#triple drabble

[airas-story]

“Hey.” 

A nudge to his side accompanied the word, pulling Stephen away from his book. Stephen looked up, raising an eyebrow in what he hoped adequately conveyed ‘you better have a good reason to be interrupting me’. Tony was, as ever, immune, nothing more than an amused grin tugging at his lips. “What?” Stephen asked, only a shade politer than the look he’d sent Tony’s way.

“Happy Birthday,” Tony said. 

Stephen blinked, momentarily baffled. He glanced at his watch. 12:01. Well, look at that, it was his birthday. He wasn’t exactly sure how to respond. Stephen didn’t exactly put much stock in birthdays. They seemed a general waste of time to him. So what? He was a year older. That was hardly cause for celebration. 

But then this was Tony, who had turned at least half of his parties into a spectacle. Though it’d been several years since his last birthday spectacle. At the very least, none of his birthday parties had made the news—the bar was low.

“Thank you,” Stephen said after a moment, figuring it was a safe enough answer. “But really, birthdays are a social convention that should have died a long time ago. I’d prefer there be no fuss.”

Tony arched an eyebrow at that. “Define fuss.”

Stephen did not think it was a good sign that Tony needed a clarification on that point. “No party.”

Tony smirked, eyes glittering with amusement. “Define party.”

“Tony.”

Tony grinned. “What can I say, Stephen? There are a lot of people out there who want to celebrate the fact that you’re in our lives.”

Stephen grimaced. 

Tony sighed. “What about a dinner with the group, and then I take you out somewhere, just the two of us?”

Stephen considered; that seemed… doable. “No party?”

“No party.”

“Deal.”

[infiniteeight8]

stephen's birthday triple drabble

I believe that today (November 18) is the generally agreed upon birthday for Stephen Strange, so here is a ficlet on the subject. 😀

-

Stephen had been debating this for almost three days, the entire time Tony had been away on business, but the moment he laid eyes on his partner the decision crystallized. The words tumbled out as soon as they were done kissing hello: “Do you have much on your schedule for Monday?”

Tony eyes lit up, but his answer was studiously casual. “Nope. Nothing on the calendar at all.”

Stephen leaned back from the embrace, arms still looped around Tony’s waist, and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Stephen smiled. Tony never had nothing planned; there were too many demands on his time. He must have arranged it that way, which meant he knew what Monday was. He must have been waiting to follow Stephen’s lead. Either that or he was planning an extravagant surprise. “How convenient,” Stephen said. “Monday is my birthday. I was hoping we could spend it together.”

“I’d love to,” Tony said. He hesitated. “I wasn’t sure if you celebrated.”

No extravagant surprise, then. Stephen was relieved. “It’s been years,” he admitted. “The idea of being celebrated for existing instead of for my achievements used to piss me off.” Tony’s grip on him tightened a little. Existing had started to seem like something worth a lot more recognition, lately. For both of them. Stephen leaned in and gave him a slow, reassuring kiss. He rested their foreheads together in the aftermath. “I want to spend a whole day just enjoying being with you.”

“Does that mean I’m your present?” Tony teased. 

“Depends. Do I get to unwrap you?”

“As many times as you want.”

Stephen smirked. “Do I get to choose the wrapping?”

Tony scoffed. “You don’t wrap your own gifts! But I guarantee you’ll like it.”

“I look forward to it,” Stephen said, pulling Tony in again.

[seokmn]

OUR SHIRTS

pairing: bf!seungcheol x gn!reader

wc: 0.3k words

warnings: mention of reader’s small figure, suggestive comment abt taking a shirt off

seungcheol seemed to be searching for something in specific in his room, specially in his closet. confused by not finding it, he made his way to the kitchen, where you were peacefully making some tea. drying his damp hair with the side of the towel that was around his neck and looking around the house in attempt to find whatever he was trying to find.

