#trying to make sense of my childhood again and fix the broken cracks and she's here for me though it all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

petrichxxr · 4 years ago

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can we talk again | l.hj

A/N: this is a veeeeery belated birthday gift for @letteredwings, happy birthday bub! I love you a lot!

Word Count: 15,304

Genre: mutual pining, light fluff, romance, and angst

Pairing: fem!reader x lee hyunjae (the boyz)

Warnings: lots of mutual pining and me rambling trying to get it right. also please keep in mind this is a work of fiction and the way certain members of tbz are depicted are simply that: fictional, and do not reflect my views of them.

Summary: After the sudden break-up of a three year relationship that leads you back home to your family and friends, Hyunjae vows that he’ll give you the time and space you need to heal without letting his own feelings get in the way. But what he doesn’t know is that you, too, share similar feelings—and now that you’re back in each other’s presences, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to keep emotions at bay.

Certain feelings just couldn’t be described in words, no matter how hard one tried. Or, in the very least—they could not be described to the extent that they were felt. Every word in every language could be used, with as many descriptors and synonyms as possible, to convey the emotions. The notion of what was being conveyed, ultimately, was understood. Sometimes, though, even those words never truly matched up to that exact feeling, even when described down to the finest detail, as accurately as possible. It would only ever be accurate to that specific person. No single person would ever feel the same thing—the exact same way—even if the emotion was universal.

To Hyunjae, you were something akin to the universe. To the night sky and the way the stars were littered about the darkest places of the earth, yet shining so brightly and beautifully. Something akin to a supernova and the way light scattered, breaking, igniting in the sky. Vast, with depths that couldn’t be touched no matter how far you might reach. The way you smiled and the way you laughed filled Hyunjae with that sort of emotion—but that wasn’t something he could so easily convey. It wasn’t something that, even when he put it into words—even if he described it as exactly that—made sense. It didn’t quite feel right falling from the tip of his tongue, almost foreign; it didn’t correctly describe the way his chest clenched or the way his breath would catch within said cavity of that chest. It barely even glossed on the fact that his heart would lurch into his throat and he’d feel an ache he couldn’t soothe.

You were always just a fingertip’s length away from him. So far, yet so close.

For the longest time, describing such emotions had come so awkwardly to Hyunjae. He’d bit his tongue and suppressed them. Because you weren’t his, it felt as though his emotions weren’t rightfully his own to describe. Despite belonging to him, he couldn’t understand why he felt so confused—why it almost felt like he were robbing someone. Hyunjae had always felt if he were to put his emotions into words, if he were to make them tangible, then it might break the facade he’d put up; a marble, impenetrable wall. If that broke, he could only imagine the way that bright and beautiful universe might also fall apart.

“If you don’t stop sighing, I’m going to think it’s you who just went through a breakup and not her.” Chanhee’s voice cuts through Hyunjae’s thoughts like a knife, breaking the silence he’d been drowning himself in for who knows how long.

Almost immediately, he’s dragged back to reality and out of his trance. The sounds of the restaurant around them come flooding back into his senses—too fast, too loud. Almost overwhelming, having forgotten where he was at.

“Why are you the one sighing, anyway? Shouldn’t you be happy about this?” Younghoon pipes up, where he sits next to Hyunjae. He nods at the unlocked phone on the table, the screen contents visible to everyone. It’s like a slap in the face to Hyunjae, seeing her name, and her photo—and her recently changed relationship status. “Anyway, who even updates their Facebook relationship status anymore? That’s a thing?”

“Are you saying he should be a rebound guy?” Kevin blurts, without thinking. He’s not even looking up from his food as he mixes dishes together. Younghoon snorts at his words and Chanhee, sitting next to him, gives him an elbow to the rib. Kevin’s only reaction is to grunt, but he continues mixing.

“He’s sighing because he hasn’t spoken to her in three years,” Chanhee is the one who replies, before Hyunjae can even fathom how to form a coherent thought and turn it into a comprehensible sentence. “And she changed her status as an announcement that she’s moving back from America.”

“What?” Before Hyunjae can further consider how to form thoughts into any sort of verbal communication, that single word slips past his lips, like a rubber band snapping.

Kevin pauses his stirring to look up in surprise, and Younghoon startles next to Hyunjae.

Chanhee quirks a brow in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“You literally just explained that I haven’t spoken to her in three years. How the hell would I know?” Hyunjae purses his lips. “The most we’ve done is check in on each other. Casual chat, ‘hello’s’ and ‘how are you’s’ and conversations that drop dead after just a few replies.”

How had it ended up that way? Hyunjae wonders, allowing his eyes to trail down from those sitting at the table around him to his food. He stills his hand, which had been mindlessly stirring chopsticks through ramen broth for who knows how long, now. How could he so easily have these feelings that were much larger and greater than anything he’d known in existence, yet so easily fall out of touch with you? How could he harbor these feelings for so long, despite the distance?

Hyunjae couldn’t really place when things started to slip through his fingers—little bits and pieces of you and him and your memories together, grains of sand filtering through and scattering away in the wind. It had happened just like that. Unknowingly and quietly, too easily. How naturally it had come about, with neither of you expecting it or resisting the change, was almost concerning. Relationships were fickle things. They came and went in waves. Some were permanent, some fleeting, and some just happened to stick around longer than others. But how could a relationship of almost ten years just slowly dissipate like it did? How had childhood friends turned into almost strangers?

“What are you going to do, then?” Chanhee asks.

How could that question even be asked? Hyunjae frowns down at his food. It took two to keep a relationship going. As confused as he was about all that had happened—or rather, not happened—he himself was just as guilty for not holding up his end of the relationship through the years. As soon as you’d started dating him, things had just slowly fallen away. What was he meant to do? He was at fault, too. He shouldn’t have let your dating life get in the way. Who was he to just barge back in again?

Hyunjae simply shrugs, fiddling with his chopsticks until he’s collected a portion of ramen to eat. “Nothing. It’s not really my place to do anything.”

—

That, of course, Hyunjae realized—was easier said than done. Two weeks later, with you standing in the same room as him, it was like he could feel the presence of your energy vibrating. He hadn’t interacted with you at all, choosing to distract himself with whatever was nearest to him any time you glanced his way. There were a few fleeting moments in which your eyes had locked, and Hyunjae felt as if everything in his chest was about to combust. It was as though all the emotions he’d thought he’d successfully suppressed had been reignited; though with the way they were slowly seeping out and making themself more known to him as the night went on, he’d describe it to something akin to a small leak in a dam.

You, too, were hyper-aware of just how near Hyunjae was. Yet he felt so far away, as well, and you weren’t sure how to fix that. There was some sort of imaginary wall between you. There had been for years now, a tension slowly building up that you weren’t sure how to break through or knock down. You’d made a few attempts but pulled back, and had felt him doing the same—maybe it was mutual. But now, here you were back in Korea, standing at a welcoming party among all your closest friends and your childhood best friend, and he felt like a stranger. It was a wretched feeling. What was worse was the feeling of uncertainty, and not being sure how to fix it.

Maybe it was just the alcohol in your system, but you were almost certain whenever you sought Hyunjae out in the crowd, you found him staring. You were almost certain that every time he’d catch you turning his way, or the few fleeting moments you’d made eye contact, Hyunjae would quickly glance away; would quickly bury himself in the crowd among friends and familiar faces. Had the two of you merely lost touch? Or was there more to it? Had you made some sort of mistake you hadn’t been aware of? You let out a sigh… you weren’t sure how to fix something broken with cracks you couldn’t see; and you weren’t sure what to apologize for if you weren’t aware of what was wrong.

A sudden outburst from Chanhee, standing next to you, makes you startle in surprise and straight out of your thoughts. “I swear I’m going to prematurely age with all the sighing I’ve been hearing these last two weeks! And now you’re sighing too?!” He lets out a sigh of his own, paired with the pursing of his lips. “I swear if I get wrinkles—”

You turn to look at Chanhee in surprise. “Two weeks of sighing? Who—?”

“Who do you think?” Chanhee retorts, nodding in the direction that you’d most recently seen Hyunjae in. “Just go talk to him already. You know how he is, he’s not going to talk to you.”

“But there’s no way that I can either. How in the world do you just go talk to someone you haven’t talked to in three years? If our conversations go anything like they did online…”

“You’re overthinking.” The bluntness that Chanhee delivers this statement with surprises you, and then immediately has you on the defensive.

“If I’m overthinking, then what is he doing?”

“Also overthinking,” Chanhee replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It makes you scowl at him, which he reciprocates by pursing his lips again. “Look, you both have your own ways of overthinking things and you’ll just have to accept that. You sit here brooding and wondering, and he plays the avoidance game. But you’re both overthinking this entire thing. Are the two of you not childhood friends? It’s as easy and natural as that. You’ll be fine.”

Avidly, you give your head a firm shake and look away from Chanhee. “I can’t. No way—”

Just as you turn away, Chanhee grabs your wrist and pulls it towards him. He replaces the drink you’d had in your hand with a small shot glass. You stare at it a moment, bewildered, then glance up at him in surprise.

“Just take a shot and go talk to him,” Chanhee gives you a smile. It’s a smile you’re familiar with, so used to seeing back in college. That fake I’m done with your shit smile that you’d never been on the receiving end of—until today.

“The good news is,” Chanhee continues, giving your hand—now occupied with a shot glass—a little nudge. “You often turn to the consumption of alcohol when overthinking. Hyunjae doesn’t at all, so this will at least be easy for one of you. The better news is, he doesn’t turn to alcohol because he knows you do so his instincts to take care of you will immediately kick in if he sees you’re intoxicated, even a little.”

“What kind of nonsense are you blabbering, Chanhee—”

Of course, as much as you might describe it as nonsense, Chanhee wasn’t wrong. He’d been friends with the both of you for a long time, often stuck in the middle, and he knew exactly what he was talking about. You hated to admit it, but he had described both of your personalities—especially that negative portion, when it came to managing stress, worries, or an overactive brain that had a tendency to overthink—right on the head. Both of you had always been that way, equally hating confrontation. So you turned to drinking and brooding, until it bubbled over into a rant to get it all out. Hyunjae, meanwhile, liked to mope and avoid despite how much his thoughts might yell at him about all of the anxieties he had.

He was definitely moping and avoiding right now, which made you further wonder what you’d done wrong, if anything. You wanted your best friend back; and though you might never word this part aloud to a single soul—you wanted your first crush back. The boy who’d claimed your heart with his honesty, tenderness, and kindness. The boy who was always there as a shoulder to lean on, the one who could always make you laugh without trying, the one who would come running to pick you up at three in the morning if you’d had too much to drink, and the one who when he smiled had the corners of his eyes crinkle with visible happiness.

The boy who you were too scared to lose as a friend, so you’d driven a wedge between your heart and him, and never quite gave him the entirety of it. He’d always held it in such gentle hands, even as a friend. You were afraid to find out what might happen if he were to accidentally hurt it.

But maybe the wedge is what you’d done wrong. Maybe he felt it. And when physical distance had been put between the two of you, maybe that’s how that wall had been built up.

“Just drink,” he urges again, giving your hand another little nudge, pushing it higher. “This is my party that I put together, the least you can do is listen to your friend’s request.”

You frown at him. “You put this party together for me. To welcome me home.”

“Yeah, well, I still put effort in. And my wish for repayment after all this hard work is for you to talk to Hyunjae again. You can either do that sober—limitedly, since you’ve already had drinks tonight—or you can do it after taking a fresh shot. Or I drag you across the room kicking and make you talk to him.”

If possible, you feel your frown deepen. Muscles on your face you’d never put to use stretch further than they have before. But, without dwelling much further on the choices he’s given, you choose to down the contents of the shot glass in a quick go. You may as well get this over with while you still had a fresh dose of liquid courage. As you set the glass aside and step forward to push yourself through the crowd, you miss Chanhee’s smirk as he watches you go.

Even with Hyunjae doing his absolute best to avoid you, you’re still able to easily find him among the crowd. Chanhee’s penthouse is small enough, and there aren’t many places that Hyunjae can go to hide, despite how well he may think he’s doing. You aren’t sure what exactly to do when you fully approach him—the idea of talking to him seemed awkward, especially after three years and some terrible instant message conversations and texts that barely kept the relationship held together. But by the time you’re just a few feet away from him, you realize you have to make an instant decision—and decide to allow your instincts to make it for you.

Which leads to you stepping up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso in a hug. When you rest your head against his chest, you’re not entirely certain if it’s your heart you hear beating so loudly, or his.

Hyunjae, of all things, hadn’t expected you to do that. There’d been nowhere for him to go when he saw you crossing the room. The two of you had already been making fleeing eye contact, and while he’d been wondering if you’d just pass the night and not reach out to him at all—since he wasn’t going to make any move to do so on his end—it was inevitable that you’d cross paths, at some point. Even if neither of you wanted to. A part of him hadn’t expected you to seek him out. Another part of him had been hopeful you would. However, Hyunjae hadn’t anticipated this sort of instance happening. He’d also had no time to mentally prepare. As soon as he’d seen you break apart from your comfort zone next to Chanhee’s side, crossing the room with your sights set on him—his mind had gone blank. He’s certain up until the point where you’d crashed against his chest, he’d looked like a deer in headlights.

The amount of time it takes Hyunjae to react to your hug makes you wonder if you’d made a mistake. But just as you tense, ready to pull away in embarrassment, you feel his arms wrap around you to reciprocate the hug.

He gives your back a small pat. “H-Hi…” It’s clear in the tone of his voice he’s not entirely sure of what to say.

“Hi,” you mumble against the material of his sweater, also unsure of what to say. You’d made it to this point, but you weren’t certain what came next, nor did you think you were ready for it. You were afraid to lift your head and look at him. What if this wasn’t the right choice? What if you should have just let things wither out?

You feel Hyunjae shift, and you know it’d be overstepping boundaries to keep latched on to him despite how much you want to. So, you break apart from the hug, lifting a hand to rub at the back of your neck sheepishly. Hyunjae clears his throat, glancing away from you, though you refuse to lift your gaze up from your shoes.

“You’re home,” he finally says after a moment of silence suspended between the two of you hangs there for a little too long. You nod, glancing up finally just as he brings his gaze back to you from where it had wandered all about the room, at the same exact time. For a moment, you feel yourself freeze—and you see Hyunjae freeze, too.

“I am,” you breathe out, surprised by how much he hasn’t changed even in three years. That’s not much time for many things to change, but it feels so odd seeing him here and in person.

Hyunjae is tangible, and in front of you, and photos do him absolutely no justice—he’s still as handsome as he’s always been, his soft brown eyes offset by the sharper edges of all his other features, like his jawline and the shape of his nose. You’re surprised you can still pick out the little freckle that sits alone on his nose with such ease, as if you’d expected something about him to be different and unfamiliar. He’s smiling softly, tentatively—yet his lip curl is still so visible. The only thing that seems like it may be different is that he’s lost some weight in his cheeks, them being not quite as full as you remember. But every inch of his features are familiar and beautiful and his honey brown hair falling to the sides of his forehead make him seem golden. Untouchable. You feel out of place, even as his best friend, just as you had during middle and high school. He’d always been handsome and gorgeous simultaneously, and so many girls had liked him back then. He’d always turned every single one down, something you’d never quite understood. Not with how perfect he was—a clever mind with a ridiculous and dorky sense of humor, all packaged in a pretty face.

“Welcome back,” Hyunjae mumbles, after another pause.

“Thanks.” You glance away briefly, taking in the people around you all chatting and enjoying themselves.

Chanhee’s wish for you to talk to Hyunjae again… did he just mean to greet each other like this? It felt strange to attempt to return to normal when there was so obviously a large elephant in the room between the two of you. There’d been a reason he’d given you the shot to down before sending you on your way. Liquid courage… you remind yourself. You hadn’t just needed it to even approach Hyunjae. You needed it for what came next, too. Setting your jaw, you turn back to him. “Hyunjae—”

Hyunjae immediately feels the shift in the atmosphere between the two of you, immediately catches the terse resolve in your voice. And, just as instantly, he can feel his own self—his entire being—tense up in defense. Maybe it was a natural instinct from knowing you for so long that he knew what was coming next.

“No, let’s not do this right now—” Hyunjae’s tone was almost pleading. “You should just enjoy the party, this can be done later.”

You purse your lips. “Will it be done later, though? Or are we both going to avoid it?” There was an unsaid, like we have for the past three years, added to the end of your last question.

Hyunjae mimics you, also pursing his lips. But before he can think of an excuse—or anything to distract you in order to push this off for just a bit longer—you’re stepping forward and grabbing his arm, pulling him along as you move through the crowd toward the rooftop balcony. Even if there were people out there, being outside was less likely to draw too much attention. Hyunjae has no choice but to stumble in surprise after you, glancing over his shoulder to attempt to find Chanhee and shoot him a withering look.

The cold hits you like a splash of water to the face as soon as you step outside into the winter night air. To your surprise, there were actually people using the rooftop pool Chanhee’s luxurious penthouse came with, despite the chill outside. Even if the pool was heated, you didn’t think you’d ever catch yourself dead in it in the midst of January. A shiver passes down your spine, and you remind yourself that the cold is likely to wash away the effects of the alcohol if you don’t do something soon. Before you can, though, Hyunjae speaks up.

“Let’s go sit by the firepit.” He gives a nod in the opposite direction of the pool and its occupants, turning and heading in that direction to claim the seats next to the fire just as the lone two people sitting next to it stand up and leave.

Reluctantly, you follow. The cold might wash away your resolve—but being too warm next to a cozy fire might make you too tired to follow through with this.

What were you even following through with? You weren’t even sure what you wanted to talk about with him. How the hell were you supposed to bring up the weird imaginary wall between the two of you. Was it simply that, even—just something of your imagination? Were you actually reading into it this entire time, and there was nothing on Hyunjae’s end to even be concerned about…? No… no, you knew there was something off, and you needed to find out what it was. You needed to be able to repair this relationship. Now that you were back home, there was no way you could continue on like this. The distance made it difficult to notice when things had gone awry between the two of you, but it also made it more difficult to approach and mend. There was no way you’d be able to survive like this, when the two of you shared too many common friends.

Swallowing past the knot that had been forming in your throat, you follow Hyunjae and take the second open seat next to him by the fire. He’s not looking at you as you sit down, gaze fixated on the orange and yellow flames in front of him. For a moment, you too study the fire as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world, before you lift your gaze to look at him—studying the way the light of the fire falls against the sharp features of his face, accentuating them yet also softening them. He looks warm. He looks like home.

“Hyunjae… are you mad at me?” You blurt out suddenly, biting your lip as soon as the words fall from your mouth. Maybe that hadn’t been the right way to start this conversation.

Hyunjae glances up in surprise. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Just… because?” You offer up, unhelpfully so.

“I’m not mad at you,” Hyunjae sighs out.

“Then what—?”

Hyunjae sighs once more. It’s a half truth—that’s all he can give, a half truth. You deserve a whole truth, especially after all this time; especially after how long he’s harbored these feelings for. But how can he just explain that to you so easily? How can he just pour his heart and feelings out to you so easily? It wasn’t fair to you, who was going through the aftermath of a breakup. Hyunjae had honestly thought he’d have more time to figure out a decent way to tell you the truth. But in two weeks, he hadn’t been able to come up with anything—and here you were, being headstrong and going after that which you needed answers to. So much more determined and confident than him.

“I couldn’t be friends with you while you were dating Sangyeon.”

“What?” You blurt out in surprise. Had there been something going on between them that you hadn’t known about? Surely Hyunjae would have said something, as your best friend…? You weren’t too certain about Sangyeon—not anymore, at least. That was an entirely different thing that had ultimately led to your breakup, but he’d hidden so many things for so long, you couldn’t have been sure if he’d even tell you the truth.

“I can’t exactly say it’s his fault, or mine. I was ultimately the one who made the decision to pull away—even though I had a right not to as your best friend,” Hyunjae purses his lips. “I kept telling myself if I was in his shoes, I’d feel the same. Feel that it’s too hard to have a girlfriend whose closest friend since childhood, who knows all their secrets and otherwise—is a male. But I didn’t see it that way. We didn’t see eye to eye. We didn’t get along, and there was an underlying animosity. And I wasn't willing to sacrifice your happiness.”

That was half of the truth. The other half, you didn’t need to know right now—or maybe ever. But that was why Hyunjae had always felt as though he were robbing someone. Your now ex-boyfriend had been very easily jealous. It had made Hyunjae feel both uncomfortable and guilty being your friend, but it had made him feel worse knowing he had his own feelings for you.

“I wish you would have sacrificed it…” You murmur, voice coming out smaller than you’d intended. And maybe I could have ended things before they got too far…

It’s Hyunjae’s turn to glance up in surprise. “You were in love, though… I didn’t want to lose your friendship entirely because me and your boyfriend—ex—didn’t get along. It wouldn’t have been fair to make you choose.”

You scoff, words falling out before you can second guess or regret them thanks to the alcohol, “Well, apparently love meant different things to each of us.”

Hyunjae quirks a brow, and your eyes widen in surprise at what you’d said. You look away from him, grateful that he doesn’t press for more when you offer nothing. You know he has to be curious, after all this time. He had always been such an unwaveringly loyal friend to you through the years, and hearing that he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice your happiness touched you, despite everything. But the wound is still too fresh, not quite yet scabbed over, and you can’t bring yourself to explain. He deserves to know the truth, you remind yourself—and decide that, in time, he will.

Love meant different things to each of us. If only you had realized sooner what your definition of love was, in comparison to Sangyeon’s. You bite down on your lip, afraid to turn back to your best friend as a stinging sensation builds up at the back of your eyes. You don’t even need to blink for the tears to start spilling over silently, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re crying because you still haven’t healed, or if you’re relieved things would slowly, hopefully, return to normal with Hyunjae.

You flinch in surprise when you suddenly feel Hyunjae’s hand fall down on your shoulder, having been unaware it was that obvious you were crying. You’d tried to stay silent, but there was nothing you could do to suppress the way your shoulders shook with the quiet tears. Hyunjae gives your shoulder a small squeeze, before lightly patting your back soothingly. Instead of turning to face him, you drop your face into your hands with your elbows resting on your lap. The small action makes the tears flow faster.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjae murmurs softly. “You’re home now.”

Home. A place filled with love.

—

The amount of force with which you do not want to get out of bed almost three whole mornings later, after having spent those days recuperating from secondhand embarrassment at the party, is at its peak when consciousness finally begins to creep in on you. Sadly, you’re no longer hungover—though you wish you were. You hadn’t even been hungover the next morning, which is what prompted you to stay in bed and sleep everything away further—on top of some lingering jetlag. It would, however, be easier to focus on lingering alcohol effects than memories from that night. However, only a portion of that night had even been alcohol-fueled, and it hadn’t even been fueled by enough. Which meant that as soon as you’d begun to wake up the next day, your brain had immediately decided to remind you of Hyunjae’s explanation to why the two of you had drifted apart, your recent break up, and breaking down in front of your best friend after three years of pent up emotions. Despite having been through thick and thin with Hyunjae, you were embarrassed to have cried so easily in front of him—let alone after having not seen him in so long.

And for three days, that’s what your brain decided to repeatedly replay. Much to your own horror.

When you finally crack swollen eyes open on the third day, you briefly flinch at the morning light that greets you a little too abruptly. Then, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Had you been blind the whole time? Had Hyunjae and Sangyeon really not had a good relationship? You remember clearly how quickly Sangyeon was to react whenever you mentioned any sort of plans with Hyunjae, or how you were texting him. He used to almost visibly bristle. There were times, even, when he would get pouty and sulky until you’d inevitably give in and spend time with him, instead. When you’d first started dating him, you’d been so distracted by the softer and tender moments with him—the kind thoughts and actions and how he’d remember the little things, and that damn eye smile—that you’d thought his jealousy had been a bit endearing.

