#usually the week after new years is a quiet period but this year my clients have decided to be completely unhinged fml

[lynne-monstr]

hi blog, it's friday! here i am, attempting to push past the misery of returning to work after two weeks off. joining me in this endevour is the last glass of cava from my new year's eve bottle! (thank u champagne stopper, my most important tool in the kitchen, for keeping the bubbles sharp even on day 4). also i went for a walk right before opening the bottle, which definitely helped my mood.

now that the holidays are over, it's time to get back into my routine of trying more nyc restaurants. venturing out in the cold is tough, so i'm thinking of modifying this goal to be a quest to try all the spots in my neighborhood. we'll see how it goes, and how much i feel like going out in this cold weather.

my plans for the weekend are to do the running, to do the spinning, to watch more princess royal show, and to do the writing! i want to post the onmyoji ot3 fic soon, before i convince myself this pwp should be more than it is (a pwp) and agonize over it for another 12 months. maybe that's another good goal for 2025: just post the damn fic, already!

anyway, this cava isn't going to drink itself. i hope everyone has a good weekend!

[atlafan]

Juvenile and Family Law, is it something that a kid dreams of practicing? No, not really. Is that where the big bucks are if you’re not interested in taxes and wills? Yes, it is. College is expensive, and so is law school; gotta pay it off somehow. It takes a while to build your clientele, a lot of it is word of mouth. You work your way up, and slowly but surely, build a good reputation for yourself. And if you’re lucky, you’ll make partner.

Harry Styles is good at his job, and is on the brink of making partner at his firm. Gallagher, Hilson & Associates Family Law is a great place to work. Isaiah Gallagher and Maria Hilson are two incredible lawyers, and the other associates Harry works with aren’t too bad either. He doesn’t always love working nearly sixty hours a week, and some of the cases he handles have caused him to see the bottom of one too many bottles, but other than that, he’s happy.

Family Law means working all kinds of cases. Custody, spousal support, paternity, and divorce. All of those cases are messy, rarely are they clean cut. Harry happens to specialize in divorce, which in turn can lead to all of the other things listed above. What’s worse is that a lot of his clients will often flirt with him, so he’s started to wear a fake wedding band to ward off any and all inappropriate behavior. It doesn’t happen every time, but it was often enough that he decided to find a way to just avoid the unwanted attention.

Due to how many hours he works a week, Harry’s social life is a little lackluster. By the time he gets home work, all he wants to do is kick his shoes off, plop down on the couch with some greasy Chinese food, and catch up on some television. He lives in a nice enough building in the city. His apartment has one bedroom, and one and half baths. On Friday nights, he’ll go out with some of the other associates for a drink, so he gets a bitof social time in. He’s not lonely, he actually quite enjoys the quiet and solitude. He’s got a cat, Gerry, short for Geraldine that he takes care of. He has what he needs, and he’s perfectly content.

Whenever he dates, people always want to talk about his work. The last thing Harry wants to talk about after a long day at work, is more work. So, he sticks to meaningless hookups, and his own hand, when he needs that type of release.

He doesn’t have too much to complain about. He’s thirty, and massively successful. Some of his friends still live at home while working retail jobs, not that he’s judging. He was twenty-six when he moved out, and he’s grateful his parents let him stay rent free so he could save up for his own place. He doesn’t like to compare himself to others, but it makes him feel good to know he’s all set. He works hard, yes, but it’s all worth it.

//

With how quiet his personal life is, it’s hard to imagine Harry being a shark in the courtroom, but he is. He’s a master in the art of persuasion and rhetoric. Having been a communication major in his undergrad career, and all. He knows how to read a room, and how to read people. The jury is just an audience waiting to watch a live performance. His theater minor also comes in handy here. Being a lawyer is an act, a role he plays. He knows how to play the part when it’s in a large courtroom, or when it’s just a small meeting in a conference room to divide up assets. It’s not always easy, but he makes it look that way. Harry typically wins most of his cases, and when it’s something small, he’s usually able to get his client the majority of what they asked for. Every customer leaves happy.

These skills can’t all be taught and learned. Some people are born with natural talent, skills they learn to hone in on and perfect. It’s a craft that Harry has worked on for years. Again, he’s only thirty, but because he has such precision and talent, it makes him the hot commodity. The office is constantly getting calls for him. It’s why they want him to become the next partner. Having his name on the plaque as you enter would surely put people at ease. Isaiah and Maria saw potential in Harry from the beginning, and they feel lucky that he’s one of their associates.

There other very qualified associates as well, like Niall – who specializes in custody cases – he’s well on his way up. There’s Candice – who specializes in prenuptial agreements – she got into the lawyer game a little later in life, but she’s as sharp as a whip, and shouldn’t be underestimated. And lastly, there’s Byron – who specializes in paternity cases – he thinks he’s going to be the next partner because he’s a bit full of himself.

Harry and Niall are the closest in age, so they hang out more often. They both really like baseball, and will go to a game or two during the season. Candice is the surrogate mother figure. She has no children of her own, she’s the fun aunt to her nieces and nephews, but she feels oddly maternal towards Harry and Niall. The boys often call her “Ma”, instead of her actual name, and she loves it. She looks out for them, and there when they need someone to listen. She’s fifty-seven, and enjoys baking in her free time. She often brings the boys homemade muffins on Monday mornings, and they adore her for it.

Byron…well…Byron is a forty-year-old womanizer who totally clashes with Harry. Does Harry have one-night stands? Yes. Does he ever lie to his partners? No. Byron enjoys playing the game in all facets, and Harry never takes part in it. Needless to say, Harry hates when he has to partner with him on a case, and avoids it when he can.

Isaiah and Maria each have their own executive assistant, or para: Michele and Kyla. They’re both in their late twenties, and rocking it. Harry only interacts with them over email. He, Candice, Niall, and Byron all share the same administrator: Ronnie. Ronnie is twenty-six, friendly, and organized. She doesn’t have time to help everyone on their briefs, but that’s what interns are for, and there’s an abundance of them circling throughout the office.

Harry has a nice office. Plenty of natural light from the windows, he has a desk riser so he can stand up periodically, and he even has his own mini fridge. (He’s often paranoid about people taking his Bubbly, so he just brought in his own fridge.) He’s got a decent enough view of the city; he likes it best at night when the twinkling lights come through. It reminds him of how lucky he is to be where he is in life. He knows he’s more fortunate than others, so he tries to be grateful. He gives back when he’s able, donate to different scholarship funds and whatnot.

Harry is a good man.

//

On a particularly cloudy morning, Ronnie lets Harry know his 10AM consult has arrived. He didn’t know much about his new potential client, but he was always willing to hear someone out. He stands up from his desk, and waits for the woman to enter.

In walks a young woman wearing an expensive, red pantsuit, black heels, and a dark red lipstick. She gives a soft smile to Ronnie before she closes the door. Harry walks over to her, extending his hand.

“Hi, I’m Harry.”

“Mira.” She shakes his hand.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the two seats on the other side of his desk and they both sit. “What brings you to my office today?”

“I heard you’re a pretty good divorce lawyer, and I need a divorce.”

“Is your spouse aware that you’re seeking counsel?”

“No.” She shakes her head and swallows. “I…I’d be putting myself in danger if he knew I wanted to leave him.”

“What kind of danger? If he’s physically abusive, then you need to- “

“He doesn’t put his hands on me like that. It’s…I don’t love him, and I never have. I was essentially…I was sold to him; it was an arranged marriage. I thought maybe I could learn to like him, to love him, but it’s been three years, and I can’t stand him. I need legal help.”

“What do you mean you were sold to him? Were you a child bride? Were you sex trafficked?”

“No.” She chews on her bottom lip. “He made a deal with my father. Thomas got me in exchange for…something. I can’t get into what exactly with you just yet.”

“Does he think you’re happy?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Well, for the most part. I do my thing, and he does his. His job keeps him pretty busy, and I often pretend to be asleep when he gets home. He doesn’t satisfy my needs, so to speak, and I’ve given up on trying. I want to be freed from him.” She pulls out a packet of paper from her purse, and gives it to Harry. “That’s a copy of the contract he and my father signed when they made the deal. I’m not great with legal jargon. I thought maybe if you decide to take me on you could look that over and tell me if there’s any way, I can get out of this.”

“Are you over eighteen?”

“Yes, well over.”

“And were you over eighteen when you were married?”

“Yes.”

“Then how could your father barter you?”

“Where I come from…it can just be like that. The goods we get in exchange for my hand outweighed my happiness.”

“I’m so sorry.” Harry frowns. “My services aren’t exactly cheap.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to be. I can pay top dollar, if that’s what you require. I have money of my own.”

“Alright.” Harry sets the packet of papers onto his desk. “I’ll take a look at that soon, and give you a call.”

“Does that mean you’re taking me on?”

“I hate to see such a nice person be so unhappy.” Harry frowns. “I got into this business to help people, so I’ll help you, Mira.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” She smiles. “There are going to be some things in that contract that may shock you, so please don’t hesitate to call me directly with your questions.” She takes out a business card from her purse. “There’s all of my contact information. If anyone other than myself contacts you regarding all of this, don’t say a word.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at keeping things confidential.”

“I heard you’re a very trustworthy attorney.” She nods, and stands to her feet. Harry does the same. “Thank you for taking the time to listen.” She extends her hand, and he takes it to shake.

“Of course, it’s what I’m here for.” He smiles and opens the door. He watches her leave, maybe for a little too long.

[DARK SIDED, COMING TO PATREON ON SATURDAY, OCTOBER 2ND @ 8AM EST] [Ask]

[saturnsummer]

flutter and kicks

notes: from lay's @/__ryubeom tweet + a pregnant solhwi anon ask. in headcanon form since it's more spontaneous! 

hello tumblr fam! i know, it’s been long... but ficfest and all has kept me kinda busy. a little different this time! a headcanon after a long time, since it’s more fun and easy on the eyes!

extra notes: drumstick reference to hospital playlist episode 4! a little reference to @scripturiends twitter au “dynasty” at the end. have fun! as usual, grammar mistakes by me!

attorney sol and prosecutor joon hwi have been married for a couple years, now well into their early thirties.

sol and joon hwi always take walks in the parks and wondered what it would be like if they had their own.

sol was initially hesitant, with her experience of broken families and having no dad figure. what makes her think her child could grow up in a loving family, if she didn't have one she could be a role model or look up to?

but joon hwi had it worse, having been an orphan from young, and raised by his uncle, his cousins, aunts and relatives ostracising him. yet, he still believed in the happy family he always wanted with sol.

he dreamt of kissing his kids good morning, sending them to school before going to work and sending his wife to work. on nights, they would work on their kid's homework together in fun ways and tuck them in bed after bedtime stories. they would spend the weekends at parks, meeting with seungjae's kid, and the children of their friends.

sol came round eventually, seeing how joon hwi never stopped believing. this time, it was different. joon hwi is not her father, nor is he her step father. he is han joon hwi, the man that saved her lives multiple times. han joon hwi, the man that stood by her when lee man ho was her biggest threat to her family. han joon hwi, the man who loves her, despite being a klutz in school.

he is han joon hwi, the man that loves her for every imperfection and perfection she has.

sol and joon hwi start trying for a baby, which is especially timely when kang sol's mom asks when is she gonna have a grandchild to hold and byeol pipes up saying she would love to have a brother as opposed to sister. (15 years with sisters have made her wonder what it would be to have a little baby boy in the house instead.)

a few weeks after their first time trying passes and sol has been feeling more tired. she's been busy with case after case at kang and park, so she doesn't think much.

only when she misses her period, she freezes. as stressed as she was, even in law school, she has never missed her period or was late. with shaky breaths, she wonders at the slightest chance of having a little life grow in her, as her hand unconsciously travels to her stomach.

sol is excited, but nervous at the thought that maybe nine to ten months later, she would have a child she can call her own in her arms.

over the weekend, sol raised this to joon hwi. joon hwi stops everything and even though he is beyond excited, he stays calm looking at how nervous sol is. together, they go out to get two pregnancy tests, where sol takes it.

the ten minutes of waiting were a complete torture for sol, as she paces back and forth.

"sol, stop pacing. you're going to burn a hole in our floor."

"joon! what- what if it really happens? i'm not ready! how are we ready? you just started your career in the prosecutor office, and i'm buried under cases! i can barely take care of my mom and byeol and myself, what about the child? oh no, what if i'm a bad mom?"

"honey, sit down. look, we'll get through this together okay? no one is ever ready for their first kid. remember seungjae-hyung? he freaked out the day juyeon-noona went into labour and he's a doctor! it's okay, just calm down, alright? do you want warm water?"

when the timer rings, they look at both the tests, showing the double lines indicating a positive test.

sol was pregnant. sol was going to be a mother. joon hwi was going to be a father. their family was starting.

shaking, sol finally let her emotions hit as her tears fall. she was so caught up worrying about herself, life, her work, family; she hadn't had time to process her own feelings on her own. she wanted the feeling of joy of holding her child. she wanted to know what it was like to share a mother's bond with a child.

joon hwi, looking at his wife, only hugged her as she teared up in happiness. his dream of having a family is finally coming. even better, his best friend, his biggest cheerleader, was next to him.

"what are you crying about? you should be happy!"

"j-joon h-hwi ah... we're going to be parents.."

but their journey was far from over. they booked an appointment with juyeon and made juyeon stay quiet about this. seeing the ultrasound and hearing the heartbeats of their unborn child was enough to move sol to another round of sobs and joon hwi held his wife's hand while the tears ran down his face. together, they smiled, knowing that a life was born and growing.

all could have been hidden, but seungjae walked in that moment, asking if his wife wanted to join for lunch. sol and joon hwi were prepared to lie, but having a printed ultrasound scan in their hands, and the fact that they were in juyeon's clinic, a OB-GYN clinic, confirmed suspicions.

"juyeonnie, do you want to go for— joon...hwi?"

"oppa..."

"ah, congratulations sol. congratulations joon hwi." seungjae only smiled looking at the best people he knew become parents. he recognised the pride in joonhwi's eyes, the same eyes he had when juyeon told him they were expecting.

the new parents smiled at their brotherly figure as they wished them a good lunch.

but out from the corner, yeseul spotted joonhwi and sol as she walked into the clinic and she locked eyes with sol. sol slams the door shut and drags joon hwi back and groans, letting a defeated whine.

"sol-ah, what's wrong?"

"yeseul is here! she's probably here for a regular check up, the one she told me about last month!"

and with that, their phones started beeping with countless notifications.

yeseul could put two and two together, especially when it wasn't just sol, but joon hwi in the clinic as well. she texted her boyfriend, bokgi, who spat out his soup when he was eating with yebeom, who sent a string of messages to the group chat.

when sol opens the door again, yeseul only gives a sheepish smile.

"yeseul ah..." sol sighs and joon hwi only smiles, too happy to hide this secret.

"sorry unnie, i can't miss the moment. congrats unnie, oppa! hello, seungjae-oppa, juyeon-unnie!"

"thank you, yeseul. we'll see you next week, as usual?"

behind them, seungjae grumpily argues with his wife.

"why are my ex-classmates seeing you more than i do? i literally work, like, five blocks down at the police station! they live all over seoul!"

"honey, let me see yeseul first, okay? then let's go get lunch. i heard they are serving drumsticks in the canteen today.”

-----

pregnancy wasn't easy for sol. she insisted on working, despite attorney park's orders to take on lesser cases in court. sol couldn't find it in her heart to reject her clients.

yeseul, working closer to sol, would lunch with her to make sure she eats for the sake of her baby. joon hwi did his best to join, despite sol's arguments to not bother and that she can care for herself.

her morning sickness was bad, and she would wake up giddy and nauseous. many times, joon hwi wanted to call jiho to ask him to cover him, but sol would not let him do it. she'll pull herself together and go to work, and promise to take work lightly.

on days she couldn't get out of bed and she was too tired, her mother would come over and cook her nutritious soups, stock their fridge with vitamins and supplements and tonics for sol.

sol's cravings were also odd. she was never one to like sweets, but she found herself craving sugary cakes, cookies and pastries. joon hwi made it a point to stock their cabinets with cookies and buy a cake whenever he could for his wife.

joon hwi was honestly the best husband anyone could ask for. he helped to tidy the house, clean the house while sol was resting. he made soups and tucked sol in bed on her down days.

sol felt bad that she was being cared for and doing nothing in return, but joon hwi would always remind her that she was already doing the most important job, which is to literally grow their kid inside her.

many nights before bed, they would sit together and their hands would rest on her stomach, as they whisper sweet things to their to-be child.

when sol first felt the kick of her child with joon, they smiled so wide, all exhaustion from reports and arguments in their offices were gone. all that mattered was their child responding.

yeseul was beyond excited, as she helped sol with getting furniture and clothes. the study group came together to help them set up a new cot in their small apartment, as the ladies sat while looking at the men, fixing a cot with much difficulty.

aunty yeseul was the first to buy a stuffed bunny for her unborn child, and sol b, even though she was usually cold, offered to babysit in the future.

eventually, attorney park made sol work at home instead of going to the office. she argued that professor kim eunsook was able to teach while pregnant, but attorney park only said "yang jonghoon's orders" and it was enough to shut her up from any complaints.

of course, professor yang. the only person attorney park really is afraid of and listens to.

when they found out that sol was having a boy, joon hwi was lost in thoughts, wondering if he will grow to be like himself. but sol only placed a hand over his and gave a comforting smile.

"remember what you said at the beginning? whatever it is, he will be of the next generation. from him, it will be different."

they then would discuss how they wanted joon hwi's dimples, sol's twinkling eyes and cheekbones and joon hwi's charming smile.

closer to the due date, jiho stepped in to cover for joon hwi as he started to work half days, afraid of leaving his wife at home. sol, now heavily pregnant, really only commuted to the bed from the bathroom and then to the table, where she would spend most of her time reading or doing something relaxing.

yeseul made sol put her on speed dial with sol b, just in case, and so they would be the first to know too.

the morning came when sol woke up to a wet bed and shook joon hwi awake when the contractions kicked in. joon hwi snapped out, grabbed their hospital bag and guided sol to the car where both of them spent the next day in the hospital as sol went through nine hours of labour pains, and another two hours pushing her baby boy.

joon hwi never left once, standing by her side and holding her hand as she pushed her baby out, wiping away the sweat from her face.

when the time came for him to be held in his mother's arms, sol only smiled, knowing that as tough as the past ten months of working, no caffeine and staying up late nights was, it was all worth it for the little life in her arms.

as his son's hand grabbed onto joon hwi's finger, joon hwi made a promise to love this child unconditionally, to guide him in the right direction and bring him up well. sol was right. from him onwards, it will be different.

welcome to the world, seungjun.

[nationalharryleague]

Portfolio

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: AU, Angst, Boss!Harry

Word count: 3.5k!

Warnings: Domestic violence mention, boss/employee dynamic

A/N: Hi! I decided to write another fic after Overnight was received so well! Again, thank you to anyone who read and enjoyed it! I’m not sure how I feel about this one lol but I think it’s good enough to post. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and send feedback! Thank you for reading!!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist! 

Part 2

You had always been a teacher’s pet. Growing up, you were the kid who worked hard to get a 4.0 GPA just for the rush of getting a compliment on your intelligence from your teacher. You craved that validation for all the hard work you put in and you just wanted people you admired to like you. And not for nothing, you deserved the compliments. At work, you were the first one there and the last one to leave. You loved your job and it showed.

You were currently working your first job with any real power at an up and coming public relations firm, Styles Public Relations. SPR was quickly growing in size and recognition and being brought onto the team was a dream come true. You loved everything about working there. The offices were beautiful, it paid well, and your ideas and proposals were finally being heard and brought to the public. Well, you loved everything except one glaring, irritating, and gorgeous problem: your boss.

Harry Styles was a striking man. He was tall, impeccably dressed, and obscenely attractive. His skin was perfectly tan and when it got warm in the office you could see  beautiful tattoos revealed by his rolled up sleeves. Those sleeves were worth more than your life and his head-to-toe Gucci ensembles usually showed his wealth off well. He looked like he should be on the front of a magazine, not behind a desk. Well, he was on the cover of Forbes that one time. While he was so nice to look at, the man was anything but nice. He had an abrasive attitude and not much care for pleasantries or mincing words.

Today, you found yourself on the opposite end of his brutal disposition. You had brought a campaign proposal to him for a newly acquired client and he began to rip it to shreds.

“I don’t know why you thought this campaign was a good idea, Y/N,” he told you sternly. “It’s childish, silly, and unprofessional.” Every word he said dug into you. You tried to attribute his harshness to it being Monday, but you knew he would say this to you any day of the week.

“The client said they wanted something more playful to soften their image,” you defended yourself. “I was doing what they asked for.”

“Well, you did a terrible job at it.”

That stung. You had dedicated your life for weeks to this proposal and had expected him to love it. You hoped this was finally the proposal that would secure your position in his good graces. Apparently, not.

“Okay. I’ll restart the project with a different angle.” You moved forward to grab the binder off the conference room table and flee the room back to the safety of your office. You were shocked when he put his own hands on the binder and slid it away from you.

“You’re off the account. I’ll have someone else do a better job,” he spat. Now, that really hurt. Your ego was closely related to your career and you knew you deserved better than this. You did everything you could to hold back your tears, but one betrayed you and fell down your cheek. You believed you saw his hard exterior soften for a split second before his ruthless demeanor returned.

“Fine,” you breathed, never breaking eye contact with the cruel man. “I’ll leave you now, your highness.” The words left your lips before you could fully register them in your own head. You turned on your heel and rushed back to your office, thinking about the insubordination complaint coming your way.

“Did I just get myself fired?” you asked yourself softly when you were finally in the safety of your own office.

The rest of your week passed in a blur. By Friday, you had accepted your fate and decided to get every passive aggressive dig at your boss you could before you carried your things out in a cardboard box. When you saw him around the office, you made sure to make direct eye contact and shoot daggers his way and you responded to his emails with one word answers. You were also producing the best work you had in years. Turns out, spite was a fantastic motivator for you. If he was going to fire you, he would feel bad about it.

As usual, you spent your Friday night typing away in your office. You were a workaholic and had no problem with staying at work late. Unfortunately, so was your new nemesis.

You caught your first glimpse of him after-hours on a trip to the copier. Your next was on your trek to the coffee pot. Later, on a walk around the office to stretch your legs. Each time you saw him, he was in the same spot. He sat at the conference table surrounded by spreadsheets and graphics and stared perplexed at the piles of paper encompassing him. You knew you could go in and ask him if he needed help, but you wanted to watch him suffer. According to him, you would just do a terrible job anyway.

It was about 7 o’clock when you heard a firm knock on your office door. You expected it to be the cleaning crew asking to vacuum your office. With a ‘come in’ your door opened and your boss’ large body leaned up against the door frame, careful not to enter the office he knew he wasn’t welcome in. While you were shocked he was coming to talk to you, you stayed quiet. If he wanted to talk to you, he would have to break the silence. After a few awkward moments, he did.

“Um, I was thinking about ordering dinner if you wanted to join me.” This was by far the nicest thing he had ever said to you other than ‘you’re hired.’

