

Beaming in his way, my hand was placed against his strong chest for stability and continued bouncing on his cock, as my head was lolled back. My pussy was basically screaming for another orgasm — to be filled with his cum and leave the room like a dirty whore.

The sound of skin hitting skin bloomed into the dim room, our panting breaths the melody in our silence.

Every unused muscle in me was aching with such intense hip movement, my eyes stinging in tears as my folds creamed and squeezed him. The orgasm wasn’t far afield and leaning to his way, I sucked the quick pulse in his neck. Lapping up his sweat and aroma that smelled like cigarettes, my lips crashed into his. I could taste myself on his tongue and like a grinding woman, I sucked it, fought it with my own, and flicked his bottom lip before ravishing it between my front teeth.

The taste of coppery was inserted into my mouth and I swear I could feel his erection growing even larger at the roughness my nature provides.

What I was doing was a silent message that tonight he was all mine. Mine to devour and mine to ruin. For one last time until another female has him as her own.

Soon my whole body had been paralyzed as the orgasm hit me like a thunderclap. I arched my back, driving my climax until the very end.

It surprised me when his hand snaked around my nape and pulled me once again for a kiss — with the difference that it was now softer and more loving. There was no rush between us and as we were breathing in each other’s pants, I released the belt.

His thumb wiped the red lipstick that I’m damn sure was now smudged and we looked at each other debating if we should withdraw or remain in this position for eternal eon.

Regrettably, his phone rang and he rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Sorry,” Nam-gyu apologized as I rolled over, already feeling the emptiness between my legs.

But it didn’t vex me when I found out that the one who was calling him was no other but his friend, Thanos. It troubled me when a card fell from the pockets of his jacket while he pulled out his phone.

A card with three shapes in the center. One circle, one triangle, and one square.

Since he was busy with the call, he didn’t notice that it had fallen out nor how my face paled at the sight. Because that card was no stranger to my eyes since I already had one.

#fanfic #romance #love #nam gyu #squid game #player 124 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #namgyu smut #namgyu x reader #namgyu fanfic #nam gyu x you #squid game x reader

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velarisdusk · 2 months ago

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and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

word count: 1.7k author's note: listen.. i may write but i am no songwriter. i dont wanna hear shit abt these lyrics, i drove myself to madness for HOURS trying to come up with them ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The studio smelled faintly of old coffee and cedar, the latter courtesy of Cassian’s obsession with “ambience candles.” Their flickering glow did little to cut through the dim light of the room, but that was how they worked best—shadows stretching long across the walls, a backdrop of soft atmospheric music mingling with the faint hum of amplifiers.

Cassian was seated cross-legged on the worn couch, his drum pad balanced precariously on one knee. Rhys sat opposite, his guitar cradled loosely in his lap as his fingers absentmindedly picked out a melody that might, one day, become something.

Azriel lounged across the arm of a chair, his legs draped over one side, notebook in hand. He’d been silent most of the night, pretending to be engrossed in writing, but he hadn’t added a word in over an hour. His pulse thrummed low and steady, though it felt like it was trying to climb into his throat.

He cleared it instead. “I, uh…” His voice broke the lull, and both heads turned to him, expectant. “I’ve been working on something,” he added, tone clipped, casual—too casual. “Thought I’d see what you think.”

Rhys’s guitar fell silent, and Cassian stilled his restless tapping. “Let’s hear it,” Rhys said.

Az’s fingers curled around the edge of his sacred notebook, the slight crinkle of paper betraying his tension. Still, he began to read.

“Got a taste of sin, it’s dripping off your skin, Lost in your fire, pull me in, Your body’s a drug, and I’m high on the feel, Push me to the edge, make me kneel”

Cassian’s mouth fell open, and Rhys slowly set his guitar down, leaning forward as Az kept going:

“Whisper my name, and I’m already there, Fingers gripping tight, pulling through your hair. Take me in deep, make me lose control, I’m yours to break, body and soul.”

When he finished, the studio was dead silent, save for the faint buzz of the amp. Cassian stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime.

“Holy shit.” Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Az, I don’t know who did this to you, but she must’ve been a damn good lay.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. “It’s just a concept.”

Rhys arched a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Sure it is.” He didn’t press, though, only added, “It’s good. Uncomfortably horny, but good. Way different from our usual stuff.”

Cassian grabbed his sticks, tapping out a beat on the drum pad with a lecherous grin. “Let’s lean in, boys. This is the kind of trashy filth that gets crowds throwing bras at us.”

Rhys’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he picked up his guitar again, plucking out something slinky, the kind of riff that felt like it belonged in a smoky, neon-lit club. “It’s dark,” he said, nodding to himself. “Sultry. Needs that dirty edge, though. Cass?”

Cassian’s grin widened as he began hammering out a beat—deliberate, aggressive, a rhythm that hit like a pounding pulse. “You’re singing this, Az.”

Azriel froze, shooting him a glare. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand chuckled, pointing at him with his pick between two fingers. “You’re the one who wrote this filth, so you’re singing it, lover boy.”

“It’s just a concept,” Az repeated, gritting his teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Cassian retorted, his grin feral. “Then why does it sound like you’re confessing to something you did last night?”

Az opened his mouth to respond, but Rhys interrupted, strumming a riff so suggestive it could’ve been banned on public radio. “Alright, focus, idiots. Let’s make this worth the headache.”

For the next hour, the song began to take shape. Rhys layered intricate licks over Cassian’s primal rhythm, the combination dripping with heat and tension. Azriel’s lyrics were sharpened, punctuated with pauses that hit like clenched fists, every word landing like a whisper pressed against the shell of your ear.

Cassian couldn’t help himself. “‘Tie me down, tear me apart,’” he sang mockingly into the mic, voice exaggeratedly gravelly. “Az, I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

Az snatched the mic out of his hand, deadpan. “Learn to shut the hell up.”

Cassian laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool. “This one’ll wreck them. Absolute filth.”

Rhys leaned back, smiling lazily. “Filthy sells. And Az?” He tilted his head, studying his brother like a puzzle. “Next time you’re uh, inspired, maybe don’t hold back. This is… enlightening.”

Azriel only shook his head, flipping his notebook closed as Cassian howled with laughter, already promising to slap the song on the album.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Midnight wrapped around you like a blanket, the world outside still and quiet. The soft glow of your laptop lit your room as you settled further into bed, earbuds in place, ready for this moment. You’d been counting down for weeks, your excitement bubbling just beneath your skin. Finally, their newest album was here.

It’d been months since the concert—months since you’d stood in that dark, electric space, his voice carving through the air like a blade. You could still feel the vibrations of the bass in your chest, the heat of the crowd, the way his eyes had found yours for just a second too long.

You hit play, and let the first track wash over you, a rush of gritty guitars and smooth vocals pulling you in instantly. The familiar sound of Rhysand’s honeyed voice wrapped around you, rich and magnetic, while Cassian’s drums hit like a thunderstorm. But it was the deeper, shadowed harmony threading through the background that made your breath catch.

Azriel.

Hearing him again sent a shiver through you, unbidden memories tugging at the edges of your mind. You’d spent one unforgettable night with him, his low, dark voice murmuring filthy things in your ear—words that had set your skin on fire and lingered long after the moment ended. His presence had been like gravity, drawing you closer, holding you there, even when you weren’t sure you could take it.

And now, hearing that same voice woven through the music, backing Rhysand’s lead, was enough to make your pulse race. You didn’t know if you wanted to rewind the track or keep going, chasing that sound, that pull.

You let it play. Each song unfolded like a gift—raw emotion, sharp edges. You found yourself nodding along, your fingers drumming softly against the blanket as you let the music consume you. But you couldn’t ignore the way Azriel’s harmonies caught your ear, his voice dipping into the pockets of the melody, haunting and magnetic.

The opening notes slinked through your ears, unhurried but charged, the tempo slow enough to make your breath hitch. This was different. Azriel’s voice took the lead, a rare spotlight for him on a track, with Rhysand providing backup vocals—a reversal of their usual dynamic. It was striking, intimate, and laced with something that felt far too personal.