But now, looking back, it only gave you a sour taste in the back of your mouth. He’d had an underlying streak of controllingness and was very good at gaslighting. Had Hyunjae seen all those traits behind the pretty mask Sangyeon had worn? Did he know? You let out a long sigh, unable to believe that you’d been so blinded by your feelings to miss such a thing festering between the two of them. Unable to believe you would ever miss such a thing that directly affected your longest standing friend. Yet, clearly, you had—you had no reason to feel guilty after this long, but you still did.

I wish you would have sacrificed it…

Your mind briefly drifts back again to the night of the party. Seeing Hyunjae again for the first time, up close, and being able to admire him after so long had felt surreal. Being able to study, in person, how naturally handsome he was; his sharp features were soft and boyish around the edges. You feel your heart skip—a little jump of liveliness that it barely managed anymore, not with the leaden heaviness in your chest lately weighing you down. Maybe your thought—your words—had been selfish. You’d always wondered why Hyunjae had turned down so many confessions during middle and high school. You’d always imagined putting yourself in that same situation and wondered if he’d treat you the same. He was your best friend, and that was a sacrifice you had never been willing to make… to step over that threshold and risk it all.

But he was your best friend, and hearing his words that night had sparked a small inkling of hope. Your words were selfish, you knew that. Was it too much to want your best friend of so many years, who knew the worst and best parts of you, to have feelings for you? To return the feelings you’d been smothering like a kindled fire? It wasn’t fair to him to hear you say that, it wasn’t fair to him for you to think that maybe if he’d fought for you a little more, if he had risked your happiness back then… maybe you wouldn’t be here now. Maybe neither of you would have drifted apart. Maybe you’d be something more.

At the very least, you’d have been mad at him if he’d put up a fight against Sangyeon back then. You’d had feelings, after all, that was undeniable. Sangyeon was your boyfriend at the time. Hyunjae your best friend. No one would want the two to go head-to-head. If Hyunjae had ruined it—you would’ve written it off as jealousy, been upset about things falling through, and then possibly gotten the crazy idea that Hyunjae had feelings for you. But that last one was a bit of an overstretch. You could wish it, and fantasize about it, though. And you could keep him as your best friend, without any rifts in your interactions and close to you, unseparated by a body of expansive water, a whole continent away.

“Ugh, shut up brain!” You groan aloud—suddenly blinking yourself out of your ceiling-staring trance to slap your pillow over your face, burying yourself. There was no need to get ridiculous ideas in your head. You just wanted things to be normal again. No matter what, you needed them to be normal.

Plus, you had work to do today. There was no way you could spend another day withering away in bed losing yourself in your thoughts, as nice as that honestly sounded—and as nice as it had been for the previous few days.

When you get up to start gathering clothes to get ready, peeking out the window to see what the weather is like—you decide that the gloomy skies outside had you even less inclined, along with the remnants of that night, to even leave the comfort of your home. But, having returned to Korea left for a lot to be done. You needed, first and foremost, a way to pay rent. While you were glad your social life hadn’t seemed to suddenly disappear upon your return, not that it ever would with friends like Chanhee, you’d pretty much dropped everything and left three years ago. There weren’t any pieces of anything to pick up… you had to start completely from scratch.

The easiest places to start were cafes, considering the fact that you hadn’t really had a moment to touch up your resume to your liking. So, you spend the majority of the day focused on stopping in cafes in your immediate neighborhood and just surrounding, also popping into a few restaurants in hopes of an easier serving job. Anything within walking or biking distance that you spot, you stop in to, inquiring about jobs. You don’t have the opportunity to be picky, unfortunately. The process is repetitive. You stop in, introduce yourself and ask some questions, fill out an application and attach your resume to leave with them—then move on. Somehow, you keep at this for hours. By the end of the process—or what you rightfully decide is the end—your feet ache. You’re more than happy to finally choose a cafe a bit closer to home you’d come across on your way back around as a resting point, ordering a drink for yourself as you fill out what you decide will be the last application of the day.

“Oh?”

At first, you don't recognize that the word someone says is aimed at you. At least, not until the words that soon follow.

“You’re back.”

The you’re back makes you second guess the original soft exclamation, which had initially just drowned into the sounds of your cafe surroundings. But the following addition has your pen pausing against the paper as you focus to remember your unpracticed written Korean. Your grip tightens on your pen, bracing yourself as you lift your gaze to the owner of the voice—Ji Changmin. Just beyond him stands Lee Juyeon.

Personally you’d always felt like Changmin had been trouble, from the first moment you’d met him in college. On the other hand, his current companion Juyeon wasn’t so bad. You weren’t entirely sure how they managed to be friends, but that was never really your concern. The two of them, however, were friends with Sangyeon—because of this, they were both people you didn’t entirely want to associate with at the current moment. Yet, here they were having stumbled upon you at random. Just your luck.

As soon as you make eye contact, Changmin’s mouth is falling open into the shape of an “O” to express his surprise. “Wow, I wasn’t actually sure if it was you, but it is. So you are back.”

“Hey,” Juyeon mumbles next to him, under his breath, bumping Changmin’s own shoulder with his own. “Don’t cause trouble.”

Trouble. The original sentiment of not wanting to associate with either of these two people returns, and you can’t help but wonder what exactly Changmin had in mind by approaching you as though he were surprised by your return. There was enough of a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice that you were doubtful he was unaware of current events that had transpired. Which made you wonder if it was him—the one you’d always felt was trouble—that was up to something, or if someone had put him up to it.

You tense up just as Changmin shrugs Juyeon away, turning back to you to open his mouth to speak—but before you have a chance to find out who it is that’s actually trouble, and what Changmin wants to say, you’re abruptly interrupted—your tense muscles startle in surprise as a Hyunjae appears, practically barrelling up to the table. He bumps into Changmin’s shoulder and jostles the other, who startles in surprise as well. Whatever words he’d been about to say are forgotten.

“Hey, where have you been?” Hyunjae, slightly out of breath, leans forward and braces a hand on the table you sit at. “Chanhee and I have been trying to call you for an hour now—”

“What—” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you turn to start fumbling through your bag. As you do so, you hear Changmin speak up.

“Excuse you, are you not even going to apologize? After we haven’t even seen each other in so long?”

You’re barely paying attention as Hyunjae straightens up, even missing the sideways glare that he cuts Changmin.

“Sorry, in a bit of a hurry—there’s an emergency. I need to grab her and go.”

Just as you’re about to pull your phone out of your bag, you feel Hyunjae’s fingers wrap around your wrist. With that hand, he pulls you out of the cafe chair and to your feet, causing you to blink in surprise. You’re confused at how fast everything is happening—watching with a bit of disconnect as Hyunjae, with his free hand, grabs the bag you’d just pulled your phone from off the table. He turns after he does so, brushing past Changmin who voices a protest, and pulls you along with him. Hyunjae pays Changmin no mind, and doesn’t stop walking and doesn’t let go of you until you’re both outside the cafe standing under the awning of the entrance.

Luckily, you suppose, you’d finished most of your coffee. Too bad you hadn’t finished the job application.

You blink, recollecting yourself. Remembering your cell phone, you turn your hand upward and glance down as you do so, studying the screen. Empty.

“You and Chanhee didn’t call me,” you suddenly say, looking up from your phone to find Hyunjae frowning out past the awning of the cafe. Confused, you follow his gaze—suddenly taking in the weather change that had been almost as abrupt as Hyunjae’s appearance.

The gloomy, overcast skies had decided to finally let all their own pent up emotions out. It was raining. Winter rain. You shiver, aware of the sudden chill that was settling in with the wet weather. You hated winter rain, because it meant that it was attempting to snow. The worst part was that it turned any leftover snow on the ground already to slush and ice, making things slippery.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjae suddenly asks, breaking the weird suspended silence between the two of you. Personally, you were still trying to process everything that had just happened in such a short amount of time, so you hadn’t really been bothered by the silence. It wasn’t noticeable until you refocused, aware of the way the sound of the rain was filling your surroundings and the space between the two of you.

“Yeah, fine. But you and Chanhee haven’t been calling me—”

“I know,” Hyunjae says, suddenly turning to look at you. As he does so, he holds out your bag to return. “I happened to be passing by and saw you—and them—and you looked uncomfortable. So I barged in without thinking.”

Like a knight. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Hyunjae always seemed to show up whenever you had needed him. He’d always been there, whether it was saving you from tripping in the hall, saving you by slipping his assignment in class to you when you’d forgotten yours, saving you by showing up with an umbrella on a rainy day like this one when you’d forgotten yours, or saving you at three in the morning post-breakup stranded after a party. Hyunjae had always been there.

Hyunjae himself didn’t know why he’d done it—suddenly barging in like that. It was true he’d simply been passing by. Since your return, and since the night of the party, he’d been trying his best to avoid you. Not completely, per se. He was glad to have you back, glad to have your friendship back—although it might start out awkward and rocky. But he personally wanted to figure out how to suppress his feelings. Every moment he spent thinking of you, every moment he spent knowing you were single again, and every chance he had to remember not making a move or making his feelings known years ago—he was filled with regret. He kept wondering why he hadn’t done so sooner, why he hadn’t just crossed the threshold and tried to step into your heart. He was scared, he knew that much, valuing your friendship the most. But now it was like the emotions were a constant alarm going off in his head that he couldn’t figure out how to get rid of, and taking the batteries out wouldn’t make them shut up.

But going after someone just out of a breakup was off limits. It wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right. Despite having caught wind of the words you’d uttered that night—I wish you would have sacrificed it—and the utter confusion they caused by sending his heart and mind into further turmoil, Hyunjae couldn’t bring himself to approach you in that manner now. Despite Chanhee’s urging to do so, he couldn’t bring himself to.

Yet seeing you—whether you’d looked uncomfortable through the cafe window or not—had stirred up a need and want to just be near you. Growing up, he’d always found himself being protective of you. You knew how to handle your own and take care of yourself, not afraid to tell someone off as needed, but he had always found himself hovering nearby in case worse came to worst and you’d need an extra hand to step in. Even if the situation you’d been in hadn’t been the one he’d come upon, Hyunjae was sure that seeing you through that cafe window, gravity would have taken over and pulled him toward you, anyway. Ever since you were kids, he’d always been drawn toward you.

You scoff, reaching out to take your bag. “You expect me to believe you still have that special talent for coming to save me?”

He smiles softly. “You have a special talent for getting into all kinds of trouble, of varying degrees. It’s become a natural instinct at this point, rather than a talent.”

“Well, thanks. They weren’t exactly people I wanted to see right now, actually.”

“We should leave, then, before they come back out,” Hyunjae says, glancing away briefly to stare out at the rain.

You nod, then pause. Wait—we? Why, we? He hadn’t come all this way just to find you, right? There was absolutely no way he knew you were specifically here, at this cafe. You glance back at Hyunjae in surprise. “You don’t have to walk me home.”

Hyunjae shrugs. “I was only going to the corner store to get some ramen. Ran out at home and was craving it with the gloomy weather. But now I don’t want to go all that way and back in the rain.”

You nod slowly. “Oh, got it… did you want to come over for ramen, then?”

“Here,” Hyunjae says suddenly, causing you to refocus. You blink in surprise when you notice he’s shrugged out of his bomber jacket to remove his hoodie, holding it out to you, while he’s got half an arm back in the jacket itself.

“W-what’s this for?” You ask, forgetting your offer briefly.

“It has a hood on it. Your jacket doesn’t. Put that on so you don’t get sick.”

“What about you?”

Hyunjae shrugs. “We’re eating ramen, right? It’s warm, and I have shorter hair than you do. Just put it on and pull the hood up so you don’t get too wet from the rain.”

Still surprised, you stare at the outstretched hoodie, then up at Hyunjae—dumbfounded. Had he actually agreed to come over and eat lunch with you? Although at this point in the afternoon, it was more like an early dinner. The idea made your stomach do a flip. You’d eaten together many times before, and he’d been to your house and your parents house growing up many times before, as well. But this was the first since returning—and since your theoretical make-up. It’s just as friends, you remind yourself, you’re just friends.

You can tell by the way Hyunjae waits and stares expectantly that he isn’t going to take an argument against his offer. If the situation had been a bit better, maybe you would have stood here and argued against him, but you decided better of it—wanting to get away from the cafe and its occupants as soon as possible. You hold your bag back out to Hyunjae, then your own peacoat after shrugging out of it, trading both items for the gray hoodie he’d offered. Almost immediately after pulling the hoodie over your head—before you even pull your head through—you’re enveloped with the warm scent of Hyunjae. It’s almost a mix of cinnamon, spices, and cream. Like a light caffe latte, freshly made. It smells so familiar, but also foreign, to you. If you had the chance, you’d like to stand there and snuggle further into it, breathe in his scent a bit more until you were more familiar with it and could memorize it—but your head abruptly freeing itself out the top brings you back to reality.

Hyunjae hands you your peacoat back first, which you shrug back into for the extra added warmth against the winter chill mixed with the rain. Immediately after you’re settled, Hyunjae gives you your bag back while simultaneously reaching for the hood of his sweater, pulling it up and over your head.

Miffed, you let out a disgruntled noise from the back of your throat. “Hey!”

Hyunjae just smiles, amused at your reaction, before giving a nod in the opposite direction as he shrugs back into his bomber jacket, signaling, Let’s go. His own jacket is lightweight, and you find yourself worrying if it will even keep him warm enough. Hyunjae won’t say otherwise, but despite his bluff—he too is worried if it will keep him warm and dry enough. The way the rain is coming down makes it a fine mist, likely to soak through the thinnest materials with ease.

The distance to home is short, but it’s enough that he himself is at risk of getting sick. Before he steps out into the rain, Hyunjae unfolds the turtleneck of the sweater beneath his jacket, pulling it up further against his chin. But he doesn’t give you much of a moment to worry, immediately stepping out into the rain. You have no choice but to scramble after him as quickly as possible. Luckily, thanks to the cold, and now wet, weather, it’s quite easy to match the brisk pace of his longer legs with the cold pushing you forward.

The walk back to your place isn’t that long, but definitely takes longer than usual with the angle the rain is coming down at. Even with Hyunjae’s hooded jacket pulled as far down over your forehead as possible, you have to keep your head ducked down as you walk. The rain comes down at such an angle that as soon as you look up, you’re immediately hit in the face by it. It’s worse for Hyunjae, who has no way to protect himself at all. He has an arm hovering up over his eyes in a feeble attempt to shield himself.

When you make it home, you immediately discard wet shoes in the entry of your apartment along with your bag, shredding your coat off first and running further into the apartment. Hyunjae follows suit at less of a rush, kicking his wet shoes off and shrugging out of his bomber jacket.

“I don’t think I have anything for you to change into,” you call from your bedroom down the hall, shuffling through your closet and dresser drawers—in search of sweatpants or anything warm that might fit him. There are too many things thrown haphazardly into a place to put them, simply to just get them out of the boxes and luggage they’d previously been in. You still hadn’t finished unpacking completely.

“It’s fine,” Hyunjae says, hovering in the entry as you rush out of your room and into the bathroom, grabbing some clean towels off the rack instead. “I don’t get sick easily, you know this.”

Despite his words, you still frown as you hand the towels to him. “I’m going to throw your hoodie in the dryer.”

He just nods, and you move away to do exactly that, pulling the jacket over your head as you blindly move back down the hall to the bathroom. At the very least, Hyunjae can go home in something warm. A part of you hopes, however, that he’ll instead choose to wait out the rain. You toss the gray jacket into the dryer, setting a low heat cycle, and move back out to head to the kitchen to start cooking—though you practically freeze in your tracks as soon as you step out of the bathroom.

Again, you find yourself forgetting just how handsome Hyunjae is. You’d also conveniently forgotten that he was also standing in your entryway not just handsome but soaking wet, too. When you briefly glance his way after stepping back into the hall to head to the kitchen, you’re taken aback by the timing of which you do so. Hyunjae has just uncovered his face after wiping the towel over and up, sliding his hair back off his forehead. The exposure of his forehead as he rubs the towel at his hair reveals his chiseled features more easily to you, and the dampness of his skin glistens in a way that highlights every single one of those features from his sharp jawline and eyebrows and straight nose.

Your stomach does a little flip as the towel falls away from his head to his shoulder, revealing his damp and now-ruffled hair. It softens the sharp features of his face, giving him a boyish look that catches your heart off guard—reminding you of the duality of his physical appearance. He can always look so sharp yet soft at the same time, so boyish but mature, so cute but handsome. Hyunjae glances up at you as he rubs the towel along the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You good?”

Hyunjae notices you staring, though he tries to make it out to be nothing. He has to mentally remind himself too that it is nothing. You’d just recently broken up with Sangyeon. This was not the time or place for these thoughts—he couldn’t allow himself to wonder where your eyes were lingering, and what they were curiously taking in of him. The idea made his stomach twist warmly.

“Huh?” You blink away from your distracted thoughts, before nodding—maybe a little too fast, giving yourself away. “Yeah, fine. Was just wondering if that’s going to be enough.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you, with a bit more insistence this time. As he lets one of the towels rest as his neck, he nods you toward the kitchen, grabbing the other towel you’d handed him at the same time to unfold and begin patting at his damp clothes. “Go make something warm for the both of us, though, instead of just standing there. Warm food will help.”

“Right.” You suddenly remember you’d invited Hyunjae over for some ramen on a whim—and that he’d agreed very nonchalantly. You give yourself a small shake as you make your way to the kitchen to prepare food, reminding yourself that this was normal and you were friends. Hyunjae had been over for meals plenty of times before. He’d been over for meals to both your apartment after you’d moved out, your dorm when you’d been in college, and even your family’s house for regular dinner nights and holidays. So why did it feel different now?

You could kick yourself for suddenly becoming that much more hyper-aware of your feelings since the night of your welcome back party. How you’d managed most of your life ignoring them was suddenly beyond you. Ever since he’d admitted to why he had pulled away from you, your feelings had begun to rear their head even more blatantly, telling you to give them and yourself a chance. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them at bay. If you’d felt this strongly for him the entire time, which you knew you had—him being your best friend making the feelings that much stronger since the connection you had with him was that much more deeper—you wondered why your emotions hadn’t chosen to act like this in the past. You suddenly felt like a hormonal teenager, and it was years too late for that.

The buzz from the dryer going off pulls you back to reality. You glance up toward the hall the bathroom is nestled away in, then back down at the two pots of ramen on the stovetop you’ve been absentmindedly stirring the entire time. You realize, then, that the food is basically done.

“I’ll go grab that,” Hyunjae declares, setting the towel he’d been using to pat himself down aside.

“We can eat after,” you state, wondering if he’ll even catch your words—he’s already disappeared down the hall. You move away from the stove to grab some potholders to place atop the counter in front of a seat each, moving both of the pots off the stove after doing so, before turning back into the kitchen to grab chopsticks, spoons, and drinks. When you turn around, Hyunjae is pulling his hoodie over his head and onto his torso, slipping into one of the two empty seats at the counter.

He lets out a content sigh as his head pops through the hoodie. “This is the best, it’s nice and warm.”

You set everything in your hands down on the counter, pushing a set of chopsticks and a drink towards him. As you step around the counter, you find yourself smiling fondly. “Just don’t become lethargic and fall asleep from a warm sweater and warm food. There’s still boxes all around this place to be unpacked, it wouldn’t be comfortable to nap here.”

“Did you need any help unpacking?” Hyunjae asks, picking up his chopsticks to stir the ramen in front of him.

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though, but it keeps me distracted.”

“Distra—” Hyunjae doesn’t even finish the word, or question, immediately cutting himself off. “Oh. Sorry.”

You shrug at his apology. After all, what did he have to apologize for? He wasn’t at fault for the situation at hand. There was no real way to get over everything that had happened, either. Everyone heals differently, and you found the best method so far had been to just keep yourself and your mind busy with other things for every waking moment possible. You felt detached from the breakup, anyway, considering. But the less you had to think about it, the better.

The two of you fall into an awkward silence, both picking at and eating your food. Just the sound of chopsticks against the aluminum pots, the slurping of the broth and noodles, and the pattering of rain outside fill the apartment. It feels like an eternity before anything is said—before you work up the courage to bring up the topic in a more secluded, personal, and safer space than you had been before. You hadn’t been sure you were ready to truly dump your heart out to Hyunjae, which is why you’d only allowed yourself to cry that night. But after getting what was left of the last of the tears out of your system, you felt a lot safer revealing your thoughts and feelings.

“Hyunjae?”

“Hm?” He glances up mid-bite, slurping some of the noodles into his mouth and chewing.

“What did you mean when you said you couldn’t be my friend while dating Sangyeon? Was it really just because the two of you didn’t get along… or… was there more?”

Hyunjae finishes chewing, then swallows. He stares at you for a moment—reading you, reading the room. Reading the quaver in your voice that you’d thought you’d done your best to suppress after working up the nerve to even ask those words aloud. Yet, here you were—nervous, still.

Instead of answering, Hyunjae asks, “Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?”

You glance at him in surprise—having almost immediately expected an answer, rather than a question in return. Hyunjae had always been direct in the past. Sometimes, even, to the point of bluntness. You’d never been offended by it as some people had. While he was good at penting up his emotions and sometimes beating around the bush to the point that he started to feel guilty, he was also reliable when you needed him to tell it straight. And that’s what you had been expecting. But maybe it was a bit too easy to hear the hesitation in your voice.

“Well, it’s a better time than any. I’ve been thinking about what you said since that night… I just… am curious about some things, and trying to piece together signs still.”

You’re not paying attention, so you miss Hyunjae clench his jaw—an attempt to mentally piece together his own thoughts. He hadn’t really expected you to outright ask about his words like this. The discreet statement was meant to be that: Discreet, and enough to subside any curiosities. Explaining anything more would require him to divulge his own personal feelings and emotions on the matter and what had truly prompted him to pull away as he had.

Sangyeon was only the match that lit the flame. It was true that he never saw eye-to-eye with your ex-boyfriend, and it was also true that he gotten a bad vibe from him whenever you two had been with each other. There was a subtle, underlying animosity that rolled off Sangyeon in waves, and glares that could hardly go unnoticed—as though he were someone protecting his territory. Hyunjae had written it off as just being a jealous boyfriend, despite the intensity at which it had grown as time had passed. He really had tried to convince himself that if he were in Sangyeon’s shoes, he’d have acted the same. But the truth of the matter was, despite all of that, Hyunjae still had his own feelings to work around and out.

And he had been jealous himself—of what Sangyeon had. It hadn’t been healthy for him to continue surrounding himself with you, burning with his own jealousy just beneath his skin. Hyunjae had been afraid he’d ruin something—your happiness, or his friendship with you.

Hyunjae sighs. “Look, I don’t know what happened—”

“He cheated,” you blurt out suddenly. “He cheated, and he was gaslighting me about it the entire time. He made me feel like things were my fault.”

The sudden resolve to just get the words out surprises you—but it was something you couldn’t hold in any longer. Like a venom rotting away at the deepest parts of your heart, it just kept gnawing away. You weren’t sure getting it out would help anything. Chanhee was the only one who currently knew the situation. But it still felt like something you had to forcefully eject, or it would just keep causing the same damage internally that it had been this entire time.

You let out a sigh, staring at your bowl of food intently. Your grip on your chopsticks tightens, to the point that your knuckles turn white as the skin pulls taught over the bones beneath. The sensation of Hyunjae’s hand softly folding over yours causes you to flinch in surprise, pulling yourself out of the negative energy suddenly engulfing you. Glancing up, you meet Hyunjae’s gaze—caught off guard by his features being blurred in your line of sight by tears.

“You don’t have to talk about it, it’s still fresh,” Hyunjae murmurs, but you’re instantly shaking your head at his words. You reach up to rub the tears away from your eyes.