“Well, what are you getting?”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want for dinner if you take a look at the investor relations portfolio I’m working on.” You were taken aback. He was asking for your help. He needs me, you thought as you smirked to yourself.

“Make it the Italian place down the street and we have a deal,” you countered. You didn’t want to spend anytime with him at all but you were taking this as a sign that  1) he wasn’t firing you, and 2) he thought you did good work. Also, their spaghetti bolognese was calling your name.

Soon you were both knee deep in documents and investor information packets. You absolutely could not believe it but the two of you were collaborating well and making real progress on the portfolio. This was the working relationship you always wanted to have with your big shot boss; the opposite of his constant criticism and belittling of your work.

When the food arrived, you both decided to take a break and eat like an entire company’s stock shares weren’t resting on your shoulders. While your conversation stayed surrounding work, it inevitably steered towards the account he had taken away from you.

“So, how’s my campaign doing?” you asked. You knew it was a risky question but you two had been getting along and you decided you needed an update on the account that had become your baby.

“I gave it to Marcus and-”

“Marcus? Really?” You interrupted  him. “Marcus is a shithead.” Your baby deserved better than Marcus.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said in a joking manner, with a small smile. The smile was just big enough for you to notice that he had dimples. He had never smiled in front of you before. “He’s doing a horrendous job and I was going to give it back to you on Monday.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the second chance,” you confessed. “Can you level with me for a minute?” you asked after a moment of silence. “Why did you rip into me like that? You could have just told me that it wasn’t right for me and taken it away.”

You watched him think for a moment. He scratched at his five o’clock shadow (that was more like a 9 o’clock shadow now) and you could tell he was searching for the right words.

“Because it got you fired up, but I could tell I hurt your feelings and I apologize.” You never expected an apology for the way he acted and you no longer regretted showing him your emotions. He had hurt you and he should feel bad for it. “I thought you were getting complacent in your ideas and you’ve been killing it since Monday.”

“Thank you for the apology. Here I am thinking you did it just to be a dick.”

“Is that what people in the office really think of me?” He looked genuinely hurt and you felt slightly guilty for being the bearer of bad news. But you hoped if he saw it from his fearful employees’ perspective he would lighten up a little.

“Do you want me to be honest?” He nodded his head. “You act like you have a stick so far up your ass it’s touching your brain and that you’re better than everyone else because your suit costs more than my rent.” If he never minced his words, why should you?

“Oh Y/N, tell me what you really think,” he said after a pause with a light chuckle. You were surprised by his reaction. You never expected him to take something like that so well.

“Listen,” you began again. “I understand and respect your toughness on us. But there is a line between criticism and just being mean.” You decided this was a time to call him on his shit, during this very very rare moment of comradery between you. You wanted to have a healthy relationship with him, maybe even a friendship.

“I understand that I can get a bit harsh. It’s just the whole ‘is it better to be loved or feared’ thing. I’ve always thought fear would be the safer option.” You felt like you were getting to pull back the layers of his hard shell and see the human being underneath for a brief period of time.

“But if you were truly loved, no one would ever betray you,” you whispered softly, always the romantic.

“Love has never been reliable, has it?” Your heart broke for him and you realized someone doesn’t become as hardened as he is overnight. Something did this to him.

“What about love being the most powerful force on earth?” you wiggled your eyebrows at him, referring to the slogan for an engagement ring campaign you were both working on.

“Well, when your wife tries to steal the company that you built together and run away to Spain with her personal trainer, love gets a little bit more complicated.” There it is, you thought to yourself. This was the first time he ever felt like a real person to you; not like a teflon shell of anger, wealth, and ambition. His features looked softer and he seemed less like your evil boss, and more like someone dealing with a painful trauma.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” you said softly, genuinely meaning it. “Oh shit, sorry. Mr. Styles,” you corrected yourself. He laughed at your mistake and you watched his dimples reach their full potential. He looked down at the table, obviously a little uncomfortable with his rare moment of vulnerability with the woman who was probably the biggest pain in his ass in the office. Before you knew it, you had decided to share your own uncomfortable vulnerability.

“My ex put me in the hospital while I was still living in New York,” you began, watching his eyes immediately jump to yours and listen intently.

“Oh Y/N, you don’t have to talk about this… I didn’t mean-,” he tried to stop you but you figured if he shared with you, you could share with him.

“No, it’s okay. It’s been a long time,” you reassured him, shaking your head softly. “We were fighting because I found out he had been cheating on me. I had packed a bag and was trying to leave when he pushed me down the stairs of our apartment building. I broke my arm in two places and I had to have a few surgeries.” You rolled up the sleeve of your blouse and showed him the scar that ran down your forearm. You scanned his face and it looked like he genuinely cared about you for a moment. You brushed it off. “After that, I decided I needed to leave New York.”

“Why London?” he said gently.

“I was obsessed with this English boy band when I was growing up,” you laughed. “I guess I romanticised London in my head and decided it might be a good place for a fresh start.”

“While I’m incredibly sorry you had to go through all of that to get to London, I’m very glad that you found your way to me,” he spoke tenderly. His face was serious, but not the seriousness you were used to while getting scolded about your work. It was gentle and like he meant every word he said. You were happy you found your way to this version of him too.

“To the firm, I mean,” he corrected himself and you felt a weird pang of sadness inside of you. You are just his employee, remember that, you thought to yourself.

“I’m happy I found the firm too. If only I could figure out how to deal with my hellish boss?” you asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes dramatically and laughing at him. You realized that this could definitely be taken as flirting, but you decided were okay with that.

“Maybe they’re just trying to push you because you are by far the best campaign director they have,” he said nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat and watching your every movement. You felt your cheeks heat and the rush of adrenaline from finally getting his validation. This was all you ever wanted from him.

“Oh, I know,” you smirked, leaning back in your own chair and studying him as well.

He really was gorgeous. His quaffed hair had fallen over the course of the day and a few stray pieces hung on his forehead. His black dress shirt fit him so well. You were fully able to appreciate the tailored fit after he had shrugged off his blazer and removed his tie, unbuttoning the top few buttons to reveal glimpses of two swallows that sat on his collarbones. A chain that you had never gotten to see hung around his neck, a cross and the Star of David resting on his chest.

“We should get back to work,” he murmured after a few extended moments of staring at each other.

“Probably.”

You two worked for another hour or so before you let out a small yawn and Harry insisted you both call it a night. Although you protested and told him you were fine, he was firm in his demand that you go home and rest. As you packed up your things in your office, he hovered in the room and watched your every move. Conversation was relaxed and casual, not stained with the malice you usually had towards each other.

He took your briefcase from your hands, offering to help as you struggled to carry a poster and a few proposal binders, and carried it as you walked in step with each other out of the office. When you reached the front doors and went to go your separate ways, you were met with a puzzled look on his face.

“Where are you going? The parking garage is this way?”

“Oh, I don’t have a car. I take the tube wherever I have to go.”

“Let me drive you home,” he offered. When you denied his proposal, you were met with a stern, “Let me drive you home or you’re fired.”

Although you fought him the entire walk to his car, asserting that you were fine to take the train, you climbed into his beautiful jet black sports car with a huff and a pout. He had a triumphant smirk on his face that you were tempted to slap off, but decided to take this as a sign from the universe that you just weren’t meant to get blisters from your heels walking home tonight. You watched as his long fingers gripped the steering wheel skillfully and you both sat peacefully, the silence between you only interrupted when you gave him occasional directions to turn right or left. The soft sounds of a Fleetwood Mac song you couldn’t remember the name to flowed through the speakers and his mouth silently lip-synced the words. You admired him the whole drive home and you didn’t want to get out of the car when he pulled up to your building.

You both departed the car, walking around to the trunk where he had stashed your briefcase. Your casual conversations had long passed, both of you beginning to mourn the night you had together. You had enjoyed this night far more than you anticipated and you hoped this would be the first of many late nights at the office that he would join you for. You looked up at him when he handed you your briefcase and you both stood there in silence for just a few more fleeting seconds, neither of you wanting to be alone yet. You were first to break the noiseless night.

“Thank you for dinner and the ride home, Mr. Styles.”

“Please call me Harry,” he said with a subtle smile, stepping up on to the curb, closing much of the space between you.

“I can do that, Harry.” His first name felt foreign on your lips but it was a welcome change.

“Thank you for all your help tonight. I needed your fresh set of eyes on that portfolio.” This interaction felt so intimate; his words hushed and complimentary, intensified by his body’s proximity to yours.

“Whenever you need me,” you breathed, refusing to break the eye contact you were both desperately holding on to.

With one swift step he pressed your bodies and your lips together, backing you up until your body pressed against his car. You dropped your briefcase to the ground and your hands flew up to the base of his neck. He tasted like the lemon cookie he had ordered for dessert and you smelled his intoxicating cologne as you drank each other in. His hands snaked their way under your blazer and rested on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His kiss was deep and demanding and you weren’t sure if you ever wanted it to end.

This morning you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him and mere hours later you were ready to bring him up into your own. He was infuriating and rude and knew just how to push your buttons. But, he also seemed to be gentle, kind, and thoughtful when he wanted to be. Harry Styles was an enigma. You couldn’t wrap your head around him and it drew you to him even more.

Your bodies flowed in perfect sync with one another and your open-mouthed and hungry kisses were so hypnotizing you couldn’t think. Harry was the only person that existed to you anymore, tuning out the murmurs of a passersby, and anywhere your skin touched his was lit on fire.

Finally coming up for air, you breathlessly peeled your lips away from the other. You both refused to break your eye contact, your hands gripping tight to his biceps to steady your weak legs, and scanned each other’s faces.

“You have a little something,” he murmured, reaching to wipe your smudged red lipstick from your bottom lip with his thumb. You leaned into his touch and smiled up at him.

“So do you,” you panted, staring at his lips that were now stained red.

You both just stood there for a little while, soaking up the other’s company before you pulled away and things got more complicated. He was your boss after all, was this even allowed? Did he want to be something more than coworkers? If things ended poorly, would you still be able to work together? Would he be nicer to you now?

“It’s late. You should get some sleep,” he eventually broke the silence and your spiraling thoughts.

“I agree. You worked me real hard today,” you smirked at him, unable to pass up the innuendo. An amused grin spread across his lips and he took a step back from you, releasing you from his grip against the car. He gathered your things you had dropped on the ground during his assault and handed them back to you.

Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek that lingered a little too long to be considered friendly. It made your cheeks burn.

“I’ll see you Monday, sweetheart” was the last thing he said to you before he climbed back into his car and drove off into the night.

Part 2

[malfoys-demigod]

Tutor, Tea, and Truth

draco malfoy x reader 

summary: Reader spends her Saturday mornings tutoring lower classmen by the library. Draco was intrigued with your enthusiasm and love for tutoring that he began watching you. When you finally noticed, he tried lying, saying that he never had the guts to ask you for help in the subjects he was having trouble with. Knowing that he was the second smartest wizard of your year, you didn’t buy his lie, catching him off guard. Being defeated, Draco begins a conversation with you and eventually asks you on a date.

a/n: i was really planning to continue this, and finally i have! 

word count: 6.1k

tag list: @the--queen-of-hell​ @bbeauttyybbx​

If there was one thing you could do effortlessly, it was giving a hand to help others. It could be through any way and it would still be considered helping someone out. 

Whether it be the simple things such as lending an extra quill, picking up the things that a person has dropped in the corridor, to much more complex things that required more will power such as being a third-wheeler at a date at Hogsmeade, walking someone back to the common room at night, and your favorite favorite thing which was tutoring. 

The act of tutoring either your batchmates or lowerclassmen was the most favorite thing of all the things you could do as help. There were so many advantages of being a tutor to students. It could help gain you more friendships with people around year-levels and houses, train your brain to remember new and old information, and strengthen your reputation as a helpful person. 

With these many advantages, your favorite reason was the idea of being able to see the smiles of people at the end of the session or seeing them come back to you, thanking you that they raised their scores, giving you all the credit when you tell them that it was them, that did it all. 

Helping other people made you the happiest person in Hogwarts. You were a smart wizard of your year, certainly not levelling Hermione Granger, but enough to help other people out. It didn’t bother you that there was the possibility of getting drowned with your own work because you could use this advantage and call on other students from your year to form a study group with you, doing the work together and helping each other. 

If they declined the offer due to many reasonable excuses, you still used this advantage to finish the work as quick as possible, with quality of course, so that when your classmates finally have the time to do their work, they can come to you and you could teach them what you learned, helping your brain remember more of what you had recently taught yourself. 

It was a way of boosting your knowledge and grades, making you one successful student. 

Tutoring was something you had gotten from former upperclassmen when you were still in your first year. As a newcomer to Hogwarts, you were very much nervous of failing classes at such a prestigious school. 

So one day at the end of your first week of classes as a first year, you decided to head to the library, hoping to seek a quiet time to celebrate that classes of your first week had ended. But what you arrived at was a study group led by seventh years. 

Not being intimidated by large and older students, you walked towards them, asking them if they could help you with school work. They surprisingly agreed to help you, also giving you the idea of becoming a tutor just like them. They showed you the ropes and shaped you into the person you were today. You were very thankful for them.

Years later, you became a respectful tutor, just like the seventh years in your first year. 

From starting a group only for students in your year, you built your reputation over the years as word passed by, telling other students of lower years that you were a tutor that could be of service for all lowerclassmen. 

Having word passed by from some students of their year, lowerclassmen were more encouraged to find the famous you, and grab seats in the library to circle around you. With more students now coming to see you on a daily basis, you started to treat them like friends rather than pretend clients who you were offering your services to. 

Today was the first week back from the winter holidays. 

Everyone was still acting as if they'd forgotten to switch off their mindsets from “Vacation Mode”, as all they could think and talk about was the holidays. This year’s holidays were somehow excellent for almost everyone where they were spending it in Hogwarts or outside of the castle. Wherever you went, people were smiling, daydreaming about possibly what gifts they received, which meals they enjoyed, and everything you could name. 

The fact that people were still thinking of the holidays meant that it was hard to return focusing on academics. People were so used to waking up late and doing anything they pleased during the holidays that it was quite difficult for them to continue keeping up their grades in school. Worse, if they were taught by the teachers who planned on giving them tests and quizzes a week or two after their first week back, to jog up their memories on the things they have learned from the month before the break.  

You yourself may have had a slight relatable feeling with most of the students at Hogwarts, but you were more lucky than them as you still managed to read a book or two about lessons you were had recently learned and lessons you will be learning when the holiday ended. This action wasn’t done frequently during the break but it was enough to feel more confident when it came to returning to school after the holidays ended. Your little tutoring business would also be booming as others would beg for your time, asking if you could help teach them the things they’ve forgotten and need to remember. 

Usually, people spent their Friday’s after classes anywhere but the library. It was their way of removing their mindset of school and into their weekend freedom. For you on the other hand, your next place right after your last class was the library, the place you happily held your tutoring sessions. You didn’t need to be asked if you could spare time for people as they assumed that you would already be there in the library, waiting for people to come and be helped. 

Their assumptions today were right. You had finished setting up your things by one of the long tables at the library, opening your notebook and bringing out your quill when all of a sudden, a massive group of second years were quietly rushing around your table, huffing and puffing tiredness. 

“Hello, Y/N!”

“Good afternoon, Y/N!”

“Good to see you, Y/N!” 

Were some of the small greetings that your second year students greeted you as they were relieved to see you. You waved at them, giving them a warm smile as you greeted them back. You fixed your posture, straightening your back as you made yourself ready to teach them. 

“Now, my dear little friends,” you spoke, “What are we learning today?” 

“History of Magic,” they all groaned, looking so distressed. 

You giggled, trying to show a sympathetic pout at them, “Ah, yes, let me guess,” you placed a finger on your chin, “Binns expected you to study over the break, which you all didn’t, and announced a test next week?”

“Exactly!” One complained, “The mad ghost is holding it on Monday, Monday! Can you believe him?” 

You nodded, smiling at the memories when you were required to take History of Magic, “I do, that’s how Binns handles his classes,” you sighed, “But not to worry, when you’re older, his class wouldn’t be required any longer, you could choose something else if you’d like.”

“What did you choose, Y/N?” They all asked, giving curious eyes. 

“I chose to have a free period,” you admitted, watching them gasp with big eyes, “I know, a ‘smart’ cookie like me should be taking up the extra classes for the sake of landing that dream job or simply showing that you're an excellent student, right? But the classes I’m taking already have me set with the many choices I have with whatever dream jobs I have in mind to be honest. Besides, there are many things I could do during my free time, such as studying and doing my schoolwork so I could use this time to help you desperate kids in need. Now come on, let’s head onto the most vile lessons in your class,” you said, encouraging them to open their books. 

—

“The last breach you should remember was in 1790 when an American witch named Dorcus Twelvetrees made a serious breach when she confided secret information to a muggle, or what Americans call it, a ‘No-Maj’ named Bartholomew Barebone. She told him not only about the existence of MACUSA and the International Confederation of Wizards, but also the location of their wizarding school named Ilvermorny School. Barebone stole her wand and showed it off to the press and called for No-Maj persecution of magical folks like us. Due to this, President Emily Rappaport of MACUSA instated “Rappaport's Law” which completely segregated witches and wizards from the No-Majs, and remained the law of the land until repealed in 1965.” 

All your second year students were slightly dazed, looking as if their brains had stopped processing the information you had been teaching them. Understanding what they’re going through, you closed their books with the use of your wand, closing yours and using the magic to pack up. “Alright, you kiddos,” you said, “It’s time for you to rethink about the things I’ve taught you today, I wish you luck in your test next week, and advise you to possibly not pick this subject as an elective when you’re older,” you joked. 

“She’s right,” said a new voice, “I completely welcome you to pick Astronomy or Potions. As a successful student from those classes, think of it as a recommendation from another top student like me.”

You looked to your left, seeing that Draco Malfoy was nonchalantly leaning by the bookshelves, crossing his arms with a smirk on his face. 

“Was it just a coincidence that you overheard the conversation and used the opportunity to lure my second years into your favorite subjects? Or were you here the whole time I tutored them and waited for the right timing to give us a grand entrance, because you look like you’ve been here for quite some time,” you asked, imitating your batchmate by crossing your arms out of curiosity. 

Catching Draco off guard, he tried recovering by placing a hand on his chest, appearing so offended by your words, “Heavens, Y/L/N, big with questions aren’t you?” he slightly chuckled, walking towards your table, “On you go kiddos, time to relax from all this young lady has been bombarding you with!” he joked, earning a laugh from the second years who were not aware of you, rolling your eyes at Draco. 

Draco shrugged, playing innocent as he dropped his sling bag as he pulled a seat, sitting down casually. He interlocked both his hands, placing them on the table as he gave you a small wink, “Y/L/N,” he formally greeted, nodding at you, “You come here often?” 

“Of course I do, Malfoy, everyone should know by now that I tutor people here,” you said, standing up from your table, “Shouldn’t you be elsewhere spending your Friday afternoon?” 

Draco may or may have not been lurking around the library, waiting for you to end your tutoring session for the day. He had been waiting ever since classes ended for him and had been wandering around the library in order to be caught stalking you endlessly for the entire hour as you taught your second years. 

 During the last twenty minutes of your session, he positioned himself by the nearest bookshelf on the other side in order not to be seen, as he was pulling out some books, peeping and watching you happily teach second years. 

When people passed by, Draco pretended to open the book he pulled, seeming ‘curious’ with the contents he was reading and if some gave him suspicious looks, he would quietly snap the book in front of them, eyeing them coldly and twitching his nose in a scary manner, causing them to walk away, looking anywhere but at Draco. 

“Is there something wrong with me being here, Y/N?” Draco asked, sounding so innocent, “It’s not like you own the place, dear.” he taunted, tilting his head for approval.

“You’re right, I don’t but it’s just highly unlikely for me to see you here, that’s all.”

“Would it be highly unlikely of me to ask if you could perhaps tutor me?” 

You shook your head slightly in amusement, looking at Draco who seemed so casual with the question he had just asked you. “You?” you pointed at him,  “You need a tutor?” 

“Is there something wrong with that?” he wondered.

“Well, yes,” you replied, “You’re a top student of our year, for Merlin’s sake, I doubt I’m even smarter than you!” you exclaimed, raising your hands in amusement. “You really have to be kidding me if you wanted a tutor.”

“What if I’m not kidding?”

“Okay, then, what do you need help with, Malfoy?”

Draco paused for a slight second, surprised he got far with this, a lightbulb went up quickly, so did his eyes when he looked at you and quickly said, “History of Magic!”

“Uh-huh, just like my second years?”, you asked, as he nodded in response. 

“I don’t remember you taking Binn’s class this year?” 

Draco clenched his hands as his heart started beating quickly, “And who are you to say that? I don’t suppose you’re in his class as well? Correct me if I’m wrong but I remember hearing you advise your second years not to take his class.”

“Right,” you said, with a raised eyebrow. He was correct, and you couldn’t say he wasn’t in Binn’s class, you wouldn’t know since you weren’t in his class. So you sat back down, placing your bag on the table as you removed your old History of Magic book and opened it. “So, what do you need help with?”

“Erm, Giant wars?” he asked, hoping to himself that was something people were learning this year. 

“Oh, okay, well you’re in luck because I happened to be reading that out of curiosity during the break. And well, my friends who were doing advance reading for his class were telling me all about it this week.” you said, looking for the page that had giant wars. 

When you found the page, you pointed at the chapter, “Ah, there we are, let’s start, shall we?”

“We shall,” he replied. 

--

“And remember, the conflicts between the giants and the wizards that had historical significance took place around the nineteenth century, alright?”

Draco calmly nodded, using his quill to write down the last thing he needed to remember for his class. Finished, he placed his parchment back in his bag and extended his hand, “Lovely,” he said, as you extended your hand, shaking his, “You truly are the best and by the way-

“Y/N!” said a new voice. 

Both you and Draco turned to the side of the open hall of the library to see Neville and Luna waving at you with beaming smiles. As Draco groaned to himself, Neville and Luna walked towards you, seeing that Draco was there as well. 

“Tutoring him?” Neville asked, looking at Draco who wanted to be elsewhere. 

“Surprisingly, yes,” you nodded, “Apparently he needs help with History of Magic and that’s understandable. It would have been more beneficial if you two were here with me, you could have taught him too considering that you three are in the same class.”

Neville looked at Luna with a puzzled look, then to Draco with a highly raised eyebrow. “That would have been beneficial indeed,” Neville said, as Draco gulped with a hint of fear, “If he actually took the class.”

“W-what do you mean?” you confusingly chuckled, looking now at Draco for reassurance, “Are you not taking History of Magic, Malfoy?”

“Nonsense,” he quickly replied, tightening his tie, “You’re confused, I’m probably in another period of Binn’s class, Longbottom.”

“There is no other class,” Luna innocently added, “Since there were only a few left interested in his class, we could only manage to create one class.”

You crossed your arms, giving Draco an open mouth, “Right,” you said, “Excuse us Neville and Luna, I think I can handle the interrogation from here.”

“Alright, see ya Y/N!” Neville said as Luna warmly waved goodbye, walking away from the scene to leave you, looking at Draco who was nervously chuckling to himself as he started packing up his things. 

Before he could stand up, you stopped him with a raise of your hand, commanding him to sit, “Don’t think you can just leave so quickly, Malfoy.”