“Past the greenroom, whispers low, ‘No one’ll see, now don’t let go.’ Your nails, your teeth, the sting, the scrape— Pull me under, I’ll beg, I’ll break.”

You froze.

The blanket bunched in your fists as your mind caught up to what you were hearing.

No.

Your thumb hovered over the pause button, but you couldn’t press it. The way Azriel sang it—low, raw, and dripping with heat—made it impossible to think straight. His voice wrapped around the lyrics like a confession he hadn’t meant to give, and Rhysand’s smoother backing vocals added a dangerous edge, amplifying every word.

You yanked one earbud out, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a moment, you just stared at the ceiling, the words looping in your mind like a broken record. But the harder you tried to dismiss it the more the connections gnawed at you. His mouth at your ear, his breath hot against your skin, murmuring reassurance as his hands slid under your shirt. You’d laughed, breathless, trying to quiet yourself as his lips pressed to your neck, but he’d just chuckled, low and dark, “No one’ll see. Just let me feel you.”

And “now don’t let go”—your stomach flipped at the memory. His voice, husky and commanding, echoing through his dressing room as he hauled you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. His teeth grazing your jaw, his hand gripping your thigh. “Now don’t let go, sweetheart,” he’d rasped, right before pressing you into the wall and wrecking you.

Your breath came shallow, heart racing as the memories sharpened, aligning too perfectly with every word. The song ended, and silence pressed heavy against your ears. Before you could think, your thumb hit replay.

Your knees tucked up against your chest as the opening notes filled the air again. You closed your eyes, the melody threading through you, every word lodging itself deeper. Was it just your imagination? Or was there something unmistakable in his voice—a heat, a pull, that felt like it was meant for you?

Your chest tightened as the song finished, leaving you breathless and stunned. “No way. No way,” you muttered, shaking your head, but your hands were trembling as you pressed play again.

You got up, pacing your room with restless energy, the song still blasting through one earbud. Each time you heard it, new details jumped out at you—an inflection here, an ad-lib there. It wasn’t coincidence. It couldn’t be.

The realization hit you all at once, like a weight in your chest. The lyrics weren’t just abstract poetry. They were something real. They were yours.

You needed to see them perform this live. You needed to hear Azriel sing those words like looking out at a crowd, to watch the way he carried himself under the stage lights. Would he meet your gaze if you were there? Would he falter, even for a second, knowing you’d heard every word and recognized yourself in them?

And more than anything, you needed to talk to him. To get his attention again, to hear the truth from his lips.

#wings of illyria #acotar #acotar au #rhysand #rhysand acotar #cassian #cassian acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #(<- still only insinuated ig lol)#bat boys #bat boys acotar #bat boys band au #acotar band au

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imaginesmai · 1 year ago

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Right around the corner (3) - Azriel

LISTEN I CAN EXPLAIN if you've been here for a while now, you can expect this part. If not, may I present myself - hi, I'm Mai and I'm an angst queen bitch. Fourth part already on the way, don't worry!

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5)

Plot: the turth comes out, but in a way Azriel didn't expect.

Warnings: prepare tissues.

Azriel had taken his time to process the words, and in the meanwhile, he had received so many notes from his family that he had his hands full of small paper balls.

There were notes from Feyre updating him of the screaming match between Cassian and Rhysand, long texts from Mor promising him the house was a safe place for you and that he better hurry to bring you out. Even Amren had written a brief ‘I knew it, boy’ that had him more worried than before.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want you to meet them. He loved his family like nothing else, and knew they would only be supportive and kind to his new status. Him being mated or not didn’t change the way they saw him, but part of him – the part that had felt rejection from his mother and his blood-family, was scared.

Azriel ended up sitting in the kitchen counter in front of you with a frown and a growing headache. Even though it was late and you had had a long day, you instantly noticed his mood.

“What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t unusual for Azriel to go quiet in your presence. You had learned by then that it didn’t mean you did something wrong. Most of the times, it was his insecurities popping up randomly in his mind, the troubles of the day dragging him away from you.

And through the years, you had learned that there was nothing else to do but to stay close to him and remind him that he was there. Right with you, and that you loved him.

Still, as you stared at him that night, you noticed it wasn’t the usual frown. He snuck glances at you and moved from the couch, where he was banned, to the kitchen. You left the bowl aside and stood in front of him, one arm extended so he could hold your hand.

“How do you know Feyre?” he asked, not taking your hand.

“Feyre as… the high lady?”

“Yeah. You greeted her the other day. You two know each other?”

“Guess so. She has her art study right in front of my bakery, haven’t you noticed?” you answered, not understanding the nature of the question. “When she moved in, I baked her a welcome to the neighborhood pie and she has actually painted two of the pictures I hang on the wall”

“Feyre painted pictures for you?” Azriel raised an eyebrow. “Are you two friends?”

“Well, not friends per say, but we know each other. That’s what usually happens when you work in front of someone else’s work” you shrugged, you open hand still empty. “Why?”

“I didn’t know you knew her”

“Should you know I know her? For any specific reason?”

“It would have been nice to know you know my high lady. My brother’s mate”

“Now you know. What’s with all this ‘you know I know’? Why does it matter?”

You didn’t understand why but there was an annoyed edge on his voice that you didn’t like. As a morning person, you usually went to bed early, and any minute past midnight was a minute you were supposed to be asleep. No matter how nice it was to spend time with Azriel and how good he had made you feel an hour ago, now you were annoyed.

The male stared at you, still not answering your silent call for his hand. One of his many shadows crossed the table and jumped at the chance of tangling between your fingers. That would have been enough to make you laugh any other day.

That night, you just stared at each other.

“Az, why are you so – “

“Because you should have told me, Y/N” he cut you off. “You know how important my family is to me, and I think it’s fair to ask that if you know any of them you should tell me. So I’m prepared for this”

“What’s this exactly? Late night discoveries about my neighbors?”

Azriel was quiet for a moment, frustration clear in his features. It was a stupid argument over a stupid situation, and Azriel being on his underwear and you only on his t-shirt without panties didn’t make it any less stupid. You rarely argued, and when you did, it was you who had the pointless argument and Azriel the calm one.

His shadows moved behind the couch and dumped in front of you a bunch of papers. They were all wrinkled and Azriel didn’t have time to hide them or think about how to approach the situation before a new one popped out of thin air. It landed next to your open hand, his shadow catching it and unfolding the content.

Does she eat cereal straight from the box? Is it why you’re hiding her?

You didn’t need to think hard to know it was talking about you, and who the note belonged to. In the past, Rhysand had sent notes to Azriel while you were having a shower together, in bed together, and one had even appeared inside your oven while he was helping you around.

“Feyre told them about you” Azriel explained, having read the note upside down. “And because I didn’t know you knew her, now they are deeply offended and want to meet you”

It took you a while to make sense to his words, because you couldn’t find the problem past you not telling him about Feyre. Quickly, you read some of the notes where Cassian threatened Azriel and Rhysand demanded his presence. They were friendly notes, no harm in them. Still, you couldn’t understand the utter sadness until you realized the meaning behind his annoyance.

Finally, you pulled your hand back to your side, not with little resistance from the shadow. You must have opened the bond channel because Azriel frowned, hit with sadness instead of the usual love.

The first note, where Rhysand explained that Feyre had told him, was what brought it all together.

“You haven’t told them you have a mate”

It occurred to you that you had believed it done with no proofs. You didn’t mind Azriel being at your house, living in your apartment. You didn’t mind having separate Starfall and lives. You didn’t mind either when he left for a family dinner and kissed you goodbye, because you understood his need of privacy, of having something that was just his.

What you didn’t understand until that moment that he hadn’t even told them you existed. And through all the reasons that ran to your mind at his silence, you couldn’t pick just one.

“It’s not that they don’t know me. They don’t know you’re mated”

“You agreed when I said I need to take things slowly. That I needed time” he blurted out suddenly, your sadness making space for his annoyance. “The bond was a surprise for me. I didn’t want to rush things”

“Azriel it’s been six years. Six! It’s not a casual fling or a one-night stand” you tried to voice your hurt, your sadness. “It’s not the same not meeting them that being a secret”

“It’s not like I keep you a secret. They haven’t asked and I haven’t – “

“Because you haven’t told them! What – How do you explain the days you spend here? And the… I – Azriel, we’ve been dating for six years and they haven’t asked?”