“hey, honey. have you seen my-“ he stopped in his track when he landed his eyes on you turning around to look at him while he’s talking, he pointed at you and raised his eyebrow. “is this my shirt?”

you looked down at the shirt you were wearing before looking back at him with a smile on your face, “yeah, were you looking for it?” he simply nodded, his eyes fixed on your small figure with his large shirt on, complete hypnotized by your beauty. “i can take it off if you want to” you said with your hands already traveling to the hem of the shirt to take it off and give it to him.

he immediately shook his head, “no!” he cleared his throat, trying to get back to his senses, before letting out a chuckle and pulling you closer to him by your waist. “y’know, as much as the thought of you taking it off is very tempting, the sight of you wearing it is so…” he looked at you up and down with a slight smirk on his face. “breathtaking”

you chuckled and he hugged you, placing his head in the crook of your neck. he took a deep breath and let it out before mumbling against your skin, “i love when you wear my shirts”

“your shirts?” you pushed him back a little bit, just enough to get to meet his eyes, “babe, theyre not your shirts, theyre our shirts”

he scoffed and rested his head in you neck again, getting back to the original position and gently squeezing your sides. “i love when you wear our shirts”

[starryeyedjanai]

Steve's sprawled out on the couch with Eddie on top of him when the phone rings.

This is the first time they’ve had time for this in a week, so he’s not surprised when Eddie leans back to say, “Let it ring.”

He trails kisses down Steve's neck and Steve relaxes back into the couch—the loud sound of the phone ringing had made his muscles tense.

Eddie sucks a mark on his neck as he grinds their hips together, the sound of the phone becoming background noise again.

Steve shivers when Eddie runs his teeth over his pulse point.

The phone stops ringing and the answering machine starts going, playing the recorded, “You’ve reached the Harrington’s. Sorry we couldn't make it to the phone,” message out loud.

Eddie’s mouth catches Steve's in a bruising kiss right before the caller’s voice rings out shrill over the line.

“Steve, it’s happening. If you’re home, get to the hospital now,” Robin’s voice says and then the answering machine clicks off.

Fuck. They’ve been waiting for this phone call for over a week.

They immediately spring apart and Eddie hauls him up by the hand. He throws Steve his shirt and Steve pulls it over his head quickly.

“Fuck,” he says. “Robin’s going to make fun of me for the rest of our lives for missing the call that my nephew is being born.”

Eddie’s pulling his pants on with an amused expression. He laughs and says, “You think I’m gonna let you forget? You’ve been wound up about this for over a week now. Baby Buckley has incredible timing.”

Steve glares at him. “Yeah, yeah. The one time I try to let loose for ten minutes to be with my boyfriend is the time that Chrissy goes into labor.”

Incredible timing, indeed.

[firenati0n]

forget-me-nots, breeze, forehead kiss - a triple drabble for @hollivens 💐

It’s a cloudless day, sky an endless cerulean as Henry walks home from the shelter. He’s holding a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots, courtesy of a delivery from Alex. Every year on this date like clockwork, he receives flower arrangements at work—some from shelter staff, a particularly colorful one from Pez, but a striking blue one always from Alex.

His eyes sting as he rounds the corner to the brownstone. It’s been years, but he isn’t ever sure what the morning will bring on this day. Maybe it’s sinking into his bed, watching his father’s movies with memories flickering behind his eyelids, faded with time. Or, it’s a day of courage, spent in the shelter or in a park, David and quiet contemplation keeping him company. 

Today, in the gentle breeze, there’s a whispered affirmation—you can do this, I believe in you, I am always with you, I’m proud of how far you’ve come. 

He wipes at his eyes before rummaging for his keys, a futile exercise—the door suddenly swings open to a beaming Alex. 

“Just in time,” Alex says, before pulling Henry in by the sleeve of his coat. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Between the caress of his father outside and the comforting smell of Alex’s efforts inside, Henry knows—he will be okay. 

Alex carefully watches the flicker of emotions cross Henry’s face before pushing himself up on his toes to give Henry a forehead kiss, tender and sweet. He always knows, because he’s Alex, and his fidelity to Henry’s emotions knows no bounds. And isn’t that lovely? The knowledge that Henry is never alone, that no matter how the day goes, whether he’s cocooned in a blanket or braving through the workday, he always has this to come back to. A bouquet of flowers, a forehead kiss, and Alex’s cooking—home. 

[disasterbuck]

interlude

married buddie | 300 words

With a sigh and his eyes still closed, Buck stretched an arm out across the bed in search of Eddie. He found nothing but air and a pillow, so he cracked his eyes open to confirm that the other man wasn't there.

Sitting up, Buck looked over to see the bedroom door open. With a yawn, he got out of bed and wandered down the hallway in search of his husband.

Eddie was in the kitchen, leaning against a counter with his head bowed.

"Baby?" Buck whispered as he slipped up behind him, winding an arm around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"Hey," Eddie said, lifting his head slightly and putting a hand over Buck's arm. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"I'm not sure," Buck confessed with another yawn. "I just woke up and you were gone. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just can't sleep."