“No, I have to. I think I have to. If I don’t say it, I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with it. There were so many warning signs the entire time, and I feel so dumb and blind.”

Hyunjae gives your hand a squeeze. “You aren’t dumb, or blind. When you’re in love with someone, you place the entirety of your trust in them. You don’t expect to have to look for those types of things. If he broke your trust that’s on him, not on you for not realizing it—and if he was doing those things to you, that’s not your fault. People like that are good at what they do, and sometimes if you’re in that situation, it’s hard to realize it until you’ve removed yourself.”

You frown, not entirely sure that you believe him. It felt strange to be on the receiving end of relationship advice. You’d always thought, seeing others in relationships that weren’t exactly healthy for them, you’d be able to pick out if yours was or not immediately. But instead, you had found yourself twisted up in the same situation as others you’d known. A situation you swore would never happen to you—one you vowed you’d never let happen to you. You felt foolish and naive for believing you could prevent it so easily, and wondered if they had too. And you also found yourself wondering how it was so easy to make that same mistake, over and over, falling for that person time and time again.

Hyunjae gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. He isn’t sure what to say from there, but it almost looks like you’re about to cry again. Within his chest, he can feel his heart clenching uncomfortably—squeeze, painfully, at seeing you in pain. He doesn’t like seeing you like this. The tears had come so fast the night of the party, he hadn’t been sure how to react or what to say. But seeing them there again from the pain, lingering, on the verge of overflowing—he hurts seeing you hurt.

He has so many questions suddenly spring into his mind—wondering if there had been more to the relationship that had hurt you. If there was more that had cut you so deep like a knife, or if you had simply been that attached and hopeful in the relationship that it had made you blind to the negatives. It was quite possible that was the case, but with the way Hyunjae’s heart twists in his chest—he can’t help but worry and wonder if there had been more. Had the relationship been bad, or had it just gone south without notice? Had he been bad to you? But even as your best friend, he’s not sure it’s his place to ask these types of questions.

Hyunjae is surprised when he feels your hand twist in his grip, suddenly turning over to link your fingers with his—you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He glances at you in surprise—had you sensed the turn his own thoughts had been taking?—caught off guard when he meets your gaze. Your eyes are no longer filled with tears, something that brings him relief, but now his heart is clenching in his chest in a different way. It’s a way he’s not unfamiliar with, but one he wished wouldn’t happen now, of all times. Yet the longer he holds your gaze, the further he thinks he’ll fall. He thinks that maybe he can allow himself to drown in your eyes—to simply give in and allow the feelings to flow over him, either washing over him or drowning him completely.

He wouldn’t mind, one way or another.

You feel yourself frozen, too—like you’re suspended in time. Of all the times you’ve looked at him, you wondered if you’ve truly ever seen him. You’d always thought he was handsome, and physically attractive, with a personality to tie it all together. But sitting here, staring at Hyunjae and slowly losing yourself in his eyes—it feels like forever and as though it’s not quite long enough. His gaze, filled with surprise and a bit of confusion, is filled with warmth and tenderness.

It’s filled with a look that Sangyeon had never given you.

But before you can discern what the look means, or have a chance to even think about it, Hyunjae is pulling his hand from your grasp sheepishly. He clenches that hand into a fist, immediately shoving it under the table. As he does so, he falters a moment, before glancing around—looking anywhere but at you—and settling his gaze on the ceiling.

“Oh, I think the rain stopped,” he murmurs, as if looking for something to fill the void he’d just caused. Hyunjae pulls his gaze down from the ceiling, looking at you again—trying to keep his expression neutral. “I’m supposed to meet Chanhee later. I should go home and get changed.”

You nod slowly, trying to wrap your head around the sudden turn things had taken. Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that. But in the moment, holding Hyunjae’s hand had seemed so right and needed. It seemed like he had needed it, just as much as you. While he hadn’t given you a straight answer about Sangyeon, you weren’t sure you entirely needed it—clearly, something had happened. You suspected it had to do with the jealousy that he’d outright shown to you so many times, guilting you about hanging out with Hyunjae over him so much. If it had happened to you, it had likely happened to Hyunjae, as well. And since it was a man to man emotion-fest at that point, it was likely to a stronger degree.

Still, why had you allowed your body to react without thinking things through? You wanted to groan outwardly; inwardly, you were beating yourself up.

“Also.” Hyunjae’s voice makes you blink in surprise—the way he’d pulled back so suddenly, you had almost been certain you’d ruined things so soon after fixing them, and that he was about to bolt out of your apartment. But instead, when you look up at him, he has a smile on his face as he looks down at you, having stood up from his seat. “Everyone heals at a different pace, but if you ever need to vent I’m always here. I don’t need to know every detail of what happened, but I want you to stop beating yourself up for not noticing the so-called signs. It wasn’t your fault, and you’re allowed to be upset about it for as long as you need—just don’t blame yourself. Okay?”

As Hyunjae bids a goodbye, gathering his still-damp bomber jacket and slipping his shoes back on—you’re almost certain you’ll start crying. Yet, when the door closes behind him to signal his exit, you’re surprised to find you don’t.

You’d been right about one thing, at the very least: You needed to get the venom out and the words out of the cavity of your chest to start the healing process fully. Doing so with Hyunjae had been the best choice.

Hyunjae’s words linger, filling the apartment with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. It felt safe here. Your feelings felt safe with him.

—

The next day, your heart feels much lighter. It’s as though you’ve lifted an entire weight off yourself. There was a significant difference between telling your family and Chanhee, in comparison to telling Hyunjae. A part of you wondered, again, if you were selfish for revealing what had happened to Hyunjae. There was a small voice in the back of your mind torturing you with the idea that you’d only done it to keep him close and ensure you wouldn’t lose him again. At least, not so soon. Perhaps that’s why you had taken hold of his hand so suddenly yesterday, as well. You didn’t want to lose him again. You didn’t want to see him slowly back away from you as he had done before.

Perhaps it really was selfish of you to do this to him, and to indulge in your feelings for him. But when everything always felt safe and right with Hyunjae—you couldn’t help but think that you should allow yourself, this once, to be selfish and take that risk. If it messed things up, it would hurt like hell. But something was telling you to do it, anyway. That this was right and that things would be okay. You wanted to allow yourself something good, for once. Hyunjae was that good.

After so long of holding feelings for him in and suppressing them, you weren’t sure you could do the same any longer. Not after being splashed in the face with the reality of the relationship you’d just gotten out of. It was like a wake up call to what was right in front of you this entire time.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” Chanhee notes from beside you. You glance at him briefly, watching his fingers glide across his phone screen as he types out a text. Despite absentmindedly paying attention to the electronic in his hand, he’s quite keen.

You exhale, letting out a deep breath. Not quite a sigh. It felt nice to be able to breathe lighter with that weight off your chest.

“I told Hyunjae about the breakup, and what happened.”

Chanhee glances up from his phone, eyebrows raising up past the curtain of hair falling across his forehead. “Oh? I thought you weren’t going to?”

“I didn’t want to, originally. I didn’t want him to worry about what had happened while we weren’t in contact. But I think he would’ve figured it out anyway. Just… from the vibe I got, it seems like Sangyeon was a jealous jerk to Hyunjae, too.”

“Oh, he definitely was.” The nonchalance with which Chanhee replies has your head snapping towards him in surprise. Chanhee simply shrugs, turning back to his phone.

“What?!” You’d already guess as much yesterday, but hearing it confirmed was a whole different story. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Chanhee shrugs. “Wasn’t my place to say it. Hyunjae didn’t want you worrying, either.”

You let out a groan. There was too much he was worried, she was worried, going around—that had been going around for three years, apparently. You couldn’t believe the way you and Hyunjae kept operating on the same wavelength, trying to keep the other worry-free and safe. You also couldn’t believe how neutral Chanhee had managed to stay in all of this the entire time.

“Hey!”

Before you can chastise Chanhee for keeping this bit of information from you, the sound of Kevin’s voice alerts you and Chanhee both at the same time. You simultaneously look over your shoulder while turning in the direction of the voice, and Chanehee pushes himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against.

“Oh?” The single word falls from your lips quietly, disheartened, as you take in the scene before you. As planned for your lunch today, Kevin and Younghoon—two of your closest friends shared with both Chanhee and Hyunjae—walk towards you. But someone is missing.

“Where’s Hyunjae?” Chanhee asks when Kevin and Younghoon are near enough. You stumble in surprise when Kevin immediately wraps you in a hug in greeting, practically nuzzling his face against yours.

Younghoon shrugs. “Dunno. He wasn’t answering his phone.”

“Or his door,” Kevin pipes up, pulling away from you.

Not answering his phone or his door? You glance between the two of them, who both seem a bit unconcerned about it. Chanhee purses his lips, pulling his phone that he’d tucked away into his jacket back out. He taps around a bit on the screen, before lifting the device to his ear, and you assume he’s calling Hyunjae to test if what the others said is true or not.

You’re aware of Kevin starting to chatter mindlessly in your ear, talking about things he’d done yesterday and his walk to meet you for lunch—but your mind is elsewhere, not in the present. You wonder if Hyunjae not answering his phone or his door has anything to do with what happened yesterday? Meeting for lunch today had been planned since the night of the party—something you’re sure that, at the time, Hyunjae had reluctantly agreed to in the first place. Had your actions the afternoon before mistakenly reset all the progress you had made? Was he having second thoughts?

“He’s not answering,” Chanhee confirmed after a bit, frowning at his phone before shoving it back into his jacket again.

Without thinking, an urge to just go takes over you. If Hyunjae was having second thoughts—you wanted to halt them right in their tracks, right then and there. You couldn’t stand the thought of everything reverting again. Of possibly seeing him drift away again.

“Crap—I just remembered I forgot my wallet at home,” you blurt out, and without waiting for a reply, turn on your heel and dart off—back in the direction of home.

“What the hell?!” Chanhee blurts after you. “You couldn’t remember that ten minutes ago?!”

“We can just pay for you though?!” Kevin’s voice cries over Chanhee.

“But my ID!” You yell over your shoulder. “We can’t drink like we planned to, just go ahead and I’ll catch up!”

Despite your words, you actually had no intentions of catching up. While the ideal situation would be to return to lunch with all your friends, dragging Hyunjae along with you, there was no guarantee that would actually happen. If you’d overstepped boundaries yesterday, you fully expected to have to fix those boundaries. You also fully intended to do just that if it came to it.

The cold air burns in your lungs as you run in the direction back toward your and Hyunjae’s respective apartments, but you refuse to slow down or waste any time. Even when you reach the stairs, trudging up as quickly as you can, you still refuse to break pace. By the time you reach the floor that his apartment is on, your lungs and the back of your throat feel as though they’re on fire. Despite your wishes, you have to crouch down to catch your breath, clutching the sides of your ribs and wishing that maybe you hadn’t run that fast.

Steeling yourself, you rub your side one last time and push yourself to your feet, heading down the hall to Hyunjae’s apartment. You wonder what the heck you’re going to say, as you near his door, worried about how to make this right. There’s a turmoil inside of you. You don’t want to lose Hyunjae as a friend, yet you also want to be selfish for once. Why did this have to happen just as you’d finally gathered up the courage to make a decision?

Lifting a hand, you knock on the door. A few minutes pass, and no answer. So you knock again, but louder. You know the time that passes is short, yet it feels like an eternity.

“Hyunjae?” You call, cupping your hand by your mouth as you lean closer to the door, knocking again. “It’s me!”

Still no answer. Frowning, you reach into your bag, pulling your phone out. You know Chanhee had said he hadn’t answered, but it was worth a try.

It’s then, as you’re pulling your phone out of your bag, that you notice a plastic bag sitting by the door. Delivery food, left outside for whoever had ordered it. You’d been so focused on your inner turmoil that you hadn’t seen it at first. You glance up from the bag, then at the door, then back down. Why had Hyunjae ordered food, when he knew he was meeting everyone for lunch today?

Crouching down, you grab the handles of the bag, peering inside. There’s a couple of to-go cartons, and right at the top sits the receipt for the entire order taped to one of the cartons. With yesterday evening’s date.

Hyunjae had ordered the food and then never claimed it.

Suddenly—like a waterfall of realization—the events from yesterday flood back over you. Rushing home in the rain together, his soaked clothing and wet hair and the cold winter weather, towels to dry himself and ramen to try and warm his insides, and the barely-dry hoodie to slip over his still damp clothes as he’d left your apartment. God, you felt so stupid.

I don’t get sick easily. Hyunjae had practically boasted. Maybe so, but he was still human with a human immune system. Anyone could get sick with how fine of a soaking mist that rain had been yesterday, paired with the gloomy overcast skies and winter temperatures.

You immediately jump to your feet, pulling the bag of to-go food with you. You were sure at this point it was probably spoiled, but there was no sense in leaving it outside. Rather than knocking again, you lift your hand to the number pad at Hyunjae’s apartment door, fingers hovering over the buttons. Had he changed the passcode? Would it still be the same after three years? You feel your jaw clench with tension.

“Sorry, Hyunjae. Don’t report me for breaking and entering,” you mutter, typing in the passcode. The ding that immediately resounds, followed by the sound of the door gears unlocking for you, has you standing there for a moment in shock.

Realizing the door might engage the lock again, you give yourself a shake and push into the entryway of Hyunjae’s place, tentatively peering in before you allow yourself fully inside. You set the bag of delivery food down by your shoes as you slip out of them, discarding your bag soon after. The apartment is dark inside the curtains in the living room pulled closed, and smells a bit musty. Like someone is sick, you think, recognizing the stuffiness almost immediately.

“Hyunjae?” You call out, allowing yourself further inside. Your eyes immediately scan the kitchen to your right, peering around the corner of the counter to make sure he wasn’t just passed out somewhere, before your head rubber bands to the left, eyes scanning the living room. Just as they do, a mound of fluffy blanket on the couch shifts and you let out an eep of surprise, stumbling backward.

You lift a hand to your chest, giving it a slight pat and reminding yourself that he doesn’t have any roommates—and that you’re the only burglar in the area at the current time—before moving forward. “Hyunjae?”

This time, a groan answers you, and a hooded head very sluggishly peeks itself out from the blanket. It’s Hyunaje, alright, and he looks pale and clammy. You frown at the sight. Definitely sick, you confirm visually.

Hyunjae blinks a few times, eyes heavily lidded and gaze completely unfocused.

“Whrye d’ng here?” His words are as sloppy and sluggish as his appearance, but you’re relieved to see he has at least some coherency to recognize that it’s you.

“I came because you didn’t show up for our lunch plans with everyone,” you reply, not even sure that he’ll understand, with how far gone he seems. You lean over him, resting the back of your hand against his forehead—it almost immediately snaps back to yourself, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He’s scalding to the touch. “Holy hell, Hyunjae, you’re burning up!”

“Mhm,” is the only confirmation he gives.

“You should’ve called someone as soon as you started to feel off,” you scold, the frown on your face deepening. Before setting to work, you lift the blankets off his form—relieved to see he’d managed to change, at least, into dry clothes when he’d gotten home. Instead of letting the blanket fall back over him, you pull it halfway down.

“No—” A whine sounds from Hyunjae, and he meekly lifts himself to try and grab the blanket back. You swat his hand away, scowling.

“You need to lessen your body temperature, not make it worse. I know you feel like you’re freezing right now but you actually aren’t. Just trust me.”

Hyunjae blearily frowns at you, sinking back into the couch with a pout. You wait a moment, watching to see if he’ll go against your words. When he doesn’t, you give him a smile of encouragement, and a nod. With that at least settled, you shrug out of your jacket and move away from the couch to set to work, discarding your jacket on the back of a chair as you head towards the bathroom.

His apartment hasn’t changed much, something to which you’re grateful for. It makes navigating the place for things you need that much easier. You waste no time in finding some ibuprofen and water for Hyunjae, who protests when you help him sit up straight on the couch so he can take the medication with some fluids. Getting him to eat was probably out of the question, considering he had clearly been hungry but hadn’t even moved from the couch to get his food. A part of you wondered if he’d possibly passed out. Maybe the fever had been more intense than this before.

As you pat Hyunjae’s forehead with a damp, lukewarm washcloth, you’re relieved that it was simply just that he was sick and not avoiding you. You want to tell that selfish part of you to shut up—this wasn’t the time to be relieved over something like that, for goodness’ sake, considering the state he was in. But you just couldn’t help it. You knew you should have known better than to think he would be avoiding you, considering his parting words before he’d left your apartment yesterday. It wouldn’t have been like him to randomly shut you out like that. But after everything that had happened within the last few years, there was just an innate fear you were being left behind or shut out—or wouldn't notice something when it was going awry.

Deciding to settle in, you make yourself comfortable on the floor next to the couch. While you’d already decided—for other reasons, originally—that you likely wouldn’t be rejoining the lunch plans as you’d darted away so quickly, you still feel guilty for ditching so suddenly. It had been a week now that you’d all agreed to meet, and you knew Chanhee hated last minute cancellations. He wasn’t going to let you live this down, even with an apology. Still, you end up texting Chanhee apologizing, and telling him what was wrong with Hyunjae, to ensure that he wouldn’t worry about you not coming back. While he’d likely not let you live it down, at least he’d be more forgiving.

For the next few hours, when they appear, you wipe away beads of sweat from Hyunjae’s forehead. You hadn’t come here prepared, so you end up attempting to keep yourself busy while also monitoring Hyunjae’s condition. It feels strange to have free reign of his apartment, just as you had when you were younger. It had been so long that you almost felt like a stranger intruding. But the stuffiness of the place wasn’t doing his fever any good, and you couldn’t allow him to stay sick because of a sacrifice he’d made on your behalf. You cycle through some light cleaning to help with the atmosphere of the place, wiping down and disinfecting surfaces while also cleaning up stray laundry and trash floating about, and doing the dishes. All this while tending to Hyunjae and keeping watch of his temperature.

There comes a point where you think you’ve done too much, and you return to Hyunjae’s side, settling back on the pillow on the floor you’d set down for yourself earlier. You’re relieved to see Hyunjae’s labored breathing has eased up, and his brow is no longer furrowed against the pain he’d likely been in at the peak of the fever. Reaching up, you brush away a strand of hair from his forehead, dabbing the washcloth against his skin once more. For the upteenth time, you find yourself admiring his sharp yet soft features. This time, you can’t help but take note of the way his long eyelashes rest against his skin, and how soft his eyelids look with his eyes closed and how peaceful he looks with his lips slightly parted, lower lip slightly jutting out in a pout. You’re amazed that even while sick and pallid, he still looks this handsome.

“Hyunjae,” you murmur, patting the cloth against his forehead one more time before setting it aside. You rest your arm on the side of the couch, then your chin on top of it. You feel a drowsiness overtaking you, having not realized you’d actually done quite a bit of tasks around his apartment. “You should’ve told me you were getting sick. I want you to get better soon.”

This doesn’t count as the courage you’d finally mustered up—and you know you’ll have to do this all over again to be satisfied with yourself—but you reach up, pushing a bit more hair off his forehead. “Please don’t be sick, Hyunjae. I like you a lot, so you have to get better. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

As you pull your hand away from Hyunjae’s forehead, you’re surprised when your wrist is caught suddenly—immediately recognizing the long, lithe fingers that are wrapped around it as Hyunjae’s. You blink, startled, lowering your gaze from his forehead to his face. Hyunjae’s brown eyes blink at you, bleary, but not quite as unfocused as they had been before.

“Am I dreaming?” He mumbles, much more coherent than before.

“H-Hyunjae—?” You hadn’t expected him to be awake. Had he heard what you’d just said?

“Is this a dream?” He repeats, staring at you, before glancing to the side at your wrist he has hold of. Hyunjae shifts his hand, sliding his palm up your wrist against your own palm, engulfing your hand with his own as he entwines his fingers with yours. You stare at your hands, surprised. Just yesterday you’d done this and he’d acted as though he’d been burned.

A part of you wants to tell him he is. Maybe he’s still feverish enough that he won’t know any better. But the selfish voice at the back of your head tells you not to risk saying it—to not risk the moment.

“N-no… it’s not a dream.”

“Good,” Hyunjae mumbles. You feel him shift on the couch, giving your hand a squeeze as he does so. The movement causes you to turn your head, looking at him again—his sudden proximity catching you off guard. What catches you even more off guard is the way he leans in, softly pressing his lips against your own.

You blink a few times, before allowing your eyelids to flutter closed. Hyunjae’s lips meld with yours—softly, tenderly; shyly. You can feel his uncertainty as he kisses you, but just beyond that there’s also a needy hunger. There needs to be more but there’s no energy for that. Yet Hyunjae pours his everything into the kiss, as softly yet surely as he can. Years of emotions and love and yearning flow out against your lips and you can feel it in the slight intensity and the way he tastes on you.

If he weren’t sick, you’d allow yourself to suffocate against his lips—for him to steal every last breath from you. You can’t describe the giddiness that suddenly flows into your chest and stomach in words, but it feels so right. It felt nothing like the love you’d thought you’d had before.

When Hyunjae breaks apart, a small sound of complaint that you have no control over slips from the back of your throat. You wished that kiss would continue for an eternity.

Hyunjae chuckles. “I know,” he mumbles, giving your hand a squeeze again. “But I’m going to get you sick.”

“It’s okay, I don’t get sick easily.”

“I deserve that one,” Hyunjae mutters with a scoff, smiling sleepily. He pulls his hand from your grasp and rests it at the back of your head, pulling your head down with him as he lays back on the couch again. You rest your head against the cushions where you sit on the floor, and Hyunjae immediately snuggles a bit closer, breathing in your scent. You feel his thumb rub in a circle at the back of your head.

“I like you a lot, too. And I always have, for such a long time. So please don’t let this be a dream when I’m better and wake up,” he whispers into your hair, pressing a soft peck to the crown of your head.

You reach behind you, taking his hand from the top of your head to link your fingers again, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

“It won’t be. I promise.”

#hyunjae fanfic #tbz fanfic #hyunjae scenarios #tbz scenarios #deobiwritersnet #my head hurts editing this happy belated bday rani

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mytardisisparked · 4 years ago

Note

Is there any fics out there where Obi-Wan/Satine gets their heartbroken by the other? I haven’t seen any for it, and I’m really in the mood for one of them to get their heartbroken for some reason besides what obviously happens

Well, I’d say the majority of Obitine fics that aren’t a fix-it fic where Satine asks Obi-Wan to stay or they end up getting together somehow are fics where they get their hearts broken, but I’m guessing you are looking for something where they are older? I can’t think of any fics that fit that description right now so allow me to fill that gap for you.

-------

“Dance with me.”

She turned to find him standing there, hand extended and an amiable smile on his lips. She really shouldn’t have accepted, but the night was drawing to a close and the crowds were dwindling so she took his hand before she could give it a second thought.

Within seconds, they were twirling across the dance floor, faces far closer than they should have been.

They didn’t speak as they stepped in time, choosing instead to savor the way their feet moved together perfectly. Years of debating one another had left the Jedi Master and the duchess attuned to each other in such a way that made dancing look easy and natural. They didn’t realize it, but thirty seconds into the dance, everyone else moved off the dance floor and stood back to watch them in awe.

Their breath quickened as the music changed paced and their steps changed with it. Twirls and dips became faster and faster. Their feet hardly touched the floor as they spun and glided as fast as they could. Finally, the music let out one last high note, and the duchess and the Jedi snapped to a stop, noses nearly touching as they breathed the same air.

They barely heard the room erupt in applause.

Without a word, Obi-Wan stepped back, keeping one of Satine’s hands in his, and tugged her gently towards a dark hallway.

They stood in the shadows for a moment, facing each other. Satine’s pulse quickened as, ever so slowly, Obi-Wan’s hand slipped up to faintly touch her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the touch of a lover she had not known for nearly two decades. The hand finally cupped her cheek fully and she leaned into the touch, practically melting. She opened her eyes again to find Obi-Wan looking back at her with a question in his own. To respond, she tilted her head up and leaned forward invitingly.