“They’re used to me sneaking around”

“For months?” you chuckled. “We were locked here for months after we mated. How did you explain that?”

His words were background noise because, above his absences, there was something you realized they should have noticed. Something anyone noticed from mated pairs as soon as they left the house. White noise filled your ears as he tried to excuse himself by talking about missions.

About your safety, about the worry of something happening to you if they discovered you were his mate.

Azriel blurred in front of you as realization hit you and tears filled your eyes. You could barely hold it together as you spoke.

“You’ve been hiding the mating bond” your breath hitched, because if there was something more important than your bakery, it was your bond. “They should have smelt it. But you’ve been hiding it”

“I didn’t hide it, please, don’t say it like that” his voice broke at the end, willing you to listen to him.

“Right. Because you can’t hide the bond from them unless you don’t accept it” you saw the moment your words hit him, the guilt in the way his shadows almost clouded your vision and his wings flared. “You didn’t accept the bond”

Azriel didn’t answer and, worse than any other betrayal or pain, it broke your heart. You remembered offering him the lemon pie, him tearing up and eating. Accepting the bond was an individual decision, one he should have made years ago – just like you did.

You still shared it; you still were mates. The only difference was that, while you proudly loved him and adored each part of his body and soul, he had rejected your smell on him, your imprint on his own.

An invisible hand cut off your air supply and your breath hitched. You covered your mouth with your hand and muffled the sob, but he felt the exact moment your heart broke. Even if he didn’t show it to the world, he could still feel you. Your feelings, your essence. His own eyes teared up and now he extended his hand forward.

A silent invitation, the same you had given him so many times when he was in need of comfort, of love.

But that time, you didn’t reach forward nor acknowledge the shadows that tried to pull you closer to him.

“Get out”

“Darling”

“Get out” you pointed a shaky finger towards the door.

“Y/N, please. It’s not what you’re thinking” he tried to explain, his voice broken by his sorrow. “I accepted the bond. I just – “

“Get the fuck out now!”

The bowl that you had been filling with lettuce, salmon and other vegetables flew from the desk to where he was standing. His shadows, by their own consciousness or his master’s, didn’t stop it as it crashed against his chest. It spilled all over his naked chest, and before he could clean it, there was another tray with grilled pork on your hand.

Azriel’s last look to you was of pure despair and sorrow. He winnowed away before the second tray could hit him, leaving you with his shadows already cleaning up the mess.

As soon as he was out of sight, you fell down to your knees and sobbed.

He didn’t have a plan, and when he winnowed away, the last thing on his mind was the sound of your heart breaking. There was no way he would go to his house and face his family, not when he wasn’t even sure what had happened in your apartment. Couldn’t start to comprehend the pain he had caused you and how much he hated himself for it.

So, without planning to, he ended up in the cabin.

The old wooden walls and ceiling greeted him, different from the ones he remembered from his past. Feyre had added drawings everywhere, there were clothes scattered around, and food that was still edible.

No matter how familiar the sight was, it offered him no comfort.

Azriel dragged his wings through the floor and sat on the couch. Propping his elbows on his knees, he hid his face as the first tear rolled down. Followed by many more.

He replayed your hurt voice once more, your face. It hadn’t been his intention to reject the bond, not really. But he hadn’t run away from it.

It took him two weeks of uncertainty to know that he hadn’t taken it the way you had. While you radiated with his scent, people didn’t ask him. He walked past Cassian during training and his friend just teased him for being disappeared for a month. Rhysand commented about having to report to him every now and then, and Amren didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

That was how he discovered that he had to accept his part of the mating process. He had to be proud, to want it, in order to complete it.

But you had been so happy, so full of joy and love, that Azriel had feared that telling you about it would make you sad. Eventually, he had learned how he should have done it – but at that moment, he didn’t know. Besides, he could still sneak whenever he wanted to without explanations. So he hadn’t said anything.

The first year rolled by, and he spent a good amount of days panicking about how to deal with the situation. The second year passed and you didn’t ask about it, neither did his family. By the fourth year, he had almost forgotten about it.

Azriel’s loud sob broke the silence of the cabin. His chest contracted and his body shock. It was different from any type of suffering, of pain, he had ever felt. He could still feel the echo of your own through the bond, could hear your cries in the distance.

In the lonely cabin, under the moon light, the shadowsinger sobbed and cried until his voice was raw. He was angry at himself, at his past and his traumas, even angry at you. Because now that he knew what it felt to be complete, to be happy and safe in someone’s love, he couldn’t bear the thought of not having it.

His body gravitated to the side and he curled himself in a ball, still in his underwear. It reminded him of when he was a kid and would try to hide himself in the dark cell, cowering in his fear and desperation.

As if he was a kid all over again, Azriel let his wings cover his body and cried. Cried until he couldn’t remember his name, until he was begging the Cauldron to turn back time and let him accept the bond. Carry you on his arm around Velaris and don’t let the fear take control of his life.

He felt like punching a hole through the wall. Like flying thousand feet up and letting go in free fall. Maybe get into a bar fight and let everything out. But his body was anchored to that couch, to that pain. Azriel pressed his closed fists into his chest, trying to relief some of the pressure.

While he wondered if that was what having his heart ripped from his chest fell, he forgot to keep his mental shields up.

Letting Rhysand in.

The house of wind had been chaos for a few hours.

Rhysand had tried to manage the situation by himself, wide awake in bed while processing Feyre’s words. He willed himself to sleep, to rest and leave the pondering for the morning. But when he tried to close his eyes, he could see Azriel covered in blood and killing an entire camp because an illegal wing clipping. He could notice the faint, new smell in the house that he hadn’t noticed.

If he had his eyes open, he couldn’t help but look at Nyx’s new toy.

So, Rhysand had woken up Cassian, after Azriel hadn’t answered his notes. And Cassian had been mad. Angry, furious, raging. The general had talked nonsense about berries for a while and then he begged Rhysand to wake up Feyre and find Azriel to interrogate them.

And, who was the high lord to deny a late-night gossiping session?

Feyre had been mad but she had told them that Azriel had a mate that worked in front of her art studio, in a bakery. That you were nice and cheerful, that you had been mated for six years.

That was when Cassian lost it and woke up the whole house.

Now, all the members of the inner circle had gathered in the council room with their pajamas on.

“Maybe it’s not true. Feyre, you might have had imagined it”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Feyre raised her eyebrows at Cassian.

“I’m just saying he would have told me! We’re brothers. And we don’t keep secrets in this house. Never.”

“You don’t keep secrets” Amren cut him off, not looking at him. “Your bean brain is too simple to keep any type of secrets from us, but that doesn’t mean all of us are exhibitionist”

“I’m not – “

“You are an exhibitionist. You announce everything, Cas. Even a fart” Mor corrected him before he could defend himself.

“Sorry for being kind enough to not keep secrets from my family” he frowned, turning to look at Rhys. “You keep secrets from me?”

“I don’t keep secrets from you” Rhys assured him, half a smile.

“He threw the sword you gifted Nyx for his birth and told you Bryaxis took it so you wouldn’t look for it”

Feyre looked at her mate with a raised eyebrow, daring him to say anything else. With a wide-awake Nyx in her arms, she looked at threatening as the Hybern army. She had yet to talk to him privately, but Rhysand knew he was up for a long talk. So he bit his lip and turned to Cassian. Who, of course, looked completely broken and defeated.

The rest of the group was silent, barely keeping their smiles to themselves. Even Nesta, who had a hand on his shoulder, was looking at Feyre with approval. Cassian stared at Rhysand for a long second before he talked.

“It was a nice sword”

“For a teenager, maybe. For a baby, not” Feyre answered again. “Weren’t you just talking about Azriel’s betrayal and secrets?”

“I, for one, knew he was hiding something” Amren commented for the third time. “Just saying I noticed. And you didn’t”

“Not all of us are creeps that stare and don’t talk. We have social lives to take care of” Mor said.