Buck turned his face into Eddie's neck and began pressing soft lazy kisses to his skin.

"This is not helping me sleep," Eddie said with a chuckle.

"Okay, and?" Buck asked, kissing his way up to Eddie's ear and tugging playfully on the lobe with his teeth. "Maybe I'm done with sleep for now."

"Is that so?" Eddie asked, the words coming out breathy.

"We can have a sleeping interlude," Buck whispered directly into his ear, then spun him around and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "How does that sound?"

"Honestly?" Eddie murmured, winding his arms around Buck's waist. "It sounds amazing."

Grinning, Buck nuzzled their noses together and then stepped back, his hand slipping down to find Eddie's so he could lead him back to their bedroom.

"Let's go have interlude sex," he said with a wink.

Eddie snorted and rolled his eyes, but went with him eagerly.

[outtoshatter]

Casual

For @twistedamusement

They both agreed they could—wanted to—keep it casual. It became almost a game to see who could stay the most casual, no matter what they did, what they felt. Derek casually sealed their first kiss. Stiles casually pulled him into bed the first time. Breathing hard, staring at the ceiling with stars in his eyes, Derek asked, "Wanna do that again?" Casually, of course. Stiles rolled on top of him and playfully bit at his chest. "You up for it, big guy?" Days and nights and weeks later, Stiles casually cooked dinner for them both, and Derek made breakfast. Spare toothbrushes were added to each bathroom without fanfare. Early one morning, still pleasantly buzzing from the night before, Derek crept to the kitchen, digging in the bag he'd left on the counter. Stiles was still asleep, arm flung across the bed onto Derek's side. Derek set the key casually in his upturned palm, then quietly dressed for work. His phone was silent all day. When he returned home, there were sneakers by the door, three hoodies in the coat closet, and a note on the fridge: Went to get dinner -S He smiled. Stiles moved his things in and a year later, casually sent Derek listing for bigger places, closer to both of their jobs. They found a larger house, one with a yard and a reading nook for Derek and an office space for Stiles. "I love you," Derek said, casually of course. Stiles kissed him, hands at his waist, nearly sweeping him off his feet. "I love you, too." Just as casual. Six months, hundreds of boxed and gallons of paint later, Derek woke to the scent of bacon and waffles wafting into the room from downstairs. A black velvet box sat casually on his chest.

Also on ao3 🔒

[polutrope]

The night his father rides out over Anfauglith, Fingon does not sleep. He stands upon the parapet of Barad Eithel’s highest watchtower. It is a clear night of icy starlight — but to the North all is dark. 

The Eagle appears suddenly, like a blue brushstroke against the blushing dawn. All through the slow sunrise Fingon’s heart hangs upon the brink of hope and despair. Could Manwë’s pity bless them twice? 

He teeters towards despair on the Eagle’s return journey, for it is somber and without urgency. Still, Fingon waits. He waits until the ends of his nails are scraped away from clinging to the stone walls.

The Eagle wheels down into the jagged bowl of the Echoriath. 

Fingon forestalls the onslaught of grief with denials, clinging, clinging. Say not that he is gone. Say not that the Noldor have lost their King. The Eagle rises again!

“Thorondor!” Fingon cries, knowing he can be no other.

Once the Lord of Eagles bore Fingon hither. Against reason Fingon hopes to see his father where once Thorondor accepted the burden of another Fingon loves.

But Thorondor’s back is bare. Fingon chokes, nearly collapses onto the stone — but his eyes catch on a flash of light beneath the Eagle’s great body. He hauls himself to standing. 

Thorondor lands upon the tower’s roof, huge and majestic. In his talons he holds Fingolfin’s sword. Ringil, glittering through ropes of thick black blood. 

The Eagle offers no words of explanation or consolation. He lets the sword fall gently at Fingon’s feet, and that is enough. Fingon knows: Fingolfin has fallen, but not in vain. 

Reverential, grieving, Fingon bends to pick it up. As he stands, his cheeks are streaked with the salt trails of his tears, blown back by the beat of the Eagle’s wings. 

[jedi-order-apologist]

There's no sun in the shadow of the wizard

Bail and Breha discuss their fears and their hopes under the new regime. Written for Fandom Empire Mahjong 2024 - Prompt: Lost/300 words and Star Wars 100 - Prompt: Child and Lyrical Titles Bingo - Prompt: Free Space ("Stargazer" - Rainbow)

Read on AO3

“I was worried,” Breha admitted, “I kept checking the names on the arrests, wondering when I’d see yours.”