Satine had always found that the great poets of old were lacking in their descriptions of kisses. There were simply no words that were numerous or powerful enough to describe how much kissing Obi-Wan Kenobi felt like home; every time their lips met she became absolutely certain that their souls were connected, their hearts were intertwined permanently, and there was nothing that could disconnect such a powerful bond. Kissing Obi-Wan Kenobi felt like receiving oxygen for the first time, her lungs heaving with the delicious taste of air she couldn’t live without. It felt like exploding in a ball of fantastic light. It felt like being pulled apart at the seams. It felt like burning.

It felt like something that was going to destroy her.

Suddenly, the rest of the world came crashing in around her, and Satine stepped back, ending all points of contact between them. She looked down at the floor so as to make this as painless as possible, but she had already seen Obi-Wan’s confused and hurt expression. He didn’t attempt to pull her back to him (she knew he never would, he was achingly polite), but his hands lingered in the space where she had once stood as if to try and feel her ghost.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi, I should not have done that.” She ignored the hot sting of tears behind her eyes because, really, she should be over this childhood romance by now and duchesses of Mandalore don’t fraternize with unattachable Jedi knights.

“Satine-”

“No, it’s alright Obi-Wan, it was cruel of me to-” Her voice broke, the mask of the duchess cracking to reveal Satine beneath it. “I can’t do this,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

Obi-Wan’s hands fall to his sides with a sense of finality. “I would have left, you know.” She finally managed to pull her gaze up to look into his hurt face. “If you had asked, I would have left the Jedi Order for you.”

She had long suspected such a truth, but its admission feels like a knife to the heart anyway. “And that is exactly why I never asked.”

Now it was his turn to look like he had been stabbed. “What?”

She raised her chin, the little glimmer of outrage in his eyes is enough to spark her most protective shield: defiance. “I never asked you to leave because I knew you would say yes, I knew you would stay and I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t let you ruin your life and deprive the Jedi Order of so fine a member.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, Satine. My life is mine to ruin how I please.”

“And in the course of ruining yours you would have ruined mine as well.” Satine snapped. “If I had let you stay you would have been the only thing that mattered and that would not have been able to stand.” She sighed and stepped back again, needing more distance. “This is the very reason we can’t do this now; this, us, is like a gravity well and if we get sucked in we will never come back to our duties.”

“So maybe we forsake our duties.”

Satine’s eyes flashed back up to his. His words were bold, but his eyes tell her that he knew the truth; they cannot be together or their worlds would fall apart.

So instead of fighting him tooth and nail, Satine simply smiled sadly. “No, Obi-Wan. We can’t.”

The finality of her statement is enough to keep him from protesting further. Instead, he straightened and closed his eyes, siphoning away the tears that had been there a moment ago. When he opens his eyes, the warm man who had kissed her moments before was gone, replaced by the cool, procedural face of the general.

“My apologies, Your Grace, for my impropriety.”

His voice was cold enough to freeze her heart and shatter it.

With a small bow, he left her in the dark hallway, devoid of anything but her thoughts and quiet sobs. This was for the best, she knew, but that didn’t mean that every step Obi-Wan took away from her wasn’t like ripping herself apart from the inside out.

#Obitine #Obi-Wan #Satine #no beta read we die like men #star wars #the clone wars

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confusednarcissistwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Teenage Dirtbag Pt. 4 (K.S.)

this one is a bit of a filler chapter?? I’m sorry it’s a bit short, but it’s very important. it’s also pretty sad :( hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless! Here is the song mentioned at the end as well; it’s always made me think of Kyle.

(cursing, mentions of death)

You really didn’t deserve Missy. The moment you walked back into your dorm with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks she knew. You broke down again as soon as you saw the concerned but unsurprised look on her face, and she promptly wrapped you up in a hug. She was incredibly petite, but somehow she had a way of making you feel safe even from yourself. She directed you to sit on the bed and handed you a makeup wipe before fixing you both some tea. You wiped your streaked makeup from your face, shivery breaths shaking your frame.

You were so frustrated. There was no way you’d so easily slipped back into his grasp after you’d spent so much time cutting away everything that endeared him to you. You fought to recall how broken he’d left you. You wanted- no, you needed to relive it. That was the only way to extinguish these feelings bubbling back up inside of you.

Missy handed you your mug, sitting next to you with her legs crossed. “What happened, love?”

You sighed, feeling so ashamed. “I just.. I just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to try and clear the air, I guess. But..” You stared into your tea, unable to meet her eyes. “We slept together again.”

“Y/N.. This has to stop,” Missy scolded, her brow wrinkled up.

You felt defensive. “I mean it was just sex! We barely even said anything.”

“You wouldn’t have come home in tears if it was just sex to you, Y/N.” Her tone softened, placing a hand on your knee.

You were brought back to that crooked, little smile he’d given you in the back of his car, your heart aching in your chest. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew she was right. You wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“Where do you see this going? Do you think you’ll get back together?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. It was absurd to even think about.

“Then don’t do this to yourself. You have a big heart. Don’t waste it on someone like him.” She tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, rubbing your back consolingly.

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Thank you,” you mumbled, giving her a tired smile.

“Of course, sweets. You know I just want what’s best for you always.” She pulled you into another quick hug before hopping up. “Okay, now let's watch some slasher movies to distract you.”

“God, again? Always with these things? They’re terrible!!” you protested, sipping from your tea.

“Mm, yes. But I love them and they always work.”

“Ah, yes. A good beheading is always the perfect salve for a wounded heart,” you deadpanned, throwing a pillow at her teasingly.

“Now that’s the spirit!!”

++++++

A few days passed. You’d half expected to hear something from Kyle, but the messages never came. While, of course, you overthought it all to death and still couldn’t understand him, you did find a sense of relief in the space. You had almost gotten to the point where you could pretend nothing had happened. Almost.

It was 8:30. Missy had gone out with some of her friends for the evening while you had stayed back at the dorm to work on homework. You were enjoying your solitude when a knock came from your door. Sliding the pile of books from your lap, you jumped up and answered it.

You were promptly pressed back into your room, lips you didn’t immediately recognize pressed hungrily against yours. Kyle. He kicked the door closed behind him, holding your face between both of his hands. Finally, your brain kicked into gear, and you shoved him back.

“Kyle, what the fuck?” you questioned incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He stepped closer, thumbing your bottom lip.

“No, stop. Don’t touch me.” You recoiled. He looked a bit surprised by that, even a little hurt. “You need to leave.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, but I think you’re being a little-“

“Fucking go! You can’t just come back into my life and start screwing with my head. I-I can’t take it.” Your hands shook as you fought to keep your voice steady. “What exactly do you think this is?”

“I don’t understand. You sleep with me twice and now I’m the bad guy? You came to me. What’s with this sudden change of heart? You’re choosing to be upset over this.”

Anger bubbled inside of you. “Get. Out.”

He scoffed, turning his heel and leaving the room.

++++++

Kyle arrived home about an hour later after driving around the campus blasting music till his head ached. He sat in the driveway just staring into space, avoiding going inside for as long as he could. He was angry. He knew it was truly just shame that he had to come home with his tail between his legs, but all he felt was anger. He was angry at you. Angry at himself. Angry at the world. He finally pulled his keys from the ignition, his boots heavy against the concrete steps up into his home.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Hey, mom,” he replied, already heading toward the basement. She didn’t normally try to coerce him into talking much anymore, much to his relief. That’s how he knew something was wrong when she called for him.

“Come into the kitchen, please.”

He suppressed a sigh but obeyed, placing himself down at the dinner table while his mother bustled around the kitchen preparing dinner. She put down what she was doing and sat down in the chair next to him, placing her hand over his. “We got some news today.”

Oh god. Kyle felt his gut churn at the familiar line that was always followed by something he knew he wouldn’t want to hear. Judging by the tears already welling in his mother’s eyes, it was worse than normal.

“Dr. Tice wants to put your father on hospice.”

Kyle swallowed thickly, his brow wrinkling as he fought to keep it together.

“I know I don’t really need to explain what that means to you. The nurses will be here day and night to keep him comfortable and medicated until..” she trailed off, her voice cracking.

He continued to stare at the floor, every bone in his body fighting to keep composure. He knew this was the very last thing his dad wanted, but there was nothing anyone could do. The cancer had eaten him up until all that was left was a body in a bed. As far as Kyle was concerned, his dad had died weeks ago.

He watched helplessly as his mother sobbed at the kitchen table, a sight he’d seen more times than he could count in the last few years. He took her hand, giving it a squeeze as he clenched his jaw and fought back his own tears. He knew he needed to keep it together for her. She needed him to be strong no matter what. But he didn’t know how much more he could take. He stood, unable to stand it anymore. Long strides followed a familiar path through his childhood home.

Once he descended the stairs to the basement, he pulled out his favorite Rolling Stones record and placed it on the turntable. The needle scratched and crackled for a moment before slipping into the worn grooves. He turned the volume up, removing his shirt and tossing it onto the couch. This was all ritual to him now. The space was small, but it was all his. Crates of records and tapes were stacked against the wall, and an old leather couch occupied the majority of the space. Old sketches and sheet music scattered the floor, but he didn’t care. He laid out on worn rug that reduced the chill from the concrete floor, his limbs spread out as the intro of Sympathy For the Devil began to play. His eyes slipped shut and he let the vibrations seep into his bones, the slapping bass strings bringing catharsis to the frayed edges of his mind.

His sobs shook his body.

TAGLIST: @londonmademedoit @cathyoliveros10 @yourgoddessfromvogue

#kyle scheible #kyle scheible x reader #kyle scheible imagine #ladybird #ladybird fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet blurb #timothee chalamet series #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet series #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet blurb #timothée chalamet imagine #confusednarcissistwrites

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just-a-demi-bean · 3 years ago

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alright so crazy surgeon time

basically i have an absolutely insane surgeon, who is a great guy, but jesus i have so many stories with this guy. he's insane.

Background info: I was diagnosed with osteosarcoma a few years ago, which is a bone cancer. I had a tumor on my right femur (don’t worry I’m okay now!!!!)

This is gonna be a long one so under the cut (tw cancer and some descriptive medical stuff, i'll put that in the tags):

So when I was first diagnosed, I was told I had one option, which was to remove the tumor and the bone from my leg, which would leave a 4in+ gap in my leg, which was obviously not good, so they’d replace the missing bone with a metal rod. I would also have to get a knee replacement. This is the standard procedure, it only takes 1 surgery, but it leaves the leg extremely fragile and can lead to health complications in the long run. I wouldn’t be able to do any sort of contact sports or anything like that

We were going to go along with it because I wasn’t planning on like,,,,pursuing a career as an athlete or anything, so I was kinda like “alright cool sucks I guess” but my dad was kinda not cool with it because he’s like this marathoner who’s done Boston and NYC so he started hunting down other options so I think he talked to one of his ex-colleagues about it, and they suggested we talk to this guy, who I’ll call Dr. Duke for reasons that would kinda make sense if you knew him

So Dr. Duke is sort of an expert in this thing called “distraction osteogenesis”. Basically, when they remove part the bone, they stabilize the two remaining ends of the bone, and another small piece of the remaining bone is held in place in between the two ends of the bone with a rod. The rod can slowly elongate so that the small piece of bone moves between the two rods. It tricks the body into thinking that “oh, the bone is broken, so I have to heal it”, so the gap in the bone fills in over time. Once the bone is fully healed, the hardware is removed. The process takes a while, moving the piece of bone around 1mm a day.

Basically, they trick the bone into filling in the gap. The minimum amount of surgeries for this process is 2-3. Dr. Duke is one of the few people who uses distraction osteogenesis with bone tumors/sarcomas.

Seems straightforward, right? NO. WRONG.

Dr. Duke is a great guy. He’s great. He’s nice. He has two kids of his own. I was one of his older patients, but really he takes patients from super young pediatric patients to 70-year-olds. He’s a very optimistic person, he’s super excited about what he does, and he’s verging on “mad scientist” but he’s a good guy.

So I became his patient and I did the first surgery. Great! Cool! Now I have this rod and about 20 screws in my leg! So we started the lengthening process and that was all cool and great and then we find out that wow, we have to do another surgery!

Here’s the thing: the rod they put in my leg only does about 8cm worth of growth. I had to do around 16cm. So they take out the rod replace it with a new one that does the rest of the lengthening. Fun. So we continue with the lengthening process.

When I became this guy’s patient, he had around 30 attempts of this process, all successful. It’s not a bad number considering that he’d only been doing the process for a handful of years before. I was still one of his “trial” cases.

I was doing the lengthening process during chemotherapy, but chemo takes a super huge toll on the body, and basically my bone was just,,,,not growing back. He was like “yeah, that happens. Once you finish treatment the bone will start growing back! No worries!” And we were like “cool!” And then I finished treatment and the bone still wasn’t growing back.

So he and his PA come to us and is like: “alright. you gotta have another surgery.”

(A bit about his PA—she’s basically like his right arm. She took a vacation for a week and the entire office was just a mess. HE was a mess. No one knew what was going on. She’s literally like 40% of his impulse control. She’s also kind of a genius. She’s also going on maternity leave in a month or so, and I am terrified to see how he’ll handle it. HE doesn’t know how he’s gonna handle it.)(She’s also rather pessimistic, and Dr. Duke is super optimistic, so if you want an actually accurate evaluation you’re going to have to talk to them both at once.)

Basically they wanted to do the lengthening process again, because the bone wasn’t filling in. So we were like “that kind sucks but alright” and I get another surgery and we start doing the process again and this time Dr. Duke is like “Alright, so try to put weight on the leg, because it’ll help with the growing process” and so I start trying to walk again. Around this time, I’m usually using 1 crutch, so I can use my leg and put weight on it without putting my full weight on it. And then there’s another surgery after that where they replace the rod.

The timeline gets a little fuzzy here but around this time the hardware moved out of place. Basically some screws were like “yeah we’re not doing this anymore” and fell out of place. So I’m pretty sure I had to do another surgery and move it back into place. Fast forward a couple months and the bone is regrowing but then my surgeon comes up to me and is like “alright we might have to do another surgery” because the bone is not filling in fast enough.

So we do the lengthening process for a third time. Fun. Dandy. This is great. Then they do the rod replacement. At this time I’ve had around 9+ surgeries which is really fun.

And then the hardware moved out of place! Again! So now they fix the hardware and everything is fine and dandy!

And then my most recent surgery was to remove some of the hardware. So i come back for my checkup and he's like. "Okay don't freak out. There's a crack in your bone. I also may have accidentally left a drill bit in your leg. It's fine. The crack will heal. I'll get the drill bit out next time." and then we moved on.

So I’ve had 10+ surgeries with him (everyone has lost count. Including him.) and I hopefully have one more to go, but he’s the one who told me I’d only have to do 3 surgeries.

Some more fun stories about him:

He shaves his head every childhood cancer awareness month, but he keeps the beard.

He’s also a cancer survivor!

One time he burned me by accident in the OR and he felt terribly about it

One time he forgot which leg he was supposed to be operating on (before the surgery) but thankfully his PA was there and was like “no,,,,it’s the other one,,,,”

I did my chemotherapy at a separate hospital, and my main doctor there is so fucking done with him. Every time I have a checkup with her she’s like “So. How is Dr. Duke doing.” And I have to fill her in on the stuff he’s been up to.

He told me I’d be done with the entire process in 9 months. It’s been 3+ years and I’m not done.

I have checkups with him around every month (sometimes every 2 weeks) and every single time I see him I sit in the waiting room for over 4 hours. The worst time was when I had an appointment at 8:30AM and I saw him at 5PM. He is literally always late.

He treated this woman in her 60s and now she skis double black diamonds, which I just think is cool

#tw surgery #tw medical #tw gore #just in case?#its not gore lol it's just a bunch of medical stuff

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maevemarethyu · 4 years ago

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Unexpected (5/?)

(Not my GIF)

(This is my shitty border though. First try and all.)

You weren’t expecting it. Neither of you were.

That didn’t mean you weren’t happy with how it ended.

Bucky Barnes x Reader Fic.

Warnings: I don’t think there are any in this one? Sad Boi Hours, Firearms?

“That went well.”

Before the last word can leave your mouth, the newly familiar feeling of being wrapped in Bucky envelopes your senses. Your arms wind themselves around his large torso and relief seeps into your veins as you hold each other. It was really over. You and Patrick, he and Claire. It was done and you should be relived.

You weren’t. You felt sick and in pain. It hurts. Its terrifying. And James…

He was shaking in your grip. Or was that you?

Claire’s vicious words rise in your mind and you instinctively grip Bucky’s shirt tightly.

“It’s not true.” His voice reverberates in your ear and you pull your head away from his chest to look into his ice-blue eyes. “What he said. I don’t believe a word of it.”

Instead of trying to find words, you barrel back into his chest, nearly knocking the both of you onto the floor. After silently standing there for a few moments, your mouth opens on its own accord.

“They’re wrong about the both of us. They’re bitter and scared.” As they should be. There was no mercy for them in New York.

A chuckle rumbles around you and you finally peel yourself away from the giant of a man. “Frank.” He says after a moment. “Frank Castle. So you’re?”

“Y/N Castle. I’m sorry for not telling you before. Frankie made me promise to not make it known for my own safety. Started going by Patrick’s last name when Frank was drafted into special ops and, after the trial, we kept it even more on the down low.”

You had to assume the Avengers were briefed on your brother. It didn’t seem apparent that a mass murdering anti-hero wouldn’t be on their radar.

“Nat’s gonna lose it. she used to have an interest in your brother if you know what I mean.”

You do. You do know what he means and the mental image of your brother and the Black Widow together sent a shiver down your spine. The world would never be ready for that.

The words please god no are cut off by the sound of your phone ringing followed closely by Bucky’s and, with a simultaneous sigh, you both pull out your respectful devices.

“Barnes.”

“Dr. Castle.”

Matt mumbles something incoherently from his end of the line before the familiar voice of Karen tells him to shut up. “Hey Y/N. Not to worry you or anything but, Frank just called and he’s fully intent of going to prison so if you could-“

“How’d it go?!” Foggy yells, drowning out Karen’s plea and you rub your forehead with your free hand. They know how much you hate when they talk over each other. It always resulted in an instant headache.

A gentle hand on your shoulder draws your eyes back to Bucky who appears to be getting his own array of questions. He keeps his voice low to prevent any eavesdropping.

“You okay?” The warmth in his eyes offset their icy color and you feel the tension slip from your body before nodding.

“Don’t like to me Doll.” With a grumble, he takes the phone from your hand and turns on the speaker, then doing the same with his phone. A cacophony of your friend’s voices echo through your home and overwhelm you. You loved them, really, but right now all you want to do is curl up on the couch with Laysa (who somehow managed to sleep through the entire ordeal) and maybe drink yourself into a stupor.

As if reading your mind Bucky clears his throat loudly and the voices fall silent.

“We appreciate you all but, I think Y/N and I agree when we say we need some time to-“

“Unwind.” You supply when he falters and he gives you a bright smile. “Things got a bit heated and we want the time to process everything before we tell you guys what happened.”

“And maybe get you some ice for your hand.” James adds under his breath and you nearly snort from trying to hold back a laugh.

“We get it. Just call us when you’re ready.” A man says from Bucky’s phone and you let out a breath.

“Thanks Stevie. We’ll talk to you soon.”

“Let’s just hope its before your brother goes on another spree. I won’t be able to keep him out of prison this time.” Matt mumbles before ending the call.

James doesn’t give the Avengers time to question, quickly hitting the end button and turning off his phone.

You both let out a collective sigh of relief at the sweet silence.

“I’m glad Matt didn’t dial in Fr-“

A loud bang on your door causes a shriek to erupt from your throat and, before you can fully process what’s going on, a metal arm grips your arm gently and moves you away from the noise. Bucky tucks you behind him and draws a pistol from the waistband of his jeans. His movements are so fluid that you’re almost at a loss for words.

Almost.

“James Buchannan Barnes you brought a gun into my home?!” You keep your voice low despite your anger and he throws an apologetic look over his shoulder. You open your mouth to berate him some more when the door is thrown open, the lock doing nothing to prevent the force behind it.

A rain of dust from the sheetrock causes you to cough uncontrollably and cover your eyes but, the sound of an angry growl forces them open again. You knew that noise.

“Frankie?!” You sputter, walking out from behind the wall that was Bucky Barnes.

Lo and behold, there he was, your brother in all of his furious glory. You’d only seen it yourself maybe once or twice and, for some twisted reason, you found it comforting.

To your relief, James drops his weapon instantly and moves out of the way as Frank storms into your home. You had to admire your brother’s one-track mind as he completely ignores the other man and focuses on you.

“Where is he?” He was seething, red in the face, and breathing heavily.

“You broke my door.” You deadpan, crossing your arms across your chest. Sure, he was set on murdering your now ex-husband but, that didn’t excuse property damage. “You have a fucking key.”

“Y/N.”

You know he means business when he uses your full name instead of the various nicknames he had given you throughout your childhood.

“Long gone. Took his shit and ran when I called yoU!” Before you can finish your sentence, he pulls you into a tight hug and fresh tears spring to your eyes at the familiarity of it. It hadn’t been long since the last time he held you like this, barely a week, but the circumstances couldn’t be more different. You couldn’t be more different.

Last week you had been happily married and wanting to start a real family. Now you were divorced and seriously needing your brother to come cheer you up.

A tiny squeak breaks you from your thoughts causing your eyes to fly open and lock on Bucky’s ocean blue orbs as he bends down to pick up a whining Laysa. He nods towards the hall with the nursery and coddles her into his chest before leaving the living room quietly. The way it became second nature for James to care for the little cub leaves you with a fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Frank placing a kiss on your temple brings your focus back to him and he eyes you curiously.

“Is there a reason the Winter Soldier is in my baby sister’s house minutes after I get a call about her scumbag husband?” He questions lightly.

You scoff at the thought. You know your brother and you know his question is anything but innocent as his eyes watch the hallway like a hawk.

“The woman Pat was…” You can’t finish the sentence, not in front of him. “James’ wife. He caught them on camera. Ran all the way here when he found out Patrick was married. We wanted to confront them together.”

You can’t be sure but, an almost appreciative look enters your brother’s dark eyes and a warm feeling floods your body. For some reason the idea of Frank and Bucky not hating each other hadn’t crossed your mind. You assumed that they would instantly butt heads as most Alpha males did when in the same room.

Your thought may sound primitive to others but, reducing people down to their most basic forms came with the territory when you spent all your time studying the animal kingdom.

What you had in front of you was incredibly rare and you watch with wide eyes when Bucky emerges from the nursery and Frank releases his hold on you to properly greet him with a firm shake that probably would have broken Patrick’s hand.

Two Alpha males who’re not related coexisting peacefully. Your coworker Whitney wouldn’t believe you.

“Your sister has a mean right hook.” Bucky’s soft as velvet voice forces an embarrassed snort from you despite your brother’s proud look and when Frank looks between you and Bucky with a single raised brow, you cave.

“Okay! I may have hit her but, she deserved it.” You defend and, for the first time since he entered your home, Frank cracks a smirk. “And Bucky threw Patrick!”

“It was more of a toss really.” The world renowned and feared Winter Soldier shuffles his feet shyly, refusing to meet your eyes and Frank’s smirk widens into a full blow grin.

You shake your head with a laugh before your mind wanders to the little cub in the nursery. “How is she?”

James perks up instantly. “She’s good, fell asleep as soon as I put her in the crib.”

You can feel your brother’s eyes on you but, you ignore it in favor of wiping the residual tears from your eyes. “That’s good. It’s a wonder she can fall back asleep after being so rudely awoken.”