“Some of you do talk. Maybe too much”

Rhysand tuned out Amren and Mor argument when he felt a crack through Azriel’s mental barriers. He had been tugging at them softly to know where his brother was. Feyre had talked him out of the idea of barging in uninvited and demanding answers – at least, he had talked Amren and Mor out of it. Rhysand and Cassian were still unconvinced.

That was why he had kept a talon poking at his mental barriers since the argument started, thinking it wouldn’t be successful.

But then, Azriel opened it unconsciously and Rhysand brought a hand up to his chest.

Everyone fell quiet as the high lord scrunched his eyebrows and pressed his lips together, not ready for the wave of emotions and pain Azriel was feeling at the moment.

Feyre’s hand was instantly on him, Nyx looking up to his father with a pout that would surely turn into a crying session soon. Before the baby could start crying or any of his friends could ask him about it, Rhysand accepted Feyre’s help and got up from his chair.

“He’s at the cabin” he announced, already summoning his darkness to swallow Cassian and him there. “We’ll keep you updated”

Nyx’s loud cry was the last thing they heard as they winnowed away. And the first one they heard from the cabin, was Azriel’s broken one.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

Right around the corner taglist:

@lesliemurillo @impossibelle @polli05927 @florencemtrash @going-through-shit @minakay @setayeshmohseni @torchbearerkyle @esposadomd @amysangel @kennedy-brooke @originalcrusadetrash @luvmoo @historygeekqueen @marriedtolike18fictionalmen @wallacewillow0773638 @tothestarsandwhateverend @kristalhi @knmendiola @nikt-wazny-y

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idrinkfrombuckets · 4 months ago

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We NEED to start treating patches on battle jackets and punk jackets like badges to be earned.

Before we begin, I would like to point out the difference between “punk jackets”, “battle jackets", and “alternative fashion”:

If the clothing has political calls to action, it can be considered “battle clothes”.

If the clothing has both political messaging and punk bands incorporated into the design, then they are punk clothes.

If the clothing doesn’t have any punk band patches or political calls to action, but has influence from alternative styles, then that is “alternative fashion”.

I’ll give you an example of some pants i’ve made:

I made these pants by hand, using old clothes and materials that I either found or “acquired cheap”. These pants were made by punk methods and have punk influence in its design. These pants could likely be incorporated into a punk outfit. However, these pants are not punk because they do not have any political calls to action and they do not have any punk bands on them (and trust me– i love MCR, i named myself after their bassist–but MCR is not a punk band, they are an emo band. I would call these pants “DIY fashion”, “alternative fashion”, or “emo fashion”. I would not call them “punk fashion".

People may disagree on the way I have defined these categories, but the point of the post is the same no matter what you call it. If your clothing contains political calls to action, then this post applies to you. From this point on, i will use “battle clothing” to refer to both battle clothes and punk clothes.

Now if you have a piece of battle clothing, I want you to look at the patches and ask yourself, “what did i do to deserve these patches?” Say you have a patch of the trans flag and you are trans. Good job! You earned the patch. But now say you have a patch that says “support trans kids”. What have you done to support trans kids? In this case, I believe simply being trans is not enough to earn this patch. Did you get a binder or breast forms for a trans kid who couldn't get them by themself? Did you call a lawmaker to tell them to vote no on a trans bathroom ban (or trans sports ban, or book ban, or drag show ban, etc)? Did you join a protest? Did you donate to a trans kid’s surgery fund, or to an organization campaigning for the rights of trans kids? If you can’t come up with one active thing that you have done to support trans kids, i’d argue that you haven’t earned that patch.

Now say you have a patch that says “decriminalize homelessness”. Have you attended a town meeting to voice your stance? Have you volunteered at a soup kitchen? Are you voting to remove laws meant to imprison homeless people? Do you give money to homeless people who are panhandling?

If you have a patch that says “unionize on company time”, Have you done that? Did you boycott in compliance with a union strike, did you donate to organizations that fight for unions, did you donate to support striking workers?

If you have a patch that says “from the river to the sea”. What have you done to earn it? And no, reblogging a gofundme post that you didn't donate to doesn't count. Making a post that says “hey we should really do something about this” doesn’t count. Did you donate? Are you protesting? Are you badgering lawmakers? Are you boycotting? I’m not saying that it’s impossible to do activist work online, but if you go that route, make sure you are being active about it. There is a difference between making a post saying “here is a list of people to send petitions to and here is how you do it” and “ hey guys i think the genocide is bad”. The first post is informing people and providing them a pathway to direct action. The second post, though absolutely correct, is not doing anything other than letting people know you’re “on the right side”

I could go on forever, but the point is clear: if you haven’t done anything to support the cause that your patch is displaying, you haven’t earned the patch. And some of you may be thinking, “hey i’ve got to work full time, i'm extremely busy and poor and it's impossible to dedicate myself to every cause i believe in”. Trust me, i get it. It’s completely reasonable to concentrate most of your energy on a few important causes. But if you have time to make a patch, you have time to make one phone call. You have time to sign one petition. If you have spent one dollar making your vest, you have one dollar to donate to a cause you believe in. And maybe you only have enough money for one or the other, but it is infinitely better to spend that money in the name of progress than to show people that you are “totally punk/anarchist”.

i’m not saying you should feel bad about spending ANY time or money making a jacket when you could be using it on progress. If that were the case, battle clothes wouldn’t exist, and they are very important to the punk and anarchist movements. But if you are spending time and resources to show people you support something, make sure you have the receipts to back it up.

And I’m sure someone will be like “but what if i’m too anxious to call a lawmaker AND i cant focus long enough to sign a petition AND i’m too busy too volunteer AND too poor to donate AND two scared to pirate or put up posters AND i'm unable to boycott AND-” idk man, but if you can’t do a single thing to back up anything on your patches, at some point you are cosplaying. And to the single person out there who is genuinely unable to do anything through no fault of their own, this post doesn’t apply to you.

And yes, if you are punk/anarchist you are allowed to make non-political, alternative clothes. But for those who just like making alt fashion and don't do anything in the name of political progress, don’t put political patches on your clothes and don’t call yourself punk or an activist.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

#punk #punk clothes #diy fashion #diy or die #alternative fashion #punk jacket #battle jacket #anarchist #anarchy #anti capitalism

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natasaa13 · 2 months ago

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"You're trouble" ft.Choso Kamo

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Choso murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Musa laughed softly, her hands still resting on his chest. “You’re not exactly innocent yourself.”

“Fair enough,” he said, his smirk widening.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs filled the cozy living room of Suguru’s apartment. He and Choso sat at the kitchen counter, both nursing cups of coffee and laughing about something Gojo had done earlier that week—a ridiculous prank involving neon paint and the debate club’s posters.

“You’d think by now, they’d ban him from campus activities,” Choso chuckled, shaking his head.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they just gave up,” Suguru replied, grinning. “Gojo’s like a tornado in human form.”

The sound of Suguru’s bedroom door creaking open interrupted their laughter.

“Hey, Suguru!” Musa’s voice carried through the apartment. “I borrowed your band tee, okay? I’m heading out with Shoko in a bit!”

Suguru froze mid-sip, his brow furrowing. “Wait, what band tee?” he called back, already annoyed.

Before he could get an answer, Musa appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Choso turned his head, his breath catching in his throat.

There she stood, long black wavy hair cascading down her back like ink, baby blue eyes sparkling with excitement. She wore one of Suguru’s oversized band t-shirts, paired with tiny shorts that barely peeked out from underneath, and thigh-high boots that hugged her legs perfectly. She looked effortlessly stunning, the kind of person who could turn heads without even trying.

“Oh,” she said, clearly startled to see someone other than her brother. “I didn’t realize we had company.”

Choso, momentarily caught off guard, managed a polite nod. “Hi. I’m Choso.”

Musa offered a warm smile, stepping into the room and extending her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Musa, Suguru’s sister.”

Choso shook her hand, his dark eyes flickering with something Suguru didn’t miss. He scowled.

“Musa,” Suguru said sharply, his tone already brimming with irritation. “What are you wearing?”

She rolled her eyes, leaning against the counter. “It’s just a t-shirt, Suguru. Relax. Shoko and I are going to grab dinner and maybe hit a club.”