“We were strategic about it, Mon and I,” Bail said. He reached out a single finger to brush Leia’s face, and she shuffled in her sleep in Breha’s arms. He’d already explained everything to his wife that he couldn’t over comms. “I’m sure Palpatine has his suspicions, but we weren’t the visible face of his opposition. He expects the arrests will serve their purpose to make everyone else fall in line.”

“Far too many will, I’m sure.”

Bail closed his eyes briefly. “We saw the signs. We made our preparations. And yet there’s still a part of me that can’t believe this is the situation we find ourselves in. The people offered up the Republic on a platter. And now, so many lives lost, and so many more I know we will lose. Dark days are ahead, Breha.”

She fixed him with an earnest look. “We will not let that stop us.”

“I had no doubt of that,” he said, a hint of a smile returning to his face as he met her gaze, before returning his attention to the child in her arms. “All is not lost. It never is, as long as we keep hope in our hearts. But there’s work to be done if we’re to keep the memory of the Republic alive, and disrupt the Imperial effort. I can only hope that there will be enough of us.”

“More will come,” Breha said, and leaned against Bail as he tenderly took Leia out of her arms, careful not to wake her. “We all have our part to play.”

“Empires fall in time. We may not live to see it, but let our efforts be enough that Leia will.”

[dallianceangel]

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 🛁🍻

Here’s a triple drabble for you all, I love me some soft Happy😍

🛁 comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 🛁

“Missed me, handsome?” you ask Happy, leaning against the doorframe, still in your nurse’s uniform.

“Always,” Happy whispers with a smile, the sight of you in your uniform immediately turning him on.

Closing the door behind you, Happy can barely keep his composure as he watches you slowly strip to your underwear, his eyes darting to the hickeys he left on your breasts a few days ago. Guiding you into the adjoining bathroom, your boyfriend greets you with a desperate kiss.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed you.”

You can’t help smiling. “I’ve missed you, so much.”

Rock music starts playing in the distance, a sure sign that another rowdy clubhouse party has just begun. Normally, you’d show your face before retreating to Happy’s dorm a few hours later, but tonight you’re both in no mood to party.

“Lavender or Jasmine?” Happy asks you, holding up two bottles of bubble bath liquid, hoping a bubble bath will help you recover from your difficult shift.

“Jasmine, please.”

While you step outside to grab a bottle of beer from the small fridge in the corner of his room, Happy works on drawing the most romantic bubble bath you have ever seen. Lighting some soy wax candles, dimming the lights, putting on some romantic music, making sure the water is the exact temperature that you like, he’s gone all out for you. “Come on in, darlin’!”

Removing your underwear and grabbing another beer from the fridge, you join your boyfriend in the bathtub, completely in awe of what he’s done for you. “This is perfect, baby, thank you.”

He reaches out to hold your hand. “Think they’ll miss us?”

“They are probably too drunk to notice we’re not there.”

Happy chuckles, clinking his beer bottle against yours, signalling the start of your romantic evening together.

[airas-story]

Stephen isn't aware of the effect he has on Tony until they're trapped in a cramped, enclosed space for a while and Tony starts to get flustered.

Stephen cursed, shifting in the dark closet to find the doorknob, the act made harder by the way Tony was pressed against him—chest warm against Stephen’s own, his arms around Stephen’s waist—trying to do the same thing. “Just let me do it,” Stephen said, frustrated. “Give me space.”

Tony huffed in annoyance. “Trust me, if I could give you space, I would.”

Stephen found the knob and tried to twist. It didn’t move. Great, they were stuck until someone found them. “What, desperate to get away from me?” Stephen asked, snarking a little to hide his frustration with the situation.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Tony muttered, tone just above a mutter. Given how close they were, there was no way Stephen wouldn’t hear it; Tony had to know that.

Anything Stephen could say would start a fight, so Stephen didn’t say anything. They both shuffled a little, but there was no way to get space from each other. If anything, they pressed tighter together. Tony let out a strange noise—distress—his breathing hitched.

Stephen’s hands automatically found Tony’s hips. “Hey,” he said quietly. “We’re going to be okay. Just breathe.”

“I know,” Tony said, a strange note in his voice, a sort of strain. Tony swayed a little, his breath warm against Stephen’s neck before he tried to pull away again. It took Stephen a moment to realize the reaction hadn’t been fear.