Frank has the decency to look properly admonished and you have to mentally take a step back. You currently had two of the most dangerous people in New York in your house and yet you had both of them shuffling their feet. You were definitely telling Sam about this.

“Sorry sis. I’ll fix it later.” Frank mutters, shaking the dust off of his jacket before turning towards the door. “Right now. I’m going to go hunt down your piece of shit ex and do much more than toss him around.”

With a fearsome grin, he flashes the two firearms on his belt and you huff in exasperation. “I told you I don’t want any guns in my house! Now, there’s four.”

Both men stare at you in confusion and you roll your eyes. “Buck you have another strapped to your right ankle. You’ve been favoring that foot since you walked in. I’m not dumb.”

The blue-eyed man’s face reddens when he realizes he’s been caught and Frank barks out a harsh laugh.

“There she is.” He smiles proudly. “I’m serious about the door though. I’ll fix it later. I’ve been waiting too long to put Patrick in his place.”

“No! You’ll fix it no-“

He’s out the broken door before you can finish your sentence and a frustrated growl erupts from your throat. Once again, your brother’s one-track mind ceases to amaze you and Bucky barely manages to catch the heavy oak door before it completely falls off of its hinges.

“I’m going to beat some sense into him next time I see him.” You vow, causing Bucky to grin sheepishly as he sets the door against the wall.

“So that was Frank Castle?” James laughs lightly.

“Yeah.” You hum. “That was Frank Castle.”

Chapter shorter than I hoped but, It was necessary for the story to flow better

Tags: @luthien-t @vicmc624

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader

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drethanramslay · 4 years ago

Text

Without You

Pairing: Logan x MC (Lexi Cahill)

Masterlist

Word count: 2.5 K words

Warning: Just a little cursing, here and there and Angst

MC is actually not present in this fic, this is Logan's POV, four months after he had to leave LA

Author's note: I decided to take part in @rodappreciationweek so here is my submission :))

Thanks to @choicesarehard @brightpinkpeppercorn and @client-327 for hosting this 💙

Thanks to @mvalentine for pre-reading it❤️❤️

Title inspiration: Without You by Avicii (ft. Sandro Cavazza)

Song: Gone by Blake Rose

Forgive me if I make any mistakes.

The rays of the sun spilled through the crack in my curtains, making the white walls a yellow hue. My eyes were bleary and red rimmed. It had just been moments since I woke up and my hangover struck me like a train wreck, a familiar electric pain behind my eyes.

I shouldn't have drank so much.

I moved my head to only see an an empty bed side. Of course she left. Who would want to stick around after a one night stand?

The hazy memories of last night filtered through my head, making me wince. Another night, another rave, another tray of shots and another chick to bang.

You could call it saturday shenanigans but, this was different.

Everything was different since I left her.

All my days just seem to melt away into a haze of alcohol and drugs... Today, tomorrow, yesterday seems to fuse into this neverending torture, an ache which no matter how much I drink or how many girls I fuck, never fucking ceases to hurt. The only thing which can fix this gaping wound in my heart is Lexi.

But she is not here.

And never will be.

So this is how it has been for the past weeks. Me getting inebriated to new extremes just to numb the pain and to temporarily erase the loneliness before I become sober again.

Because when I'm in those intoxicated wastelands, I'm so out of it that I can almost hallucinate her dancing with me. I can almost smell her strawberry shampoo, tickling my nose. I can almost hear her tinkling laugh.

And in my alcohol induced sleep, I dream of her in my arms the both of us fitting together, like two jigsaw puzzles.

I despise being sober. Because when I am In my senses, the entire load of loss weighs down on me, crushing me and suffocating me. The 'could have been's' and the regret are all a heavy burden on my shoulders.

A small part of me is often wishing, praying and hoping that things could just go back to normal but, deep in my gut I know, that nothing is ever going to be the same again.

Nothing is ever going to be the same, now that she was gone...

How much time does it take to get over people?

It may be a day, a week, a month or a year. There is no definitive time span for getting over someone you loved, someone you cherished or someone who was close to your heart.

I think it depends on how much of an impact the said person had on you or how much of a void that person left in you.

I was the wild and carefree guy, with no strings attached and never saw myself being the one to fall in love because... Let's admit it, love is a vulnerability, a weakness which people don't hesitate to exploit.

But fast forward to four months later, I am in the same category as those emotional pussies crying over a breakup.

Being brought up in foster homes made me grow up quickly. Some houses were good and caring whilst some were harsh. And knowing that I am the most cursed person to walk the earth, I was always was stuck with the shitty households.

Don't believe me? I still have those scars from the fights and the beatings.

Growing up in such a hostile environment, taught me that there is no room for weakness or error and that love and feelings are just some fairy tale myth which is made by philosophical fools to give you a sense of hope.

But, hope is a dangerous thing, two side of the same coin. It can make you and break you.

I don't think I would have survived my childhood but... That's when I fell in love with cars.

It holds a special place in my heart.

The way my adrenaline spikes as the pointer on my speedometer achieves unattainable speeds, the way I feel the purr of my engine resound through my entire body and they way it's just me, my car and the open road... Nobody could ever compare to that sensation of freedom.

Well, that was before I met her.

Lexi Cahill.

I admit it started off as a way to recruit her as an informant, a tool to stay out of prison, another heart to break.

But little did I know that life would pull the fucking reverse uno card on me. But, I'm low-key glad it did.

It's been 4 months since that scum bag was thrown into the jail.

Four months since the crew went its separate ways.

Four months since I walked away from her.

I don't want to let you go...

Those words were on a repeat in his head, like a broken tape recorder and her teary eyes and broken expression is forever burnt into his brain. It was so hard to let her go. The one time I found a reason to stay, a reason to fight for, a reason to stop running, life just fucked it all up.

It was a tussle, a war between what my heart wanted and the logical side of me which just left me exhausted.

In conclusion, heartbreak sucks.

I reach for my phone and switch it on to check the time. But my eyes fall on our prom photo which I had made as my wallpaper. It's really stupid how head over heels I'm in love with her.

But it's the truth.

There is a saying that life gives you only one great love and that many people go for years without that.

I was one of the few lucky people to get that at 18.

But life is not sunflowers and unicorns shitting rainbows. It's rough, it's hard with its a mix of ups and downs. But it seems like mine is set to be on the all time low.

Staggering to the bathroom, I heavily leaned against the counter, my muscles flexing as I gripped the edge. My eyes lifted to see my reflection staring back at me.

I look like a hot mess.

This isn't you Logan... My inner conscience said, which eerily sounded like her.

God, I really must be losing it, huh?

Slowly and painfully I started my morning chores, my body on auto pilot. My mind kept on wandering to Lexi. She would be in Langston by now.

Would she be in that off shoulder sweater of hers, her feather tattoo peaking from underneath the sleeve? Would she be highlighting and colour coordinating her notes like she always did?

Would she have made new friends? Or dare I say a new boyfriend?

Logan stop hurting yourself. I said to myself as I visibly cringed at the thought of someone else having their arms around her.

The idea of someone else kissing her soft lips or someone else holding her hands or someone else running his hands along the curvature of her naked back made me equal parts angry and sad.

Angry for you know, obvious reasons but sad for the life I had to leave behind in LA.

God I hate this existential crisis shit... It's to early to question life.

I dragged myself in the direction of the kitchen, the smell of bacon waking me up. I was shirtless and wearing a pair of sweatpants because I was too fucking tired to wear anything else.

"Look who has decided to grace us with their presence."

"Shut up Carl, it's too early for your bullshit." Raven said as she slapped the top of his head.

I shot her a look of gratitude as I sank into my seat and reached for the plate of pancakes.

Carl and Raven were the closest thing to parents for me. Carl was a tough man with huge muscles, around six feet tall but, he was as goofy as a child. Raven was his girlfriend who was hella intimidating. The kohl lined eyes and the floral tattoo on the side of her shaven head made her look fierce. Both of them were in their early thirties and ran the Detroit Central crew.

We three were in a different crew when I was 15 and they really took a liking for me. They taught me everything I know and they are the family that I always came back too.

I dug into my breakfast, eating slowly and savouring the sweetness of the maple syrup.

"Thank god you are atleast eating now." Raven said as she ruffled my hair and turned towards the sink.

I shrugged and Carl picked up the newspaper to read, settling into his seat. Suddenly, the bell rang which had all of our backs becoming as stiff as a rod.

"Were you expecting someone, darlin'?" Raven asked, trying to peak through the windows.

"Don't get up, I'll do it." Carl said as he picked up the gun on the counter and pushed it into the back pocket of his cargo pants.

I was frozen, terrified. I had been very careful in escaping but me being the reckless fool and getting drunk seven ways to Sunday may have tipped them off.

I'm such a colossal dumbass.

I could hear Carl's gruff voice talking but I couldn't peek at the person on the other side of the door. I just sank further into my seat, hoping that it was some lost person and not the FBI.

"Boy this one's for you." He moved aside and the person I least expected to see walked in.

"You look like shit."

"Good morning to you too, asshole." I rolled my eyes.

Colt walked into the kitchen, wearing his trademark leather jackets and dark jeans. His combat boots made a thud sound with each step which made my headache worse.

"Will you be okay, Lo-lo?" Raven asked, her eyes flitting to the jerk standing in her kitchen.

Colt snorted at the nickname but luckily kept his mouth shut.

"Yep Ra. Meet Colt Kaneko. Colt meet Raven and Carl." I spoke at I stood up and put my dirty dishes in the sink.

"Oh you are Kaneko's boy, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"We heard about what went down in LA. Our condolences. He was a great man."

He gave a nod. It was a sore subject for me as well. That night in the alley, I wished I could take it back. I usually am not one to regret what I spew but whatever I said to Kaneko is another burden I'm gonna carry all my life.

"Also heard about your crew busted the Brotherhood? You were the mastermind behind it right?" Carl said as he crossed his arms.

"As much as I would love to take the credit, it was Lexi who came up with the plan." Colt said his eyes darted towards me, gauging my reaction.

"The newbie? Heard she drives like the wind-"

Hearing her name felt like an iron fist clenching my heart. That name will always be the source of my happiness, my cherished memories and my melancholy.

"Colt let's take this to the backyard, shall we?" Logan spoke up, interrupting them.

He walked to the back door and Colt followed him wordlessly. It a sunny day but a cool breeze blew which provided some kind of relief.

I reached to take out two beers from the cooler and handed him one. Colt raised an eyebrow.

"Beer... At ten in the morning?"

I shrugged as I popped the bottle cap off mine. "It's 5pm somewhere else."

"That's true too. Cheers." We clinked the necks of our bottles and took a sip as we sat down on the patio chairs.

I turned towards him. "So what brings you to Detroit?"

"To see your pretty face?" Colt said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes.

I snorted. "Always knew you had a thing for me, pretty boy."

"Always knew that you had an ego the size of Jupiter, dickhead. Some things just don't change."

I sighed. "Can't say the same for me through. Everything is different now."

Surprisingly, Colt didn't mock him. He stared down at the bottle in his hands. "Yeah... I can understand. How are you holding up?" He asked as he turned to face me.

I took a huge gulp of my beer before responding, my eyes staring at the mango tree in my neighbor's back yard.

"Not too good. It's been hard for the last couple of months. Kaneko's death, leaving LA and maintaining a low profile... It's been tough."

Life without Lexi is tough.

"Yeah I can understand. I still imagine pops opening the door to wake me up. And don't get me started on the FBI... bunch of bloodsuckers." He muttered the last part.

I snorted. "I'll drink to that."

"Good thing they are off our backs now." Colt spoke eyeing him from the corner of his eyes.

I scoffed. "Bitch please. They are anything but lazy. They are gonna continue hunting us down till the end of time."

"I meant that we are not the top priorities at the moment. Sure Mona was sent to jail but, a little birdie told me that they are after this 'world class' thief at the moment."

"That's a relief I guess."

"Do you know what this means?" He asked taking another sip of beer.

"It's too early for my brain to function. Come to the point, asshole."

"We are rebuilding the crew, dickhead."

My eyes widened. "No way."

"Yup." He said popping the 'p'. He downed the remainder of his beer before standing up. "I'm done repairing the garage. We have a job in two months and I need a crew for that. I already have Ximena on board and now I'm gonna go over to Toby's."

My mind was swimming. Mercy Park Crew was coming back for good.

I looked up at him, suddenly nervous. "What about Lexi?"

He rolled his eyes. "When I said I'm rebuilding the crew, I also meant recruiting Lexi, dumbass."

Oh god.

She is going to come back.

I was frozen in my place once again. I had often asked myself how I would react if I got the chance to meet her again. I always imagined that I would let out the loudest cheer and dance like a mad man.

But this is reality and my thundering heart was a reminder of that.

"Why are you sitting there with your mouth open like a fish? Go! Get your girl."

And that was it. I rushed to my room, put on some decent clothes and haphazardly stuffed my things into my satchel. Grabbing my keys and yelling a quick good bye to Raven and Carl, I was out and in my 2005 Devore GT.

Reving the engine I took off on the roads of Detroit, heading for the highway.

The window was open and the breeze threaded through my unruly hair, making me feel alive. My hands clutched the wheel and my foot pressed down on the accelerator, speeding through the empty streets.

For the first time, in a very long, the roads which felt like a never ending maze for me, were the very ones which were the path to my freedom.

The path to my happiness.

The path to my Lexi.

I hope you liked it 😊

Logan x mc: @kaavyaethanramsey @openheart @skylarklyon @shadowycreatorpaperopera @pixelberryownsme @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor @anotherbeingsworld

Permanent Tag list: @trappedinfandoms @oofchoices @agent-breakdance @rookie-ramsey @dailydoseofchoices @colossalpainintheass @siaramsey @raleigheffingcarrera @theeccentricbibliophile @ac27dj @ramseysno1rookie @justanotherrookie @openheart12 @jamespotterthefirst @checkurwindow @chasingrobbie @junggoku @bellcat2010 @choicesstan1 @mvalentine @crazynutella @hatescapsicum @dr-ramseys-rookie @lilypills @decadentwinnerjudgedream @choicesficwriterscreations @nooruleman @anonymously-cool @sanvivrma

#anushka writes #logan x mc #logan rod #ride or die #ride or die: a bad boy romance #choices rod #rod choices #rodaw #rod appreciation week #colt kaneko #rod colt #choices stories you play #choices stories we play #choices #pixelberry #playchoices #rodappreaciationweek

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littlemspeachy · 4 years ago

Text

Tell me again it’s not you it’s the situation

Part One of You keep me waiting

Warnings: Mentions of Murder

Word Count: 1.5K

He wonders how little he drank for him to remember the events of the night before, or at least remember enough to know who left those marks on his collarbone. Attempting to avoid his own gaze in the mirror he starts his daily routine and heads out to get his first cup of tea.

He doesn't know where the habit started, not the drinking or the sex to forget the night before. But his tea habit: one in the morning before going to work, one at work, one during lunch, then several in the afternoon that soon turns into another long work night.

"It's the stress." She tells him one night when she sits across from him in the middle of the night drinking a special brew that cures hangovers deadly hangovers before they have the chance to kill her head in the morning. The only light on her brown skin coming from the fridge.

It's the same quote that he tells himself every time he calls her over and wakes up wondering what the hell he was doing with his life.

Her notes started piling up in his junk drawer along with every letter from his mom he can't seem to throw away.

Thanks for last night, made you some tea x.

And just like that, the cycle repeats. He told himself to stop, go to therapy, something. Yet like a child, pride keeps him from walking through the door. But like every other day he shakes his head and grabs his robes before heading out the door.

"Good morning Malfoy." The guard grunts at him as he walks in, before turning back to his newspaper.

Draco gives a curt nod in the direction of the sound before heading to his office and starting his day. Same day, same office, and similar work that he has to do before some deadline passes. That's one thing Draco liked about being older, no matter how toxic the cycle, it all stayed the same.

He walks into his joint office before noticing that Potter wasn't there like he normally was. Made sense considering that he was going to be a father soon. One thing Draco couldn't prove he was better at, not that he'd like to anyway. The idea of passing down the bloodline and having someone else be dragged into the whole ordeal sounded like an unusually cruel joke. Luckily he had too much work to get into before even finding someone to get involved with at that level.

Speaking of work there was not much to get done. He thought looking through his notes that he had written about some artifacts that were to be presented during the trial against some murderous fools that found enjoyment in torturing muggles secretly. It was disgusting really; How one could see the damage and ruin that Voldermort brought and then wanted to see if they could do the same. What was worse was that they were much stupider. So much stupider that-

"Hey, Malfoy.. I know you're working but Sanchez is summoning you to his office." Came the voice of Potter.

"Can I put it off till lunch?" He asked dryly looking up from his notes. It's not that he didn't like the man, it's just that his manners were far to American, which made him quite annoying at times. Unfortunately, he's amazing on the field and in the interrogating room making him a valuable member of their department.

"No... He says it's quite urgent and that you've been requested immediately." Potter said opening the door to Malfoys office a bit wider.

Draco frowned upon hearing those words because the only time you would be requested was when you were being requested for doing investigative fieldwork and he made it very clear that he was not interested in doing fieldwork.

"Why would I be requested if you're one of our top officers, Potter?" Draco asked annoyed that he would be disturbed this early in the morning by the messy-haired man.

"It's the nature of the case." Harry responded looking at the platinum blond-haired man.

"The nature? Potter, we work in an office that deals with pretty dark shite all the time. Why am I becoming a field officer all of a sudden?"

"Listen just get to Sanchez's office and you'll get the full scope there, ok? I got an interrogation to do."

Draco stared at his co-worker and sighed before setting down his stuff and walking to his door. "You owe me an extension."

"Yazmeen has agreed to work on it if you get called out," Harry added watching the blond man leave and head over to Sanchez's office.

The walk down the hallway was a short one, which is always surprising when he thought about how many people actually work there. But then he remembered that most of them were field agents so they had a simple desk set-up somewhere on a floor lower than the one they were currently on.

He noticed the door already cracked open, he wanted to knock but was frozen in his tracks when he heard the voice from a woman that he's been trying to avoid for the past 6 months.

"Wait, I'm supposed to be doing what?" The voice asked inside the office asked.

"Listen, Hermione, I understand that you've made your choice to stay behind the desk and I respect that I truly do. But the type of case this is.... I just need to make sure you see this stuff and identify it. That's all I'm asking," The man inside the office paused when he saw Draco trying to awkwardly hide inside the doorway.

"Oh Malfoy, please come in."

Hermione's eyes follow Draco as he walks into Sanchez's office.

Draco gives Hermione a curt nod of recognition but they stay an uncomfortable distance away from each other.

"May I ask why I've been called?" He asked boredly peering around the room as to not maintain eye contact with the American that has taken the job of Head-officer and to not look too interested as to why Granger is there.

" Well you're being called because there has been a dark wizard going around London recently killed no-majes, muggles, including muggles of the magic kind; And unfortunately, he's been leaving ruins on his victims and the no-majes that aren't figuring out these ruins successfully are dying almost immediately. Currently, there have been 20 killed through murder and through the ruins and I wanted to put you two on the case since you both are my best experts in ruins. If you can't figure it out I'll have to make an appeal to bring over some people from the States and I don't feel like doing that. So please don't get killed," Sanchez finished looking at them with a bored yet serious tone that always unnerved Hermione.

The two make a move to leave before Sanchez speaks up again "Listen, I don't know what's going on between the two of you and quite frankly I don't care enough about gossip to learn. That being said if I find out that either one of you gets another one killed due to your differences. You'll never work again in a magic office for the rest of your life."

Hermione clutched the papers given to her minutes before a little harder. Before giving a nod of understanding before following Draco out of the office and into the younger man's office. It wasn't until they were safely in his office that he spoke. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, I finished my cup this morning" She pauses and looks around at the disheveled office "You know after having sex with someone you can clean up?"

Draco, who went to look back over files that he was looking at before snapping up to look at Hermione "Excuse me?"

"You and Yazmeen. and the broken awards" She said pointing to the broken picture frame that had his graduation certificate sat sadly on the floor.

He muttered a quick fixing spell ignoring Hermione's pointed look.

A note started to write it's self on his notebook.

"Well, Ginny's giving birth so Potter won't be much help. Speaking of help did Sanchez, did he give you some information on the case?"

"Yeah, he did... Is there a reason why you don't like him?" Hermione asked giving him the case files.

"I just have a thing against higher-ups," Draco responded quickly while skimming over the files given to him.

Hermione walked over and started to read the past cases that Malfoy worked on. Case after case, all artifacts from his childhood home. How devastating.

"Pack your bags Granger we're going to Liverpool," Draco stated before standing up and handing the files back to the curly-haired woman.

"Why?"

"Some lady said she saw the lady die."

Hermione sighed and walked back to the door. "Meet me at my apartment and we'll catch a cab together. Today please."

Draco looked up at the woman as she left. Why she had to come back into his life after leaving made him want to curse at the gods, but unfortunately Gods remain a far more powerful being than him.

#chapter one #dramione #draco malfoy #hermioine granger #series #fanfiction #fanfic #based off of music

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starryknight09 · 4 years ago

Text

The dangers of birthday parties

Febuwhump Day 18: “I can’t see”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

Peter sat down in the empty lawn chair next to Tony, carefully relaxing his sore body into it and hoping Tony wouldn’t notice how gingerly he was moving.

“I’m surprised you made the drive up here.” Tony said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’d never miss Morgan’s birthday.” He was surprised Tony would ever think that.

“Of course not. I meant I’m surprised you managed to drive yourself.”

“Oh.” It had kind of sucked, but May had been working and Happy had left super early, so it'd either been drive himself or not come. And the latter had not been an option. “It was fine.”

“Uh-huh. You’re moving like a decrepit old grandpa.” Tony called him out.

“Had a bad patrol last night.” He shrugged and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his body.

Tony’s face let him know he hadn’t missed that.

“You worry too much.” He complained, taking a sip from the bottled water in his hand.

“Hm I don’t think so. I think I worry just the right amount.”

Peter shook his head.

Tony leaned in even closer, scrutinizing him. Peter fought the urge to crane backwards.

“Hmm,” Tony said once he’d finished, leaning back. “How’s the face?”

“What?” He touched his cheek as if that could answer how Tony had known. “How did you—”

“You’re wearing makeup.”

“Oh.” Damn. Of course that would be a tell. “Yeah.”

“So what are we dealing with under all that?”

“My face.” He deadpanned.

Tony stared at him, waiting for him to break, and to his annoyance, he did.

“Just a couple black eyes and a broken nose,” he said but when he saw Tony’s expression he quickly added, “But it’s already healing. It should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Uh huh and what New York super villain managed to land so many hits on Spiderman?”

“Some guy made of sand.” He answered, looking over at the lake as he thought back to their encounter yesterday. He was still irritated with how he hadn’t come out on top. “I underestimated him. I won’t that mistake next time.”

“I’m always just a call away if you need help kid.” Tony reminded him.

Peter glanced back over at Tony and smiled. “I know.”

But he didn’t want to need Tony’s help. After Wanda had killed Thanos, Tony had decided he wanted to take a step back when it came to the Avengers, a retirement of sorts. He called the battle with Thanos his last big hurrah and acted like it was in jest, but Peter knew he was more serious than people thought, and he didn’t want to be the one that took him out of retirement.

“Don’t worry. I can handle it.” He said, taking another drink of water and sinking further into his chair, closing his eyes.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“As a future MIT student, I guess I’m going to have to trust you’d be smart enough to speak up if you weren’t.”

Peter smiled. Tony had been so proud when he’d gotten his acceptance letter. He still used every opportunity to bring it up in conversation.

“I can’t see!” Morgan yelled.

Peter cracked an eye open and saw her about ten feet away, blindfolded with what looked like the cut off end of a broom in her hand. He watched as Pepper spun her in circles and then let her go while Rhodey held a string to bounce the pinata hovering a couple feet over her head. Cute.