“That’s not just a t-shirt,” Suguru argued, standing up. “It’s my t-shirt, and it’s practically a dress on you. Plus, you’re showing way too much skin.”

“It’s not your job to police what I wear,” Musa shot back, crossing her arms. “I can take care of myself.”

Choso glanced between the two, clearly trying to remain neutral, though his gaze lingered on Musa longer than it probably should have.

“I’m serious, Musa,” Suguru insisted, his overprotective side kicking in. “You can’t just walk around like that. You’ll attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“I’m not walking around, Suguru. I’m going out with Shoko. She’s literally my best friend.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Suguru muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not leaving the house like that.”

Musa narrowed her eyes. “Oh, really? Last I checked, I’m not a teenager anymore. I don’t need your permission to dress how I want.”

Choso cleared his throat awkwardly, finally speaking up. “Uh, maybe I should—”

“Stay out of this,” Suguru and Musa snapped in unison, glaring at him before turning back to each other.

Choso raised his hands in surrender, leaning back in his chair and quietly sipping his coffee.

“Look,” Musa said, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you all night. I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.”

“Musa—”

She ignored him, walking toward the door. Before leaving, she glanced back at Choso with a small smile. “It was nice meeting you. Maybe next time, it’ll be under better circumstances.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Suguru simmering with frustration and Choso quietly intrigued.

The silence stretched for a moment before Choso spoke, his voice low and contemplative.

“She seems... nice.”

Suguru shot him a dark look. “Don’t even think about it.”

Choso smirked, taking another sip of his coffee. “Didn’t say I was thinking anything.”

“Good,” Suguru muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.

But even as the conversation moved on, Choso couldn’t get the image of Musa out of his mind—the way her smile had lingered just a little longer than necessary, the soft sway of her hair as she’d walked away.

-----------------------------------

Musa stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, still half-asleep, her oversized hoodie practically swallowing her. The soft scent of coffee wafted through the air, and she followed it like a moth to a flame.

Suguru was already there, dressed in casual sweats, leaning against the counter with a steaming mug in hand. He glanced up as she entered, his expression a mix of hesitation and guilt.

“Good morning,” Musa mumbled, grabbing her own mug and pouring herself some coffee.

“Morning,” Suguru replied, his tone cautious.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably as Musa sipped her coffee, her back turned to her brother. Finally, Suguru sighed and set his mug down.

“Look,” he began, breaking the quiet, “about last night…”

Musa turned to face him, one brow raised. “What about it?”

“I overreacted,” Suguru admitted, his voice softer than usual. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just… I worry about you, okay?”

Musa blinked, taken aback by his candidness. “I can take care of myself, Suguru. You know that.”

“I do,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… you’re my little sister—”

“By three minutes,” Musa interjected with a small smirk.

“Still younger,” he retorted, a hint of his usual humor returning.

Musa softened, the corners of her lips twitching upward. “You know, you can’t keep treating me like a kid forever.”

“I know,” Suguru said with a sigh. “I guess it’s just hard to turn off the whole ‘big brother’ thing. Especially when I see you dressed like that, and… I don’t know. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you.”

Musa set her mug down and crossed her arms, her expression serious. “Suguru, you don’t need to protect me from the world. I’m not some fragile thing that’s going to break. You taught me to be strong, remember?”

Suguru hesitated, then gave her a faint smile. “Yeah, I remember.”

Musa took a step closer, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Apology accepted. But next time, just tell me you’re worried instead of going all dictator on me.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. But I still think you need your own band t-shirts.”

Musa tilted her head. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Suguru began, grabbing his keys off the counter, “let’s go shopping. My treat. We’ll get you your own band tees so you can stop raiding my closet.”

Musa blinked in surprise. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Completely,” Suguru replied, his grin widening. “We’ll even grab coffee after. What do you say?”

Musa narrowed her eyes playfully. “Are you trying to bribe me into forgiving you?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Fine. But don’t think this means I’m not borrowing your clothes anymore.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Suguru muttered, leading the way to the door.

The mall was bustling with activity when they arrived, the usual weekend crowd milling about. Suguru led Musa to a music store tucked away in the corner, the walls lined with band merchandise, vinyl records, and posters.

“Alright,” he said, gesturing to the rows of t-shirts. “Pick whatever you want. Just don’t bankrupt me, okay?”

Musa rolled her eyes. “Relax, Mr. Moneybags. I’m not that high-maintenance.”

She began browsing through the racks, occasionally holding up a shirt to inspect it. Suguru watched her, a small smile playing on his lips.

It wasn’t often they got to spend time like this—just the two of them, without the chaos of friends or classes getting in the way.

“Found anything?” he asked after a while.

Musa held up a black t-shirt with a bold graphic of a band she loved. “What about this one?”

Suguru nodded. “Good choice. Anything else?”

She grabbed another shirt and a hoodie, tossing them over her arm. “You’re the one paying, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, following her to the register.

Once they’d checked out, they made their way to a nearby café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air as they stepped inside.

Settling into a corner booth, Suguru slid her drink across the table. “So, you and Shoko have fun last night?”

Musa sipped her coffee, nodding. “Yeah. We had lots fun actually.”

“I'm glad you had fun sis,” Suguru said with a smile.

They fell into an easy rhythm, talking and laughing like they always did. For a moment, it felt like they were kids again, before life had gotten so complicated.

“You know,” Musa said, leaning back in her chair, “you’re not a terrible brother when you’re not being overprotective.”

“High praise,” Suguru replied dryly, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

---------------------------------

Later in the week, the living room of Suguru’s apartment was dimly lit, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the TV. A half-empty bowl of popcorn sat between Choso and Suguru on the couch, and the low drone of a narrator’s voice filled the room.

“…and thus, the ancient curse was sealed away, hidden in the ruins for centuries…”

Choso leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched the documentary intently. “You know, stuff like this makes me wonder if curses were ever actually real.”

Suguru smirked, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “You’d think with all the weird things that happen in the world, someone would’ve found solid proof by now.”

“Maybe,” Choso replied, his tone thoughtful. “But sometimes, I think the stories themselves are the proof. People don’t just make this stuff up out of nowhere.”

Suguru tilted his head, considering. “I guess you’re right. There’s always some truth to myths, even if it’s buried under a lot of exaggeration.”

The narrator continued, describing the discovery of a cursed artifact found in a remote part of Japan. Choso glanced at Suguru, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Bet if we were alive back then, you’d be the guy who accidentally unleashed a curse trying to prove it wasn’t real.”

Suguru laughed, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “And you’d be the one who tried to seal it and made it worse.”

“Touché,” Choso admitted, catching the popcorn and eating it.

They fell into a comfortable silence as the documentary shifted to footage of archeologists carefully excavating ancient ruins. Choso found himself relaxing, grateful for the rare quiet evening. Spending time with Suguru like this always felt easy, even when they argued about dumb things like who would survive a hypothetical curse apocalypse.

Just as the narrator began explaining the cultural significance of a talisman, a sudden noise broke the stillness—the sound of the front door opening and closing.

“Yo, Suguru! I’m home!” Musa’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Suguru sighed, pausing the documentary. “And there goes the peace and quiet.”

Choso chuckled, leaning back on the couch. “She’s not that bad.”

“You don’t live with her,” Suguru muttered, though his tone was more affectionate than annoyed.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, and soon Musa appeared in the doorway, her long black hair slightly tousled from the night air. She was dressed casually in joggers and a fitted sweater, but even in her most relaxed state, she had a presence that was hard to ignore.

“Oh,” she said, noticing Choso. “You’re still here.”

Choso gave her a polite nod. “Hey, Musa.”

Suguru gestured toward the TV. “We’re watching a documentary for class. You’re welcome to join, but I warn you—it’s not exactly thrilling.”

Musa tilted her head, intrigued. “What’s it about?”

“Curses, artifacts, ancient myths,” Choso explained. “Pretty standard stuff.”

“Hmm,” she mused, walking into the room and leaning on the back of the couch. “Sounds more interesting than whatever Shoko ditched me for.”

Suguru smirked. “Let me guess—she bailed to catch up on sleep?”