He turned back to you, giving a small quick smile, “Right, I suppose you’re expecting a couple of galleons for your service.” He began getting coins from his bag, only for you to zip it shut with the wave of your wand. 

“Was there a reason for you to lie and waste, let’s see,” you looked at your pocket watch, “Hm, an hour of my time?”

He shrugged, smiling guiltily, “I don’t suppose it’s a waste of time, especially when you’re with me,” he said, trying to display a smirk in his mouth, which ended up looking as if he was giving his all for it. 

“Nice try, Malfoy, but really, why would you go all out and pretend you took Binn’s class?”

Draco exhaled, giving up the act of lying as he let out a small laugh, feeling ever so humiliated with himself as he looked at you and said, “Maybe I had something planned and things went too far that I wasn’t able to go back to the right track.” he shrugged, waiting for your response. 

Clueless yet interested, you leaned forward and asked, “Care to explain what your plans were?”

Malfoy smiled at himself, nervous yet ready to tell you the truth. 

“My initial plan was to wait till you were finished tutoring those little gits and ask you on a date, after all, I have been wanting to for awhile, figured it was time to make a move. I might have gone off script and used the opportunity of your tutoring sessions to… spend time with me.” 

You were vastly staggered as it was news to hear that Draco Lucius Malfoy was first, waiting for you in the library for Merlin knows how long, second, planning to ask you on a date, and third, has been wanting to ask you on a date! It wasn’t like you were head over heels for with such passion, but it filled your heart, discovering that one of the most outstanding students of your year was highly interested in you. Why you of all people? 

Still staring into the unknown, Draco’s spirits slightly started falling down as he had not received an answer yet from you. He wanted to make sure you had an answer, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make himself feel bad if he pressured you with time into giving him one. 

“You’re going to have to answer me verbally dear, contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.” he joked. 

You snapped back from all your lingering thoughts, chuckling to yourself out of embarrassment, as you saw that Draco gave you a faint smile. “Right,” you spoke, “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” he said, probing. 

“Yes, uhm, first of all, my second years are not gits,” you said, pointing at him, then you looked back down, placing a hand on your chest, “Second, I’m flattered, and third-”

“You’re going to reject me?” he suggested, feeling defeat in his voice. 

You shot him a worried look, shaking your head, “Goodness no,” you opposed as you waved your hands in front of him, “I’m extremely flattered because I never thought you’d be interested in me, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, walking around the table to come closer to you. 

“I always thought you were too good for me.” you laughed at yourself, looking down at the ground. 

Draco placed his hands on your shoulders, rubbing you sympathetically as he gave a small, exalted smile, “You have no right to say that, Y/L/N for I should be the one saying that.” he removed his hands from you, straightening his robe and announced, “This time, I offer you my time as I’d like you to spend tomorrow with me at Hogsmeade. We will have the most excellent first date, should you choose to accept.” he confidently said. 

You slung your back onto your shoulder, smiling at the invitation you were given. “Alright, Malfoy, you got yourself a date tomorrow. Should I feel free to dress to impress?” 

He shrugged, appearing as if it didn’t matter, “To me, you’d look ravishing with or without the need to do that. But if you wish,” he said, smirking. 

You rolled your eyes, “See you, Malfoy,” waving him goodbye as you left the scene. 

--

You were waiting outside by the gates of the castle, sitting down on the stairs, patiently and calmly waiting for Draco, who happened to be your surprising date as you were still processing the fact you were about to go on a date with him. 

You hadn’t really thought about the possibility of dating Draco. You were just a simple girl in Hogwarts, being always on the sidelines of everyone’s story. To you, you were always someone not worthy of a demanding person such as Draco. 

Why would someone important like him want to go out with you? That was something you would have to find out sooner or later in your life, and maybe this date would be the perfect opportunity to ask Draco about this, hopefully he would answer truthfully. 

All of a sudden, the doors behind you opened slowly, causing you to turn around and stand up as you saw your date, eyeing you with a smile. “Y/N, for a minute there, I thought you were going to bail. Looks like I was wrong,” he said, still smiling. 

You let out a small laugh, “Now why would I do that?”

“I was waiting for you by your dorm room, like the gentleman I am, until when the doors opened, I was greeted by your roommate, who seemed very flustered by my gesture.”

“What gesture?” 

Draco confidently pulled up a bouquet of flowers from his back, presenting it to you with such pride in his face, “Then I asked where you were, and she said you weren’t there, leaving me to think, ‘Did she either bail, or was she already outside?’ so here I am.”

Still presenting the bouquet, you received it, smelling the freshness of the flowers with a smile on your face, “Gosh, you’re one kind of gentleman. Thank you for the flowers.” 

“A pretty girl should always have a pretty bouquet.”

You grinned, hoping your blush wasn’t evident. Draco placed his arm up, “Now, shall we?”

“We shall,” you agreed, taking his arm as you started walking away from Hogwarts. 

--

To your surprise, Draco brought you to Madam Pudifoot’s Tea Shop. It was the place people brought their dates to, for a more intimate time with them. This was your first time inside the place, and you now understood why it was a place for intimate dates. 

The teashop was a very quiet and tranquil place that had walls and floors of pink shades, screaming ‘Love,’ in the air as the different scents of teas gave a relaxing aura around the shop. Aside from a serene and silent touch to the shop, there were barely people inside, making things more private and affectionate for dates. 

Draco again to your surprise, held your hand as he made his way to an exact table, which Madam Pudifoot reserved for the two of you. It seemed as if Draco already made reservations beforehand, and it was weird because you haven’t really recalled establishments in Hogsmeade accepting reservations.  

When the two of you sat down, Draco surprisingly gave a warm smile to Madam Pudifoot, who handed the two of you her menus. “Take all the time you need, lovebirds.” she chuckled, then turned around, leaving Draco with a flustered you. 

“Um, Draco?” you brought down your menu to give your attention to Draco, who had his menu up, as he was still scanning for the right tea. 

“Ready to order already, Y/N?” he asked in a nervous yet playful tone which made him chuckle after, “I thought this was your first time here!” 

“No, actually I haven’t even looked at the menu,” you admitted embarrassingly, “I was just curious.”

“About?” His face was still covered by the menu, but fortunately, he seemed interested in what you had to bring up. 

“Why do I have the feeling that you secretly went all out with this date and got the chance to persuade Madam Pudifoot a table for us?” you blurted everything out awkwardly, which made you feel like jumping off a cliff. 

Draco pulled the menu down from his face, flashing a smirk, chuckling, “Because it’s true?”

You laughed in relief for not feeling like the craziest person in the entire town of Hogsmeade, “Oh, brilliant,” you replied. Then you shook your head, but still smiling cheekily, “But why?”

Draco tilted his head with a raised eyebrow, “Why what?”

“Why would you go all out for me?”

Draco narrowed his eyes and mouth, trying to contain his laughter, “Darling, have you not heard of Draco Lucius Malfoy? I’d go all out for you.”

You scoffed, playing with the fabric of the table’s smooth cloth. “I think we barely know each other though. This is clearly our first time actually interacting with each other properly.” 

After clasping his hands, he pulled his hands away, tilting his palms to face each other, “Alright, why don’t we get to know each other then?” he suggested. You nodded, which made him speak again, “Okay, let me start.”

“What do you want to know, Draco?”

“What do you want to do after Hogwarts?” he prompted. 

Your eyes drifted away from the boy in front of you as you pondered on the many occupational choices when Hogwarts ended. 

“Either a Hit-Witch or an Auror,” you shrugged, “I haven’t given much thought about it but the last time I did, I was looking into those two.”

“Intriguing,” he acknowledged, sounding highly surprised and in awe, “I never imagined you as either of those, but I know you’d be one of the best that I can feel safe at night.”

“Oh, please,” you waved off the flattery in embarrassment, “Neither did I see myself as one of those jobs. But, their job descriptions really do call me. What about you, Draco?”

Draco shrugged as well, “Possibly an Auror as well. Father thinks I can make my way to the top easily and become the Minister of Magic later on.” 

“Right, and then I can TOTALLY feel safe at night with you as Minister.” you teased, earning a grin from his face. 

“Oh, shut it, Y/N, you better take that back or else when I become Minister, I’d gladly remove you from your job.” 

“Has your mother ever taught you how to threaten a lady?” 

“Now, now, Y/N, we mustn’t go there,” he playfully warned you. 

“You’re right, we actually should order something before Madam Pudifoot thinks we’re using her place just to have a thrilling conversation.” 

Draco scoffed, smiling cheekily at himself as he enjoyed being with you. After taking a quick look from the menu, he raised his hand, signaling Madam Pudifoot to come by your table. Once she saw Draco’s hand, she quickly hurried by. 

“I was suspecting to think you two lovelies were having a good time and forgot about the tea,” she teased the two of you. 

Draco smirked, looking at her confidently, “What can I say?” he shrugged, “Once you enjoy the company of someone as enthralling as her, you just forget that time passes by. I could spend the whole day talking to her, and I wouldn’t take notice of time going by. What do you think, Y/N?” he now looked at you, grinning. 

Madam Pudifoot, interested by the action going on between you two, looked rapidly to you now, wanting to know what you’d say. 

“I think we should order,” you pointed out the obvious sarcastically, to hold yourself from melting over Draco’s words. 

“Hiding how you feel now, are we?” he checked on you, still grinning with pleasure. 

You playfully rolled your eyes, finally in defeat, “Okay, so I agree with what you say,” you replied and shrugged, “And I possibly have a mindfulness of you as a wholebeing. Now, can we order?” 

Draco opened his mouth in agreement, his mouth was open, but it was with a big smile, “Ah,” he said, pointing at you, “Careful darling, you’re starting to sound as if you care. It would be... unwise, of you to lead on, something such as I.” 

“Alright,” you sarcastically shrugged. You now looked up to Madam Pudifoot, who seemed to be gushing over what she was witnessing. You ended her gushing by deciding to order, “Okay, Madam, I’ll have a warm chamomile tea. And you, Draco?” you asked, now looking back at Draco. 

“I think I’ll have the same,” he nodded at her. 

“Excellent!” Madam Pudifoot said, closing her notepad, which had her magical quill inside it, “Right away, you two!” then she turned around, briskly walking away. 

This left you and Draco once again, together alone. He leaned onto the table, placing his folded hands on the edge of the table as he let his body lean over to you slightly. “So,” he whispered, “So you do like me?”

“I think I said I possibly have a mindfulness of you.” you smirked.

“It’s another way of saying that you care for me, and thus, that leads to liking me.” he reasoned out. 

“Pansy and Daphne care for you, but do they like you?” you pointed that fact out. He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “That’s different. They’re not here with me on a date, are they?”

“True,” you said, eyeing and receiving the tea that Madam Pudifoot had given the two of you just now. “I guess I’m the lucky girl who's about to take sudden interest in me,” you half-jokingly said. 

Draco beamed, silently sipping from his warm cup of tea. After a good sip, he shook his head, patting a cloth of napkin on his lips softly, as his eyes were back onto you. “I’m afraid you’re far too late my dear, you already have me thoroughly captivated.” 

Your eyes smiled affectedly, highlighting the sudden blush you had on your face. It felt as if you skipped a heartbeat, surprised with his words as you gulped the sip you were about to swallow. After swallowing carefully, you slowly placed the cup back on the table, leaving the warmth from your fingers. 

Chuckling lightly at yourself, you said, “That fast?” 

“Don’t think you had me captivated just today, dear Y/N,” he pointed out, “I may or may not have had eyes for you for quite some time.” 

“You couldn’t have possibly, Draco,” you narrowed your eyebrows, light-heartedly denying his statement. 

“Oh, but I have!” he admitted confidently. He fixed his sitting position, causing him to enthusiastically lean towards you, “You my darling, are one unique girl.”

“Is that so?” 

“I’ve never met another girl who could be so patient and loving to tutor anyone. I would be vastly impatient and non-committal to such things. I couldn’t possibly handle dealing with those… children. And of course the low-brains of our year.” 

You were extremely flattered by what Draco had said, causing you to simply flash a warm smile at him, bringing back the tea in your hands as you started sipping your chamomile tea once again. 

--

The date you had at Madam Puddifoot had unfortunately come to an end. Once the teacups were empty and your stomachs were full, Draco had paid for the expenses of the teas like the gentleman he was and pulled you up from your seat, waving goodbye to a happy Madam Pudifoot. 

Now, you and Draco were walking together around Hogsmeade. While you were looking around the shops passing by you, Draco’s eyes were taking a few glances at his hand and yours, wishing he had the courage to hold your hand. 

Somewhere under his nervous thoughts, his confident aura had started picking up again, reminding him of the smooth person he had in himself. There was a small smirk in his face as he perfectly knew what to do. 

“Y/N?” he asked, sounding curious. 

“Yes, Draco?” you asked, looking at him now. 

“It came to my attention that it seems your hand looks heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yes, in fact, would you like me to hold it for you?” he nonchalantly asked, giving himself an innocent tone to such a smooth question. This leads you to widen your eyes with such flattery in your face. Aside from blushing madly, you chuckled in embarrassment, feeling so unprepared with words to reply to him. 

“Oh,” was all you could say at first, “I’d love that, they do awfully look heavy don’t they?” 

“Indeed, I’m surprised myself. Lucky for you I’m here to address the issue.”

“What if you weren’t, though?”

“From now on, expect me to always be around. I doubt there would be another soul at school who could point out that issue. They’re too blind to see the little things such as that.”

You smiled at yourself, taking in the compliment that Draco had bestowed upon you, waving your hand with his, back and forth merrily. 

“Draco?”

“Yes, Y/N?” he asked, imitating your voice from earlier, causing you to roll your eyes playfully. 

“Did you really mean it back at the tea shop?”

“Mean what?” He asked, stopping you and him from walking any further. 

“How you were captivated by me? Have you really been fancying me for some time?” 

“I know it sounds bizarre, you know, for me to come out suddenly to tell you how I feel but I do, I do have fancied you for some time. I-I like you.”

“That’s good then,” you truthfully told him, “Because I like you too.” you courageously admitted to him. 

Draco flashed the biggest smile he had ever shown in his facial expression. This smile may have had a smirk in his mouth, but it was also filled with genuine happiness, something he rarely felt and gave out.

Without hesitating, he grabbed you by the face, cupping your soft, smooth face with his hands as he shot a kiss on your lips. It was a short but whole-hearted kiss, which he had been dreaming about ever since he took interest in you. You were a little surprised that it was a short one, this was because he felt that he might have been overstepping his ‘first date boundaries’, so he was making his way on ending the kiss by slowly pulling himself from you. 

It was like you instantly read his mind, knowing that he was scared of overstepping his boundaries, but you answered his issue by pulling him back in, finishing the kiss with a much longer time given. Once you were done, the two of you synchronously pulled away from each other, looking at each other with such care in your eyes. 

Your eyes widened with realization, “Merlin’s beard!” you exclaimed, causing Draco to feel terror in his body. 

“W-what? Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! I did!”

Draco frowned, assuming you felt the kiss was a mistake. “Oh, I see,” he said, only for you to wave your hands in front of him.

“Heavens no! I mean, I should have kissed you first!”

Draco raised an eyebrow, deeply confused, “You? Why? That’s not the right way to go, it should be the gentleman first.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter if I could have got you back with a pick up line!” 

Draco laughed, exhaling a wave of relief to hear your explanation, “Bloody hell, Y/N, all for a pick up line?”

“Yes! I thought of a good one which came well with the situation right now!”

“Alright,” Draco chuckled, “Let’s have a go with it, then.”

You composed yourself, breathing in to say, “Draco, do these smiles come with kisses?”

Draco nodding in agreement that your pick up line was a good one said, “Of course they do. Would you like them now?”

“Without a doubt,” you replied, knowing that Draco was about to lean in and kiss you. 

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #3: Prism of White

Words: ca. 5,200 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: none

Light filtered through the window casting the room in a golden glow. Papers lay crumpled and torn on the coffee table and the floor beneath. Anna tossed her sketchbook on the table and threw her pencil next to it. Weeks passed and she still didn’t have another good idea for her next art piece. Her hands grasped a pillow on the couch beside her. Her freckled face buried in the soft cushion, a muffled groan joining the white-noise of the television in the background.

Art had been a passion of hers ever since her stubby toddler fingers first grasped that pack of cheap crayons. Her parents laid scrap paper out in front of her at the kitchen table. The adults left the room shortly after thinking little Anna would be occupied for a little more than five minutes.  Overjoyed with all the colors in the box, now strewn over the table some rolling to the floor, little Anna picked up the green and began to scribble in swirls and loops like any child does. Her mother came back ten minutes later to check on her and grab a cup of afternoon coffee. A gasp tore from her throat and her blue eyes widened at the site. The walls had been little Anna’s first canvas.

She laughed at the memory, the sound muffled by the pillow still pressed against her face. The scolding she received after that event lost to the feeling of joy at the colors swirling around her. Back then art had been carefree and fun. Now the blank pages in her sketchbook mocked her with that textured whiteness.

Twenty-one years of sketching, painting, throwing color on canvas’ of varying degrees, making a life out of it. A dream come true. One that would have been impossible if not from the support of her friends and family. One person in particular. Elsa.

Little Elsa could light up Anna’s world by merely stepping into the room. She used to be so very timid and quiet, often opting to hide in the corner with a book than engage with the other kids her age. Anna managed to pull her into their little games anyway.

As the two grew older their interests diverged slightly. They both found joy in the arts, joining in theater at school for fun, playing and listening to music (although their tastes differed vastly at times), and studying the history behind all forms of art. A bond formed and kept them close even when one started painting and sketching while the other used words to color with.

A writer’s search history and an artist’s eye left plenty for friends to laugh and grow concerned about.

Anna lifted her head from the pillow feeling someone fiddle with her twin braids. She smiled already knowing who it was behind her.

“What are you so distressed about?” Elsa hummed out sweetly. Her  eyes swept over the paper littered around and the discarded sketchbook. “Can’t think of a good idea?”

Anna groaned again and buried her head back in the pillow. Her reply came muffled and she knew Elsa wouldn’t be able to understand a word of it. This problem she had wasn’t that much of a big deal. Anna knew that. Every artist had periods where they couldn’t draw. An artblock as she so affectionately called it. But this felt different. She had ideas. The vision of what she wanted to draw sat crystal clear in her mind’s eye, but when she picked up the pencil each stroke on the page felt weighted. She knew what she wanted to put on the paper. She hated each stroke she made and the finished result. Weeks of this and the stress of not creating made her head spin. The ride she had been on had stopped with her sitting upside down unable to do anything.

The couch dipped beside her as Elsa sat down. Pale hands pulled the pillow Anna was secretly hoping would suffocate her until freckled cheeks and a pouty lip were visible. Anna whined and reached out for the cushion. Elsa held it out of reach ignoring the dark spot where Anna drooled on it.

“Ah-Ah,” Elsa wagged her finger. Anna’s shoulder slumped forward in despair. “You can get the pillow back and resume your little, um , whatever you were doing after you tell me what’s wrong.”

Sea-green eyes lowered to the open sketchbook, a frown settled on her lips. “I - I hate everything I make and it’s driving me crazy.”

Elsa set the pillow aside and shuffled closer to Anna. She gave her knee a reassuring squeeze and gently asked, “Is it one of your artblocks?”

Anna shook her head, braids swaying. “No, this is different. I know what I want to draw, I have the motivation to draw, but I can’t seem to like what I make. I hate the finished result, even if it looks how I wanted.” Her eyes glistened with frustrated tears, “It’s been like this for weeks and I’m going insane trying to fix it.”

Elsa cupped her cheek, running her thumb soothingly over the skin. Anna nuzzled into her palm, eyes fluttering shut at the coolness of her skin. “Anna,” she opened her eyes to see an amused smirk dancing on pink lips, a glint of humor dancing in blue eyes, “is this your first burnout?”

Her whole body stilled at the question. Burnout had been something she knew her artist friends over the internet talked about. How it could hit someone suddenly or slowly creep on through the years. The former could usually be seen coming and dealt with by short breaks, but the latter often crippled careers as it snuck in through the cracks undetected and infected everything slowly like a poison. Anna gasped lightly at the realization.

The ride she had been on for the majority of her adult life (granted it had only been 3 years since she graduated high school) was fast paced and constantly moving. She did not stop or get off, only urging it to move faster and faster. The need to create and improve outweighed any thought or concern the stress her body and mind were put under. She ignored all the signs, the warnings people told her to look for and now the stress had crushed her.

“What am I gonna do?” Her voice came out broken and unsure. Burnout was a completely foreign field for her. There was no map for her, no field guide to help her navigate through this problem. People mention taking breaks and stepping away from art for awhile to recharge, but that seemed impossible. How could Anna stop creating, when all she wanted to do was create?

“Is this new project for a client?” Elsa noticed the distress on Anna’s face and dropped her hand down from her cheek to grasp shaking ones.

“No, it’s one I plan to sell, or have prints made for my shop.”

Elsa nodded, “Okay. And do you have any client work lined up for the month?”

Anna answered in the negative. She had started a new system for her works where certain months she decided not to take on any client work. It was an attempt not to be too overwhelmed working on custom pieces that allowed her the freedom to work on her own as well. The system worked fairly well until this burnout happened. At least it happened now instead of when she had to work on pieces for clients.

“Okay, okay we can definitely work with this,” she breathed out a plan already forming in her mind. She knew Anna wouldn’t take a break willingly, that wasn’t her style. She would draw and paint until her hands fell off and even then she’d learn to use her feet instead. Nothing would stop her, not even the end of the world. The complete opposite of Elsa who procrastinated her own projects till motivation was high or the deadline approached. She often wondered how they never drove each other crazy doing things so differently. Instead of finding a reason she just blamed it on love. It was better not to question it anyway.

“Anna,” she turned and faced the younger woman determinedly, prepared for protestation, “do you trust me?”

Anna cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Of course I do, silly. It’s part of why I married you.”

Elsa smiled and held her tongue to keep from commenting. That experience would be one she would never forget. She at her wife, eyes bright and said,

“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to do.”

Anna’s gut twisted in apprehension. She trusted Elsa with her life, but the twinkle in pale blue eyes told her not all of this would be a pleasant experience.

—-

“Anna, what color is the sky?”

From her position in the passenger seat of the car Anna scowled, her eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to fall back asleep. Elsa refused to let her in on the plan the day before, only telling her to pack a days worth of clothes and food and then promptly took all her art supplies and locked them inside a large chest. She never quite figured out why they had a large empty chest lying around and when she asked Elsa the older girl shrugged saying something about secrets.

“What.” Anna grumbled confused at the question and irritated at being woken up at three in the morning and rushed out of the house.

Elsa glanced at her from the driver’s seat. “What color is the sky?” She turned her attention back to the road, very much awake and relaxed. The half empty cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder helped.

“What kind of question is that? The sky is blue!” Anna twisted over and leaned her head on the window, arms folded across her chest.  Elsa still had yet to tell her where they were going and only mentioned a three hour car ride. That left plenty of time for her to catch up on sleep if her wife would let her.

“No, not - “ Elsa laughed at herself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I meant what color is the sky right now?”