He closed his eyes again and listened as Morgan grunted, swinging the stick full force at the pinata.

“Nice work Morguna.” Tony cheered her on and Peter took the moment to feel thankful for everything in his life. He’d gotten really lucky. MJ and Ned had gotten snapped too so he’d still had his best friends when he’d come back, and Ned was coming with him to MIT, and MJ wouldn’t be too far away at Harvard. May was happily dating…Happy and they all lived in a nice apartment in Queens. He had Tony and Pepper and Morgan, and ever since he’d come back from the snap, Tony had been treating him like he was his kid. It’d been somewhat of an adjustment, but he had to admit it was more than nice.

Out of nowhere his spidey sense twinged, but instead of moving, he frowned and took a second too long trying to figure out how it could possibly be going off when he was at Tony’s cabin surrounded by Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Something smacked into his nose and he let out a sharp cry of pain, eyes flying open as he tried to identify where the threat was coming from. But all he saw was Pepper staring at him with her hand over her mouth and Rhodey with his jaw dropped.

“I’m sorry!” Morgan yelled from next to her mom. “I didn’t mean to. It slipped!”

“Shit. Pete, you okay?” Tony asked.

He looked down and noticed the wooden stick thing hanging half in his lap and half on the ground. Everything started to make sense as he felt something warm start dripping down his lip.

He brought his hand up to his nose and felt the blood gushing out of it. A second later the pain hit him as his previously broken nose started to throb angrily, protesting the new abuse.

“Ow.” He mumbled and pinched it to try to slow the flow of blood even though that made it hurt even worse.

“Here kid, lean forward.” Tony directed, suddenly at his side and helping him tip forward.

“Petey I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Morgan was somehow already at his other side and it sounded like she was about to cry. Peter didn’t want that. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it wasn’t Morgan’s fault. If anything, it was his own for not moving when his spider sense had told him to.

“It’s ok. I’m ok. Don’t worry Morgan. It was an accident.” He tried to reassure her even as the words came out all nasally.

“Can someone get me a towel?” Tony asked and a few moments later he pressed the requested object against Peter’s nose to help staunch the bleeding.

The towel obscured his vision, but he didn’t need it to sense that people were crowding around him.

“I’m fine.” He tried to reassure everyone, not wanting to put a damper on the party. “Really guys. It’s all good. You can uh, stand down. Go back to the party.”

“Are you sure?” Morgan asked nervously from his side.

“I’m sure Mo. Go give that pinata hell for me.”

“Ok, but I’m going to give you lots of my candy because you got an owie and that always helps me feel better.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds like a good deal for me. Thanks mongoose.”

Morgan patted his arm.

“Here.” He heard Tony say and the stick in his lap disappeared. “Take this but make sure you hold on really tight this time, ok?”

“Ok Daddy.” Morgan said and he heard her walk away along with most of the others, getting back to the party.

“You doing ok kid?”

“Mmhmm.” He lied. His nose hurt like crazy and he could feel his eyes watering from it. He was pretty sure any progress his body had made in knitting the previous break together had just been completely undone.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I’m ok. Just…give me a minute.”

Surprisingly, Tony did. He let Peter suffer in a peace for awhile without pushing or doing anything besides holding the towel to his face and resting a comforting hand on his back.

When the intense throbbing finally started to subside, he straightened back up and pushed the blood soaked towel away.

“How does it look?” He asked, trying not to wince because he didn’t want to move his face too much and set the bleeding off again.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

He nodded.

“It’s crooked.”

“No.” He complained. He’d had enough broken noses to dread what had to come next. Last night at least it hadn’t been displaced. Damn.

“We’re going to need to fix it.”

“I know.” He lightly pressed his fingers under his nostrils and they came back clean. “At least it stopped bleeding.”

“Looks like it.” Tony said as he stood, tugging on his arm. “Come on, let’s get you in the house so we can get you back in ship-shape.”

Peter groaned but stood slowly, the rest of his body still protesting any movement. “You know, this really has not been my day.”

“Apparently not.” Tony agreed. “Then again, it’s never a good day when Spiderman taken out by a five year old.”

“Ha ha.”

“So, is there anything we need to talk about?” Tony asked as he helped him up the porch steps and into the kitchen.

Peter frowned, not understanding what Tony was getting at. “No. Why?”

“Your powers aren’t malfunctioning?”

“No. Of course not.” His frown deepened. What had given Tony that idea?

“You’re sure? That’s not why the sand guy got the better of you?”

“No. My powers are fine.” He sighed. He didn’t want to admit that when he’d faced Sandman he’d been more than a little tired and sloppy and that’d been the main culprit. As close as he and Tony had become, he was still Ironman, his childhood hero, and admitting any fault or mistake to him was never going to come easy.

“Ok so if your powers aren’t malfunctioning then why didn’t your Peter tingle go off just now?” Tony asked, guiding him over to sit down on the couch.

“Oh god not you too.” He whined. “Please please don’t call it that. It’s my spidey sense.”

“Whatever you say kid but answer the question. Why didn’t it go off?”

“It did.” Peter admitted as Tony took a seat on the coffee table across from him.

“If it did, then how’d you get clocked in the face?” Tony asked skeptically.

“I was thinking it was weird that it was going off here, and then before I could move…bam.”

Tony shook his head in consternation. “Next time don’t think about it, just act.”

“Right. Obviously.”

Peter tried not to tense as Tony brought his thumbs up to his nose. They’d done this dance more than once but it never got any easier. At least he didn’t have to do it to himself this time. That was always way worse.

“This might hurt a little.” Tony warned.

“I know.” Peter sighed.

“On three.” Tony said. “One. Two.”

Tony pressed his thumbs together, realigning everything back into place with a grinding crunch.

He grunted, his eyes watering again with the new pain.

"You missed three." He complained.

“Sorry.” Tony said and Peter knew he meant it. Seeing him hurt always seemed to hurt Tony equally as much, which was another reason Peter tried to avoid it at all costs.

“It’s ok.” He wiped the errant tears away. “Does it look better?”

“It looks great kid.” Tony gave him a pat on his shoulder. “Want to get back to the party?”

Honestly, it was the last thing Peter felt like doing but he couldn’t let Morgan down. “Sure.”

“Or you could lay down in here for a little while and I’ll come get you when it’s time to cut the cake?” Tony offered like a mind reader.

Peter sighed in relief. “Are you sure?” He asked, searching Tony’s eyes. He didn’t want to disappoint Morgan.

“It’s perfectly fine.” Tony said, already guiding him to lay down on the couch. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.” He protested instantly. The last thing he wanted was to take Morgan’s dad away from her on her birthday. “Go be with Morgan.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok. I’ll be right outside if you need me. Just let FRIDAY know.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.” He mumbled. “Tell Morgan I’m sorry for missing her party.”

“She’ll be fine kid. You’ll have plenty of time to see her later.” Tony ruffled his hair. "You can stay the night. She'll love that."

That sounded like a good idea. He definitely hadn’t been looking forward to getting back in the car later.

Tony draped a blanket over him. “Get some rest Pete.”

“Thanks da- uh dude. Thanks dude.” His cheeks heated in embarrassment at the near slip and he kept his eyes stubbornly shut so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Tony’s face to know if he’d caught it.

Tony let out an amused snort. “You’re welcome dude.”

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years ago

Text

Trials & Tribulations (CH. 4)

Me Without You

Chapter 1: Afterwards Chapter 2: The Next 4 Days Chapter 3: It All Falls Down

Love Interests: Ethan Ramsey, Bryce Lahela Word Count: 3.3k Warning: angst, adult themes, possible destructive mental health triggers Summary: Have you ever been so out of touch with your emotions that you constantly make choices? Yeah… That’s what Becca’s doing.

________________________________________

For almost two weeks Becca left him texts and voicemails at various times of the day - anything she could think of to reach him. She needed an explanation. Things were good, she thought. Why would he up and leave without saying a word? Weren’t they in a better place now? Why did he go?

They’d slept together a few days ago, breaking down every sacred barrier of professionalism they’ve erected since Miami. It was an initial shock for them to be on the same team come the fall but they could work though it. They were stronger than this. They’ve been through so many secrets together how could they not?

By day 9 Becca had long left the shock of abandonment behind and just needed to hear his voice, rationale be damned. His voicemail lulled her to sleep most nights when Rafael couldn’t come over to help numb the pain. The short curt message was so distinctly him;

“Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Leave a voicemail or call 911 if it’s an emergency.”

She’d always hung up right before the beep. Becca was embarrassed by how many times she called each day yet was more embarrassed to have him hear the desperation in her voice. As silly as she felt, it’s like a piece of her had gone missing. Eight weeks was a long time to pine after someone who ran away. More like an entire year… She had him once, why was he pushing her away again?

After catching him leaving their apartment that fateful morning after her ethics hearing, Elijah and Sienna held onto Becca’s deepest secret. They saw no need to start drama within their group after everything that has happened, especially for one briefly passionate weekend.

However short-lived, it was the most freeing three days of Rebecca Lao’s life. It felt right, he felt right. Why doesn’t he feel the same way?

Ugh I can’t keep thinking of him.

Becca pushed him to the back of her mind every single time he popped into it, forcing herself to focus on her patients and the little distraction known as her friends. Dr. Rebecca Lao was determined to move on, her completely decimated heart be damned.

***

At 1:12PM on that ninth afternoon Becca snuck back to the locker room and sent him another text,

Please let me know you’re okay.

She huffed as she shoved her phone deep into her coat pocket, ready to go on lunch and wallow in her misery.

For the last seven days Becca hadn’t worn a lick of makeup. She couldn’t bring herself to keep up appearances. Anyone could see the cracks through her painted face, so what’s the point in putting all the effort into it? She wore the bags under her eyes proudly a reminder that, albeit everything, she’s still alive and capable of thriving. Her greasy brown hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun and baby strands flying carelessly around her forehead, she hadn’t felt like washing it in a few days. Her eyes were dull. Nothing really sparked the fire in them anymore. No one was pushing her to reach past her potential anymore.

I can’t wait to spend all day in bed tomorrow. Maybe I’ll actually take a relaxing bath…

“Ah, Dr. Lao!” she heard the chipper and lively voice of Naveen call a few feet ahead of her. She looked up from her fixated gaze on the stark white linoleum and to the old doctor bounding happily towards her with his cane. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” she responded trying not to meet his inquisitive eyes. “How have you been?”

The question was simple enough. It was obligatory small talk in most circles however here and now they held a deeper meaning. Rebecca couldn’t have been the only one taking His departure roughly.

“Hanging in there,” he told her honestly with newly darkened eyes, and she gave him a sad smile back. Naveen extended an olive branch to the only other person that would understand, “Would you care to join me for lunch?”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

“Wonderful,” he beamed “I’ll meet you in the atrium in 15 minutes?”

Beca forced a small smile, “It’s a date.”

Naveen and Becca sat at a table at one of his favorite local Indian restaurants near the hospital. During the fifteen minute drive over, the man raved about the chutney and how the family-run establishment was one of the only ones with a proper heat meter - “not like conservative dishes you’d find at chains”.

The two pleasantly spoke of their last few days as if they were two lifelong friends despite only knowing one another for a few months. Once the waiter brought over their meals she finally let herself ask the question causing hives at the back of her neck, “Have you heard from him?”

Naveen moved the rice around his plate to mix with his lamb curry and took a deep breath; he knew this was coming.

“He sent me an email once he got there,” he said as evenly as he could manage. “I’m sure he’s fine. Ethan’s tough.” Naveen wished he could ease the woes he’s seen pass the young resident’s features ever since that day of the announcement. But his loyalty towards his makeshift son outweighed conflict in his heart. There was a reason Ethan didn’t tell her and I must respect it. However misplaced. With a slight smile he tried to reassure her instead, “Surely enough, no matter his rank, he would have taken control and whipped everyone into shape. He’ll be back home to us soon enough.”

Email? She didn’t think of that… God, He is an old man.

Her attention was fixed on the salad in front of her, pushing the leaves one over the other. “I jus -” There were so many questions she needed answers to. If anyone knew Him well enough to help her speculate his motives it would be his most dearest friend. Her voice was small as she continued, “Why didn’t he tell me?” It took a lot of strength to keep her voice from cracking.

Her stormy eyes finally lifted to meet warm brown. The deep marks of age on his dark brown features arched downwards in sympathy. He set his fork down by his plate and dabbed the corners of his mouth, preparing to ease the mind of this doleful girl.

“He told me he applied the moment he quit but didn’t expect to hear back. It was a wishful thought; he never would be able to stay retired long. We have that in common, him and I. As for why he didn’t tell you I can only speculate.” The older doctor tried to keep his features impartial and failed. “The boy has a one track mind sometimes; when he puts his mind to it nothing will stop him until he’s reached the desired outcome.”

She’s seen Him exhibit that kind of behavior before and gave Naveen a sad smile back in recognition.

Naveen reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “He’s been through a lot in life and hasn’t always been the best with feelings. But when you know him long enough, and get to know his expressions, it’s easy to see something...” the Chief of Medicine chose his words carefully, “intimate has become of you two.”

Normally Becca would have scoffed at the insinuation, but now she just couldn’t bring herself to react. Naveen’s words were settling in - she knew He had scars from his childhood that he didn’t dare talk about. She knew He was closed off and an acquired taste. And she knew Naveen was half-right.

Sadly she replied, “I don’t think there’s anything between us.”

Naveen didn’t want to argue, he could see through the broken girl in front of him and his heart ached for them both.

Rightfully he changed the subject, “Are you working on any exciting cases?”

“Not as exciting as they are unfortunate,” she shrugged, picking at the salad. “I have a young girl with leukemia and a patient on dialysis with pneumonia. I’m not sure either of them will pull through.”

“If you need any help, I’m only a page away.” His gaze cascaded a sense of comforting warmth over her. “You’re not just my grandmentee, you’re family.”

She was happy to have Naveen in her corner but couldn’t help wondering if the offer was conditionally tied to him.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for joining me,” Naveen acknowledged, “I say we make this a routine thing!”

For the first time in a long time the corners of her lips perked up, “I’d like that.”

That evening she sent him an email;

Hey,

I know you’re kicking ass down there (you know I mean the outbreak, please don’t punch anyone!), but I hope you’re being safe. I had lunch with Naveen today, he’s really worried about you. We miss you. Please please please let us know you’re okay. I’m still mad at you for leaving but I’ll forgive you if you just please talk to me. If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. I just want to know that you’re alive and well. Even if you don’t want to talk to me, please keep Naveen updated.

See you soon,

R x

***

“Roo-mie Bar Crawl. Roo-mie Bar Crawl.” Sienna chanted from the middle of their living room. The gang was all dressed up and ready to let loose after a really harrowing week on the job.

Becca hadn’t contacted Him since that first and last email three days ago. She made her peace with it. After days of trying, a deep conversation with Naveen, and receiving absolutely nothing in return for her efforts, she settled on the assumption that He was ghosting her. Her heart ached but she didn’t want to let the heartbreak consume her. Instead she’d find other distractions.

Those distractions came in the form of Rafael, Bryce, and Sienna. Each friend mended a different part of her tattered heart. Sienna took care of her by way of baked goods, forcing her to talk about her feelings and retail therapy - Becca needed a bit of mothering in these last few days, especially since she didn’t have a close relationship with her birth mother. Bryce was her feel-good companion, he’d take her out for a drink or an excursion, anything he could possibly do to have her smile reach her eyes once again. Lastly, Rafael helped take care of her intimately - although he’s been M.I.A. the last week…

The group congregated in their shared living room, ready to go. Becca sat on the sofa next to Bryce as he helped lace up her heels. Sienna chanted once again and everyone cheered a response. Once more Elijah listed off items and everyone patted their pockets and their bags. Phone? Check. Wallet? Check. ID? Check.

“Is Raf not coming?” Becca asked as they paraded through the hallway.

“No, he’s got plans with his girlfriend,” Jackie said matter-of-factly.

Becca's footsteps fell behind her friend ever so slightly. What!?

“Really? When’d that happen?”

Jackie retorted like it wasn’t the most important bit of information, “I don’t know, recently?”

“She’s his childhood sweetheart,” Kyra piped in. “Just moved back and they’ve been on a few dates. Very romantic.”

Becca bit her lip, “Yeah… good for them.”

There were so many questions racing through her mind. They had just slept together for the fifth and seemingly final time less than 2 weeks ago. Was Becca the other woman? No matter the questions there’s just one thing Becca couldn’t shake;

I’ve gone and thrown myself at another man who doesn’t want me.

She was determined to have a good time regardless of the mountain of rejection forming at her core. Good thing alcohol’s the best medicine… She was prepared to spend the next few hours looming in her chaos, choosing reckless behavior instead of facing her feelings.

***

The group pregamed at Donohues for happy hour, choosing to spend their most coherent of hours in a familiar place. They downed 2-for-1 tequila shots each and played a round of darts until the board began to move. Becca did all she could to keep from staring at the empty far corner of the bar. Every time she did she took another shot.

Then the residents made their way to a dive bar for cheap drinks. It was a small hole-in-the-wall place with not enough space for the large group. Bryce and Kyra went in to grab the first and only round bringing it out to the side of the building where everyone else was waiting. The sun had now fully set and the group was getting cold. To warm up Jackie suggested they chugged.

Fifteen minutes later they ended up at a sports bar and grabbed some quick grub. Elijah was drawn to the TV playing a game Becca couldn’t care less about. Her and Bryce shared a plate of nachos and a double cheeseburger with onion rings. Sienna gave a side eye at how close her two friends were becoming. After the third bar the group started to fan out, Aurora and Kyra headed home needing a solid seven hours of sleep to be functional.

Feeling the buzz and forgetting about Raf, they powered on! On their way to the club the group passed an Irish pub with music blasting. They accepted the inevitable detour and danced in the middle of the floor to the house fiddle band. Everyone had one drink before Sienna, Jackie and Elijah bowed out afterwards overcome with exhaustion.

The last two troops gave one another a devious smirk and headed to the club arm in arm.

Bryce and Becca held off on drinks feeling full of life from the last few rounds and put off by the elite pricing. He grabbed her hand and led her onto the technicolor floor. They danced and danced to song after song. Occasionally she’d turn around and he'd hold her flush to his chest. The sensation releasing copious amounts of serotonin and oxytocin.

At one point she was sandwiched between Bryce and another hopeless stranger. It seemed the two men wanted to outlast the other. She found the determined glimmer in her friend’s eye so amusing. Becca turned away from the poor stranger and back to Bryce, the two men calling a silent truce. He raised his eyebrows and she mouthed “stay”. He moved in closer and kissed her temple causing the nameless hopeful to storm away.

They stayed. They danced. They drank.

Bryce leaned over to speak into her ear, “That guys totally checking you out.”

She cocked her head to see a dark skinned stranger in well-tailored clothes eyeing them.

“Maybe he’s checking you out,” she sneered.

Bryce’s contagious and magnificent smile lit up his face, “He’s definitely trying to figure out if we’re together.”

She made a show of rolling her eyes.

Pointing over his shoulder he said, “I’m gonna go get us another round.”

The mystery stranger used that as an opportunity.

“Hey,” his tenor voice smooth and unconflicted.

The stranger wasn’t much taller than Becca. He had dark olive skin, enchanting amber eyes, a buzz cut which is so different from her type - she liked a man with locks she could latch on to. His shallow beard accented his chiseled jaw. He wore a navy blue v-neck that drew the attention to the defined muscles beneath. He was a small man compared to those she surrounded herself with, and was a stark contrast to what she was attracted to. And maybe, just maybe he could help her forget for a minute.

“Hey,” Becca said back, scanning the crowd over the man’s shoulder for Bryce’s return.

Before she knew it she was bumped in the back and tumbling towards the handsome stranger. Bryce was the culprit walking hand in hand with another girl he picked up at the bar as he shot his friend an encouraging wink.

The stranger nodded over to Bryce’s retreating form, “Looks like you’ve been dumped.”

“I’ve been abandoned by my friend,” she clarified. Becca’s eyes locked with the olive strangers and shrugged, “Guess I’m in the market for some company.”

He raised his eyebrows and they both moved to close the distance, letting the air around them take control. His thin hand moved to her waist while one of hers laid to rest on his taut forearm. They moved in unison. She kissed the stranger fiercely for what felt like hours in the middle of the club, their tongues battling for dominance. His left hand trailed up to her hair and the right settled on the skin at the small of her back to keep her flush to him. When they came up for air he asked Becca to go home with him.

Without hesitation she said she’d meet him at the bar in five.

Sitting in the dirty bathroom she couldn’t believe what she was doing. She was intoxicated, alone and willing to go home with just about anyone that would give her the time of day? No. She was stronger than this. She shouldn’t succumb to this. She wasn’t desperate enough to do this.

But the alcohol took over.

She regretted the decision immediately.

After all this time she never expected a response.

First with a text, Are you ok?

Why now? She thought as she stood in the dingy bathroom watching the notification flash over her lockscreen.

She fled.

Becca shoved her phone deep in her pocket and retreated back to the commotion as fast she could. She scanned the room briefly looking for Bryce but spotted the stranger moving onto his next conquest. She reached the base of the stairs, her phone incessantly vibrating. She pulled it out to see the same message sent a second time. Against her better judgment she typed back;

Not at all.

Within seconds, flashing across the phone screen was the name she longed for.

Incoming: Ethan Ramsey

She didn’t have a chance to say anything as she made her way outdoors before he asked in a low and stoic voice, “Where are you?”

“Where are you?”

“Rebecca…”

She wanted to hang up so badly. But his voice… How she missed his voice. And he was there. He sees her messages - he called because he cares. Well that’s what she told herself. Why else would he finally respond after all these days?

Her words were caught in her throat - she had so many things she wanted to say to him - to ask him, but nothing came out. She was rendered mute between the embarrassment and opportunity.

“Becca are you still there?”

She had to open and close her mouth a few times before the words manifested on her tongue. “Right where… you left me,” she whispered more to herself than anything.

He left. He left me.

The two ex-lovers were silent, the load of everything she’s had to bottle up finally taking its toll and Becca started to sob. All of the feelings she’d tried to box away and shrug off came crashing down. Ethan Ramsey broke her heart. He let her into his world outside of Edenbrook and vice versa. She let herself fall for him and it became detrimental, a derailment to every hope she started residency with.

Another person she considered close had betrayed her.

Another man had disappointed and abandoned her.

Becca never talked much about her past, gently refusing to confront the heartache her father caused her, what Landry had done to her, how Rafael avoided her and how her idol, her mentor and lover abandoned her. The culmination broke her.

She dropped to the curb, her vision impared by her tears. She let her face fall in her left hand and clutched the phone in her right to her ear. One word kept running through her mind as she completely fell apart on a dim Boston street at an ungodly hour of the evening, praying that the son-of-a-bitch on the other end of the line would put her at ease;

Pathetic.

“Bec-”

She hung up the phone.

________________________________________

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#open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #choices fanfic #choices oph2 #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #bryce lahela x mc #bryce lahela #oph #oph ff #ff

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sideblogformindtrash · 4 years ago

Text

CW: NSFW no-con, abusive relationship dynamic, reluctant whumper, physical abuse, emotional abuse(?), mentions of death, murder and trauma; grabbing; swearing, screaming; mentions of breaking bones/restraints.

Y’all want more random oc whump with no context? Also this one was supposed to be part of a VN plot that I scrapped bc was nervous about letting people actually see it, so It branches out a lot all the time and I kind of just reunited the pieces I liked more for this part. Sorry it’s long and angst. Also not pet whump, they just have dumb animal codenames ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

…Crow reaches the building reception. It’s darkish in there, as the only light comes from the setting sun. This part of the building does not receive electrical power. Most of The City doesn’t, anwyay. He is about to leave, but notices some movement behind him.