“Bingo,” Musa replied with a laugh.

“Classic Shoko,” both boys said in unison, making Musa roll her eyes.

“Move over,” she said, nudging Suguru’s shoulder. “I want to watch too.”

Suguru groaned but shifted to make room for her. Musa plopped down between them, her presence immediately shifting the dynamic.

As the documentary resumed, Musa asked questions here and there, her curiosity piqued by the subject matter. Choso found himself answering most of them, his deep voice steady and patient.

“So, they think this talisman actually held some kind of power?” she asked, pointing at the screen.

“Some scholars believe it was used in rituals,” Choso explained. “But others think it was just symbolic. Either way, it obviously meant a lot to the people who made it.”

Musa nodded, her baby blue eyes focused intently on the screen. “That’s kind of fascinating. Like, what if there’s some truth to it and we’ve just lost the ability to understand it?”

Choso smiled faintly. “That’s what makes it interesting—trying to figure out what they knew that we don’t.”

Suguru groaned dramatically. “Great. Now there are two of you nerding out over this.”

Musa smirked, elbowing him lightly. “You’re just mad because I’m smarter than you.”

“Smarter? Please,” Suguru retorted, though his grin gave him away.

As the documentary wound down, Musa stretched and yawned, leaning back against the couch. “That wasn’t bad. I might actually learn something if I keep hanging out with you two.”

“Stick around, and you’ll know more about curses than you ever wanted to,” Choso teased, earning a laugh from Musa.

Suguru watched the exchange, his protective instincts flaring as he noticed the easy rapport between his sister and his friend. Clearing his throat, he stood up and grabbed the empty popcorn bowl.

“Alright, enough bonding. It’s late. We should all call it a night.”

Musa glanced at the clock and shrugged. “Fair enough. Thanks for letting me crash your movie night.”

Choso smiled. “Anytime.”

As Musa headed toward her room, Suguru caught Choso’s eye, his expression unreadable. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said, his tone light but firm.

Choso raised his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say a word.”

“Good,” Suguru muttered, though he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that this was only the beginning.

---------------------------------

As the sun streamed through the large windows of the campus hallways, lighting up the bustling corridors with a golden glow. Musa walked leisurely beside Shoko, their bags slung over their shoulders as they made their way to their next class.

"So," Shoko began, twirling a strand of her short, brown hair between her fingers, "are you ever gonna set me up with your brother? He’s ridiculously hot, Musa. Like, come on—do me a solid."

Musa rolled her eyes, laughing softly. "Gross, Shoko. That's my brother we’re talking about."

Shoko nudged her playfully. "That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a total catch. Tall, broody, smart, and let’s not even get started on the hair. I mean, those genetics? Chef's kiss."

"Okay, ew. Stop," Musa groaned, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Besides, Suguru’s impossible. He’s too busy being friends with Gojo and planning whatever nonsense they’re up to."

Shoko smirked. "Speaking of nonsense, what about you? Got anyone on your radar?"

Musa shook her head, her wavy black hair swaying with the motion. "Nope. No one. I’m focused on school, thank you very much."

"Ugh, you’re no fun," Shoko whined dramatically. "You could at least pretend to be interested in someone. Live a little, Musa."

"Yeah, yeah," Musa teased, pushing the door open to their classroom. "Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to come along and sweep me off my feet."

Shoko snorted. "Right. And maybe Gojo will magically become humble."

Both girls laughed as they found their seats, the conversation shifting to their professors and the upcoming exams.

Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Gojo, Suguru, and Choso were lounging by the outdoor courtyard. Gojo leaned back against the bench, his signature sunglasses perched on his nose as he spoke animatedly.

"I’m telling you, the next party is going to be epic," Gojo declared. "We’re talking DJ, drinks, and maybe even a karaoke corner if I feel generous."

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "Karaoke? You’re the only one who’d actually enjoy that."

"Details, details," Gojo waved him off. "Oh, and I’ve got my eye on this girl I saw at the library. She’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on, but I still don’t know her name."

Choso, sitting quietly beside them, glanced up from the book he’d been skimming. "You sure she wasn’t just trying to study in peace?"

Gojo grinned. "Maybe. But a Gojo never misses a chance to impress."

Suguru shook his head, amused. "You’re impossible."

"Thank you, I try." Gojo stretched lazily. "Anyway, are we hanging out after class? Maybe grab some food?"

Choso closed his book and shook his head. "Can’t. I’ve got a paper to finish."

"Ugh, nerd," Gojo teased, earning a small glare from Choso.

"Alright, your loss," Suguru said, standing and brushing off his jeans. "We’ll catch you later. Don’t overdo it, man."

Choso nodded, watching as the two walked off, their conversation turning to the logistics of Gojo’s upcoming party.

As the final bell of the day rang, Musa packed up her things and walked out into the hallway, her long black hair cascading over her shoulder. She spotted her brother and Gojo waiting near the lockers.

"There’s our favorite girl," Gojo announced, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Ready to go home?"

Musa rolled her eyes but didn’t shake him off. "You guys are such a hassle."

Suguru smirked. "And yet you’d be lost without us. Let’s go."

The three of them made their way toward the parking lot, Gojo launching into an elaborate story about his day while Suguru occasionally chimed in with sarcastic remarks. Musa laughed, enjoying the familiar rhythm of their group

The evening had settled comfortably over the apartment. Suguru and Gojo had taken over the couch, a pile of snacks and drinks spread out on the coffee table between them. Musa sat cross-legged on the armchair nearby, scrolling on her phone but still listening to their conversation.

“Okay, hear me out,” Gojo said, gesturing animatedly with a half-eaten bag of chips. “This girl in my class? Absolute knockout. But the second she opens her mouth—nothing but astrology nonsense. She asked me if I was a Leo rising before even saying her name.”

Suguru snorted, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Sounds like your type.”

“Hey! I have standards,” Gojo retorted, though his grin gave him away.

“Do you?” Musa chimed in, raising an eyebrow as she looked up from her phone.

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Musa, my dear, I thought you were on my side!”

Musa smirked. “I am��on the side of truth.”

Suguru laughed, leaning back against the couch. “She’s got you there, Satoru.”

Gojo pouted, but it lasted all of three seconds before he turned his attention to Musa. “Alright, little Suguru. Since you’re so quick to call me out, let’s hear about your love life.”

Musa blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” Gojo said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ve got to have someone in mind. A crush? A secret boyfriend? Come on, spill.”

Suguru immediately bristled, sitting up straighter. “Back off, Gojo. That’s none of your business.”

“Oh, relax,” Gojo said, waving him off. “She’s a grown woman. She can handle a little teasing.”

Musa rolled her eyes, trying to play it cool. “I don’t have time for stuff like that. Classes, Shoko, dealing with you two—that’s enough to keep me busy.”

Gojo wasn’t convinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. But if you did have someone in mind, who would it be? Someone tall? Handsome? Maybe a little mysterious?”

Musa felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. “Why are you so invested in my nonexistent love life?"

“Because it’s fun,” Gojo replied with a grin.

Suguru groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

“No way,” Gojo said, pointing a finger at Musa. “She’s dodging the question, and I’m not letting it go.”

Musa huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. If you must know, I don’t have anyone in mind. Happy now?”

Gojo squinted at her, clearly unconvinced. “Liar. But I’ll let it slide—for now.”

Suguru threw a pillow at him. “Stop harassing my sister.”

Gojo caught the pillow with ease, tossing it back with a laugh. “You’re so overprotective. It’s cute, really.”

Musa shook her head, standing up and stretching. “I’m grabbing a drink. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

As she walked to the kitchen, she could still hear their banter.

“You really need to chill, Suguru,” Gojo said. “What are you gonna do when she actually starts dating someone?”

“She’s not dating anyone,nor is she going to" Suguru replied firmly.

Gojo laughed. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Musa smiled to herself as she poured a glass of water. Living with Suguru had its challenges, but moments like this reminded her of how much she loved their chaotic little family.

She padded into the kitchen, her socks soft against the wooden floors. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, letting out a contented sigh as she leaned against the counter. The day had been long, her brain fried from back-to-back lectures.