Stephen licked his lips in anticipation. They were pressed tight against the wall, but Stephen pushed Tony back the spare centimeter and crowded in—more intent than movement.

Tony groaned. “Stephen, you’ve got to—”

“Tell me—” Stephen brought his mouth to Tony’s ear. Tony’s breath hitched again. “Do you really want to get away from me?”

Tony let out a quiet gasp. “God, no.”

[infiniteeight8]

First encounter between Tony and Stephen actually be when Iron Man saved (pre-accident) Doctor Strange.

I am skipping, like, 20 prompts in the queue to write this one that came in just a few days ago, but I’ve had a weird day and this was the only prompt that the muse gave me anything for, so here you go!

-

Stephen’s going to die. Right here. Right now.

Some enhanced asshole with a grudge had attacked the gala he was attending, and Stephen had had the immense bad luck to be getting some air on one of the balconies during the attack, and now he’s standing on the crumbling remains of said balcony, feeling a little more of it fall away from under his foot every moment.

He can hear that the Avengers have arrived. The asshole will be taken care of shortly. But they’re inside, and he’s outside. 

Stephen can’t fit both feet on his rapidly shrinking perch anymore. He closes his eyes and leans back against the building.

The remaining concrete gives way all at once, and for one heart-stopping moment Stephen is in freefall.

Then a mechanical whine fills his ears and rigid metal arms pull him against sun-warmed metal and he’s not falling anymore, he’s flying. Stephen opens his eyes to find Iron Man’s golden faceplate just inches away. 

“You okay?” Stark says, the speakers not enough to mask the concern in his voice.

“Yes,” Stephen says, a little breathless. He hangs onto the armor. Stark is carrying them away from the building, presumably for safety, but Stephen is mesmerized by the sensation. He’s never had flying dreams before, but he thinks he’ll have them now. When they start to descend, he makes an involuntary noise of disappointment. 

Stark laughs. “Believe me, I understand the sentiment. Unfortunately, I have a fight to get back to.”

“Rain check?” Stephen says as they touch down. 

“Bold of you,” Stark teases, but he hesitates before taking off again. “Maybe one day.”

He’s gone, soaring back into the air, before Stephen can give his name. Still, Stephen is willing to hope—he’s sure Tony Stark can find him, name or no name.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Embarrassing Pictures

Ian was having one of his better days. He was coming off a depressive episode that left him fairly tired, so he was lounging on the couch while Mickey rummaged through the living room in search of something to do. 

“You’re making a mess,” Ian murmured. “Fiona’s not gonna be happy.” 

“She can deal with it. Not any different than when those other two are messing shit up.” 

“What are you looking for anyway?” Ian asked, his eyes still shut. 

Mickey just made a noise. He clearly didn’t know. 

Ian drew the blanket up closer, getting himself comfortable. That is, until he heard his boyfriend talking to himself. 

“Jesus. How many pictures are there of you Gallaghers?” 

Ian’s eyes shot open. He sat straight up. “Don’t open that,” he blurted out. 

“This?” Mickey raised a brow. 

“Yeah...It’s, uh, old and fragile.” 

“Doesn’t look fragile,” Mickey started to grin. “You got any embarrassing pictures of you in here?” 

Fuck yeah, he did. Too many. And Ian knew without a doubt he’d never live it down if Mickey saw them. 

“Mickey, put it away-” 

“Fuck that,” Mickey opened it right up, snorting. “Shit, Gallagher, and I thought the floppy hair was bad.” 

Ian’s cheeks went red. 

“Give that back!” 

Mickey jumped to his feet, dodging Ian’s attempt at grabbing it. “Holy shit,” he cackled when he flipped the page, “are you seriously sucking your thumb?” 

Fuck, Ian thought with a groan. 

Fiona had taken that picture years ago when he was no more than four or so. He’d been asleep, didn’t even know it was taken until he came across it years later. 

“Mickey,” he whined. “Give it back. Come on!” 

“Ain’t gonna happen, Firecrotch,” Mickey pocketed the picture, shooting him a smirk. “I’m keeping that one.” 

“What? No!” Ian made a beeline for him but his boyfriend was faster. He was on the other side of the couch in seconds. “Come on, Mick.” 

“Bet Mandy’d love to see this.” 

“No!” 

[hayanwulf]

Maybe supreme family having a their first game night.

Stephen stared at the scene in front of him.