Anna cracked one eye open and grimaced at the passing street light that blinded her. “Black,” she stated matter-of-factly. Elsa hummed a smile on her face. She let Anna sleep the rest of the way, picking up and sipping her coffee. The low songs of the radio filling the silence in a quiet peace. She didn’t care for the station, but it was one of Anna’s favorites. The little things would make the difference on this trip.

Barely any time had passed, that’s what it felt like to Anna anyway, before a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake. “What is it now,” she sighed tiredly and shuffled further into the car door. When she agreed to whatever Elsa had planned, losing sleep hadn’t even crossed her mind. She knew she was being unfair to her wife. Elsa only wanted to help. The stress of her burnout had taken its toll without consent and Anna wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and sulk. Sleep was the closest she could get right now, but the woman driving had other plans.

“What color is the sky now,” she asked eagerly. Her pale hand fell away and gripped the steering wheel again.

Anna squinted at the light outside. The night had faded to be greeted by the light of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Reds and oranges bled into pale blue as the orb of yellow and white ascended slowly. Any other day the she might have appreciated seeing the sunrise, she might have stared at the way the light shone and glistened along Elsa’s skin, bathing her in rays of gold. But it only annoyed her at having the same question asked in place of sleep. Still she answered,

“Red.”

Her eyes closed again with the plan to catch more sleep. Elsa didn’t bother her after that. She sipped her fresh cup of coffee, having stopped for gas before the sunrise. Anna grumbled under her breath adjusting to get comfortable in her seat again. Pink lips turned up at the corner in amusement. Anna may be grumpy beyond belief this morning and she knew it was her doing. The outcome of this trip will be worth it. Elsa knew it, could feel it in her bones. She could only hope Anna didn’t throw her in the lake as payback when they got there.

Elsa smirked watching, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. The day was only beginning. The coffee singed her tongue as she took another sip.

If Anna did throw her in the lake, she made sure to have plenty of jokes ready.

Gravel crunched under the tires as the car pulled off the main road. The road itself wasn’t too bad in terms of a drive. Anna woke up quietly glancing around at the trees and greenery around them. She said nothing to tell Elsa she was awake and continued to stare out the window. The sight felt familiar, she knew this place but couldn’t quite care enough to place it. Sleep still clouded mind and even if it was Wednesday she liked to sleep in late and stay up late instead. This whole early to bed and early to rise business wasn’t for her.

A light chuckle from her left told Anna all she needed to know. “There’s hot chocolate for you since you’re not the biggest fan of coffee.” Elsa never took her eyes off the road and merely motioned to the cup holder between them.

“Thanks.” Anna took the cup nearly dropping it. No protective sleeve saved her from burning fingers, not even the paper cup itself. “Geez, why’s it so hot!” She glared at her sister.

“Didn’t know how long you were going to stay asleep so I asked them to make it extra hot.”

“Extra hot,” Anna guffawed, “This cup feels like it came straight out of Orodruin itself! You could have got me a protective sleeve for it or something!”

“I didn’t know how long you were going to sleep!” Anna folded her arms at Elsa’s response, “Besides, you always get annoyed at the sleeves opting to burn your fingers anyway.”

“Yes, but the cups are never that hot!”

Elsa only smiled.

The car slowed and stopped with a slight jolt. Anna hadn’t touched her drink again still waiting for it to cool down from Mount Doom level temperatures. She figured out why this place had seemed so familiar. Her parents used to take her camping out here toward the end of summer, always running around the lake and sometimes taking a ferry over to the small island.

“I grabbed us a backcountry permit if you wanted to stay away from the normal campsites.” Elsa held up the piece of paper before tucking it into her jacket pocket. Anna hummed her agreement and stretched in her seat.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom then we can hike to wherever.” She ducked out of the car, breathing in the fresh air. A warm feeling of nostalgia washed over her at the familiar sight. She hadn’t come back to this park in years. Anna walked across the parking lot toward the public restroom. Coming back to the lake hadn’t even crossed her mind. It’s almost sad really. To forget about a place she once loved so deeply, have it take up a corner of her mind as a memory she kept but never thought about.

She turned the faucet off and shook stray water drops from her hands, wiping the remaining wetness on her jeans. Anna never trusted the automatic air dryers.

When she arrived back to the car, Anna bit back a bark of laughter. Elsa had strapped each and every pack and bag to herself and looked overloaded, but all too eager like a puppy. She smiled broadly at Anna and handed her the much cooler cup, “Come on, let’s go! I know of the perfect spot!”

Anna took the cup, her shoulders shaking as she held in her laughter.

“Wait, Elsa. Let me carry some things.” Elsa paused mid-step and tilted her head. All the coffee had gone to her brain in the most adorable way. “How did you even manage to hold all the bags, even mine?” Anna pointedly looked at the deep green duffle bag with a bright orange patch on the side.

“I played a lot of tetris as a kid.” She shrugged but gave Anna two of the bags anyway.

Anna adjusted the strap of a bag on her shoulder. “Alright, now show me this perfect spot.”

The blonde grinned and grabbed Anna’s hand practically dragging her along toward the trail and into the bush. Anna could only keep up and pray her hot chocolate didn’t spill.

—-

Anna had to admit the spot Elsa had picked was perfect. A little spot hidden behind dense shrubbery. Well off the path and if someone did make it this far the thorn bushes were certainly a discouragement. She knew she’d be picking the sharp thorns out of her clothes for a while and if it weren’t for the view and the feeling of peace she’d make Elsa do it without a second thought. Anna’s had her second thought and is still intent on making Elsa do the work.

“Nice view, right?” Elsa wiped the dirt off her hands stepping over to Anna. She had finished setting up the tent and decided to see what was keeping her wife. The view itself looked over the entirety of the lake and the mountains surrounding it.  The trees swayed in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful.” Anna tucked a piece of hair back into place. Elsa stepped up beside her. They stared at the scene in silence. A sense of peace forming around them. Anna closed her eyes listening to the birds singing in the trees and the wind rustling the branches. The smell of the air and the sun on her skin eased the tension in her shoulders she didn’t realize had been there. Anna felt free like she could step off the overlook and just fly. Elsa smiled at the content look on her face.

“Anna,” the red-head hummed and turned to face her, “what color is the sky?”

The question had her sighing exasperatedly. How many times would she ask that damned question. It didn’t make sense. She had answered it twice already. Inhaling deeply, Anna decided not to let this ruin the moment. She looked up at the sky, fluffy clouds dotting the expansive space.

“Blue. It’s blue.”

Elsa made no comment. Anna would have yelled at her but the pure love in pale blue eyes killed the thought before it formed. She found herself smiling back and shaking her head lightly. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Elsa chuckled, “I know. Now come on, let’s go exploring a bit.”

Anna followed eagerly. Exploring she could do.

—-

Night life in the forest seemed impossibly loud compared to the day. Anna didn’t mind much. She found the noise comforting in a way. All the little life coming out with the safety of darkness. Comfortable now that the sun has gone and they can hide in the shadows of the night. She could understand it. The night offered a sort of peace the day could not. She loved the sun, loved the hustle and bustle of day life, but the night hit differently. She closed her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. The day’s activities replayed in her mind’s eye.

After running around, revisiting old trails and memories and making some new ones, the two women sat around a little fire. Anna made Elsa pick out all the thorns and burrs while she roasted marshmallows. While Elsa didn’t agree with s’mores before dinner she let it slide this once.

They relaxed after that, Anna rigged a stick with fishing gear and went fishing. She didn’t catch anything. She came back soaking wet and Elsa only raised a brow. She changed into some dry clothes and sat by the fire to get warm. Elsa turned from her book then, a cheeky grin on her face and said,

“You know I love it when you -” Anna smacked her before she should finish.

Now they lay peacefully staring up at the stars.

“Anna,” Elsa started in the quiet. Anna hummed in acknowledgment before her mind jump started back to nearly every quiet moment previously,

“You better not ask me what color the sky is or I swear to god you will find yourself at the bottom of the lake!”

The crickets chirped.

“What hue doth the heavens above appears to thine viewing orbs?”

Anna laughed. She laughed loud and hard. She knew Elsa would find a way to rephrase the question the second she threatened her, but she never expected her to phrase it like that. She rolled onto her side and clutched her stomach from the force of her laughter. “I-I can’t -” she wheezed, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, “I can’t breath.”

“You should have let me ask the question normal then.” The cheekiness in her voice had Anna swatting blindly behind her. Her hand connected with nothing but air.

“Fine, this is the last time I’m answering that stupid question,” Anna finally said after she stopped laughing and caught her breath. She rolled back to look at the sky and exhaled deeply a smile on her face, “Black, the sky is black.”

“Wrong.”

Anna propped herself up on her elbow. Wrong. The first response back to her answers and it was to tell her, Anna, that she answered wrong.

“What, how can I be wrong? Are you seeing the same sky I’m seeing?” Anna grit her teeth ready to fully argue her point.

“No, no calm down, feisty pants. Right now you could argue it’s black, or a very deep blue.”

“Then how am I wrong?!”

Elsa kept her gaze on the sky. “I asked you three four times today what color the sky was. Only two of the answers were the same. Can you explain that?” “The sky changes colors, you numpty.”

“So what color is the sky then if it changes?”

Anna didn’t have an answer to that. Elsa turned to face her, the moonlight making her blue eyes glow in the night.

“What color do you say the sky is then,” Anna asked, moving closer to Elsa. The night breeze had a bit of a chill, but she didn’t feel like getting a jacket. Her arm brushed against her wife’s.

“If you asked me what color the sky is, anytime of day or night, I’d tell you it’s white. I know it’s crazy, but think about it. In general people say the sky is blue, but it’s not always blue. You said it yourself, the sky changes colors, so why is it blue then?” She raised a hand and traced along various constellations as she spoke. “Is it because that’s the color we see it as mostly. Blue during the day? The history behind it is actually fascinating, but I won’t go into that. But the sky can be any color depending on when you look. Black, dark blue, orange and red, yellow and pink, purple and light blue, even green. The sky isn’t just one color or one shade. It’s all of them all the time, we just only see what the light shows us. That’s why I say it’s white. White reflects all colors, the sky cycles through the colors based on a bunch of scientific stuff that I’m a bit too tired to get into. I didn’t really prepare to get into that bit anyway.” she laughed at herself.

Anna lay in silence. She never really thought about it like that.

“But why white, why not black?”

Elsa sucked in a small breath before answering, “Black is the absence of colors. If the sky was black that’s all we’d see. A black hole sucking the colors away and leaving nothing behind but darkness. That’s why it’s white and not black.”

“Geez, that took a depressing turn.”

Elsa hummed and entwined her fingers with Anna’s. “Think of it as a prism. The sun shines through and casts the colors fresh and new through the day.”

“A blank canvas.” Anna found herself mumbling aloud. A blank canvas to be painted each day in the same ways that vastly differed if you looked hard enough. The subtle hues shifting day to day, the contrast of reds and oranges against purples and blues. All of it spinning endlessly in a cycle, a prism of color splattered across a canvas of white that never is seen as white.

The two remained watching the stars for a bit longer. The little dots of color splattered across the dark sky. Almost a reverse of my freckles. Anna mused to herself. The crisp air raised goosebumps on her arms.

Anna went to sleep that night, snuggled in her wife’s arms, feeling so refreshed and full of love she thought it might overflow. And it did. Her emotions flowed over in little drops that ran down her cheeks and she whispered over and over how much she loved Elsa. In turn with each ‘I love you’ a kiss was placed on her head, her cheek, her lips, and her body squeezed a bit tighter.

The white sky, painted with the color of night, left them to rest peacefully. The moon watching over them.

The trunk slammed shut and all the bags and trash were loaded in. Not nearly as neatly as before but as long as it wasn’t falling out Anna didn’t care. She awoke buzzing with renewed energy ready and eager to get back to work. Her burnout long forgotten. The three hour car ride didn’t seem so long even though Anna sat wide awake the entire trip. Elsa would probably need a day to recover from the amount of talking Anna did in that small time. Maybe a new book and quiet day in a coffee shop or a day spent curled up in her bed with nothing but mindless games to entertain herself with. Anna made a note to thank Elsa for forcing her out for a day, whatever she wanted.

Anna went to work the moment she stepped through the doorway. Pencil marks flew across the page in hurried fashion almost as if the vision would fade before she could get it down. Supplies were strewn out over the kitchen table and counter tops as Anna fell into what Elsa called ‘The detonation zone’. It was a mess, but also the time and place where Anna seemed to get the most work done.

Guess I’m not cooking. Elsa thought and picked up the phone. She was kinda in the mood for pizza anyway.

Pale blue eyes watched from where she leaned against the wall as the blur of auburn worked in a frenzy. Her movements were both hurried and agonizingly slow to preserve the details in a way only Anna managed to do. A mesmerizing sight she could watch for hours if not for the delivery man ringing her doorbell.

She made sure Anna knew of the food sitting in the living room.

“Okay, thank you!” Came the reply from the kitchen. Elsa chuckled and shook her head taking her own slice or two of pizza. She disappeared into their shared room for the rest of the evening. The one day trip seemed to have worked in Anna’s favor. Elsa made the mental note to schedule more day trips once in a while.

Time ticked by and Anna didn’t even notice. The pizza had gone cold and the sunlight faded away. The brush in her hand was set in the water cup for the last time.

“There.” Anna sat back finished. She smiled at the creation in front of her leaving it to dry as her stomach made known it’s need for food. The clock read late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on how you look at it. Maybe setting an alarm for food and breaks would be a good idea in the future. She decided it’d be worth a shot if only to save her from a stiff back at the end of the day.

Her paint stained hands grabbed a cold slice of pizza and promptly inhaled it followed by three more. The kitchen sat in a disastrous mess and the urge to put off cleaning up until the morning hit hard. Anna considered cleaning up the worst part about doing art. Elsa would likely clean up for her in the morning since she always woke up first. Anna knew that and decided not to let that happen. As much as Elsa said she didn’t mind and that’s what she signed up for by marrying her, Anna wouldn’t have it. Not after what she’d done for her the past day, or really since they first-started dating.

Anna turned the faucet on, warm water cleaning her stained hands, and she began the cleanup.

It wasn’t until around four in the morning that she finally headed to bed. The bedroom door creaked softly. Elsa snored softly, curled on her side snuggling a pillow. The sight made Anna fall in love with her all over again. Anna would never get tired of seeing her wife in such a peaceful and vulnerable state. Gently, she climbed into bed beside her.

“I love you.” she whispered and kissed Elsa’s cheek. Elsa let go of the pillow at the contact and fully snuggled against her wife. Anna wrapped her arms around her and kissed her softly again.

“I love you so much.”

Elsa woke to gentle rays of sun dancing across her face. Untangling herself from Anna she stepped outside of the room. She paused halfway closing the door and looked on fondly at the sleeping mess of her wife.

The kitchen was spotless, save for the canvas resting on the table. Even the sink was clean, supplies neatly drying on the rack where they were supposed to be. A smile graced her lips.

The coffee pot sputtered to life as it began brewing. It was only nine o’clock and Anna likely wouldn’t be up for another few hours. Being your own bosses had their perks. The brown liquid steamed as she poured it into a plain ceramic mug. The rich scent very much welcome this morning.

Anna would always scold her for drinking too much coffee. The thought brought another smile to her face. She really loved Anna and all that came with her.

Coffee in hand Elsa approached the canvas on the kitchen table. She made sure to stay for enough back that if something drastic happened her coffee would not stain the creation. She rounded the table and the sight made her pause. The colors and detail splattered across it showed just how much that camping trip had meant to her.

“Oh Anna,” her eyes lined with overflowing emotions as she took in the painting. “You’re still full of surprises.”

[elvenstar146]

Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds

Author’s note: I don’t own these characters but they are so much fun to write about.

Characters: Edward Elric, Winry Rockbell, Granny Pinako, Alphonse Elric

 Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds

                 Winry and Edward were living in their new home that was built on the Elrics’ previous home. They had just celebrated their first wedding anniversary, and Winry was 5 months along with their first child. Edward would stay and write at their house while Winry went to work at her grandmother’s.

Winry walked with their puppy, Eva, to her grandmother’s home, and arrived to a quiet house that normally would smell of breakfast and smoke from a pipe. “Granny? Are you up yet?” She yelled upstairs. ‘Maybe she overslept.’ Winry walked up the stairs to her grandmother’s door. She knocked, and asked if she could come in. No response. “Granny, I’m coming in.” Winry walked into the room and saw her grandmother laying in bed. “Granny, it’s late. We have some orders to work on.” She walked to her bedside and noticed the stillness. “Granny, are you okay?” She shook her shoulders and noticed that the elderly woman was cold. “Granny….” Winry felt for a pulse on her neck, and couldn’t find one. She brought her hands to her face. “No…. You’re not supposed to go yet. Granny, you said you would help me.” The tears started falling. She sat on the bed, and cried. ‘How can I do this without you? We still need you.’ Winry thought to herself. Her dog put her head in lap to try to comfort her.

Winry collected herself, and made her way to the telephone. She dialed her house number, and waited for Edward to answer. “Hello?” he answered, sounding irritated. “Edward! I need you to come to Granny’s house now!” she yelled into the phone, and started crying again. “Winry! What’s wrong?” “It’s Granny. She’s gone.” “Gone, what do you mean gone? Did she go into town?” Then the realization hit him. Winry was crying too hard to answer. “Winry, I’ll be right there. I have to hang up now, okay?” “Ok.” She weakly replied. ‘Oh shit!’ he thought. ‘This was not a good time for this.’ He thought about his pregnant wife while he was running to the house.

He found her sitting next to the phone still. She looked up at him and started crying harder. Edward sat next to her on the couch, and let her cry into his chest. He still couldn’t believe it. Edward trusted her judgement but once she calmed down, he went upstairs to verify for himself. They made the appropriate phone calls to the doctor and undertaker to make arrangements. Next was making phone calls to family and friends. Edward did most of the phone calls so Winry could rest. It was really hard to her to tell people without bursting into tears. He called Alphonse knowing there was no way he would be back from Xing in time for a funeral but Al did promise to be there when the baby was born.

Later that evening, Edward and Winry went home to rest. It had a been a long emotional day for both of them. Winry just wanted to go to bed even though she wasn’t sure if she would sleep. There was a light knock on the door shortly after they got home. Edward answered the door, and it was one of their neighbors offering their condolences, and a pot of chicken noodle soup. Winry met them at the door, and thanked them for the soup. Their neighbor told them if they needed anything, to let them know. Edward brought the soup into their kitchen, and made them each a bowl. He sat them on the table. They sat at the table but Winry didn’t start eating. “I’m not really hungry.” She said with her eyes staring into her lap. Edward was worried. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He took her hand. “Winry, you need to eat something. It’s not just you that I’m worried about.” He put their hands on her pregnant belly to remind her that it needed nourishment. “Please.” Edward was practically begging her. She nodded in affirmation, and began to eat. It was the most quiet dinner they ever had together.

Three days later, Edward and Winry were getting ready for the funeral when another knock on the door was heard. They had a lot of visitors from town visit over the past few days so it was becoming normal to have people constantly visiting. Edward opened the door, and he was surprised. “General Mustang! What are you doing here?” He also saw Riza and Armstrong behind him. “We’re here to pay our condolences.” They were in black suits and Riza wore a dress. Winry came downstairs after putting in her pearl earrings that Edward had gotten her. She was surprised, and offered them to come inside. Riza and Winry hugged. “You didn’t have to come all this way.” “We wanted to. We know this is hard for you.”

At the funeral, Winry held on to Edward at his side. She was crying even though it felt like she couldn’t cry anymore. ‘This is harder than I thought it was going to be.’ Edward thought as he held his grieving wife. Even his eyes got glossy. Granny was the one that had taken them in when Trisha had died. She was a grandparent to him, too.

Everyone at the funeral went to Pinako’s house. So many clients had shown up, and their friends from Central had come down. Winry asked Riza “Where are you staying tonight?” “We were going to get a room at the Inn.” “Nonsense! Come stay with us tonight. We would love to have you, right Edward?” “Wait, seriously?” He looked into Winry’s eyes as she pleaded him with just a look. “Fine, they can stay.” He couldn’t say no to her today.

Everyone said their goodbyes, and Edward and Winry and their Central friends went to their home for night. And the next morning, Edward got up and made pancakes for their full house. He wanted Winry to sleep in because he knew she hadn’t slept well. He heard her get up in the middle of the night, and found her reading a novel. At least she was eating now even if she had to be reminded. Mustang found him cooking, and was amazed that Edward knew how to operate a stove. “Well of course I can cook. Sometimes, Winry gets breakfast in bed.” Riza elbowed Mustang. “I wish I got breakfast in bed.” Edward smirked because he had gotten Mustang in trouble with his new wife. Winry came downstairs, and was happy to have breakfast made for her. They all made light conversation, and the new baby was an easy topic. No one really wanted to talk about why they were here to visit. Yesterday was an emotional overload.

Their guests stayed a few days because it seemed to cheer Winry up to have them there. Once they were gone, Winry had to learn how to live without her grandmother’s constant companionship. Winry would want to tell Granny something but then remembered she was gone. She cried a little every now and then but it was getting better. But the hardest thing was she was so tired. She would take a nap every afternoon but wake up in the middle of the night, and stay awake for an hour. Edward got used to her leaving their bed and reading downstairs a little bit to distract her mind. Then she would come back when she got tired again. He didn’t know if this was the pregnancy or grief, or maybe a combination of both. He noticed that some days were easier than others but some were still difficult. He knew they would get through this. He helped more with the housework and cooking meals so Winry could rest more.

A few months later, Winry was eight months pregnant. She had gotten back to doing her usual work and housework though she was having to adjust to doing certain chores due to her size. She was still having trouble sleeping but she wasn’t nearly as tired during the day. She smiled more, and Edward noticed that she was feeling better.

Edward and her were waiting at the train station for Alphonse to arrive. Al got off the train and hugged Winry first. He looked at her very pregnant belly. “Wow, Winry! You look amazing!” “Aww thank you Al. I needed to hear that. I feel huge!” The brothers hugged and greeted each other.

“I want to go to see Granny now.” Alphonse told them. They all agreed to go together, and bought flowers while they were in town. They arrived to the cemetery, and saw their family’s graves. Al kneeled down and put flowers on Granny’s grave. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here but I’m here now.” Winry put her hand on his shoulder. “She would have understood. She was really proud of the work you’ve been doing.” Bringing a medical alchemy back to Amestris had been one of their goals, and Pinako had been hoping to use it with her patients’ recovery. Now Winry would be able to use it to help her patient’s pain levels.

About 6 weeks later, Winry had her baby. It was few days early but the boy was healthy. Once mother and baby were cleaned up, the brothers and Winry looked at the baby in awe. “Hey little guy.” Al said to the baby. “Don’t call him little! It might bother him.” Edward said to his brother. “Edward, he is little, and so cute.” Winry said as she looked at the baby. Edward was annoyed because he knew he had lost. He took a serious look, and told Winry “You know, she’d be really proud of you.” “Edward, don’t make me cry.” She hit him with her free arm. “I’m sorry but she really would.” “Yeah, Winry. She also knew the baby would be early because brother’s the father.” Winry smiled at that. “I’m not that impatient anymore!” Edward defended himself. “His patience has gotten better.” Winry said with a smile.