As she made her way back to the living room, the sound of a muffled grunt caught her attention. She peeked around the corner, raising an eyebrow at the sight before her. Gojo had Suguru in a headlock, the two of them wrestling like overgrown children on the floor.

"Tap out, Suguru! You’re done for!" Gojo crowed, his sunglasses askew and his grin obnoxiously wide.

"Get off me, idiot," Suguru growled, trying to twist free.

"Seriously? I left for 5 minutes" Musa muttered, leaning against the doorway with her glass in hand. "You two are ridiculous."

Both heads snapped up at her voice. Suguru immediately pushed Gojo off and sat up, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt to preserve whatever dignity he had left.

"Musa!" Gojo beamed, adjusting his sunglasses. "Perfect timing. We were just talking about you."

"Should I be worried?" she asked, taking a sip of her water.

"Not at all! Actually, I’ve got exciting news," Gojo said, springing to his feet and throwing an arm over her shoulder. "There’s a party tomorrow night—one I’m personally hosting—and you have to come."

Musa blinked, surprised. "A party? I don’t know…"

"Absolutely not," Suguru cut in, standing up and brushing his long hair back into place. His tone was firm. "She’s not going to your party, Gojo."

Gojo pouted. "Oh, come on, Suguru. It’ll be fun. What’s the harm?"

"The harm is you throwing a party with half the campus there," Suguru said, crossing his arms. "Yeah, Musa goes out with Shoko sometimes, but your parties are another level of chaos. I don’t want random guys from school hitting on her."

"First of all," Gojo said, holding up a finger, "she’s Suguru Geto’s sister. No one’s going to mess with her. Second, I’ll be there to keep an eye out. Third, Shoko’s coming, so she’ll have backup. And fourth, Musa’s not a kid. She can handle herself."

Suguru shot him a look. "She’s my sister, Gojo."

"And technically my little sister by association," Gojo said with a smug grin. "So I’d never let anything happen to her. Right, Musa?"

Musa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can you two stop arguing about me like I’m not standing here?"

Suguru frowned. "You’re not seriously considering this, are you? Gojo’s parties are a nightmare."

Gojo clutched his chest in mock offense. "I prefer the term ‘legendary.’"

Musa tilted her head, considering. "I don’t know… It does sound fun. Classes have been exhausting lately, and a little break wouldn’t hurt."

Suguru looked at her, concern etched into his features. "Musa…"

She smiled softly. "Relax, Suguru. I’ll think about it. If I go, it’s not like I’ll be alone. Shoko’s always got my back, and I trust you two to keep things under control."

Gojo clapped his hands together. "That’s the spirit! I’ll save you a spot near the karaoke machine."

"Don’t push it," Musa warned, though she couldn’t help but laugh.

Suguru let out a resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But if you go, I’m watching you like a hawk."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," Musa teased.

Gojo burst out laughing. "Oh, this is going to be great."

Suguru glared at him, but Musa could only shake her head. This is going to be one he'll of a party.

To be continued

#choso #chosokamo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #choso x oc #geto suguru #jjk suguru #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #jjk geto #jjk choso #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #jjk x you

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ash5monster01 · 5 months ago

Text

Getaway Camp : Fourteen

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!Fem

Warnings: language, past trauma, yelling, guilt, confrontation, explaining differences, hurt/no comfort

Summary: After a week Charlie and Valerie finally decide to have a conversation, if not with each other than everyone else.

word count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Thirteen ←→ Fifteen

July 24th 1961

For the entire weekend, everybody walked on eggshells. Even if half the staff didn’t know what had happened, it was clear there had been a rift. Everyone was used to seeing Charlie and Valerie together and not used to Chrissy being so quiet or hiding away. With the evident change everyone knew to keep their distance, which was nice on some level. Valerie had gotten sick of the staring though, especially since Chrissy had basically banned her from their shared cabin. She had no where to hide and she was tired of the curious and deciphering looks. That was going to end today.

Stretching her hands in front of her she eyes the cabin she knows Chrissy is in. She also knows the girl expects her to sneak in at night, undetected, just like she had been since this whole mess. Valerie was done with that. If she couldn’t fix things with Charlie, she was going to fix this. So with one last wave of confidence and determination, she stomps up the steps prepared to have a real conversation with the girl. It was about time.

“We need to talk” Valerie says once the door is closed shut behind her. Chrissy looks up from her spot on the bed, dark circles under her eyes, and a clear disgust coming her way.

“I’m not in the mood” she mutters, turning back to her magazine that Valerie knew she’s already read twice. Sighing Valerie walks into the room and plops down on the end of her bed.

“It’s been a week Chris, please. Let me just explain myself” and what Valerie doesn’t expect is the anger that flashes across the blonde girls face, her eyes ablaze. In fact she had never seen her so angry before, so it’s no surprise she recoils away from her.

“Explain what Valerie?! How you don’t give a shit about me or my feelings? I was in love with Nate, you knew that, and yet you let him lead me on. When he came to me that night I thought, this is it, he finally wants me. Then I find out you put him up to it with no regard to my feelings. I know I was being delusional but he should’ve been the one to break my heart, not you!” She shouts, finger pointing at Valerie, and suddenly Valerie feels worse. So she sits there, quietly while Chrissy pants beside her, eyes still wild.

“I know” she says after a moment, dropping her head to look at her lap. Chrissy doesn’t expect this, shoulders instantly loosening as she looks at the girl.

“What?” she asks and Valerie sighs, tears pooling in her eyes for the hundredth time this week.

“I know Chrissy. It was so awful of me, but you have to understand I wasn’t thinking” Valerie pleads, voice croaking around the guilt sitting in her throat. “I was only considering myself. I was being selfish and there’s no other way to describe it. My whole life girls have never liked me, I’ve never had to consider how they felt. I should’ve never asked Nate to lead you on but until recently I also had no idea what it was like to be in love”

Chrissy lets her words soak in, surprised to see the tears that stream down her brunette friend’s cheeks. Valerie was the toughest girl she knew. She tried to not let it bother her how she never got close. It’s weird to see her so broken now, begging for forgiveness, and looking so lost. Finally she says, “I wasn’t expecting that”

“I was awful to you, not just now but for years. My whole life I have been so mad at girls for alienating me that I never realized I had been doing the same to you” Valerie tells her, hand falling on top of her own. Chrissy looks at where they meet, finally understanding more about cool and strong Valerie than ever before.

“Us girls gotta stick together Val. No matter how different” Chrissy whispers, overturning her hand to clasp Valerie’s in her own and Valerie sniffles past her smile.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” she asks, hopeful eyes staring into Chrissy’s and the blonde girl can’t help the smile that cracks across her face.

“Yeah, but don’t pull some shit like that again” she tells her and much to both of their surprise, Valerie has her squashed in a tight hug.

“I won’t, I promise” she mutters against her and Chrissy sighs, hugging her back.

“In all fairness, we all do stupid things when we’re in love” she tells her and Valerie pulls back, her eyebrows furrowed as she looks at the girl.

“I don’t think it was love anymore. I was swept up in him and the moment. I’ve never loved anybody and now that we’re done I have to accept I probably never will” Valerie explains, trying to convince herself more than the blonde girl beside her.

“Valerie, you love that boy. Don’t let this mess make you think otherwise. You’re allowed to be heartbroken” Chrissy reassures and for what seems like the millionth time, Valerie’s lip starts to wobble as she tries not to cry.

“I never had to worry about things like this before. I never thought my short fling with Levi could bite me in the ass. I wish it wasn’t so hard to say how I feel and maybe Charlie would’ve known. Maybe he wouldn’t be ignoring me like he is now” Valerie rants, sad and frustrated all at the same time. It made her want to rip out her hair. She couldn’t even get the damn boy to look at her. She should’ve never let him kiss her under that canoe because all it did was confuse her more.

“It’ll work itself out Val. You can’t change the past and I have a feeling Charlie’s the kind of guy who will come around” the smile on the blonde girls face is sad, one filled with remorse that she didn’t get to have what Valerie did. She had put so much hope onto the possibility of Nate that she had missed everything going on around her for a very long time.