Tony and the kids were gathered on the table with Morgan in his lap. At the center of the table sat a Monopoly map. Some D&D dice were scattered on one side, alongwith a neatly placed stack of ...Uno cards?

All in all, it was a monstrosity.

Morgan rolled the dice for Tony, whose shoulders immediately slumped when he realized where he’d landed in the Monopoly map. Peter whooped, pumping his fist in the air. “Ha! Pay up.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Peter, then a smirk slowly grew in his lips as he produced the hidden stash of Uno cards he owned, and threw a card down at the table. It was a +2 card. “Double and give it to the next kid.”

The next kid in question was Harley. He didn’t even look up from where he was reading something on his phone, and threw down an Uno reverse card. Tony’s jaw slacked.

Stephen was pretty sure that wasn’t even how Uno worked.

“What on Vishanti’s name are you all playing?” He asked, drawing the room’s attention.

“We call it The Convergence of Games!” America answered. “It’s a mix of D&D, Uno, and Monopoly.”

Stephen stared at them like they had spontaneously turned into potted plants. “Why!?”

Tony snorted. “Cuz no one could agree on what to play.” He passed Monopoly cash towards Peter.

“So you just.. decided to mix them all?”

“Why not?” Peter shrugged, picking new cards from the stack of Uno on the table and holding it out towards Stephen’s direction. “Wanna join? It’s fun!”

“He won’t,” Tony said, his eyes trained on Stephen, challenge sparkling there. “He’s a wuss.”

Well then.

Stephen took the offered cards and sat down. “What are the rules?”

[digitalfantome]

Jealousy Tropes.

Carmen was annoyed.

The journalist kept asking Sydney stupid questions. Sure, the man wasn’t a Chef, but still—it was pretty basic stuff, things every human being should know. The worst part was, she was humoring him on purpose; she kept smiling sweetly at him, answering every single question thrown her way and there was no way she hadn’t noticed by now the way the man was staring at her.

A server passed by and he grabbed a champagne flute, making his way towards them. Placing a hand on her lower back, he offered her the drink, not even trying to hide his scowl. She accepted the flute, took a sip and turned back to the journalist. Every time they attended an event it was the same—there was always someone trying their luck. Not even the wedding band sitting on her ring finger seemed to stop them.

If you don’t want this to happen, all you gotta do is start making an effort to be nice to the journalists and food critics instead of relegating me to the task, was the retort he got the last time he tried to point out how she needed to stop being so nice to them.

They could go fuck for all he cared, fucking vultures.

“Excuse us,” he intertwined their fingers together and started dragging her away from him, not really waiting for a response, when he deemed enough was enough.

“Your jealousy used to be cute, but we’re literally married now, Carm,” she whispered, although still allowing him to drag her away from the crowd.

He pressed the elevator button, “Who said I’m jealous?”

“Your actions?”

“I’m not jealous, Syd.”

“Then why are you leading us back to our room?”

“Because I wanna spend the rest of my night alone with my wife.”

——— A collection of SydCarmy ficlets inspired by prompts of the #SydCarmyWeek2024.

← // →

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

I should have been there.

As a searing wave of guilt surged, Polo resisted the urge to start fanning himself against it. Any large movement might jostle the bed and wake his charge, when he needed all the rest he could get. Instead he laced his fingers ever so gently through Niccolo’s hair, thumb tracing the fold of the bandages. The boy didn’t stir.

What if he had never woken again? What if he had slipped away down there in the dark and the cold, without Polo at his side?

Polo had never shown a particularly overt protectiveness of him. Not like Pooky with Annabelle, not like Hollow had since proven herself to be with Anthony. How could he have brushed Niccolo’s safety off on her? How could he have been so flippant?

He and Niccolo weren’t quite like the others. They badgered each other more often than they seemed to get along. But Niccolo was still bound to him, meant to be in his care.

I was supposed to be there for him.

Was he…a bad friend?

The thought made his insides writhe violently in simultaneous denial and despair. He hadn’t fallen that far, had he? Niccolo would have told him as much, would have urged him to shape up. He was always upfront about such things that bothered him.

Of course, he didn’t have to. He shouldn’t have to. After Niccolo and the others left the cafeteria without him, Smudge and Twistee had sent him dubious glances. That should have been enough. With every faint, tremulous hitch of pain in Niccolo’s breaths, even while he slept, the truth grew heavier and heavier.

This never should have happened.

Nevertheless, equally true was this: nothing like it would ever happen again. Not on his watch. Not to his boy.