Edward saw Winry’s smile, and reflected on how much her smile had changed over the past few months. It didn’t have a hint of sadness in it. The dark cloud had lifted slowly. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. The wounds can leave a scar. They had gotten through a dark period of their lives, and now the sky was clear. Winry would be a little sad every so often but there were still smiles and laughter to be had. Her heart had grown more. She had become wiser, and learned to cherish more because she knew that these moments were precious.

 Author’s note: My mom passed away 3 years ago. I thought a grief story would suit well to the theme of ‘Mending’. There is hope for anyone grieving. There is also help. I had to get help through my grief, and I have no shame in saying that.

[morningfears]

Rose Tattoo [Chapter One]

Rating: PG-13 | Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of a panic attack.

Summary: Inspired by this blurb. | Calum is a tattoo artist. Stevie is getting her first tattoo. She’s terrified but determined and though Cal looks tough, when he takes off his jacket, Stevie notices the marker staining his arms and realizes that he’s a gentle giant who lets his son use him as a living coloring book. They hit it off but are either of them ready for anything more? [I’ll come up with a better fic summary later, promise.]

Word Count: 8.3k

series masterlist | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

Stevie could see the clouds of her breath curling around her face, rising and disappearing just as quickly as they appeared, as she weaved through the crowds cluttering the sidewalk. She was uncomfortably aware of the eyes on her, small-town tourists staring at the shock of green hair atop her head, as she waited at a crosswalk. She focused on the music blaring in her headphones, on the bitter cold nipping at the slivers of exposed skin, on evening her breathing and keeping her face void of emotion, as she attempted to ignore them. 

She hadn’t lived in New York long, barely two months, but the adjustment period had been painfully short. She’d learned, almost immediately, the best ways to avoid anyone asking her for directions or tips about the city. She’d also learned how to navigate the city through the path of least resistance (read: tourists). She rarely crossed paths with them, usually only on the subway to and from her office, as she tried not to venture too far from her own neighborhood. However, it seemed unavoidable today.

Stevie’s job kept her in the same general area. She usually met artists she was scheduled to interview near her office for coffee or in the park nearby if the weather permitted. Her neighborhood, though not perfect by any means, had everything that she needed to live - including an overpriced grocery store and a Vietnamese restaurant whose staff knew her, and her usual order, by name. There was a gym close enough and a coffee shop that made the best chai latte she’d ever had. The only things it lacked were the things that she rarely needed, like a good tattoo shop.

The tattoo shop at the end of her block with blinking neon signs and Sailor Jerry-esque artwork covering the walls didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. The owner, and the most prominent artist, lived across the hall from her and seemed more concerned with his reputation than with good art. The shop itself catered mostly to a certain brand of wannabe Instagram influencers and specialized in a type of tattoo that she didn’t want. So, to her dismay, she found herself having to step outside of the comfort zone she’d constructed and venture across the city to a tattoo shop a friend from work recommended. 

Stevie felt a flurry of emotions swirling in the pit of her stomach as she drew closer and closer to the shop. She was excited, of course, because she had always loved tattoos. Her dream as a child was to be covered in them, a dream that she abandoned when she realized that she was too indecisive for something so permanent. However, she was also terrified. Needles had always been a fear of hers. Although she’d been pierced several times, her nose and ears and belly button were all bejeweled, none of her piercings took longer than a few minutes. The needle was in and out before she could really think about the choice she’d made and that was it.

Tattoos, on the other hand, were a different story.

She knew that the appointment would be at least a few hours long and the thought of sitting there for so long, immobile as a needle was repeatedly driven into her skin, made her nauseous as she stood outside the shop and attempted to control her breathing. She knew that she would be fine once they began the process, it was just getting into the shop and getting started that freaked her out. She knew, though, without a doubt that she had to get the tattoo. She couldn’t back out but the thought of postponing briefly crossed her mind as she stared at the bright blue neon sign in the window.

After sending Calum her references and telling him exactly what she wanted, he recommended two sessions. Her tattoo consisted mostly of fine lines and intricate detail, something Calum was comfortable with but knew would take more than the standard few hours, and neither really wanted to plan a day session. The first session was for line work, to get the basic outline of the tattoo onto her skin in black ink, while the second - scheduled for two weeks later - was to be spent adding color and detail. It made sense and she was happy that he didn’t push a day session but she almost wished she could just get it all over with immediately. At least that way she would only have to begin a session once.

As she stood outside the shop, gathering herself and hoping that she didn’t look as panicked as she felt, the world around her faded. She no longer heard the noise from the street or the loud hum of neon. She didn’t see the bright blue glow or the buildings reflected in the shop’s plate glass window. She didn’t notice the people passing her by, brushing past her without so much as a glance in her direction, nor did she notice the one person who decided to stop as her nerves held a firm grip on her. It was all white noise and a meaningless blur as she breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.

Stevie only became aware of the person when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Stevie jumped, startled out of her reverie, and turned to face the stranger. She recognized him from the few photographs she’d seen on his Instagram - there were very few of his face but he’d posted one recently so she recognized the buzzcut and fading blue dye - and felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment as she met Calum’s eyes. She had hoped that she would have herself together by the time she met him, she didn’t want to give him pause, but that seemed to be out of the question as he stood in front of her.

He didn’t look nearly as intimidating in person as he did in pictures and that eased some of the worry in the pit of her stomach. However, Stevie still found herself shrinking under his gaze. A few tattoos - the majority stark black and traditional, a mixture of intricate lines and simple designs from what she had seen online - peeked out of the collar of his shirt, a few more decorated his hands, and she tried not to stare as she took him in. His eyes, contrary to the mask of indifference he wore, were soft and concerned as he moved his hand from her shoulder and let it drop to his side.

Calum stared at her for a moment. He hadn’t made it a habit to stop and chat with pedestrians he happened across,  regardless of where he happened across them (including in front of the tattoo shop where he worked). In the six years he’d lived in New York, he’d learned how to keep walking. He knew how to tune out the city around him and had gotten over the deep seated desire to help lost tourists or recent transplants. But something about this girl was different. 

Her short hair, an artful mix of dark brown and green, was mussed - Calum assumed it was both the wind and her seemingly nervous habit of running her fingers through it - and her knuckles were white as she clutched her jacket tight against her body. Her face, illuminated in the late afternoon sun, looked mildly panicked but he could see a steely resolution in the set of her shoulders. It was interesting, the mixture of emotion he saw swirling in her eyes, and he felt compelled to speak to her.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he began, his voice quiet and soft in the din of the city as to not frighten her further but loud enough for her to hear, “but I just wanted to see if you were alright?”

It took Stevie a moment to gather herself, to formulate a response and push it through the thick cotton of panic that had formed in her mouth, but Calum seemed in no rush as he watched her knit her brows and internally assess herself. “Sure,” she nodded quickly, the word forced from her mouth and sounding garbled as she brought a hand up to run her fingers through her freshly dyed hair, “yeah. I’m fine. I’m just, uh, just a little nervous is all.” When Calum raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue speaking, she added, “About getting a tattoo, my first one. I mean, I didn’t just pick a random tattoo studio to have a breakdown in front of. I know that it’s silly but, yeah.”

Stevie noted that Calum’s gaze were curious, maybe a little amused, but in no way judgmental. He understood her apprehension and saw it more often than not with his clients. Getting a tattoo was a big commitment; they hurt, they could take hours to complete, they could be expensive (if they wanted a good tattoo), and they’re permanent. Although he had more than his fair share, Calum still felt a lingering nervousness in the back of his mind any time he added a piece to his ever-growing collection (though it usually faded to a sort of excitement, something of an adrenaline rush) but he remembered how nervous he had been for his first tattoo and couldn’t blame her for needing a moment to settle her nerves.

“It’s not,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “It’s normal, especially for the first one. Nerves are a part of the process,” he stated with a nod that suggested finality as he moved out of the path of pedestrians. She stepped to the side - subtly, he noted, but just enough to put a small distance between them - and averted her gaze as he glanced at his watch. He lifted his head, turning his gaze to her once more, before he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be Stevie, would you?”

“Yep,” she nodded, placing an emphasis on the ‘p’, before she huffed out a sigh, “although I wish I was anyone but at the moment. Calum, right?” When he nodded, Stevie copied the gesture and offered him a weak smile. “Sorry you’re getting stuck with such a baby for a few hours. I have to get this tattoo. I’m just…” She paused, her eyebrows furrowed and her shoulders dropping, before she added, “Needles.” 

Calum raised an eyebrow at her explanation as he took in the septum ring and the several studs and rings in her ears. He was sure he’d seen a flash of silver when she opened her mouth and he felt certain that if he looked closer, he’d see a barbell in her tongue. “You have a nose ring,” he pointed out as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and took in the gunmetal ring looped through her septum, “and I’m pretty sure I saw a tongue ring.”

Stevie huffed indignantly and crossed her arms over her chest as she turned her head. Her cheeks, already pink from the cold, deepened in color as the embarrassment heated her body. “Tattoos and piercings are different,” she defended as she glanced at the people passing them by, “one lasts thirty seconds, at most, and the other takes hours. I’d rather be jabbed with a needle once than have someone keep stabbing me. It’s…” Stevie paused, searching her brain for the right words to adequately describe her feelings, before she settled on, “It’s the repetition, I guess.”

Calum laughed at Stevie’s explanation and she wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away from the conversation. She imagined that he didn’t mean any harm - she hoped that he didn’t, anyway - but she didn’t like feeling like she was being made fun of. She knew that she was being overly sensitive, that her anxiety lowered her threshold for rationality, but she still didn’t like it. However, she wanted Calum to tattoo her - she needed him to tattoo her - so she bit her tongue and stood still as she contemplated her next move.

Calum, sensing the shift in Stevie’s attitude, shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “If that’s how it is for you, that’s how it is for you,” Calum offered with a shrug as he attempted to catch her eye again, “but, trust me when I tell you that you probably won’t be my worst client this week. As long as you don’t faint, you’re miles ahead of a guy I had a few days ago.”

Stevie paled at the mention of fainting and Calum realized, too late, that that might not have been as reassuring as he’d intended it to be. He’d hoped to put her at ease, to relax her before he brought her into the shop, but with how tight she was wound, he didn’t imagine he would be able to. Instead, he sighed and stepped around her to head toward the door. “You ready to head in? I’ve got some designs drawn up. We can look at them and you can decide which one you like best.”

“Sure,” she nodded as she stepped through the door and into the studio itself. “Sorry I’m so early. You know how some people are chronically late? I have the exact opposite problem.”

“You should stick around, teach us your ways,” Calum hummed as he followed her in. “No one here is ever on time.”

“Fuck you. I am always on time.” Stevie turned just in time to catch sight of a crumbled ball of paper flying toward Calum’s head. The culprit, a man with inky black hair and an array of black and red tattoos, was seated at a drawing table and smiled at her when she caught his eye.

“When you own the place, I guess you can never really be late,” Calum deadpanned as he stepped around her and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch in the corner. “Hang out here for a second,” he instructed as he reached for the crumbled ball of paper on the floor, “I’ll go grab the designs and we can talk about placement and get everything figured out.”

Stevie nodded and watched as Calum navigated the array of equipment with practiced ease. He paused for a moment, long enough to nudge the - well, the owner, she guessed - and laugh as he messed up a line, before he disappeared through a door marked ‘staff only’. She glanced around the building, her eyes raking over the various paintings and prints and flash sheets that covered the walls, and found herself getting lost in the artwork as she waited for Calum to return.

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

As Stevie was twenty minutes early for her appointment - something that he appreciated; he would rather clients arrive early and have to wait for him to be ready than have them arrive late and derail his schedule for the day - Calum didn’t feel so bad taking a moment to breathe as he sifted through his files to find the few designs he’d created for her. Though it was barely three in the afternoon, his day had already been long. He’d been up since four that morning and he wanted nothing more than to finish her tattoo and head home.

The tattoo itself was fairly simple in concept, a bouquet of roses in shades of red and green with a ribbon tying them together (the only odd detail was a small skull pin on the ribbon), but the tattoo itself was quite large. He’d warned her, over email, that it would likely become close to a half sleeve if he made it as detailed as she wanted and she hadn’t been deterred at all. Despite it being her first tattoo, something she mentioned, she seemed incredibly committed to making it work. 

Normally, Calum wouldn’t have minded sitting for a full session. The tattoo wouldn’t have taken more than ten hours and, though he hated marathon sessions, he could’ve done it. However, their schedules never quite clicked and the only time Stevie could get into the shop was after three in the afternoon. In another life, four years earlier, Calum wouldn’t have hesitated to accept staying in the shop until one in the morning. A session that ran late into the night would’ve just been another day at work for him. But, as fate would have it, he was no longer able to schedule his life so selfishly.

The deciding factor in his availability was - and had been for nearly five years - his son.

Calum became a father at the young age of twenty and his apprenticeship (back when he first began tattooing), his bookings now, his life; they all revolved around Tāne’s schedule. He had a babysitter, one that watched Tāne after school and kept him until Calum’s last appointment of the day finished, but it wouldn’t be fair to either his son or the babysitter to accept an appointment that lasted so long. Even if it was a one off appointment, he wanted to get home, to have dinner with his son and read him a bedtime story or just tuck him in, just as much as he wanted the babysitter to be free to go home and do her homework or see her own parents. 

Calum had seen friends, men older than him and even some younger, that let their lives be consumed by their work and made their families pay for it. They chose local celebrity, fleeting online fame, over their home lives and he’d seen what it could do firsthand. He’d seen them end up divorced and alone, unable to get weekends with their children despite promising to be there for them. He’d seen them depressed, missing a part of themselves they hadn’t even known they’d had until it was gone. He’d met the teenage children of older artists and had been told stories about their childhoods, dealing with the absence of their fathers. And he desperately wanted to avoid that.

Calum wanted to be present for his son. He wanted to be a steadfast figure in his life, to be there whenever he needed him, so every decision was made with him in mind. His decision to cut a ten hour session into two shorter, five hour ones was made with Tāne in mind. It gave him time to pick up his son from school - they got out at 1:00 on Fridays - and spend a few hours with him before he had to disappear to the shop. It also helped ensure that he would be home in time to tuck his son into bed before he passed out himself. It ensured that he wouldn’t be dead on his feet, dragging into the living room as Tāne begged for chocolate chip pancakes and Saturday morning cartoons. It ensured that he wouldn’t be a shell of himself, present in body but absent in mind.

It ensured that he would be able to give his son the attention he deserved.

He leaned against the counter, staring at the transfer paper in his hands without truly seeing it, and took a deep breath. He could already feel the tension in his shoulders. It was present after the long morning he’d had and he could already anticipate the aching pain that came with sitting hunched over for hours at a time. He’d done a marathon session the day before, an eight hour tattoo that ended with a beautiful piece and a customer he could count on seeing again, but it left him aching and ready for a day off. However, as he lifted his head and turned to face the shelves, he reasoned that at least this session wouldn’t be so bad with the placement of Stevie’s tattoo.

After gathering himself, after clearing his head, Calum grabbed the items he would need from the supply closet and returned to set up his station. He imagined that Stevie would be sitting on the couch, waiting patiently as she attempted not to panic, but to his (almost lack of) surprise, he found her sitting on one of the extra artist stools with her chin in her hand as she watched Ashton outline a tattoo he was working on for Michael. Ashton looked calm, happy, even, as he explained the design to her and Calum rolled his eyes.

Stevie was cute, that much he could admit. Her hair, something she’d smoothed since stepping into the shop, was a shock of green among the blacks and blues of the shop. She was a strange mixture of hard edges and soft lines with but Calum imagined that that only added to her intrigue. Her cheeks seemed permanently flushed despite the warmth of the shop and Calum imagined that it was her nerves. Ashton, however, seemed to have a sixth sense for flirting with cute, nervous clients and it was starting to get old. He told everyone it was to help them be at ease, to calm their nerves before the tattoo, but Calum imagined it was more to help him get laid.

He let them be for a moment, long enough to drop the items he’d gathered onto the stand beside his station, before he decided to interrupt them. “If I could have my client back, mate,” Calum called, glancing over at the pair of them as he unzipped his jacket and began to shrug it off, “we can go ahead and get started.”

Ashton, used to Calum’s interruptions, shot him an easy grin as he nodded. “I was just keeping her company until you were ready for her. She’s all yours,” Ashton assured him with a mock salute before he returned his full attention to the drawing in front of him.

Stevie smiled at Calum, a little uneasy grin that seemed to be a reflex more than anything, before she returned the stool to the station she’d grabbed it from and crossed the shop to join him. As he arranged his set up, his movements steady and practiced, Stevie shrugged off her coat and paused for a moment. She glanced around the shop, empty save for her, Calum, and Ashton, before she asked, “I have on an undershirt. Like, I’m wearing a tank top beneath the long sleeve. Do I just…?”

Calum glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, an amused laugh leaving his lips as he watched her hesitate. “Yeah,” he nodded as he grabbed the black ink, “long sleeve has to go. You can take it off out here or there’s a bathroom over there.”

Stevie stood frozen, seemingly unsure, and Calum almost urged her toward the bathroom but before he could, she gripped the hem of her long sleeve with one hand and the hem of her tank top with another. She tugged the black garment up and over her head, huffing as it mused her hair even further and as she hit her elbow on the corner of the countertop behind her. She remained stuck in the garment for a moment, struggling to free herself, and Calum had to bite back a laugh as she rubbed her elbow with a frown on her lips.

“Right,” she nodded after dropping her shirt onto her bag and taking a moment to watch him set up - something he felt almost too aware of. “Where do you want me?”

Calum didn’t look at her as he arranged the little pots of ink on his workstation. Instead, he nodded his head toward the designs laying on the counter of his station. “Have a look at those for me,” he encouraged as he reached for the box of gloves beside him, “let me know which one you like the most and we’ll see how it looks in terms of placement and size.”

Calum’s station was in a corner of the shop. There were mirrors surrounding him, something that he felt almost neutral about most days, but he used them to his advantage as he watched Stevie through the mirror. He watched, curious, as she carefully traced her fingers over the designs laying on the counter and analyzed the emotions on her face. She hadn’t told him what the tattoo was for, he hadn’t asked, but he had gotten good at recognizing emotion in his years as an artist. He’d always been good at reading people, it was a gift, but he’d learned how to spot grief despite the many faces it wore as he’d done more memorial tattoos than he could count. Each circumstance was different, everyone dealt with grief in their own way, but the tattoo serving as a memorial explained why she felt so strongly about getting the tattoo (including the size and details) despite her obvious nerves.

Although he was outwardly the most reserved artist in the shop, he had always been the one that felt the deepest connection with other people. He empathized far too strongly for his own good and sometimes he hated that part of his job. He sat with people for hours, inking permanent memorials into their skin and listening as they told him stories of parents or grandparents or, God forbid, children that had passed and his heart bled for each one. He never knew what the session would bring - whether they would be an open book or whether the grief was too fresh to even consider speaking - and he didn’t know what to expect with Stevie. Usually, he knew what he was hoping for - more often than not, it was a happy medium that didn’t leave him emotionally drained by the end of an appointment - but with Stevie, he found himself unsure of what he hoped for.

But, by the way her hand shook and her breathing stuttered when she followed the outline of the skull with soft fingers, Calum knew that, regardless of the session itself, he hoped that the experience would bring her some semblance of closure.

Calum was finished setting up his station by the time she chose a design. He didn’t want to push, not when he could see tears glittering on her lashes, so he leaned against the counter and waited for her to speak. “This one,” she finally breathed, her voice quiet in the nearly empty shop. “This one’s perfect.”

The design wasn’t much different than her original request, it was still a bouquet of roses with the ribbon and skull (a detail she’d insisted on), but there were a few smaller flowers throughout as well as a few more intricate lines and details. It was, without a doubt, the hardest of the drawings to place onto her skin, it would bump the session up to twelve hours instead of ten, but it was his favorite, too.

Calum never gave his opinion on which design a client should choose. At the end of the day, it was their body. However, he found himself breathing, “I was hoping that’s the one you’d go for,” before he knew what he was saying. He didn’t know why but something about her vulnerability made him want to assure her that she was making the right decision.

Stevie looked up from the counter and when he met her eyes, his heart broke for her. He could see a glassy sheen of unshed tears and beneath the layer of nerves, he could see just how lost she looked. It was a jarring change, gone were the flushed cheeks and doe eyes, replaced by sadness, and it was hard to keep himself together as he watched her nod. “Let’s get this stencil on, then, and see what it looks like,” he mumbled, his voice quiet as he reached for the stencil and beckoned her closer to him.

Stevie seemed lost in her own thoughts so Calum worked in silence. He didn’t speak as he placed the stencil on her upper arm, exactly where she’d asked for, and was glad to see that the measurements he’d used had worked in just the way he’d hoped. It was a big tattoo, especially for the first, but - and Calum wasn’t sure if this was his own selfish desire to make his tattoos look as if they had always been a part of his clients’ bodies - it looked like it belonged.

Calum stared at it for a moment, his eyes raking over the pale purple lines on her skin, and he decided that it was beautiful. It fit her perfectly, exactly the way he’d hoped it would, and she echoed the thought as she breathed, “It’s beautiful. It looks perfect.”

“The placement is okay?” he asked, just to be sure, as he nudged her toward the full length mirror to get a better look at the angle. She stared at her reflection for a moment, her eyes glued to her right arm, and nodded. Calum, happy that she was happy, repeated the gesture and pointed to the chair. “Okay. Take a seat for me and we’ll. Get started.”

Stevie settled into the chair and kept her eyes on her hands, folded across her lap, as Calum settled onto his stool beside her. He could see the shaking in her limbs, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to steady her breathing, but she was quiet. She didn’t want to give him pause, he realized that, and he admired her follow through as she was clearly panicked. The only sound that echoed through the shop was the scratch of Ashton’s pencil against paper and the sound of traffic outside. Calum almost didn’t want to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward, just pensive, but he had to get started so he said, “I’m going to start with a line, just to give you a feel for it. Remember to breathe for me and let me know how you’re doing. If you need a break, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Calum kept his eyes on her arm as he traced one line onto her skin. He heard a sharp intake of breath over the hum of the machine but, to his surprise, she kept perfectly still. She was rigid, almost alarmingly so, and had her nails dug into her palms but she nodded at him. “I’m fine. It’s fine,” she assured him, her voice tight as she stared straight ahead at the artwork on the wall, “Go ahead.”

Stevie kept her posture for the first thirty minutes of her tattoo. Those long minutes passed in silence, Calum focused on the bigger lines that gave the entire image shape, and Stevie kept her eyes on the wall. He glanced at her every so often, just to make sure she hadn’t passed out, and was somewhat surprised at how well she seemed to be holding herself together. Her anxiety faded as they went on, her body relaxing and her breathing evening, and nearly an hour into the process, Calum could feel her eyes on him. 

Stevie watched him work but her gaze wasn’t scrutinizing, just curious. She was engaged in the process and Calum was glad to see that she’d calmed at least somewhat since their initial meeting. He didn’t mind silent sessions, ones where the clients didn’t speak at all, but he was curious. He wanted to know exactly what the tattoo stood for so he asked, “Why a bouquet with the skull?”