He turns abruptly. Bunny is standing on the base of the stairs. Crow clenches his fists. Bunny is not allowed to leave their apartment. On the other hand, he was one sneaky little bastard. He wouldn’t have noticed him if he hadn’t intentionally made noise.

“What the hell are you doing here? I told you not to leave the apartment.”

“Yeah I… I know.”

“Than what the hell are you standing there for? Run back upstairs before I beat you and drag you there myself.”

“No, just… Just listen.”

Listen. Crow crosses his arm and stares, a face that says ‘better be worth it.’

“You shouldn’t go outside today.”

Bunny is struggling to make sense of his own words. Crow lifts an eyebrow.

“Because…?”

“It’s just… I feel something bad will happen to you if you go out.”

“…And why would you care? I’ve given you plenty of reasons to not give a fuck about my safety. Thought you would be happy if I died, actually”

“NO!” It’s a half scream, as he goes down the last two steps of the staircase “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t want you to die!”

…He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt. What a fucking joke. When Crow closes his eyes, he can almost see her again, her head cracked open on the pavement. One moment she was there and then… Gone.

“Yeah now you care about us.”

Bunny shakes his head, looking at the floor.

“I never wanted it to end that way.”

“You are a fucking liar, that’s what you are Bunny.”

“It’s not… I didn’t knew. I swear.” Little tears starting to form on the corners of that pretty face “Won’t you ever forgive me?”

“Maybe when you learn to raise up the dead. You are seriously upsetting me. Go back upstairs. Now.”

“No!” He dares “I-I might not be worthy of forgiveness but I am trying to help you now, please.”

“Yeah, sure you are.”

“Please… Can’t you see I just… I want you to be safe?”

“I don’t know? Can’t you see I’m about to punch your stupid face if you don’t get out of here?”

“…Fine. You are right anyway” Bunny clenches his fists and puffs his chest, as if that could make him look threatening. “I do hope you fucking die!”

…He must have noticed the sparkle that lit up Crown’s face, showing that he had gone too far. Immediately he cowered again, and turned to run upstairs. Crow advances like an arrow, covering the distance between the two and blocking his path.

Bunny changes direction before Crow could grab him and tries to run outside. Again, Crow only need a moment to be over him,, this time grabbing his wrist and throwing him against the reception desk.

“N-No! Stop it!”

Bunny tries to push him away, so he punches him on the stomach. He gasps, out of air, but keeps trying to fight. Grabbing him by the hair, Crow pulls his head backwards until he lets out a cry. He tries to claw at Crow’s hands, only to get punched again.

“Just stop struggling, you’ll only make things worse on yourself”

He is mostly immobilized now, and starts to hyperventilate. He pulls his face as far from Crow as he can manage… And gives up, letting his body go limp.

“P-please…”

Crow nuzzles at his neck and runs his tongue through it, giving kisses and bites.

“Crow… Crow don’t…” He tries again “C-Can we just… Later… Please. I’ll… I’ll do it later just not-“

Crow pushes him further against the table and pulls his shirt off. He sobs a bit, while Crow slides his hands down his pants.

“Not like this. Not when you are angry…” sobs “Not just because you want to hurt me.”

Just because you want to hurt him. As if that would make him feel any better. Slowly, Crow lets go of him. They stare at each other for a moment… Bunny pushes Crow and runs out the door.

…Just like that he is gone. Crow pulls his legs closer, into a hug, silently staring, wondering if he should follow. Can’t even feel angry about this just… Numb. After a while, Crow gets back on his feet and lay down on the old sofa of the reception, a cloud of dust lifting once he falls there. Everything is dark and silent now.

He closes his eyes, hoping to dose off and get a break from his thoughts. Maybe he had really gone too far. He tried to remember what it felt like to be the one getting hurt. He had promised his younger self that he would be better than those people. That he would be a hero. What a fucking joke.

He wondered if that was an idea he had brought from the Crystal World. His home. The only thing he had left of that place was a tiny statue of a crow and that stupid City Patch, where he had come from. No one else had ever come from there, he was the only one of his kind. All alone.

Memories of childhood among huge crystal spires, ever-changing colors and cold breeze nurse him to sleep.

The feeling of being watched wakes him up again. Eyes in the dark watching him, Bunny nervously holding his shirt.

“So… You will break my legs now?” He asks, nervously twisting the fabric.

“Huh?”

“…Coyote said I’d have my legs broken if I tried to run away again. That I’d be chained to the wall.”

“Hm. Yeah, no. You came back.”

The first time it happened, Coyote had broken one of his arms. He was by far the most aggressive and vicious of the group. Crow was too angry, too sad and too lost to care, and just let the man do about anything he wanted to Bunny. But nowadays… Well, he was keeping an eye on them so that it wouldn’t go too far.

Crow sighs. He felt apologies were worthless, but…

“I guess you really wanted to help me this time, for some reason. I pushed you to it. I’m… Hm, I’m sorry.”

“I…” Bunny looks down “Thank you.”

Crow signals for Bunny to come closer. Reluctant, he does. Crow pulls Bunny over him. He flinches, but…

“I’m not going to hurt you. Just… Just stay with me. Please.”

Bunny nods, and let’s himself rest on top of Crow, laying his head on the man’s chest, hearing his heart. They both stay together as stars appear on the sky, silence and stillness cover that world like a thick dust.

“Crow?” Bunny says finally “You…. You still want to have sex?”

“That… wasn’t the point. You were right. I only wanted to hurt you.”

“I know…” he sighs “But it’s okay now. I think. Or… are you still angry?”

Bunny lifts his head, Crow pushes away a lock of hair out of the tear-stained face.

“I’m… Always angry I guess. Not at you just… At everything” Crow sighs, not wanting to hold eye contact “You don’t have to do it.”

“… Not being angry… Doesn’t mean you have forgiven me”

He leans his head on Crow chest again, quietly weeping. Crow pets his head. No, he hasn’t. But his forgiveness wasn’t worth much of anything anyways.

“The worst isn’t that you hurt me Crow” he whispers “The worst part is that I feel like I deserve it. You think so too, don’t you? You all do. But I can’t fix what I did.”

He sits over Crow, now trying to wipe away the angry tears.

“And later you regret hurting me or something and try to act nice to appease your consciousness or something, and I’ll believe you because I’m so desperate for things to get any better! Shit… You… You are doing that right now, but tomorrow will be the same shit all over again because just like everything on this stupid fucking planet, time is standing still. And there is no way for this to change because I can’t undo what I did.”

Crow tries to hug him again, but slapping Crow’s hands to the side, he falls into a much more desperate cry, hiding his face on his hands.

“I… I wish you’d love me again. Like you did before all this”

Crow’s chest tightens a little. Back then… things indeed seemed much better. And Crow did love him, and so did Ferret. But that’s what made the betrayal so much worse.

“Why would you want me to love you, I’ve done nothing but hurt you… For months now”

“Everyone has hurt me.” His sobs turn to screams that cut the heavy silence of that world “My entire fucking life I’ve been thrown around by people who didn’t care about me beyond whatever they wanted to use me for. But you are the only one that made me feel like can’t live without you… And I fucking hate you for that.”

Bunny cries louder, gasps for air and eventually… Calms down. Crow waits, patiently, lost in thought.

“…I hate myself for it too. I wish I could bring her back. I wish I hadn’t fucked up the only good thing I ever had. But I can’t”

“Bunny… Do you want to leave?”

Bunny frowns, eyes red from crying. He cleans the tears, and thinks for the longest time.

“If I say I do… Will you really let me leave?”

Crow nods.

“…No… I don’t. But you know that already, don’t you? If I wanted to go… I wouldn’t have come back”

“Did you come back because… Because of the things you just told me?”

“Yeah. I guess. But also… Where would I even go?”

And that was the question that plagues everyone on that City, all struggling for shreds of normalcy that had been stolen from them by some cruel trick of the universe.

He seems so tired, standing there, chest moving slowly, the pale skin marked by bruises. Crown envies him for his looks, skin that is still soft and not completely covered in scars like his own.

“…You and the others… Are the closest I’ve had from a family in years. And it hurts because I still love you.” He shakes his head “… I wish you would love me back or… Or just hate me all at once. I’m just so… So tired of having you toy with me like this.”

Bunny lays down again, head against his heart.

“You think you could ever love me again, Crow?”

Crow stares away into the ceiling. Loving him again meant taking responsibility for the pain he caused him. For every. Single. Bruise. Every. Single. Tear. And more importantly, never ever doing it again.

…It meant forgiving him.

“It’s too much to ask for, isn’t it?” Bunny seems to be shivering, fighting his tears again “I get it. But… Is it okay if I pretend you still do? At least… At least maybe now?”

“Yeah” Crow says, wrapping him on a tight hug “For now, is okay if you do.”

#whump #oc whump #whump writing #crow and bunny

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years ago

Text

Strange Fates - 15

Pairing: Mikaelson Brothers x Reader

Warning/Note: I’m really sorry about this.

***

You relayed the details of your attack in full twice, answering what questions you could in between. When Klaus asked you to go through it again, you refused. You had long since moved from Elijah’s lap and were sat on your own on one end of the couch. You sighed and ran a hand down your face.

“We’ve been going over this for an hour. I don’t see what difference it makes. He’s very dead and I’m fine. I won’t walk anywhere on my own. And I’m very tired of discussing it.”

“I am simply trying to—”

“Enough, Niklaus. She’s right. We’ve been over it. There’s nothing she can tell us that will change what happened.”

You frowned as you shifted your attention to Elijah. Something about his wording didn’t sit right with you. After a moment, you brushed it off. Your nerves were just on edge from the conversation. That was all. You were seeing issues where there were none.

“But don’t you think—”

“Enough, Kol.” Elijah was determined to bring the conversation to an end. It wasn’t as if you were going to argue with him. You didn’t want to discuss it any more either. He turned to you with a smile. “Now, I believe we promised our mate dinner and a movie.”

***

You fell asleep halfway through the movie and Klaus carried you up to bed. Normally, they would have finished the film then all gotten into bed with you. Tonight, however, they had matters to discuss.

Once he’d seen you settled, Klaus shut the door to your room and went to join his brothers in his study. Elijah handed him a glass of scotch and he took an empty seat. The silence stretched as the three of them became lost in their own thoughts.

“We knew better,” Klaus finally said after several minutes had passed.

“Perhaps we should have,” Elijah relented, “but the temptation was too great. The pull to be with her was too strong. I find it unlikely I could have resisted even had I wished.”

Kol slammed his glass down on the table beside him. “I don’t see why we should. She was made for us. We are meant to be together. And she handled herself brilliantly.”

“You know why, Kol. She wasn’t attacked. She was targeted. Because of us.” Klaus couldn’t shake the deep sense of betrayal he felt that he would be given a mate only for the universe to try to take her away so soon.

“We don’t know that,” his younger brother insisted.

“The wolf confessed they’re talking about us. About her. For you to say otherwise only means you are refusing to see the truth of the matter.” Elijah’s words were short with anger though Klaus was sure it was directed to the universe in general and not any of them. “Throughout our lives, the people who we grew closest to have always been in danger. When they cannot attack us directly, they go after those we hold dear. It is how it has always been.”

“And in this case, it’s so much worse, isn’t it?” Klaus’s heart ached. “They need only harm her, threaten her, and they get to all three of us.”

Kol cleared his throat. “And if she were to die?”

“Well, that would destroy us, wouldn’t it?” Elijah answered.

“We could leave,” Klaus suggested.

“And go where?” Elijah asked. “Where in this world could we go where we would not have to worry about enemies on our doorstep?”

After several minutes of silence, Elijah spoke up again. “As long as we are in her life, she is not safe.”

“So, what do we do?” Kol asked, sounding completely broken.

Elijah focused on the glass in his hand. “Right now, we go to bed and hold our mate. In the morning, we feed her and walk her to work. Once she is safe behind her wardings, we will do as we must.”

***

Despite the events of the day, your sleep was peaceful. Your mates had been more attentive than usual, which honestly you hadn’t thought possible. Though all three of them had walked you to work, you had thought at least one of them would stay. It would have been normal for them to do so, especially because you had a large delivery coming in. Elijah in particular enjoyed going through shipments with you and helping put the new books away.

Instead, they’d all begged off for other business. You leaned on the counter with a sigh. Normally you enjoyed your time in your shop but today, time couldn’t pass quickly enough. You were ready to go home. Even the delivery didn’t hold your interest. Once you’d counted boxes you’d left it piled to one side to go through later.

You straightened as the bell sounded and your mates came through the door. Your smile faded as you took in their serious expressions. “What’s going on, guys?” you asked when they didn’t immediately say anything.

“Are you alone at present?” Elijah asked.

You nodded. “No one but me and the books.”

He nodded to his brothers. Kol locked the door and Klaus flipped the sign to closed. “We need to talk.”

“Of course.” You were proud of how calm you sounded though you were feeling anything but.

“We have discussed our situation and feel it best that we end this before any of us become more invested.”

You sucked in a breath, your gaze moving between your mates. “What?”

“It’s for your own protection, Y/N,” Klaus said. “The wolf was only one of many that would see us suffer. And by harming you, they could take all three of us down in one move. We cannot allow that to happen.”

Kol cleared his throat. “We can’t let you get hurt because of us.”

Your chest hurt and you bit the inside of your lip to keep from crying. “You can’t be serious. You can’t mean this.” If they had looked at you with concern or sadness perhaps you might have kept it together. But the looks of pity they all wore…well, that was just too much. “You told me you waited a thousand years for me and that I was worth the wait. That I made up for every second. You told me you loved me.” Your voice cracked at the end but there was no help for that you supposed. After all, your world was crashing down around you, wasn’t it?

“Y/N, please,” Kol pleaded.

Elijah dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “This is for the best, Y/N. You will see that someday. We’re sorry.”

“Please don’t do this.”

All of them turned their gaze from you as they moved to leave. “I’m sorry,” you yelled and tears overflowed to run down your face. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. Just don’t leave me.” The last words came out as little more than a whisper as your mates walked out of your life as easily as they had walked in.

Your body shook as you wept and you dropped to your knees. Before New Orleans you’d thought being alone was miserable. But to have had them, to know what your life could be with them in it, and to lose that was an indescribable pain. Your chest physically hurt as you struggled to breathe between sobs.

They’d left you. You were made for them and they turned you away. You gave them everything and they didn’t want it. Didn’t want you. Deep down you’d known that brief happiness had been too good to be true. You’d known they’d realize you weren’t worth the effort one day. You’d just been hoping it would come a decade or two down the road. Just a moment. That’s all you wanted. A moment in time when someone chose you.

You weren’t certain how much time passed before you realized Cami was helping you sit up. You wiped at your cheeks though new tears quickly replaced the old. “What is going on, Y/N? What happened?”

You shook your head, not wanting to put your shame into words.

Cami rubbed her hands on your arms. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

You looked from her to Marcel who hovered nearby. He held up his hands. “Hey, whatever they did, I’m on your side. She’d hurt me otherwise.”

“Damn straight,” Cami grumbled. You laughed which quickly turned into another sob. Cami pulled you into her chest and wrapped her arms around you. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’ll be okay.”

“They left me,” you managed to get out. “They don’t want me.”

Cami pulled back to look at you with a frown. “What? That doesn’t make any sense, Y/N. They’re crazy about you.”

You shrugged. “I make them weak. They’re better off without me.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, those assholes. Those stupid, stupid assholes.”

Marcel bent down and scooped you up in his arms. “You can rant about the originals later, sweetheart. Right now, let’s get her home.”

“Yeah,” your friend readily agreed as she hopped to her feet. “I’ll put a sign on the door. She doesn’t need to worry about this place right now. Go on. I’ll grab her keys out of her bag and lock up.”

You felt like you should say something. Anything. But you just didn’t have it in you.

“You’ll be okay, Y/N. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it’ll get better,” Marcel offered while he stood on the sidewalk outside your shop holding you and waiting for his mate.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it would get better. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe tomorrow you’d wake up in your bed in your childhood home and all this will have been some weird demented dream. It didn’t take long to reach your little house. Cami opened the door and sat your things on the table while Marcel lowered you to your feet.

You’d managed to quit crying during the walk and now steered your friends toward the door. They’d done enough and honestly, you wanted to wallow in peace. Marcel finally resorted to physically pulling Cami outside. After you locked up behind them, you allowed yourself to look around your house.

As your eyes fell on belongings that you’d moved to the Mikaelsons with you tears flooded your eyes again. They’d moved you back home. You were sure if you looked around you’d find everything you’d taken with you back in its place. You had been thoroughly removed from their lives.

#elijah mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #the originals fanfiction #soulmate au #mikaelson brothers x reader #series #strange fates

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mimiwrites2000 · 4 years ago

Text

Legends

Chapter Six ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

this chapter contains some Armin x Mikasa platonic fluff

Words count: 3123

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

They got to the island, and as sneaky as possible, they found a cottage somewhere in a remote area in the mountains. They decided that they would remain there until Eren wakes up and explains everything to them.

It wasn’t a big cottage, nor was it claustrophobic-small, it had two bedrooms, one of them was basically the attic -with a squeaky, barely-holding-itself staircase leading up to it- one living room, and a kitchen. They all had to share one cramped bathroom.

The construction wasn’t pathetically old, but it had been abandoned for some time, the lonely couch in the living room would dip deeper than a normal one when someone sat on it, the kitchen’s rusty cabinets doors were better detached, their squeaking would wake up the whole forest in an instant.

Mikasa would sit by the bed where Eren was resting, still unconscious, while everyone was somewhere in the cottage, trying to make the place as hospitable as they could with minimal supplies and zero mental power.

Well, since captain Levi was staying with them; everyone had to work hard to get this place to his cleaning standards.

However, Armin would forget all his troubles when he saw Annie around her father, well, she was always around him, but when he’d kiss her forehead or when she’d hug him, Armin would feel lighter, and a smile would pull at his lips.

Armin never saw Annie this carefree ever before, in fact, nor did anyone else, not even Reiner, for he himself wouldn’t bother to hide his astonished face when he’d catch Annie’s affection towards her father.

It was a tiny liberal vent to have at least someone genuinely happy and relieved, it absorbed some of the negativity in the air that was straining their minds into a choppy, dry sponge.

It was their third day at the cottage, while they were having dinner, that Annie addressed them for the first time in a while when she said: “I just realized that I’ve never introduced any of you to my father properly.”

The clattering of the utensils stopped, and no one said anything, and it’s not like they had any idea how to begin.

Hanji let out a light laugh, put down the crooked spoon they had in their hands, and said: “Well, my name is Hanji Zoe and I’m the 14th commander of the scouts, I mean, if the system is still running that is,” they cleared their throat, “nice to meet you, Mr. Leonhart.”

Mr. Leonhart nodded his head, and a small smile grazed his lips.

“We’re not very much fun to be around, so I hope we could get you as comfortable as we could, so, uh, welcome to the island.” Hanji continued, before holding their spoon again and resuming eating their meal.

Hanji’s introduction encouraged everyone to start talking, each of them introducing themselves, and the atmosphere morphed into one of a friendly dinner, it was the first time they spoke like they used to since they got to the island.

Scanning the room with her eyes, Annie realized that Armin was nowhere to be seen, she wondered where he was, and why would he miss dinner, well, it’s not like it was a fancy meal, but Hanji’s stew with some bread is extravagant juxtaposed to an empty stomach.

“Where’s Armin?” Annie asked Gabi, who was sitting beside her.

“I think he went outside, saying he needed fresh air.” She answered, her voice overthrown by the heated yet friendly discussion that erupted between Hanji and Pieck, before munching on a piece of bread.

“Is that so…” Annie fiddled with her fingers before she got up, wrapped some bread with a cloth, her father looked at her questionably, so she whispered in his ear: “I’ll be right back.” He nodded, and she left.

Annie searched around the cottage for Armin, but he was nowhere to be seen, so, she sat off through the forest, looking for him.

Annie didn’t take long to spot him; they had found a stream nearby, so she decided to search there first, also, the screams Armin was shouting didn’t make him quite hard to find.

Annie lurked around the trees, peaking through branches and taking wavering and inaudible steps, then she hid behind a bush, observing and not moving a muscle, she couldn’t see Armin’s face; his back was to her.

Armin screamed on and on, stretching his arms upwards, his lungs felt like they ignited and were on fire, but he still screamed, his vocal cords could tear, but he didn’t care about it. His cries the only other voice beside the stream and the crickets of night insects.

Armin needed to let out some of the stress that was weighing him down, and it’s not like he’s composed like others and could handle everything with a stoic face, he had to let it out somehow.

His mind railed over the people he left dinning in that cottage, he could no longer look at Mikasa and smile knowing that their childhood friend had almost destroyed the world and now was shut-eye in a bedroom unconscious for the past three days.

Armin could no longer look at any of them, nevertheless, think with a straight mind, he was clueless as to what happened and to what was to come.

He had to let it out.

When his voice faded, and it was painful to swallow, he collapsed on the dirt, dipping his toes in the cold, running water, closed his eyes, took deep breaths, and waited for his cords to heal to go for another round.

“Are you done yet?” A voice he knew too well said from behind.

The corners of Armin’s lips twitched, he splashed water; shivering from the cold: “I was planning on screaming some more, wanna join me, Mikasa?” his voice hoarse, cracking as steam erupted from his mouth.

“My throat would bleed, and I can’t heal it as fast as you could.”

Mikasa walked to Armin, and squatted next to him, they sat in silence, none of them speaking for a while.

Then Mikasa wrapped her arm around Armin’s shoulder, and he leaned into her embrace, Mikasa rubbed circles on his back and sighed, they both were lost, and nothing could ever fix what they’ve been through…

“This brings back memories,” Armin said, his eyes following a tiny golden fish swimming against the flow, he felt Mikasa nodding next to him.

“Maybe we could get those old days back.” Mikasa pondered.

“Yeah,” Armin absent mindedly agreed with her, then he flipped what she said in his head, over and over, and then blurted out: “yeah, yeah,” his voice gained confidence with every passing second, “Mikasa, why not?” He pulled away to look into her eyes; they held bewilderment, and that made the tip of Armin’s lips lift upwards.

“Why not?” Armin continued, “we can do whatever we want when all of this is over, we sure as hell deserve it, don’t we?”

“Y-yeah.” Mikasa stuttered, not sure from where this sudden enthusiasm came from.

Armin shifted his position, and was on his knees in front of Mikasa, he clamped her hands in his. Without breaking eye contact, he went on: “There are many places, that we could explore, or we could stay warm in some cozy, lovely house,” Armin shifted closer to her, “we deserve our own happy ending, don’t we?”

Mikasa’s lips parted in astonishment, she couldn’t pinpoint the line between desperation and resolve in Armin’s voice; however, she squeezed his hands and pulled on half a smile, a smile that meant this happy ending would only happen in another life, but certainly not this.

Armin’s eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pouted, he was resolute to make Mikasa feel better. So, he stood up, held out his hand to her, Mikasa took it, and without any introductions, Armin put his right hand on her waist, while the other hand held hers up toward the skies.

Mikasa promptly landed a hand on his shoulder, while the other gently laid upon his, “Armin, what exactly are you doing?” she asked him.

Armin didn’t answer; instead, he hummed some tune under his breath and started moving his hips.

Mikasa, having no idea what was going on, followed Armin with hesitant movements, then, his crooning turned into a silly jazzy combination of ‘dun dun’ and ‘tara tara,’ his voice getting louder and louder and his movements more imbecile and funnier.

Mikasa held in her laughter, biting her lower lip; Armin being silly isn’t a sight anyone would see occasionally, and when he did an exaggeratedly dramatic twirl, she couldn’t hold it in any longer; she let out a loud, chirping laugh.

Armin chuckled in return, and he felt a weight left off his chest, I didn’t get a chance to apologize to her after all, and he twirled Mikasa around, her skirt flowing around her, and uh God she’s so beautiful, she didn’t deserve any of the horrific stuff that she went through.