“Maybe, either way I’m still me. That’s all I ever needed anyway” Valerie says, a pressed smile and a slight truth behind her words. She knew she didn’t have to change to be happy, it was just nice to finally have someone who loved her the way she was too.

“Exactly, let’s agree right now that we love ourselves first before any of these other idiots” and Valerie snorts a laugh before holding a hand out. Chrissy quickly meets it in a firm shake.

“Deal”

When Charlie finishes his shift the last thing he wants to do is be social. Yet just like clockwork he makes the short walk to Ezra’s cabin. Surprisingly for a guy who loved calling Charlie out on his behavior, he had done a good job at not bringing up the boys sour mood. Yet even Charlie knew he was walking a thin line, and it was only a matter of time before Ezra finally said something. Which was correct for when the seventh day he had approached Ezra’s cabin with a scowl on his face, the man finally decided to speak up. A full week of torment, an expiration date, and Charlie’s foot didn’t even meet the front step of the porch before he finally brought it up.

“God boy, don’t be bringing that storm cloud of shit behavior with you again” Charlie froze like a deer in head lights, eyes lifting at the older man who had just swore at him.

“What?” he stammered, caught off guard by the man’s words.

“You heard me, I’ve put up with this sour attitude of yours for a week. So either you’re gonna tell me what’s wrong or don’t bother coming around here until you can put a smile on that face” he gestured at him and Charlie pondered it for a moment. Not wanting to rehash the details of his heartbreak but also knowing he had no where else to go. No one else to spend his free time with. So against his better judgement he continued to climb the porch and sit in his assigned seat.

“If I tell you I’ll just sound like a jealous, insecure, little boy” Charlie mutters, scowling deeper as he tries not to look at Ezra.

“I’ll tell you if that’s true or not, start from the beginning” so Charlie does. From how head over heels he got for Valerie to the truth or dare game, how it blew up, and Charlie found out he was nothing more than another guy. How he took it harder than he should’ve when he knew his love with Valerie had to end when summer did. How it was possible he was in the wrong here but he’s so stuck in his head he can’t even bring himself to acknowledge that part. The only thing he could think about was Neil and how every morning when he woke up still sad, he wanted his best friend, and for a fleeting moment if feels like he’s still here until Charlie remembers all over again.

“That’s quite a story” Ezra says once Charlie’s finished and Charlie can’t help the unironic chuckle that leaves his lips. Even he couldn’t have predicted his summer to go like this.

“Yeah, what a fool I was” Charlie says and Ezra begins to shake his head, never turning from his view of the lake.

“I think you’re missing the part son, where you found out if she was seeing both of you at the same time. I’d agree you were a fool but only because you didn’t confirm if the timelines ever crossed” Charlie freezes, mind flashing back to that rainy day in the cabin. Where Levi had admitted to the relationship but not providing any details. In this moment it hits Charlie entirely that this could’ve happened yesterday or three years ago. He just never asked.

“Oh my God, I’m a fucking idiot” Charlie groans, pressing his hand to his face. All this anger and sadness he had built around assumptions. How had he gone from the guy who never thought he’d care about a girl to a crazy and insecure boyfriend?

“Most boys your age are, it’s a learning experience. Yet I will give you that she also could’ve provided details or context prior, that way you wouldn’t have got as worked up as you did. A part of you knew something was there, it was just the truth that justified your suspicions. Hence the harsh reaction” and it all clicks, like pieces to a puzzle. Charlie had been trying to ignore the closeness between the two, having never seen a female and male friendship before. A small part of him always wanted to assume it was something more. When he found out there had been, he self sabotaged the rest of the way.

“I still screwed up with the best girl I’ve ever met” Charlie groans and Ezra bellows a laugh, not even the slightest bit surprised that this was the reason for Charlie’s behavior this week. When he was Charlie’s age he probably would’ve done the same thing.

“No you didn’t. Find her tomorrow and talk. Communication is key. It’s the things we keep to ourselves that kill us slowly” Ezra tells him and Charlie can’t help but think about Neil. His best friend who never once confided in him about how bad it was. Always putting on a smile and playing it off like it was nothing. If Neil had trusted him maybe he would’ve known, could’ve seen the behavior, noticed something more was wrong. Maybe he would still be here.

“Think she’ll forgive me?” Charlie asks and Ezra shrugs, not even able to count how many times he had screwed up and his wife had forgiven him.

“You always forgive the people you love. You have nothing to worry about” he tells him, finally breaking his gaze from the blue water and glancing at the young boy beside him. When Ezra says this, Charlie briefly wonders why his parents cross his mind.

“Doesn’t mean I get to keep her” Charlie says, eyes for the first time showing all the sadness stirred up inside of him. So for once Ezra just smiles back and comforts him, not swaying him one way or the other. He just supports him because not everything in life should you be told.

When Charlie makes the dark walk back to his cabin he doesn’t miss the loud laughter that floats past him. Eyes glancing up to find the friend group, one he was once apart of, making their way down the trail. Levi has an arm wrapped around Mia, Nate walks beside them with a beer in his hand, Andy and Alice have their fingers interlocked as their arms sway between them obnoxiously, Alex of course has his Captain hat on while Holly does her best to stay in step with him. What’s the most surprising is Valerie and Chrissy, arms hooked together, and big smiles on their faces as they converse with each other. The sight makes Charlie’s stomach twist.

“Hey Charlie” Levi is the one to point him out, offering a friendly smile that Charlie had resented but after his talk with Ezra he realizes how genuine it is. He does his best to stay calm when all eyes land on him.

“Hey man” Charlie nods at him, trying his best to continue on by without looking at Valerie. He wanted to talk to her but not like this, not now, not when she finally looked happy.

“We’re gonna go make a campfire and have some s’mores if you want to join” Alice offers, hand gesturing to the bottom of trail from where Charlie came. Finally Charlie glances at Valerie to find an unreadable expression on her face. He can’t help but think about their first kiss, how he would never be able to eat a s’more again without thinking of her.

“Maybe next time, I’m kind of tired” he finally responds, trying to ignore how Valerie’s face slightly falls. The group nods, all trying to ignore the obvious tension as Charlie rounds his way past them.

“I’ll be right back, meet you guys there” Levi says after a moment before turning and jogging back up the trail. Valerie watches but Chrissy gives her a tug, indicating to leave it alone, and she obeys.

“Charlie, wait up man” Levi calls for him and Charlie slows, hating what an idiot he had been. Valerie did deserve a nice guy like Levi, not him. When Levi reaches him his breath pattern doesn’t even change, as if the jog uphill hadn’t affected him at all. “I just wanted to apologize, you should’ve never found out like that, but you have to know that me and Valerie don’t like each other like that”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be apologizing Levi. I didn’t let either of you explain. I assumed and that was wrong of me” Charlie says and of all the things Levi had expected him to say, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to even comprehend.

“I guess we both should’ve been more transparent” Levi finally says, unable to find any other response and Charlie chuckles.

“You really didn’t have to tell me. I should’ve trusted that Valerie wasn’t using me. I owe her an apology more than anyone” Charlie says earnestly, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. “You’re a good guy Levi, even if it wasn’t romantic I understand why she tried”

“Come with me, talk to her” Levi says, heart aching for his friend and the honest boy in front of him. He knew Charlie was a good guy, Levi realizes now he was the one who had broke Valerie’s heart, not him. He should’ve never let Charlie walk out that door without explaining himself.

“Tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight she looks happy and I want her to have that” Charlie glances down the path, unable to see the group of friends but still feeling her there.

“She misses you” Levi says, seeing it in his friend’s eyes and how she looks for Charlie in every room they enter. She had fallen in love and wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

“I miss her, but stop wasting your time with me. If I can tell you anything, it’s that you should spend every second with your friends that you can. Sadly they won’t always be around” Charlie tells him, tears burning at the back of his eyes. He can’t believe he ever chose to distance himself from someone he loved when he yearned to be close to everyone he was forced from.

“Talk to her first thing tomorrow then. I can offer you the same advice” Charlie gives a pressed smile but nods anyway, agreeing with the boy in front of him.

“Have a good night Levi” he tells him and Levi smiles back, digging his hands into his pockets.

“You too Charlie”

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