Stevie hesitated, her eyes glued to his hands as he traced another line, and he almost retracted his question. However, before he could open his mouth, she sighed and leaned her head back against the headrest. “It’s for a friend,” she offered, her voice quiet and barely audible over the buzz of the machine. “She died a few months ago.”

Calum occasionally offered his ear to clients - some he didn’t have to offer it to, they were more than willing to spill regardless of his feelings on the matter - and he felt the need to listen to Stevie’s story. So, as he paused to wipe at the ink on her skin, he asked, “You want to talk about it? I’ve been told tattoo artists are like therapists. Just, less frequent visits. For most people, anyway.”

Stevie cracked a smile at Calum’s attempted banter and he was surprised at the feeling of accomplishment that blossomed in his chest. He never really invested himself in his clients’ lives, he had his own shit to worry about, but he felt for her. Losing a friend so young - she had to be his age or younger - and one that meant enough for her to face her fear and get a tattoo for had to be hard. And, if her accent was anything to go by, she was a long way from home and likely didn’t have anyone to vent to. So, he felt compelled to offer her an open ear.

“It was cancer,” she finally answered after such a prolonged silence that Calum had almost forgotten he’d asked. He glanced up from the line he was working on and frowned as she kept her eyes on the ceiling. “Her name was Angela. We were best friends for ages. She was the first friend I made when I moved after Katrina and we did everything together. We went to college together. We were going to move up here together. But she got sick.” Stevie paused for a moment, gathering herself, and Calum almost reached for the box of tissues on Luke’s station but stopped himself as he continued tattooing. “She dropped out, couldn’t keep up with the work because of the chemo, and that was it. She died. She had this bucket list, all these things she wanted to do before before she died, and I promised her I’d finish it for her. The tattoo was the next thing on the list. She really wanted the roses. You wouldn’t have thought it, looking at her, but she loved flowers.”

“Shit,” Calum breathed, his voice barely audible despite the absence of the buzzing machine. “That’s… I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else he could say. 

“Don’t be,” Stevie shrugged before quickly apologizing for the movement. “She’s not suffering anymore. It got really bad toward the end. She was in a lot of pain. I would’ve preferred she got better, of course, but an end’s an end, I guess.” She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she attempted to blink back tears, before she added, “The skull is this ring she wore literally every day. Her mom gave it to me.” She lifted her left hand and pulled a long chain from beneath the neckline of her tank top. At the end dangled a small silver ring in the shape of a skull with two red gems for eyes.

Calum, despite his countless jokes about how much they annoyed him, couldn’t imagine losing any of his friends. They were his brothers, they always had been, and he knew that no matter how much they exhausted him,  he’d be lost without them. They made his world better, they made his son’s world better, and if he lost one of them, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to properly function. He admired what she was doing, finishing her friend’s bucket list, and felt honored to be part of the quest.

However, before Calum had the chance to tell her as much, Stevie shook her head. “Sad hours are over,” she laughed as she brought her left hand up to wipe at her eyes. “What about you?” she asked, glancing at his arm. “Your tattoos are beautiful. I really like the intricate line work - it looks good on you - but it looks like someone’s been coloring outside the lines.”

Calum was mildly thrown off by the sudden shift in her attitude but found himself glancing at his forearms, at the tattoos she could easily see beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt, and flushed as he caught sight of the neon marker staining his skin. “My son,” he explained, smiling sheepishly at her. “He likes coloring in my tattoos. Some of them are a little too intricate for him to stay inside the lines but he likes it and the markers stain.”

Calum could see Stevie’s face light up with a smile out of the corner of his eye. The crushing sadness, the loss, that had been so clear only a moment earlier faded slightly as she took in the marker staining his skin. “That’s so sweet,” she cooed, her accent growing thicker as she brought her left hand to her heart. “He’s got a living coloring book. How old is he?” She paused for a moment, considered her question, and then added, “If you don’t mind me asking, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Calum assured her, a soft smile on his lips as he nodded toward the photo of Tāne he kept on his station. “That’s him. He’s almost five.”

“Four and three quarters, thank you,” Ashton, who had been silent throughout their conversation, interjected with a bright grin as he was given the opportunity to talk about his pseudo-nephew.

“Four and three quarters,” Calum agreed with a laugh, “yeah. He gets offended if you forget that part.”

“I’m the same way with my height,” Stevie nodded, “I get it. He’d adorable. He looks just like you and I’m assuming he’s got the artist thing down, too?”

“He’ll put us all out of a job one day,” Calum agreed with a smile as he glanced up at her. “He was a tattoo artist for Halloween. Had Ash give him tattoos like mine and everything,” Calum confessed with a grin as he thought back to the shock of seeing his son, dressed in a small pair of Docs and covered in Sharpie.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that was incredibly adorable but also got you a lot of funny looks.” When Calum laughed, Stevie smiled. “I’m guessing the curls are what you used to look like?” she asked, glancing at the photo once more before she returned her gaze to Calum’s buzzed and blue hair.

“Mm, yeah. Once upon a time,” Calum nodded. Calum studied her, glancing at the green and brown mess of curls, before he asked, “What about you? I’m guessing the same was true for you before you chopped and dyed yours?”

“Brown, yeah. Curly? No. I wish. My hair was limp as fuck,” Stevie laughed as she tousled the green curls with her left hand. “It was gross and unhealthy so I cut it all off when I moved up here. I dyed it, too. I always wanted green hair and people don’t give a shit about your hair color here.”

“They did back home?” Calum asked, reaching out to wipe at her skin. When Stevie nodded, Calum asked, “Where is home?”

Stevie paused, staring at him as he added another line, before she said, “I’m sure you can tell by the accent, but I’m from the south. New Orleans. Well, not really New Orleans because if I was from there, they wouldn’t have cared about the hair - they see far weirder shit on the regular, believe me, but that’s the closest city you’d know.”

Calum nodded, certain that was true - he barely knew anything about New Orleans, let alone Louisiana as a whole - before he asked, “Why New York?”

“We had this running joke,” Stevie began, shifting in her seat as the discomfort of sitting still for nearly two hours started to set in, “that I was going to move to New York to become some obnoxious fucking fashion blogger or something and that Angela was going to follow me and be my photographer. That’s not exactly what happened but, well, close enough.”

“How close is close?” Calum asked as he pushed away from her and pulled off his gloves. “We can take a break for a second. Get up, move around. I’ll grab you some water.”

It was unlike him to be so invested in a client’s life but he felt at ease chatting with her. Something about her was easy, like talking to an old friend, and he felt himself growing more and more curious about her life. So, he kept the conversation flowing and was happy to hear her answer.

“I write for Rolling Stone,” Stevie told him, her voice following him as he moved toward the back to grab a bottle of water for himself and one for her. “Angela was going to be a photographer. Her editing skills were out of this world and she had an eye for detail like no one else. All of my work, the writing samples I sent in, they were a package deal. They all came with photos from her. We both had jobs lined up but… Anyway, I couldn’t stay at home so I took the job. Packed it all up and here I am.” Calum watched as she wandered around the shop, her right hand flexing as she attempted to wake it from where she’d sat with it so still for nearly two hours. She moved slowly, carefully, and paused at each flash sheet to study it just a little closer. “What about you?” she asked after a moment of silence, turning her head to glance at him over her should. “There’s a twinge of something not New York there.”

“Australia,” Ashton answered for him, a wide grin on his lips as he stood from his drawing table and stretched his arms. “All of us hail from the land down under. We packed it all up and moved here after Cal, Luke, and Mike finished high school. It was supposed to be a temporary thing but here we are, six years later.”

“You’re a lot farther from home than I am,” Stevie noted as she returned her gaze to the flash sheets on the wall. “But I guess some places just become like home, regardless of whether you mean for them to,” she offered with a shrug and Calum couldn’t help but agree.

He hadn’t meant for New York to become his home. He, like Ashton said, hadn’t intended to stay very long at all. The goal was to get enough experience under a talented enough artist to return home and open his own shop somewhere in Sydney. He wanted to be near his parents, near his sister, but something about the city sank its claws into his heart and kept him rooted in the Big Apple. He’d decided to stay before Tāne and now, now he couldn’t imagine disrupting his son’s life. Now, New York felt more like home than his real home did, though he sometimes felt the familiar ache to return to warmer weather and familiar scenes settle in his bones.

As the conversation lulled, Stevie returned to the chair and Calum found himself surprised at how quickly her appointment seemed to pass. Her initial nerves, the crippling fear that had seen her almost have a panic attack on the sidewalk in front of the shop, disappeared after the first few strokes of his machine. Getting started had been the hard part. Every part of her body had been tense and Calum was worried that she would stop breathing and pass out on him. However, once he’d settled into a groove and got her talking, sharing stories of her hometown and telling Ashton what bars to avoid should he ever venture down south for Mardi Gras, the appointment flew by. 

He didn’t get attached to clients often, didn’t truly enjoy their presence beyond them being easy to work with, but he liked Stevie. She was his dream client, easy to work with and good at sitting still. She didn’t seem to mind the pain - or, if she did, she didn’t say anything about it. She sat calmly, never forcing conversation but letting it flow naturally, and Calum found himself at ease as he worked on her. The rough morning he’d had melted as he talked with her (and occasionally Ashton) about music and he was almost surprised when he added the last stroke to her outline. Her upper arm was covered in a beautiful bouquet of roses, only missing the red and green ink, and he had to take a moment to admire the beautiful, finished (for now) product.

“Alright,” Calum began as he pulled away from her and nodded his head toward the full length mirror she’d first taken a glance at her arm in, “take a look and let me know how you feel.”

Stevie walked across the shop, groaning as she got the blood flowing in her legs once more, and stopped in front of the mirror. Calum watched her face, his eyes on trained on hers, and breathed a sigh of relief at the awed look she wore. Her left hand came up to her arm, her fingers not quite touch the fresh ink, as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was quiet, scrutinizing, but Calum could see the approval in her eyes. It looked like she’d wanted it to, exactly as she imagined it would, and that was all he wanted.

Stevie was quiet for a moment, gathering herself, before she turned away from the mirror to look at Calum. “She would’ve loved it,” she breathed, her voice cracking slightly as she smiled at him. “I know it’s not finished yet but it’s already so perfect. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Calum nodded, a small smile on his lips as he gestured for her to return to the chair, “I’m glad it’s doing her justice. Let me wrap it up and we’ll get you out of here.”

Wrapping her tattoo took only moments and, after she paid, Stevie was out the door with a final heartfelt thank you and an agreement to return the same time two weeks later. Calum watched her leave, his eyes glued to the door, and remained in his spot behind the desk until Ashton said, “She was cute.”

Calum blinked, surprised at the sound of Ashton’s voice, and rolled his eyes as he let the comment settle in his mind. “She’ll be back in two weeks,” he informed him with a sigh, “you can ask her out then.” Normally, that wouldn’t have irked him so much, imagining Ashton taking one of his clients out for drinks. However, something about him asking Stevie unsettled him and he didn’t like the annoyance he felt in the pit of his stomach as he imagined Ashton flirting with her.

However, the annoyed was short lived as Ashton tossed another ball of paper at his head. “Not for me, dickhead,” he huffed as he stood from his chair and turned off the lamp at his station. “For you. You two would look good together.”

At that, Calum turned and stared at his friend. It wasn’t in his nature to attempt to set him up, to even encourage him to date, and he wondered what the change of heart was about. However, he didn’t bother to ask as he stated plainly, “No,” and moved to clean his station so he could get home to Tāne.

“Look,” Ashton began as he crossed the shop to help him clean, “I know that you don’t want to make things difficult for Tāne and you’re still on edge after El but it’s been three years. One date won’t be the end of the world, mate.” He paused, weighing his words carefully, before he added, “You talked more with her today than you ever have with a client. You guys clicked.”

Calum was quiet as he considered Ashton’s words. He had spoken more with Stevie than he ever had any client. He’d felt comfortable with her, the conversation flew naturally and five hours passed in the blink of an eye, but he couldn’t bring himself to consider that as an option. He knew that time had passed for him to move on, he had moved on, but he didn’t want open himself up to another heartbreak. Not when the first one was still weighing so heavily on his life. So, instead of telling Ashton that he was afraid of loving and losing once more, he deflected the conversation.

“El’s lawyer called this morning,” he sighed as he returned the box of gloves to his station. “I’ve got other shit to deal with that doesn’t involve finding a girlfriend. And Stevie - she’s nice but she’s got other shit on her mind, too. Just leave it, mate.”

“Wait, El’s lawyer? She’s not still trying to get custody, is she?” Ashton asked as he stopped cleaning and turned his full attention to Calum.

“Mm,” he confirmed with a sigh as he dropped the bottle of antiseptic cleaner and took a seat on his stool. “Still thinks I’m an unfit parent. She thinks that she and fuckface will do a better job. They want to move to Boston and she wants to take him with them.”

“Fuck, Cal,” Ashton breathes as he reaches out to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. She doesn’t deserve custody and I’ll help you however I can. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded as he reached for the discarded tissues he’d used to wipe at the ink on Stevie’s tattoo. “I know.”

Calum knew that his friends would help however they could. He knew that, like Ashton, Michael and Luke would do whatever he needed of them to help him keep his son and the job he loved so much. He also knew that, when the dust settled around the latest in his ex’s attempts to unsettle his life, Ashton would return his attention to the topic of Calum’s lack of a partner and, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t exactly mind it. He was steadfast in his decision to focus on one problem at a time - his most pressing being his impending battle for custody - but maybe, just maybe, there would soon be room in his life for someone else. And maybe, just maybe, that would be the girl with the rose tattoo.

______________________________________________

Author’s Note: So. Thoughts? Feelings? I’m really excited for this. I’ve had this fic in mind for ages. The first chapter wasn’t as fluffy as I was imagining it would be nor is it as filled with Calum being a dad but there are some soft moments and I’m really looking forward to continuing it. I have it all planned out and I’m already halfway through chapter two I’m pretty stoked. Also, I’m trying to do it from both perspectives (Stevie’s and Calum’s because a) there are things about Stevie I don’t want you to know yet and b) it’s about single dad!Cal so. Anyway!).  Let me know your thoughts! 

Tag List (like this post or message me if you want to be added!): @toolazymyguy , @irwinkitten , @jamieebabiee , @glittersluke , @spicycal , @lusbaby , @everyscarisahealingplace, @brokenvirtualheartcollector , @if-it-rains-it-pours, @blisshemmings , @calumscalm , @lovemenowseemenever , @ijutreallylovezebras , @rhiannonmichelle , @p0laroidpictures​ , @tomscuddles , @loverofmineluke​ , @harrytreatspeoplewithkindnesss​ , @blueviiolence​ , @loveroflrh​ , @empathycth​ , @luckyduckydoo​ , @tobefalling​ , @bandsandbooksaremykink​ , @watch-how-she-burns , @megz1985​ , @wokeupinaustralia​ , @lucidlrh​ , @canterburyfiction​ , @cal-is-not-on-branding​ , @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o​

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 17 - Good Luck, Mr. Min!!

5k 

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 5k words

Chapter 17 - Good Luck, Mr Min!

           We’re going to need your skills for an important project, Kim Taehyung! I’ll explain more when you get in this morning. We’re counting on you!

That was the text from Seokjin that Taehyung had woken up. He had no idea what it meant, or what the job would entail, but he knew even bothering to ask before arriving at work was pointless, so he simply headed out the door. Despite this curiously ominous message, Taehyung walked into the school Monday morning, and he was practically beaming. He hadn’t seen you since Friday, when you had your date, however, knowing that came to an end today excited him more than usual. As he entered the building, Taehyung could hear a commotion coming from Kim Seokjin’s office, which was only getting louder the closer that he got. When he approached the office, he quickly opened the door.

            “I think we should do it.” You said simply. “I can draft up a little field trip pamphlet to give to the parents, too.”

            “Is it too short of a period?” Hoseok asked curiously, scratching his head. “I mean, we just found out a few hours ago.”

            Seokjin shook his head. “I don’t think so. If we make a few phone calls today and I run out to the store afterward, we can have everything ready for-.” Seokjin looked up when the door opened and grinned. “Good morning, Taehyung!” He said happily. “I’m glad you’re here! Did you get my text?” Taehyung simply nodded. “Okay, perfect! Listen, our schedule this week is going to change just slightly these next few weeks.” As Taehyung walked over, he looked over in your direction. You offered him a gentle smile before turning back towards your boss. “Yoongi is coming in today for an entire hour to do gym with the kids. The basketball team he coaches at the high school is preparing for their state championship at the end of the week. He’s managed to work around coming here, but now that it’s only a week away, he’s having the kids preparing any time during the day that they can. So, he’s coming in today to see the kids and do a big activity with them.”

            “So, we were thinking of maybe taking the kids this Friday when school lets out to the high school and bring some good luck treats for the team and Yoongi-Hyung. He was kind of bummed he couldn’t work his schedule out to do both.” Hoseok added.

            “That sounds like a good idea,” Taehyung said. “But can I ask why I got a text saying that there is something only I can do?” Seokjin grinned.

            “Aha, I’m glad that you asked, Taehyung! See, I want the kids to make little posters for the team, but they’ll need some samples and stuff. So, since you have some time while the kids are doing the gym, I want you to make some. And if there’s anything else that you think the kids will need let me know and I can get it all for you.”

            “Alright then.” Taehyung smiled. “I’ll work hard.”

            “Alright then, I’ll start making some phone calls.” Seokjin agreed, before shooing the trio out of the room. Hoseok closed the door behind him, waving Seokjin off as his boss plopped down in his chair and reached for his phone. When Hoseok turned around towards his co-workers, he saw Taehyung already leading you down the hallway. He watched for a moment as Taehyung purposely scooted himself close to you.

            “Did you have a good rest of your weekend?” He asked curiously. You smiled happily.

            “Yes, I did.” You said happily. As both of you continued to walk, you glanced over at Taehyung and could see him continuing to look at you, and it made you giggle. “What are you staring at?”

            “Staring? I’m not staring…” he said quickly, averting his eyes. You laughed a bit.

            “Okay…” you said softly. “Oh!” You quickly turned towards Taehyung again. “I hung up my painting in the classroom. Do you want to see it?”

            Taehyung offered you a grin, nodding his head. “Absolutely.” You quickly took hold of Taehyung’s hand, leading him down the hall and towards the classroom. Taehyung was shocked by the initial hand gesture, looking down at his hand which was locked in your tight, yet gentle grip. He didn’t complain, however, and followed you into your classroom. Upon entering, Taehyung noticed that right above the whiteboard that was cluttered with objects such as erasers, posters, and markers, hung the adorable painting of a beautiful, sunny hillside, with a few scribbles that were hardly recognized due to the height and distance of where the painting was hung. It made Taehyung chuckle. “I think it looks amazing.” He assured. “The kids are going to love it when they come in.”

            “Good. I think it gives the room a lot more personality.” You were beaming, and it only amused Taehyung even more. When you turned your head to the sound of the door opening, you saw Hoseok finally entering the room. “Hobi hung it up.”

            “I would say my work is finally being appreciated.” Hoseok teased, grinning. You offered him a smile, and when Hoseok noticed the way Taehyung was looking at you, he put his hands behind his head and decided it was time to change the subject. “I can’t wait for this event with Yoongi-Hyung.”

            “Oh, I know. I can’t wait to see what kinds of posters the kids make. He’s going to be so surprised.” You were grinning ear to ear, and now Hoseok found himself falling victim to your beaming, child-like grin, and he was smiling along with you. “We should be getting ready for the kids to come in. I’ll see you later.” You finally said, turning to Taehyung and offering your remaining smile. Taehyung nodded.

            “Right, I should probably get started on those posters and things anyway.” He nodded, waving you both off before excusing himself out of the room. With the door closed, only you and Hoseok were left behind in the room. When you looked at him, you saw him turn to the door and stare, even after Taehyung had exited view.

            “What are you staring at?” you asked curiously. Hoseok looked over at you, and you could see his smile replaced with a slightly somber thin line on his face. You frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re still-.”

            “No, I’m not,” Hoseok said quickly. “I was just watching him leave, that’s all.” Despite this, you knew Hoseok was lying. After he confessed his concerns regarding his place in your life, much less your love life, you were able to better identify the cracks behind that normally beaming smile. Walking towards your desk, you grabbed your water bottle and took a sip.           

            “I work with children who lie for a living, Hoseok. Don’t be another one.” Hoseok pouted as you put the drink up to your lips. “I already told you that you’re in my life regardless of what else happens in my life. Got it?” Hoseok nodded as you walked back over to him, patting his shoulder. “There’s no need to worry about anyone else.”

            “Then what kind of life am I supposed to lead if not as your jealous bodyguard?” he asked playing. Now, both of you offered a giggle as you headed out the door to the front of the school, to wait for the kids.

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

            As the day rolled on, you and Hoseok were working with the kids, while Taehyung was sitting in his room getting busy looking up information about Yoongi’s school and, most importantly, his basketball team. He wanted to make sure that, much like he would with a paying client, that all details were perfect, and Taehyung took that promise to the nth degree, as Yoongi had been a good friend to him in the months he had been there. As Taehyung was scribbling a few ideas on notebook paper, he heard the door open. When he looked up, he saw a face that made him quickly shove his paper into the nearest desk drawer.

            “Yoongi-Hyung.” He grinned. Yoongi smiled a bit.

            “Hey. Just wanted to say sorry I took your usual slot today for an hour session.”

            “Oh, that’s okay!” Taehyung assured. “Mr. Kim told me your teams preparing for a regional championship. It’s really exciting!” Yoongi nodded, crossing his arms.

            “We have a lot of work to do. My team is great and talented, but they’re still teen boys so they’re lazy and love to goof off. None of my beatings are proving effective just yet.” Taehyung grinned at Yoongi’s playful humor. Yoongi rolled his shoulder a bit, rubbing it slightly. “But I tried to work everything out.”

            “I’m sure the kids will understand,” Taehyung assured. Yoongi nodded, looking around.

            “Oh. Seokjin-Hyung told me you finally managed to ask-.” It didn’t take Taehyung long before the sentence ended to turn slightly red, and Yoongi noticed when he laughed in amusement. “How did it go?”

            “Fine.” He said simply. “I think she liked it and she said she wanted to have another one soon.” Yoongi nodded when he saw the faint smile on Taehyung’s face simply at the memory of the evening.

            “Good.” He grinned. “Alright, then I’ll let you get back to work.” Yoongi grinned. “See you later, okay?” Taehyung nodded and waved him off as he watched Yoongi head out. When he was alone again in his room, Taehyung sighed. He returned to his seat and plopped down onto it, once again pulling out the different posters he was working on, and quickly getting back to work with his designs. As color filled the previously white canvases, Taehyung felt himself getting more and more excited for this little surprise to occur. Yoongi was relatively quiet when he wasn’t with the kids, which was rare considering his schedule, so getting to see this new side of him was going to be…interesting. It was not long after that the faint sound of children cheering as they headed down the hall was heard, and Taehyung smiled to himself as he heard them.

            “We see Mr. Min for almost a miblion hours today!” That was Kai. “That’s like…a triblion hours!”