Mikasa twirled once again, and when she faced Armin, she noticed that his smile wasn’t as wide as it was a moment before, she looked at him in confusion before he stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her.

Mikasa didn’t expect that, but she hugged him back, resting her head on his shoulder. Armin swayed with Mikasa, resuming his humming, though the tune is supposed to be cheerful, his voice cracked, and the song sounded ominous and dreary.

Armin tangled his fingers in Mikasa’s short hair, ruffling it a bit, and he sensed Mikasa wrapping her arms tighter around him.

Mikasa heard Armin humming actual words, they were incoherent, and she had to focus on decoding them, but once she did, she couldn’t overlook them: “I’m sorry, oh I’m so sorry…”

Armin’s apologies stabbed into Mikasa’s heart, swift and unnoticeable, leaving her with tight lungs and trembling limbs. Her breath hitched in her throat, and soon, tears were spilling uncontrollably from her eyes, Armin shuddered, and she heard his own labored breathing.

Soon, the tunes drifted with the wind, and the pair fell to the ground, their grip only tighter around each other, as they cried their grief out, their own sobs cutting through the air, and the ambient nature only seemed to quiet down and listen to their mourning.

Annie watched from behind the bush, not making a sound, and when she saw both of them crumble to the ground, she decided it was her cue to get back to the cottage.

However, Annie couldn’t step inside; instead, she walked to a mountain of log beside the cottage and leaned against it, looking at her feet, moving the dirt beneath her shoes, then she looked up to the sky, the full moon peaked at her between the clouds…

The blue light immersed Annie’s surroundings, how the stars shone so bright but yet dull with the moon taking the spotlight, no one would look for the stars when the moon is out, she thought, right?

Annie heard footsteps approaching her, she tilted her head down and saw Armin, hand in hand with Mikasa, were approaching the cottage.

How long have I been out here?

Annie wanted to run into the cottage, but something screwed her legs in her spot, and she couldn’t move a muscle; instead, she waited until they noticed her presence.

Armin and Mikasa stood in front of Annie, Mikasa nodded, acknowledging Annie’s presence, and Annie nodded in return. At the same time, Armin was more verbal and said: “Oh, hey Annie, what are you doing outside?”

“Could ask you the same question,” Annie answered, crossing her arms.

Armin smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Mikasa glanced between the two, then she let go of Armin’s hand and told them that she’s heading inside.

Armin and Annie stood there, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not knowing what to say, then he noticed a cloth tied in a knot by Annie’s foot, something wrapped in it, he asked: “Were you planning to go somewhere?”

“No,” Annie answered, not realizing that Armin was referring to the bread she packed for him.

“Well then, may I ask what you have in that?” Armin inquired, pointing to the sack.

Annie looked down to it, and she immediately said: “There is some bread in there, thought I’d eat some out here, but I’m not hungry anymore,” she kneeled down and picked it up, producing a piece of freshly baked bread, though it turned cold, “you wanna have some?” Annie offered it to Armin.

Armin couldn’t hide his hunger, as his stomach growled. He took the bread gladly from Annie’s hand, taking a bite; it wasn’t the best bread he ever had, but considering that they were in a remote cottage in the mountains, this was the best they could ask for.

At least the airplane was packed with portions, and they were glad for that.

Annie made space for Armin to lean against the log beside her, she admired her surroundings while he munched on the bread.

“Armin, I think you deserve happiness,” Annie said out of the blue, her eyes scanning the sky.

Armin stopped chewing and turned his head towards Annie, not sure if he heard her or was just imagining it, but there was no one outside but them…

Armin swallowed, then said: “Uh, well thanks,” he looked up to where Annie was looking, “I think you deserve happiness too.”

Annie blinked; she didn’t say anything.

“You’re finally reunited with your father, now you can live the rest of your life by his side, right? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Annie?” Armin said, imitating Annie and crossing his arms.

“I guess you’re right…” Annie agreed with him, eyes still aimed at the sky. She caressed the ring around her finger, turning it…

Silence draped over them, both watching the dark blanket upon them with jewelry scattered on it, but that one big diamond stealing all the glory to itself.

A ting of guilt nagged at her, she was so lost in the happiness bubble that she forgot about the bigger picture, where everyone was conflicted, barely slept, and had a ticking bomb in their hands with nothing they could do about it.

She glanced at Armin, he was watching the sky, just like her, and she wondered what kind of matters were swarming inside his head, an urge itched at her hand to reach out into his skull and pull out all the tangled thoughts fizzing inside it, and blow them away into the night, to get them lost forever.

Annie looked down at her hand, she unconsciously took off her ring, its shining rim between her thumb and finger, glistening, hiding the catastrophes it’s capable of.

Armin felt a hand close around his own, he looked down, and saw Annie securing his fingers around something small and warm, before she retreated and looked into his eyes. He shot her a confused look, he brought his fist closer to his face, and when he opened it, his lips parted in shock.

A circle of metal rested on his palm, still warm from Annie’s fingers.

“Isn’t this… your ring?” He asked her the obvious as he inspected it.

“It is, and…” Annie swallowed, “it got me to where I am, I guess, you… might need it,” no he wouldn’t, he got his own ring, you dumbass-

Annie imagined her jaw dropping to the ground when Armin silently slid her ring on his finger, he stretched his hand and observed it for a second, before he reached into his pocket and pulled out something.

He stretched his hand towards her right hand, his eyes locking with her, and when she didn’t’ back away, he held her hand, and slid something cold around her finger.

Annie looked down and-

A ring, almost identical to hers, wrapped around her finger, where her ring used to be.

“Then, I want you to take mine,” Armin said, his voice low.

a cold waft ruffled Annie’s hair, golden leaves swirling around them, and Annie heard her heart’s beats in her ears.

She wanted to reject the ring, it wasn’t about him, he shouldn’t give her something in return, something to keep her hanging on false hope and fantasies that only happened in fairy tales-

“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat.

Armin and Annie startled and whipped their heads toward the source.

It was Mr. Leonhart.

Armin immediately stood erect, his fingers crushing the bread in his hold, his thoughts rampaged into his skull, and sudden nervousness rushed down his spine. For a moment, he thought he should probably salute him or something, luckily, Annie broke his perplexing thoughts:

“Oh, father, are you done eating?” Annie asked, not budging.

“Oh, yes, Hanji’s cooking is… unique, indeed.” Mr. Leonhart answered, then his eyes landed on Armin, “oh, Annie, you never introduced me to this young man, am I wrong?” Mr. Leonhart inquired, stepping closer to the pair.

“You’re not, his name is Armin Arlert, the Brainiac.” Annie casually acknowledged Armin.

“U-uh, yes! That’s my name! I mean my name is Arlert, Armin Arlert,” Armin stuttered, suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with his arms, so he stretched one out and said, his words overlapping: “it’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Leonhart!”

Mr. Leonhart took Armin’s hand in his, shook it twice, then, instead of letting it go, he placed his other hand over it, clasping Armin’s fingers in a warm, calloused grip, “oh, I must’ve heard about you from Reiner, the guy with wits no one compared to.” He probably was informed about how the survey corps exposed the Female Titan, but he didn’t elaborate on the topic.

Armin’s cheeks heated up, but Mr. Leonhart clamping hands grounded him, and he looked into the man’s eyes, and, even though he’s not Annie’s biological father, Armin still got the same aura from them.

“Well, Arlert, it’s a pleasure meeting you,” Mr. Leonhart let go of Armin’s hand, “I hope you don’t mind me calling you by your surname, but your first name sounds like a name your grandfather would choose.”

Armin chuckled, a smile remained on his face, “You’re exactly right.” Armin looked at Annie, his eyebrows rose a little when he saw her tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to hide a blush dusting her cheeks.

The door of the cottage slammed open, and a disturbed figure came rushing out, looking towards the darkness of the forest.

“Armin! Are you here?!” Shrieked a panicked Connie, making all of them jump.

“Connie!” Armin shouted, waving his arm to get Connie’s attention, “what happen-”

“Eren’s awake.”

~~~

I either have a very short chapter or a very long ass one, no in-between I hope you're enjoying this story!! Armin and Mikasa's scene made me cry while writing it... yeah I get emotional over my babies...

I want to thank @madninive for being soooo supportive and just an amazing human being, she helped me out so much with this chapter, so thank you for existing and putting up with me

#Aruani #armin arlert #Annie Leonhardt #eremika #eren x mikasa #Eren Jaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #aot #snk #attack on titan #armin x mikasa #arumika

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klovenhooves · 4 years ago

Text

Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Two: Acts of Service

Johnny felt like he’d been living in Groundhog’s Day. Every day he woke up, and it still wasn’t the weekend yet. He was constantly tapping his foot, jumping his leg up and down under the table, as if willing time to speed up. He wasn’t used to feeling so jittery about something – Miguel commented knowingly that Sensei Lawrence had overdosed on caffeine when he fidgeted too much during training.

He got some extra push ups for that, not that he minded, the little twerp.

And then, suddenly, it was Saturday morning, and he was jogging out to his car, keys jangling like his nerves, trying not to think about how eager he was to get to the beach. This time they would be without Robby, without Anthony, alone in the ocean.

Maybe Diaz had a point with his little love language thingy.

At least, that’s what he thought at ten in the morning. By noon, he was pretty sure the love languages thing was bullshit, because he was still waiting for Daniel to show up, and he was about to admit to himself and his stubborn pride that he wasn’t coming. He scoffed, pushing himself off the hood of his car and into the driver’s seat, trying to stifle the ripple of disappointment that ached a little like embarrassment.

He was a high school kid again, playing games with the pretty girl and hoping she knew the rules. Except this time, he was the one who didn’t know the rules.

He grabbed his phone from the cupholder beneath the radio where he’d left it to keep the sand and salt out of it. He almost didn’t look at it. What would he find there, but another avenue to hurt his feelings? Daniel probably hadn’t called.

He sighed and pressed the top button. There were five missed calls on it, and a text from Robby.

“CALL ME NOW,” it said.

He obeyed the text message, thinking ironically that whatever shit was about to hit the fan would at least distract him from Daniel LaRusso.

“What the hell did you do?” Robby’s voice was hoarse, tired, like he’d been yelling for a while already. Johnny’s hand twitched around his keys, itching to turn them in the ignition, to find his son, find the problem. He stuck his hand under his thigh and forced himself to stay still.

“What did I do?” Johnny repeated. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He could hear something in the background, deep sounds of wood hitting wood, and running water. “Cobra Kai never dies, right?” Robby sneered. “Isn’t that what you say?”

“Yeah…” Johnny trailed off, trying to put together too few available pieces of the puzzle. “Look, I don’t know what –”

“Cobra Kais trashed Miyagi-do last night,” Robby spat.

Suddenly, Daniel’s absence made sense. “Send me the address,” he said firmly, speaking over Robby when he could hear his son preparing to deliver another painful blow. “Now.”

***

He could see the devastation before he even got out of the car. “Cobra Kai Never Dies” seared into his vision from the side of LaRusso’s favorite yellow vintage car, black and stark and painful to look at. He grimaced, shoving the door of his car open and listening for the approach.

It didn’t take long for Daniel to find him.

“Get the hell out of here, Johnny,” he snapped from the porch, and even from a distance, Johnny could see that he was sunburned, sweaty, exhausted. “Before I call the cops.”

“I didn’t do this,” Johnny answered, holding his hands up in the sign of surrender. “I swear. I would never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

That hurt more than Johnny thought it would. He blinked and looked down at the worn earth beneath his feet, almost sand. They should have been at the beach right now. They could have been having fun.

He steeled himself. As much as he didn’t want to, he was going to have to swallow his pride if he wanted to convince Daniel of his innocence. More than that, he wanted to convince Daniel so completely that he would never again believe him capable of something like this.

Because what man would love someone capable of something like this? Whoever had done this had stomped into Daniel’s sanctuary, his shrine to his dead teacher, and crushed it under their boot without remorse. Even when he was blindingly angry, drunk, miserable, Johnny would have never dared wreak havoc here.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said. “Just tell me what needs fixing.”

Daniel took a step down from the porch, eyes intent on Johnny, so sharp that Johnny wanted to flinch away from them. “What?”

Daniel was itching for a fight, Johnny could see it in his gaze. He wondered if that would make him happy, and considered giving it to him.

But no, he would be selfish, and deny Daniel their personal brand of intimacy. Let this be a new one. “Let me help,” he said softly. “What do you need me to do?”

Daniel furrowed his brows, eyes roving over Johnny’s face like he would find the truth in the lines around his eyes. Johnny let him look, content to suffer under his gaze, waiting to be sent away.

“You really didn’t do this?” He wanted to believe him, Johnny could see in the sad downturn of his mouth.

“LaRusso, if I wanted to torture you, I wouldn’t resort to vandalism,” Johnny replied, tilting his head, giving Daniel a genuine smile instead of his typical smirk. “This has teenage kid written all over it.” Then, without thinking, he blurted, “We aren’t teenagers anymore.”

Daniel clenched his jaw, the bunched muscles protruding from the pressure. “You’re right, we aren’t.”

***

Taking Johnny through the back gate brought the initial shock back; Daniel could see the wreckage as if through his eyes – the broken pots and tipped over plants, the shredded punching bag, the toilet paper all over the trees, the spray paint. He had been trying to clear it up for three hours, at least, and it still looked like he hadn’t even started. It almost made him turn around and leave – though what he would do when he left, Daniel couldn’t tell. He was stuck between wanting to fix everything, put it all back the way Miyagi had it and going to a bar and getting wretchedly drunk.

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathed beside him. Daniel spared him a glance, enough to see that he was clearly still dressed for the beach, and felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t called to tell Johnny he wasn’t coming – that felt like the closest thing to a courtesy he could give him when he saw the dojo. He had stood there, where Johnny was standing now, trying to reconcile the Johnny he had been thinking about against his will all week with the one who was callous enough to send his students to do something like this.

He didn’t dare hope that Johnny had nothing to do with it, lest he be wrong.

“Where do you need me, boss?” Johnny asked when Daniel didn’t answer.

“Uh,” he stammered, looking around the yard. “We really just need to get the trash picked up first.”

“Cool,” Johnny said, turning away and yanking toilet paper out of the tree beside him. “Go get some water, LaRusso, you look dead on your feet.”

“I don’t need –”

“You do,” Johnny interrupted, and there was that unfathomable softness again, apparent in the wrinkles around his eyes, in the set of his mouth. “Go get some water, and get some for my kid, too.”

Daniel stared at him for a moment, trying to replace the hardened, angry face of Johnny Lawrence in his mind with this almost reasonable one. He sighed, feeling his muscles ache with the breath, and nodded. He returned a few minutes later with cold bottles of water, holding them up for the kids to see. He could feel Johnny watching him as he passed them out, cracking his own open and drinking greedily until the bottle was empty.

When he looked back, Johnny gave him a self-satisfied smirk and kept cleaning.

Daniel felt like he was being constantly barraged by epiphanies about Johnny Lawrence lately. He remembered keenly the understanding he felt when he stood next to him at his childhood apartment.

“A nice house doesn’t mean nice things are going on inside.”

The words made so many unexplained details about Johnny make sense that Daniel kept catching himself thinking about it weeks after. No wonder Johnny had been so angry as a teenager – no wonder he’d adapted so well to Kreese’s teachings. No wonder karate had always been so important, and such a dire skill to learn.

Now, he was seeing new facets, like Johnny surfing, still boyish and energetic in the ocean, familiar and knowledgeable in the way Daniel always wanted to be about anything.

And here he was, slaving away under the hot sun, to prove to Daniel that he hadn’t trashed his dojo.

Daniel wanted to comment that he didn’t think a rich boy from Encino could work so hard, but he found that he was unwilling to break the easy peace they’d found. Instead, he helped Johnny unhook the punching bag from its hook and carried it inside with him.

“I can tape it up,” Johnny said, surveying the cuts critically. “That should hold it for a while, depending on how much you wail on this thing daily.”

Daniel nodded. “I’ll get the tape.”

He ended up kneeling across from Johnny on the wood floor, his hands holding the different gashes together so Johnny could tape them closed, his hands both careful and sure.

“I will find out who did this,” Johnny said after a while, peeling another piece of duct tape free. “I didn’t teach them –”

“I know you didn’t,” Daniel interrupted, and he could see Johnny turn his head to see his face more clearly. “No criminal worth his salt would stay to clean up the mess.”

Johnny chuckled, a genuine laugh under his breath, and Daniel smiled. He didn’t think he’d ever heard that laugh before.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Daniel muttered, ducking his head lower, closer to the punching bag so Johnny couldn’t see it. “I should have.”

“No,” Johnny muttered, pressing the duct tape into the gash Daniel was holding closed, his fingers brushing over Daniel’s as he secured the tape in place. “I wouldn’t have called me either.”

Daniel looked up at him, accidentally catching his gaze and holding it. There was a sadness in Johnny’s eyes that Daniel could feel, radiating from him like he was trying to warn him away. He wondered why that was. He could feel the edge of Johnny’s hand, pressed onto the punching bag right near his own, warm and soft.

“John –”

“Dad,” Sam blurted, trotting up the stairs and into the house. “We need more hands to pick up the statue.”

Daniel tore his eyes away and found his daughter, face red and hair frazzled. “I’ll be right there,” he said.

“Let’s go,” Johnny said, picking up the punching bag, his voice a forced replica of his usual tone. “I’ll help you.”

Daniel was left to gape after him as he carried the heavy bag by himself back to its hook and replaced it.

***

Johnny couldn’t explain where his strange feeling of hope came from, but once it settled in, he couldn’t shake it. Something about working with Daniel to fix that punching bag, the way they spoke plainly, even if they said it while looking at the punching bag instead of each other, felt important, like Daniel was starting to see him as something other than an immature bully.

He followed Daniel and Sam to the tipped over statue, where tracks in the grass told him that Robby and Sam had already tried to pick up the statue themselves and stumbled. He could tell just by looking at it that it was too heavy for the kids to pick up by themselves, and maybe even too heavy to himself and Daniel to pick up.

“Robby, can you get me those two broken fence planks?” he asked. Robby furrowed his brows at him in confusion but didn’t argue, trotting off to grab the planks.

“What are you thinking?” Daniel asked, stepping closer to him, close enough that Johnny could smell that he was wearing sunscreen. He was reminded, again, of their plans to be at the beach.

“If we can use those rocks and the planks to get the statue just a few inches off the ground, we can probably get it the rest of the way ourselves,” Johnny said. “I had to do this at a landscaping job I did about ten years ago. Some rich Encino broad –” he caught Sam’s close gaze out of the corner of his eye. “Some rich Encino…woman…insisted that she wanted slabs of marble sticking out of her garden in the back yard, and one of them fell over. I was the only one there, so I had to get creative to get it back up.”

“You did a landscaping job?” Daniel asked as Johnny passed him a plank.

“You’re the white-collar guy here, LaRusso,” Johnny remarked, shoving the plank under the statue. “Not me.”

Daniel didn’t answer him, but mirrored his movements, setting his own plank underneath the statue and looking to Johnny for his cue.

The statue was heavier than he expected, but after a few seconds of struggling, it started to lift off the grass. Daniel huffed a surprised scoff, too out of breath to do anything else, and Johnny grinned at him.

Robby and Sam slipped in and took hold of the statue, Johnny and Daniel following, and after some clumsy struggling, the statue was upright again and looking as sturdy against the fence as it had before. The kids cheered, high-fiving first each other, and then their fathers.

“Alright, you two, why don’t you go cool off in the shade and drink some more water?” Daniel said, his eyes landing only momentarily on Johnny. They obliged without argument, trudging off toward the house with heavy feet.

Johnny could feel Daniel’s eyes on him in the wake of the kids’ absence. He turned away from him and surveyed the garden, far more tranquil than it had been when he arrived. He could hear the running water and the deep sound of the wood chimes that he’d heard when Robby called.

He could understand, in quiet moments like this, why Daniel was so protective of this place.

“I want you to try something,” Daniel’s voice broke through his reverie. Johnny turned to see him, a smile just barely quirking his lips upward, his hair tousled and messy from the wind and the work. The sun was starting to sink behind him, leaving gold behind in strands of his hair, his skin supple and dark in the sunlight.

“Is this when you tell me you have weed?” Johnny replied.

Daniel rolled his eyes and led Johnny to the edge of a pond where a round platform floated in the middle.

“Torture device?” Johnny asked.

“Get in the pond, Johnny,” Daniel said, toeing off his own shoes at the edge.

“Are there fish in there?” Johnny asked, peering in.

“There aren’t fish in there,” Daniel laughed.

“Are you sure –?”

Before he could finish, Daniel had grabbed him around the middle and pulled him into the pond with him. The water was ice cold when he went in, so cold he felt the shock ricochet through his body. And then he felt Daniel’s arms around his middle, just barely releasing so they could find the surface safely, and the cold didn’t matter.

He broke the surface, spluttering, and found Daniel grinning at him, trying to hold back his laughter. He launched himself in Daniel’s direction, catching him around the shoulders and shoving him into the water, yanking him back up only a moment later, hand tight around Daniel’s upper arm.

“You don’t want to play that game with me,” Daniel said warningly, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, grinning like a fool. “I’ve been almost drowning my cousins since I lived in Newark.”

“I grew up in the ocean, LaRusso, a body of water intent on drowning you without any help,” Johnny retorted, still holding tight to Daniel’s arm. “I think I can handle you.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows at him, and before Johnny could think of another witty retort, Daniel’s leg was snaking around his and yanking his feet out from under him, sending them both below the surface of the water.

Beneath the surface, Johnny could see the stones on the bottom of the pond, recently scraped clean of algae, if the little green spots in the cracks of the rocks were any indication. Daniel, beside him, was untangling himself from Johnny’s legs, swimming toward the surface again. Deftly, without any struggle, Johnny waited until he broke the surface, gave him time to take a breath, and wrapped his legs around Daniel’s waist, pulling him back down below again.

Daniel glared at him, his eyes almost black under the water, and pushed them both to the surface.

“Okay, okay, time out, we’re actually going to drown each other,” Daniel said, one arm sliding around the small of Johnny’s back to hold him up in the water.

It wasn’t until Daniel’s hand settled on his hip that Johnny realized he still had his legs hooked around Daniel’s waist. He just assumed Daniel would break free of the hold when he made his way to the surface.

His surprise must have shown on his face because he could both hear and feel Daniel chuckle.

“Thank you,” he said, and if Johnny hadn’t been so close, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. “For today.”

Johnny didn’t know what to say. Brushing off Daniel’s thanks would feel like he was cheapening what they had accomplished today, which, based on their track record of working together, was unheard of. But he didn’t really feel like what he did required thanks when really all he wanted was to prove to Daniel he hadn’t trashed the dojo.

And then he remembered one of the love languages that Miguel told him about.

Acts of service.

Perhaps this was the one that would work.

He watched, as if in slow motion, Daniel’s gaze drop to his lips. There was still water running down his face, settling at the point of his chin, dripping in the silence, harmonizing with the chimes at the back door to the house. He could lean in – he moved to unhook his legs from around Daniel’s waist, but Daniel’s arm around him tightened and stilled his movement.

“Tighten your legs,” Daniel said quietly, the same words Johnny said to him last week, and Johnny’s gaze snapped up to his eyes, deep, soulful brown in the shade, eyelashes still wet.

He could lean in – he watched Daniel lick his lips and reached up to grab onto the side of the pond, steadying them both against the side. He leaned in, just a fraction –

“Dad –”

Immediately, Johnny released Daniel’s waist and moved away, far enough that he bumped against the platform floating in the pond.

Daniel’s eyes were still on him, dark and unreadable. “Yes, Sam?”

“Sensei Kreese is here.”

#lawrusso #Johnny Lawrence and the five Love languages

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