            “I know.” You gasped, easily matching the excitement of the kids. “Mr. Min is so excited to see you guys!” Taehyung paused his doodling for almost a second, listening as the voices of several students came and went.

            “What about Mr. Kim?” he heard a curious little Yuna ask from the other side of the door. His ears perked up a bit.          

            “We’re going to see him too. Isn’t it exciting that you have a long gym time and an art class today?” Hoseok asked curiously.

            “Uh-huh. I like Mr. Kim, he’s funny.” Yuna chimed. Just like that, the children were out of earshot, on their way to their extended gym class. Taehyung couldn’t help but grin, leaning back in his seat. He felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

            This job was so rewarding.

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

            The end of the week came quickly, and plans were being made in secret. Yoongi had an absolute blast with the children, playing everything they wanted to, from freeze dance to basketball, to simply sitting on the floor and rolling balls back and forth. It was simply the time with their favorite gym teacher that made them have a blast. If any other outsider was taking a peek at the gym class today, they would think it was Yoongi’s last day forever with all of the tight hugs he was giving to the girls and boys that swarmed him. You would never think it was only for a few weeks of preparation for a big championship. However, the children had worked hard the entire week to create colorful and amazing posters that would excite Yoongi and his basketball team. You and Hoseok bought snacks for the teens, and the kids each made their good luck charm for the team. The morning of the trip, the children were buzzing with anticipation. They could barely contain their excitement, the event feeling like some sort of secret mission, at -least according to the ever-adventurous Ryujin it was.  You watched as the kids sat in their seats, Taehyung handing them each of the posters they had made.

            “Now remember, are we arguing about who gets to hold the posters?” Taehyung asked the class curiously.

            “Nooooooo.” The kids hummed in perfect harmony. Taehyung grinned.

            “Right. They’re big, so we can all get to hold up the signs so Mr. Min and his team can see us. Plus, we can all give out our charms so we’ll all get to do something -.”

            “I wanna go now!” Kai gasped, beaming. You crossed your arms, your nonverbal look of disappointment at Kai’s abruptness immediately causing him to stop and sit back down, his hands in his lap. “…Sowwy…”

            You offered him a smile, before turning to Hoseok. “Ready?” you asked curiously. Hoseok nodded, holding up the field trip folder that contained all important information, like the children’s contact information, medical information, local emergency numbers, and their signed permission slips from their parents. In his other hand was the bag of goodies you both got. “Perfect. Alright, everyone, line up!” The kids began screaming as they headed into line, but you couldn’t help but allow them to do so. Just this time. They were excited, so it was hopeless to do anything more than a simple “Quietly, please.” When that failed, you shrugged and walked to the front of the line. “Everyone, partner up, please.” As if on cue, the children grabbed hold of the hand of the child beside them, in two perfect rows before you. However, you were shocked to feel a tiny hand grab hold of your own. When you looked down, you saw Kai beaming up at you. “Kai…Soobin is your partner. You both picked each other.”

            “Uh-uh. I wanna be with you.” He said, quickly squeezing your hand tighter. You sighed.

            “Kai, honey…Soobin needs a partner too…” Kai’s wide eyes only went wider, and he whimpered.

            “But…”

            “It’s okay,” Taehyung interjected quickly. He lifted his hand, intertwined with little Soobin’s. The heigh difference was so apparent, and made Soobin jump slightly in the air, causing him to giggle. You sighed, knowing immediately what would follow.

            “I wanna hold Teacher’s hand!” Beomgyu shouted.

            “Me too!’ Yeji begged. You sighed, turning around as kids continued to shout out the names of teachers they wanted to be paired with.

            “And we’re walking!” You said, beginning your journey almost immediately to stop the shouting of jealous children.

            The walk was very close, the high school only being a short walk from the daycare, and an even shorter drive for Yoongi to make regularly. Seokjin locked up the daycare, leaving a note of absence, and the group of 20 children with 4 guardians made its way down the street. A few passers waved hello to the children, who happily waved back despite them being strangers. You smiled as you lead the way. When the travel got silent, you decided to spice it up. “Sing for me! Let me hear the Stylish Tomato Song!” The kids gasped, and without any further prompting, began to sing.

            With a muscular body (crush, crush)

            Wearing red clothes (love, love)

            Giving out sweets and sour scent (yoohoo)

            It’s the Stylish Tomato (tomato)

            I will become a juice! (gulp)

            I will become ketchup (squirt)

            I will dance! (Hey!)

            Boastful tomato (tomato)

            The sound of the children singing the song with Hobi and Taehyung acting as the backup vocals was nothing short of hysterical to you. Seokjin was sure to record the performance from the back of the line, grinning all the while. As your group approached high school, you quickly quieted the children down and looked at the front gates. School had recently come to an end; you could tell by the few straggler students who had looked at the singing children as they passed one another on their way out of the school. When the group came to a stop, this was when Seokjin took the lead. He had already called the headmaster of the school to inform them of their arrival, and the details were already worked out to have them go to the gym upon arrival, where Yoongi would be with his team. Hoseok and Taehyung handed the posters to the children in groups, and they gripped them tightly. “Are we ready?” you asked curiously. The kids nodded, and you headed towards the door. Both you and Seokjin approached the door, and already, you heard a loud noise as you entered and headed down the small hall leading into the room.

            “ARE YOU GUYS KIDDING ME!?” The sound of the loud whistle alerted all of your attention and made a few kids squeak in surprise. You and Seokjin poked your heads in. Immediately, you saw Yoongi standing with his hands on his hips. He was glaring up at one of the taller high school boys, and despite the height difference, he looked intimidated. “I WORK AROUND MY SCHEDULE JUST TO COME HERE AND WATCH YOU ACT LIKE A FOOL?!”

            “N-no, sir…” The boy gasped softly, meekly almost.

            “Well, it sure and hell seems that way. We only have two weeks and you would much rather be late to my practice for what? A girl?”

            “I told her I couldn’t talk but she wouldn’t-.”

            “No excuses.” Yoongi tossed the kid the ball. “You’re the best guy on this team so every second you’re not here in an insult to the rest of the team.” The teen-only nodded.

            “Yessir…” he said softly.

            “Get out of my sight before you sit bench the whole time.” Yoongi scoffed, and the teen scurried away with the ball. “I want 20 consecutive passes to Jin-Sung.”

            “Wow…” Taehyung said softly. “Who knew that little body held such rage?”

            “I did.” You, Seokjin, and Hoseok said in unison. Taehyung blinked. “You’ve never seen Yoongi have a stern talk about teamwork with these guys, have you?” You asked curiously. Taehyung shook his head. “Exactly.” As you gently pulled the door back a bit more, Hoseok whipped out his phone and allowed the kids to make their presence known.

            “THIS GYM IS SO BIG!” Beomgyu gasped.

            “It’s bigger than a big room!” Yeji agreed, and Chaeryeong nodded along with her. Immediately, you saw Yoongi looked over, as did the boys on his team. You turned to the group of children.

            “Guys…why do we say?” you asked. Immediately, the kids rushed over to Yoongi, posters flapping the wind.

            “GOOD LUCK, MR. MIN!” They shouted. Immediately, the sour expression on Yoongi’s face disappeared, and he knelt to immediately see the children at eye level when they approached. He was beaming, his gummy smile practically glued to his face.

            “Oh my gosh, what is this?” he asked curiously.

            “Good luck in your fight!” Yuna said, beaming as she handed him the poster, she held with Taehyun and another little girl. Yoongi grinned.

            “Thank you.” He spoke. As he took a moment to examine the posters, the kids gathered and showed him what they made on their respective boards. “Did you make these with Mr. Kim?” he asked curiously. The kids nodded in confirmation. “Awww that’s so sweet, guys.” He ran a hand through Beomgyu’s hair, who was beaming as he hugged Yoongi tightly.

            “We made uhm…” Chaeryeong began to speak and Yoongi looked over. “Uhm…we made…”

            “Good charms!” Lia interjected, helping her friends. Hoseok and you walked over, handing each child their charm. They stuck them in Yoongi’s direction, the chaos only adding to the smile on his face.

            “Why don’t you go give them to the boys playing basketball? Mr. Min only has so many hands…” you pointed out. A few kids decided to shuffle towards the basketball players.

            You and Taehyung looked to see that Yoongi’s basketball team, who was standing on the end of the field, looked stunned. Were they dreaming? Where was Coach Min…and who the hell was this guy? The confusion on their faces was enough to make both of you snicker.

            “What the hell man?” one guy asked.

            “Hyung…” a seemingly younger player asked, kneeling as a group of children approached the team. “Is Coach Min okay?”

            “I uh…I think so?” The boy who had just gotten scolded coughed into his hand. “Mr. Min?” Yoongi looked up as his team got closer. “What’s uh…what’s going?” Yoongi finally stood up, and Hoseok took the posters from the kids as they watched Yoongi.

            “These are my preschool class.” He said simply. “I had to cancel my next few weeks with them so we could only focus on preparing-.” He shot a glare at the older boy, who shivered. “So they came to surprise us, it seems?” You watched as Yeonjun walked over to one of the teens.

            “Are you grown-ups?” he asked curiously. The boys knelt to the kid’s level as they began to get swarmed by curious kids, all of whom began chattered out a million questions a moment, especially the more talkative ones. Yoongi looked over at his four coworkers, who were simply grinning.

            “What made you guys do this?” he asked. You could see him blushing slightly in embarrassment from all of the attention.

            “We thought it would be fun.” Hoseok grinned. “And you were surprised!”

            “Yeah, I was…I’m amazed that the children were able to keep a secret.”

“It was pretty easy when the only person they couldn’t tell wasn’t going to be around, you know.” Hoseok pointed out. Yoongi nodded, and the duo laughed a bit.

“Oh, well Yeonjun ‘accidentally’ told Seokjin about the whole thing, only to be berated by the other kids.” You pointed out. The memory of twenty-something young children shouting at their friend that they ruined the surprise was, honestly, pretty hilarious. Yoongi laughed more, always amused by the hyperactive child. “It was adorable; you had to see the relief on his face when Seokjin said that he already knew.”

“Gosh, those kids are hilarious.” Yoongi then turned to watch as the teens showed the younger kids the baskets and the balls, and one teen had taken a curious set of boys to the crate that held all of the spare balls as well as the air pumps. “…DON’T JUST STAND THERE!” He shouted. The teens looked up. “These little angels are here for me! Get back to practice before you get to relax! We’ve barely broken a sweat you lazy punks!”

            Taehyung snorted as the teens scurried away from the laughing toddlers. “Jesus…” He said. “You’re cold, Hyung.” Yoongi chuckled.

            “Mr. Min! I wanna play basketball!” Ryujin begged. Several other kids agreed, and Yoongi nodded.

            “I guess we can work something out.” He said, nodding his head.

            For the next little while, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok took small groups of children and allowed them chances to be lifted and try to toss the ball into the basket. The teens were practicing on the other side, and those who didn’t want to actively play sat to the side and watched with you and Seokjin. It was a bit loud, and a lot was going on, but the kids were having a lot of fun and the teens seem to enjoy the ever-enthusiastic audience supporting them. Yoongi scooped up Ryujin into his arms as she made a basket, clapping her hands as Yoongi spun her around.

            “I think we’ve got a natural talent here, everybody!” He beamed as the girl giggled in his hands. A set of teens waiting for their turn to practice watched the scene unfold, and once again, their utter confusion at Yoongi’s constant mood changes had you giggling.

            “This is the weirdest practice I’ve ever been to.”

            “It’s going down in the history books, Hyung…” Yoongi, overhearing the two gossiping boys, turned to face them, and they immediately went silent.

            “What? Scared my new prized student, Ryujin will take your place?” he asked. The little girl grinned in Yoongi’s arms. The boys couldn’t help but chuckle at the girl’s confident expression.

            “Awww Coach, come on now.” One said.

            “I’m gonna play for Mr. Min!” Ryujin said.

            “You are,” Yoongi said, high fiving the little girl. “Alright…” he set her down. “I have Ryujin to replace Jin-Sung, who is next to replace Jeong-hoon?”  The kid’s hands flung in the air, shouting and begging to be next as Yoongi looked to his star player. He immediately looked up at the mention of his name.

            “What?! Coach!” Jeong-hoon gasped. His distraction led to him being hit in the side of his head with a flying ball, thrown to him mid-conversation by a teammate. “OW! Damn it.”

            “Oh man, sorry Jeong-hoon.” The male said quickly as he rubbed his head. Yoongi snorted.

            “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to keep your spot at the captain of this team.” Yoongi turned back around towards the children to choose who was next to go. Jeong-hoon pouted, tossing the basketball in Yoongi’s direction. He heard his teammate shout at him that he was crazy, and the ball just kept flying. Yoongi, just as he was about to scoop up Soobin, turned back around, and grabbed the basketball. Jeong-hoon smirked, crossing his arms at his coach as he watched as Yoongi set the ball on his finger and spun it around a few times. The children gasped, aweing at their teacher’s spectacular talent. Yoongi stopped after a moment, tossing the ball back to the team captain. “Get back to work.”

            “Yessir,” Jeong-hoon said. The other teen’s boys sighed, grateful they weren’t going to die just yet, and the game resumed.

            “He’s ruthless.” You said to Seokjin, who grinned.

            “Seriously. Remind me to never get on his bad side again.”

            Both of you laughed at that. “But he’s very similar with both groups of kids. He cares a lot about them all.” You nodded. “We got lucky with him.” Seokjin nodded.

            “I consider myself very lucky with the staff I managed to collect.” He stated. You looked at him. “You know, like Pokemon.” You laughed a bit, and Seokjin’s attention was averted by one of the little boys beginning to talk about how he knew of Pokemon from older members of his family, the duo having a fun little conversation. Your eyes quickly turned back towards Yoongi, who was back at lifting children to the net as they shot baskets. You rested forward, your chin resting in your hands. It took a few moments for your eyes to wander around. Taehyung had not only been holding children up to reach the basket, however, instead, but he also hoisted each child upon his shoulders. The kids were cheering in delight as they got to toss a few different baskets. He was beaming as she playfully swayed from side to side, causing whichever child was on his shoulders at a time to grab hold of Taehyung’s head, squealing in delight as if Taehyung’s shoulders were a ride. It made you smile a bit, watching as the children waited with such anticipation to have their turn. After a little while, Yoongi rounded up his team. He sent two boys to go get a small table for them, for Hoseok to set down the snacks that you brought. There were cookies, juice, a bowl of various fruits, and other snacks for people to pick at. The kids and the teens were already starting to form a little bond with one another, and when Yoongi finally allowed for a break, they all sat around and talked, which the boys were finally starting to enjoy.

            “Okay, let’s eat,” Hoseok said. Yoongi motioned for the boys to wait, allowing the kids to get snacks first before they were able to as well. Once the kids were all seated and eating, the teachers grabbed a few things and began to eat as well.

As you sat beside Yuna and Yeji, both of whom were eating and chatting about their time at the school, you looked over to Taehyung. He was sitting with a few of the teens, who were talking about Yoongi, and what he was like as their coach. By the looks of it, the small handful of boys were laughing at each other, and overall having a good time. You hummed, watching Taehyung lean back on one of his hands. It immediately reminded you of his posture, his stance, back on top of the hill. You always knew Taehyung was attractive, any person could notice that. However, there was something about him right at this moment, popping a piece of cut-up apple into his mouth, that was just…really interesting to look at. Yoongi must have noticed you staring at Taehyung once again, but you had not yet noticed that he was staring at you. When you blinked yourself back to reality, Yoongi had stepped aside you, popping a grape into his mouth.

            “You spacing out?” he asked curiously. When you looked over at the gym teacher, he knew immediately, and a smirk formed on his face. “I was right, huh?”

            “Thinking about what?” you asked curiously, resting your hands on your lap.

            “Well, that’s something only you can tell me, huh?” he asked curiously. “I can take a pretty good guess, though.” He motioned to Taehyung, who had just set Chaeryeong onto the floor and lifted Kai onto his shoulder. “I heard you guys went on a date recently.”

            “Yeah, I guess you can say that.” You said softly.

            “You don’t sound too excited about that…” Yoongi’s comment made it feel as though your chest was tightening, and you had to take a deep breath. Your eyes wandered to Hoseok, who had sat in a circle with a few kids and passed and basketball between them.

            “It’s not that…” you said softly. “At least, I don’t think it is.” As your eyes wandered between Hoseok and Taehyung, your mind began racing, about a lot of things. You were thinking about your date with Namjoon, your date with Taehyung, the feelings of concern with Hoseok, and his underlying years of feelings with you, all of it was making your head spin for days. You looked at Yoongi, who was patiently looking at you and waiting for an answer.

            “Can we go somewhere and talk?” You asked curiously.

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[leonawriter]

Home Territory

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs/Mononoke

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya

Characters: Kunikida, Dazai, Atsushi, Ranpo, Chuuya, Fukuzawa, Mori.

Summary: Kunikida has concerns over Dazai's living arrangements, and fixes things with paperwork. Chuuya is having a crisis of his own, of a far more benign nature. And both Fukuzawa and Mori are reminded of how difficult being the leader of an organisation is when your subordinates aren't always human.

(Part four in the “Not All Kitsune Have Nine Tails” ‘verse. Follows “Smoke and Fox-Fire.”)

...

Once could be passed off as a fluke. A case gone south didn't always end up with everyone back at the agency, or even back home, so with Dazai having gone missing partway through things taking a turn for the strange, he hadn't even questioned Atsushi on why he hadn't come back with a bandaged nuisance in tow that night.

The next morning he'd been similarly distracted by the fact that despite not having seen or heard him arrive or leave the Agency's dorms, there Dazai had been, in all of his red and fluffy glory on his chair, and making more trouble than usual. And that was saying something, given that what was usual was making Kunikida want to tear his hair out.

He had started to actually notice on the second night, when the dorms - despite it being late enough that Dazai should have been back, in theory - were yet again noticeably quiet.

He must have gone out drinking again, is his first thought on that, although something about it feels off. Possibly because Dazai hadn't on one of his notorious pub crawls that would inevitably end up with the police calling him up in the middle of the night for quite some time now, and- it struck him as he continued that train of thought, why it felt wrong. Dazai had been arrested not all that long ago. Not for something as minor as disorderly behaviour, either, but his actual crimes. The serious ones. Surely he wouldn't put himself in that sort of situation again so soon after such an experience...?

Even so, Dazai never showed up all throughout Kunikida's own nighttime preparations, and he wasn't about to interrupt his own schedule and routine for one man just because that was probably what Dazai wanted. 

So he came into work again the next morning... and there Dazai was. Again. 

Whatever he had been up to, it certainly didn't seem as though he could have been drinking, or at least not to the degree that he had found him in countless times before. There was no lingering smell of alcohol on his clothes, or smoke, that would follow him around the room if that were the case, as had happened before. If anything, there was a sort of musk that followed him now that hadn't before, which confused him until he realised that it was the scent of fur.

None of which explained where Dazai had been the past few nights.

All he was left with was the vague idea that he couldn't have been roughing it in a park - and why do such a thing anyway, when he had a perfectly warm and dry bed to go back to? - or drinking until he rotted away in a cell, and he was clearly going somewhere.

Somewhere that both Ranpo and Atsushi, it seemed, were aware of. Which... while reassuring, and made him at least feel that wherever Dazai had been it couldn't have been anything that would put him in any sort of danger, or anything would be a cause for concern, was still frustrating. 

Somewhere that made him at least several minutes to an hour later to work each day, he noted, a glance at the clock telling him that it was closer to the latter this time than the former.

The door to the office opening inward disrupted his thoughts as he prepared for either a client having come on foot, or Dazai, and at this point either was a distinct possibility - only for the first thing to come through the doorway to be an impossibility he had somehow grown used to over the past several days.

A single red ear made way for brown hair and then a second red ear, and then the rest of Dazai followed suit, attempting to saunter into the office and take to his place without being noticed, by the seems of it.

"Dazai."

Dazai froze, and then turned- no, first he flicked an ear in his direction, and then he turned to face him properly. Which was still going to take some getting used to. Ears - anatomy in general - wasn't supposed to work like that. It just wasn't. Not on human beings-

And there it is again, he thinks, catching himself for not the first or last time. Because Dazai, not that it should have even come as a surprise given how inhumanly irritating he could be, wasn't a human being. At least not entirely.

"Eh?" Another ear flick. "Did Kunikida-kun want something or did he just want to make sure I hadn't forgotten my name?"

Breathe, he reminded himself. Do not twist the damn fox's ears just because he's trying to deflect on purpose.

Because, he had to be. Dazai hadn't said a word about this to anyone in the past several days, and... even if no one else was bothered, even if no one else was wondering what was going on or felt concerned at all, Kunikida wasn't anyone else, and the entire situation was starting to grate on him.

"I don't suppose you could explain to me exactly where you've been for the past several nights?"

And there was the up side to the strange new body language. It was harder for Dazai to completely mask his reactions to things unless he used what he had somehow figured out the previous day about his newfound ability to use illusions - not that Dazai had ever needed illusions to make trouble in the first place - and hide his non-human features entirely. In which case it would go without saying that there was something he didn't want to to share.

"I could," Dazai said slowly. "But I don't see why I should have to. I'm not in any danger anyone needs to rescue me from, and I'm coming to work each day-"

"Not that you actually do anything that could be called 'work'," Kunikida couldn't stop himself from correcting.

"-so it isn't as if there's a problem, if-"

"You're late every single day, and we don't know where you are! I fail to see how there isn't a problem with this!" He cuts across Dazai's excuses and the next thing he knows, he's leaving a report half-written to stand up at his desk. "Do I really need to point out that there have been several times in the past few months when you would vanish, and you'd turn up some time later - hours, days, weeks - only for us to find out that actually, what we," and he was perfectly well aware that when it come to some cases, the earlier ones especially, "we" was mostly "him", "had assumed was just more of your slacking off was actually a serious incident that we should have been made aware of!"

The incident with Dazai getting captured and imprisoned by the Port Mafia back before the alliance - before, not that he had been aware at the time, Dazai had been in more danger than any other Agency member due to being seen by the mafia as a traitor. With that in mind, even with it being Dazai who was as slippery as the kitsune trickster he apparently was, it was nothing short of a miracle he had made it out alive.

The serial apple suicides. Getting shot right before the Agency and the mafia went into disarray. 

No one had even known where he had been or what had happened to him to even know that he had been arrested until much later, an entire period of time spent not knowing what his status was, whether he was alive or dead, to say nothing of if he had a plan.

At some point, Dazai's ears had flattened back onto his head, staring at him. 

"But I'm... I'm fine," Dazai was saying now. Weakly, as if he really didn't see what the issue was. Looking around, only to realise that the office had quieted down to the barest hush of voices, and only then in the direction of the clerks who had come back in spite of everything.

"Even if that's the case, it's still not something that I can stand to let lie, when I'm fine doesn't tell us where you've been."

Dazai has his mouth half open to say something else, whatever it is, but he doesn't get the chance.

"Kunikida has a point, you know." Ranpo, it seemed, was finding the conversation topic serious enough to put down the pastry he'd been eating, even if there were still crumbs on his mouth and fingers. "We're not asking you to come back, if that's what you're worried about."

"We aren't-? I for one would much prefer it if he did come back! At least then-"

"No, we're not. He's a fox, Kunikida. You can't make foxes go where they don't want to go. If Dazai's fine where he is, then he's fine where he is - but at the same time, like I said. You've got a point, because we don't know where he's been."

The last was aimed directly at Dazai himself, with all the authority of Ranpo's extra years and - apparently - extra experience in terms of other matters, that Kunikida had learned during the latter part of the previous day.

"And what if I don't want to tell anyone where I'm staying?"

"Then I'd say you're being a selfish brat," Kunikida ground out, taking only some small amount of satisfaction in the way that Dazai's eyes widened, and he backed away a step, seeming for all the world as though he was just giving them all the same bratty attitude as always - if it weren't for how his ears and tail were quivering like a cornered dog. Which Dazai himself didn't seem to even be aware of.

He sighed, hand pinching the bridge of his nose and then re-adjusting his glasses.

It takes only a few paces to get around his desk - leaving the half-finished report still staring back at him from his computer screen, and wasn't that just like Dazai to interrupt his work even when it wasn't on purpose - and find the filing cabinet with the forms that he knows have rarely had any use, and perhaps that should be fixed, and for more than just Dazai, but with the way everyone in the Agency is... they'd simply never gotten around to it, and for one good reason.

"Kunikida-kun, what are you...?"

"Most of the agents tend not to bother with these, but that's usually because it's seen as unnecessary. The Director doesn't enforce it for the same reason. Would you care to guess what that is?"

"Because it's boring?"

"Because everyone else lives in the same place. The Agency's dorms mean that it's harder for something to just plain happen when no one is watching or aware. And if something happens, we all know- and because we all know, there's no need to contact anyone else." He pulled out the form that he'd been searching for. "If you really aren't coming back, you could at least fill that in."

"...you want to put my new address on the system," Dazai said after a full minute of reading the thing. "I can't do that."

"Dazai-!"

It confirmed his rising suspicions that there was a new address involved, that Dazai hadn't simply not been returning back to the dorms for any other reason, but the outright refusal-

"He's gonna need the next one, Kunikida," he heard, Ranpo's voice pulling him back from the brink of outright throttling his infuriating partner. The next one. Of course he had thought of that, but who could possibly...? And yet, Ranpo seemed certain.

So, out came the "next" form. The one that usually went with the first one. The one that he hadn't even thought Dazai would be able to have filled out, if he had just found somewhere else to stay, somehow. 

Something shifts.

Atsushi, who had been looking between the two of them with some level of anxiety, attempted - and succeeded - to get behind Dazai to look past him at what Kunikida had given him. When he saw, the kid's eyes widened, brows rose, and then he looked first at Dazai and then at Ranpo.

"Oh," the kid said, "I get it. I never needed one of those because... but... d'you really think that person will..?"

Which outright confirmed that Atsushi knew who Dazai was staying with, that he was staying with someone, and hadn't told anyone else. Ranpo he could understand, because he was Ranpo - he'd probably been able to take one good look at Dazai over the past several days and could have figured how exactly what was going on without any help at all.

Dazai, meanwhile, just shrugged and folded up both forms, putting them in an inner pocket of his coat and leaving Kunikida to wonder if they'd simply disappear over the course of the day, or turn up with immature doodles all over them.

...

Dazai wasn't sure when the words come love, sleep had somehow turned into the sound of Chuuya closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes, or hearing him call out I'm home just like he had ever since his third night staying over. Because the first night had just been the two of them collapsing into bed together and not being sure who would still be there come morning, and the second hadn't really been expected-

But somehow, somewhere along the way, Chuuya has been letting him make himself at home.

There's his own sleeping yukata waiting on the bed, since it's more comfortable now than pyjamas, and his toothbrush is in Chuuya's bathroom. Chuuya has started to buy canned crab (again; he remembers when they were partners and Chuuya would just shove it in his face when he hadn't been eating at all, because he hadn't seen the point, and looking back it was probably the fact that Chuuya had wrestled him into it and remembering that there was worth being there for and paying attention to, rather than the crab itself).

The previous night, they'd somehow wound up with Chuuya sitting normally - more or less - on his sofa, while Dazai's head rested in his lap, half of Chuuya's attention on the reports he'd brought home and had brought out despite Dazai's protests, and half on Dazai's head, including his ears, which he knew were soft and, when he was in his more human form, by far more accessible than the only other fluffy part of him.

Especially with the fact that being a hanyou apparently came with sharp bits - claws, and teeth, and sometimes he could control them, but he couldn't always, and sometimes... sometimes Chuuya's furniture suffered the consequences. 

He kept expecting harsh admonishments, because he'd often caused less harm when he'd done things on purpose - maybe Chuuya didn't see it that way, but at least shifting all of his belongings an inch to the left just to see him come to work the next day covered in bruises had been harmless, as had been covering everything Chuuya had owned at the time with (unused) old bandages, just because of some insult he had wanted his partner to regret having made.

But Chuuya... Chuuya noticed, and made strange, odd noises in the back of his throat like he was trying to strangle something back there, and he'd breathe, and just... move on. He had to notice, when there were scratches in the upholstery and the carpets and the woodwork. Dazai had been on the receiving end of more than one headache-inducing tirade on how the chibi wanted him not to touch his things and not to damage any of his things, but now he had been-

Nothing.

The worst he'd had in response had been what he could only assume had been a joking suggestion that maybe we should get you a cat scratching post, which he couldn't imagine being much help if he did go through with it.

There was fur all over the place.

From his tail, but also from the few times so far that he had simply gone around on all fours, the novelty not quite having worn off. He still had a puffy soft coat that had plenty of fluff to spare, so every so often bits would just... snag. He wouldn't even notice most of the time. But it had reached the point in even just this long, less than a week, and no matter any of the other things-

Chuuya's home smelled of Dazai.

When he'd first arrived earlier in the week, it had been full of the scent of smoke and wine and freshly laundered clothes, as well as the barely hidden tang of old, dried blood and steel that came from his knives and that lingered in the doorway, and all the places that Chuuya would linger after a mission.

Now, the scent of kitsune followed into every room. The scent was still light, hadn't settled into the pores of the house, could still be exorcised with time and deodoriser, but there was something heady and frankly terrifying to the idea that this was happening, that he could tell that it was happening when previously he'd repressed everything so far that he'd barely noticed that his senses were any more sensitive than those of a human being who tended to notice a little more than most.

The entire house felt like potential, and two pieces of paper burned holes in his coat pocket. Despite the well-meaning intentions of his co-workers, they felt more like a threat than anything nearly as encouraging as they must have intended.

Except-

Ranpo had been the one to suggest the second form. Ranpo, who knew youkai better than Dazai, and who had a good nose like the cat he was, and who had meet Chuuya before. 

And Dazai... trusted Ranpo.

He just wished that he trusted himself - trusted whatever this was that he and Chuuya were starting together - even half as much.

...

The first thing Chuuya thinks when he calls out and doesn't get a response is that Dazai must have been out late on a case, or that he'd stayed at the dorms again, or... any number of things he hadn't felt the need to tell Chuuya about, never mind the fact that apparently they live together now-

But then he sees the shoes in the genkan, and that means that Dazai had to be in here somewhere. 

He thought, at least, given how quiet it was. Weirdly quiet, for a place that should have a Dazai in it. After all, Dazai didn't even have to have his shoes on to go out, and for all he knew, he might wind up halfway through the night and hearing scratching at his door-

He goes through the motions of putting his coat up, but he's still wearing his knife when he walks into the living room and the first thing he sees is that there's something on the coffee table, and he's already picked it up by the time he realises that Dazai's not just still here, but still in the room - not that he'd have noticed if he hadn't caught the smallest movements out of the corner of his eye.

Just a week ago, and a fox in my living room hiding under the sofa would be cause to grab the thing and throw it out as far as I could so it didn't come back, and now...  what?

He blinked. 

The words on the page he'd picked up without thinking didn't change, or rearrange themselves. And after yesterday, he half expected they would. That this would be some sort of new prank, and Dazai was on all fours just to make sure he could run off faster than Chuuya could catch him.

As far as he could see, it was just a normal form. The words were printed in black and white, on normal print paper. Hell, it was the sort of generic thing that he'd had to fill out just working for the mafia a few times, because no matter that they were a criminal organisation, gods forbid they didn't have their internal paperwork and filing systems in order.

So he knew what it was. He wasn't an idiot. It was just the context that was... 

Unable to finish that thought, he reached out mechanically to the next sheet of paper that'd been hidden under the first, and nearly drops them both.

Notification of Change of Address was the first one.

Emergency Contact Details was the second.

Both of them had the Armed Detective Agency's header on them, just in case he wasn't sure where they'd come from.

"Dazai?"

He's not sure what, exactly, his voice is doing, but it feels like he must have gone through several different emotions in the space of saying that one word.

Dazai whining normally is just something to roll his eyes at, because whatever he's going on about and making eyes at him for, is probably just something he could have handled himself if he'd only been bothered to deal with whatever it was earlier, or that's not actually a big deal at all but he's just being an attention-seeking brat about things.

Dazai whining as a fox is just a pitiful sound that he really... doesn't know how to deal with.

"Whether either of us like it or not, I can't speak fox, Dazai. You're gonna have to work with me here." He glanced back at the forms. They still said the same things. "I don't get... this."

He stared, mind blanking out the longer he stood there, hoping that if he just waited long enough Dazai would give in and explain what was going on. It was more than a relief when red fur wriggled out from its hiding place and jumped up onto the sofa only to be Dazai-shaped - or rather, mostly human Dazai-shaped - before he hit the cushions.

"Kunikida-kun got mad at me," Dazai said, and maybe if someone didn't know him as well as Chuuya did they'd think he was relaxed, but Chuuya could see the tension in his body and in all the ways he did and didn't know he was showing it. The way he wouldn't meet Chuuya's eyes, instead concentrating on something on the ceiling. "I haven't been sleeping at the dorms since..." he trailed off, and didn't have to finish that, since Chuuya already knew what he was talking about. "It's only been a few days, but given it's Kunikida-kun I shouldn't really be that surprised."

Which explained just about as much as it didn't - not enough.

"What... exactly, did you tell them, then?" No, that wasn't- "Why did you wind up with these?"

Dazai blinked up at him, and for a moment he was afraid he'd just wind up with a sorry-looking fox again.

"Because," Dazai half-mumbled quietly enough Chuuya almost couldn't hear the words, "I sort of let slip that I wouldn't be going back to the dorms." A blink, as they both stared at each other, and a widening of Dazai's eyes. "I mean - that I didn't want to- I..." He deflated somewhat, and brought his knees up, tail curling around himself and making him look far younger and more innocent than Dazai had any right to be, after all he'd done. "I didn't tell them where, or that it was you, though."

"Dazai..."

The name came out more as a slow exhale, a sigh than anything, full of emotions he couldn't quite put names on. At least, not yet.

Brown eyes narrowed, and then the next thing he knew Dazai was on his front, face in a cushion.

"If Chuuya wanted to say something all he needed was to say it."

The words that's rich, coming from you gathered at the top of his tongue, but he bit them off with as much patience as he could muster up.

A dozen different things he could say all went the same way. 

Usually, people don't move so fast. 

Most people don't move in so quickly.

We don't even know what we're doing half the time.

Or what we are to each other other outside of-

Come, love. Sleep.

"I thought... I guess I just thought that when you'd figured out who you were again, you'd just... I dunno. Go back."

"I thought Chuuya didn't want me to go back, or go anywhere. I thought Chuuya just wanted me to come back to him."

There was something about the words that was dizzying. Dazai was a fickle, changeable bastard fox who just left, who left and didn't care and who was... saying that he wanted... that he thought...

Chuuya sat down. Still holding the two forms in his hand.

Dazai lifted his head up, squishing one ear against the cushion in an odd way that didn't seem comfortable, but that Dazai didn't seem to notice.

"What... is this what you want?"

Dazai doesn't just stay. Dazai doesn't do anything without some sort of backup plan, or motive. 

He only came with me because I asked first, if the weretiger had asked first, that'd be where he'd be staying. Not here.

Just because I "called dibs."

"Chuuya's being particularly stupid right now." Maybe he was. But it wasn't like Dazai was being much better, and that made him feel more okay about the whole ordeal. "I want to stay here. Didn't I just say that?"

Oh.

In some dim corner of his mind, he realised that this would take a fair bit more than just this one form - not that Dazai would likely be all that bothered, because as long as his letters could be passed along through his coworkers, he'd just be lazy and not bother with it - but that... that could be later. 

He wondered, considering it was Dazai, what whoever had given him the second form had been thinking, when they'd thought of that.

"How much do they know?" he asked with a slight frown. 

There were some things that'd happened that night that... were the entire reason he'd half dragged, half carried Dazai into his home and let him get away with so much in the first place.

"Hm? Ah. Oh... that. I... haven't really told them," Dazai said, now picking at a loose thread on the sofa that wouldn't have been there if it weren't for Dazai's claws picking at it in the first place. It was almost funny. As a kid, he'd never even dreamed of having upholstery that wasn't at least a bit ratty. Even the best the Sheep had been able to get their hands on had holes in places, because the adults had taken the good stuff first. And then when he'd been half-dragged into the mafia, he'd gained an appreciation for how he'd been able to afford furniture that didn't even have a nick or scratch. Now here he was, and Dazai was tearing holes and scratches in everything- something he wasn't about to stop doing, either. The future seemed full of imperfect furniture, and the more he thought about that, the less awful it became. "Atsushi knows," Dazai was saying, pulling Chuuya out of his own thoughts. "Because he was there. And he knows enough to notice things. He's a good kid." Chuuya nodded along, because from what little he'd seen, he'd agree with that. "Ranpo probably does, too."

Chuuya scowled and shuddered at that name - that detective. Just because they were back on the same side again didn't mean that hearing the name and knowing that the detective knew - or even just suspected - that one sore spot of Dazai's right now wasn't rubbing salt into the wound.

"And you trust them?"

The more they talked, the more Dazai relaxed, his tail and ears twitching from time to time, and this time he even grabbed at the extra limb he'd gained in the past week, losing his hands in the fur.

"Neither of them have told anyone else," he said. "I might tell the others. Sooner or later. Maybe. Or I might just leave it and see who notices first."

"Whatever you want to do, really," Chuuya found himself saying. "They're your people."

People who Chuuya would end up interacting with a lot more than he'd ever planned on, the moment he's finished signing his life and what little remained of his peace and quiet away. But if Dazai didn't want to say anything just yet, then neither would he.

"Mm," Dazai hummed out. "They are." Dazai tilted his head. Chuuya wasn't even sure if Dazai really understood what he'd just said, how differently youkai saw their connections with people compared to normal human friendships. Then again, Dazai barely understood that sort of thing anyway. "So... you agree to both?"

"I didn't just let you into my home for shits and giggles, Dazai. Or to just kick you out the moment I felt like it." Dazai was still watching him. Waiting. "That's a yes."

He just hoped this wasn't going to come back to bite him in the ass in the middle of the day and a call from some poor Agency soul who'd drawn the short straw to contact him when Dazai starts acting like the brat he is just for the attention. It'd hardly be the first time he'd have done a thing like that.

"....Chuuya?"

So there was something else.

"What?"

"Talking of telling." Dazai was now wearing his serious face, although the effect was marred somewhat by the fluffy ears, and the fact that he was still holding onto his own tail on Chuuya's sofa. "About that. If there are going to be records, I want you to tell Mori what's going on before he has a chance to find out for himself."

"I thought you didn't want me to tell the Boss."

"And now I do. I just told you why. Are you going to do it or not?"

"You say that as if it'd ever be easier to not tell him something. Of course I will. Though if it weren't for the what I'd be making you tell him yourself - and you're still going to owe me for this."

Dazai had the gall to stick his tongue out, which just emphasised the effect of making him look ridiculous. 

"What's mine is yours, Chuuya."

"We're basically housesharing, Dazai. We're not married or anything."

He stood up abruptly, taking the two forms with him and neatly avoiding the - thankfully socked - foot that Dazai tried sending at him, and doing his best to look straight ahead at the kitchen instead of looking back. And wishing he hadn't just said that, or that he could just put his hat back on and hide his face without getting called out for it.

You've told him you love him already days ago, he thought to himself, inner voice calling him an idiot as he heated up the water for tea, and started the food prep because gods knew Dazai wasn't going to. Most people who share their house with someone don't sleep in the same bed as that person, either.

At this point, he didn't think he could tell Dazai to sleep in another room. And not just because it'd feel like a betrayal.

Dazai, who he knew damn well was a chronic insomniac... had been sleeping. Dazai had been sleeping, and he'd been doing so in Chuuya's arms, for the past couple of nights.

Not to mention, he... could hardly say he hadn't been feeling better for being able to wake up to fluff and fur and bandages and noodle limbs and the ever-present cool sensation of Dazai's ability nullifying his own.

...

Fukuzawa Yukichi took one look at the two forms that Dazai had handed him, from which could be gathered the exact home address and contact details of someone he knew to be a mafia executive, and then looked back at Dazai himself.

Dazai, who was standing there, waiting patiently with a purposefully neutral expression on his face.

For a moment, for all their differences, he couldn't help but be reminded of Yosano, and wondered how many times Dazai had stood in just that sort of way in front of Mori Ougai, to ask something of the man that in all likelihood should have been given freely, and without such worry or concern.

An ear flicked, and then went back to its alert position.

Only kids do that sort of thing, Ranpo had said to him just the other night about the way Dazai wore his fur, distressed but quiet. Kids and hanyou! I should've known before. But because it was Dazai I just didn't- but I should've known.

It wasn't often that Ranpo came to him with frustrations about not knowing something, and even less frequently about those things that concerned the non-human side of things. And now that he did, it was about a coworker. One of Yukichi's own subordinates, even.

He sighed.

"By the way that this is coming to my attention, it seems that this is more to inform me of something that has already been decided, rather than to seek my approval." The changes - the minute shifting of Dazai's posture, the twitches of his features - might have remained invisible to most, but to Yukichi, who had experience with reading far more subtle signs than this, the nervous tension was as clear as day. "Dazai."

"Director, I-"

"There is no need to apologise for doing what you felt that you must after what was clearly a stressful situation," although simply describing it as stressful felt like he was understating things, here, given what he understood had happened. "Or putting your trust in someone. I merely wish to know that the two of you have thought this through. Although the Agency and the Port Mafia are currently at peace, we are both well aware of how easily such a truce could be affected by events outside of our control."

If anything, discomfort he could see and sense in Dazai rose, but that was hardly outside of expectations given the subject and situation.

"You can trust that I wouldn't allow my living conditions to affect my loyalties, or to become a danger," Dazai said. In just as much of a carefully neutral tone as he had made sure to put on his features.

"Dazai, it isn't your loyalty that I am concerned about," he said, eyes shutting for a moment as he thought about all of the potential repercussions of this. In the past two years since his entrance exam, Yukichi had never once, not even since he had first been made aware of the boy's previous occupation, questioned that loyalty - never had he been given any reason to.

"In which case," as if that had been something they had needed to have made clear at all, "I can only say that should anything come up... Chuuya and I will need to deal with such things as they do."

"Then it seems that you have thought of everything already, and the Agency can merely do the best we can with regards to keeping the information that the two of us have trusted us with as safe as possible."

From Dazai's expression, that wasn't what he had hesitantly knocked on his Director's door and expected to come away with. That, along with the sharp but uncertain way that Dazai bowed his thanks and left, made him relieved at the quiet and privacy that enabled him to rub at his forehead, at the premonition of a headache as well as hoping that Dazai's situation turned out to help him – and that whatever came their way that threatened such stability that he had managed to find for himself didn't break him.

Then again, that was the reason he had built the Armed Detective Agency up around Ranpo in the first place, was it not? Not simply just to ease the burden on one boy and ensure that he was safe, but for them to support each other.

...

Mori Ougai watched Chuuya leave with most of his expression covered up by his hands still steepled in front of his face. He closed his eyes the moment the door closed, allowing himself to let out the breath that he had been holding in, which wasn't - quite - a sigh.

"I've started compiling an offline database of people in the communities who'd be good to have on side. Not even necessarily outright working for the mafia, just good to have owe us a favour or two."

That was what he had started with. And if Ougai were to be honest, he hadn't expected anything of the sort in such a short period of time. Granted, the list of names on the handwritten sheet of notes was small, and with the way things Chuuya had explained to him, no matter what he said or how he spun things, it would be more Chuuya that any of these people would be answering to, than him.

A minor note, and one that he was more than willing to let slide for one reason - that Chuuya himself was still loyal to him. Just as importantly, loyal to the mafia as an organisation. As long as that were the case, then there was nothing for him to be concerned about either way.

And then the bombshells had fallen - two connected pieces of information that he had known he would have to tread carefully with the moment he heard them, because of how he knew he could so easily break the two involved with one wrong move.

"There's a name that isn't on the list, Boss," Chuuya had said. "Dazai's got kitsune in him." Strong enough to be affected by the rules of these communities, evidently. And interesting though it may have been to have pressed on the matter and find out just how much, how strongly, and when either of them had found out this fascinating new development... said rules had confined him into a mere nod and a gesture to continue when he could see that Chuuya wasn't finished. "He's also moved in with me."

On the one hand, it would have been appreciated if he had been given some fair advanced warning to such a development; Dazai being able to potentially see whatever work Chuuya brought home with him was not a thought he liked to dwell on, considering his former executive's current mode of employment.

But on the other hand - it was hardly as though he could have stopped them, and nor could he now, if he wanted to.

It was as he had told Kouyou in reference to the incident in which she had been captured by the Agency; just like her, if Chuuya wished at any time to leave, then there would be very little that either he or the entire mafia behind him would be able to do to stop him. And with Dazai at his back... Double Black had been feared for a reason. From the picture he was beginning to paint of the youkai culture and mindset, the very action of opposing them only could end in a bloodbath.

Perhaps Chuuya liked to tell himself that he was as human as the friends he enjoyed socialising with, or even the body that he owed half of his very existence to. But the more Chuuya told Ougai of what to expect, the more his mind drifted back to innumerable instances that now made more sense, just as he was sure that the same could be said for Dazai's own behaviours. Even the very loyalty that made him so invaluable was merely a symptom of the whole, and now left him wondering just how much of Arahabaki was subsumed into being Chuuya's ability, and how much had survived in other means.

Questions, perhaps, for another time. Or at least to ponder privately.

In some situations, the most optimal solution was a swift strike, to act first before the opponent could so much as formulate a plan; in others, the only thing to do was to accept the way that the board had presented itself, and trust that things would sort themselves out in the most beneficial manner for all involved. In this case, the latter.

A downpayment in trust indeed, he thought to himself.

...

AN: If there are things that don't make sense in the Dazai-Chuuya section, there's a reason for that. You don't have the (full) context yet. 

(That’ll be shown in “Fox-Faced,” so please read that too. Although I’d love to know what you think it is with only this and the previous fics to go by~)

[jadeile-writes]

Fanfic Progress Update 55

Hey-o! I suppose I need to do a Fanfic Progress Update, since it’s Saturday! Stay tuned to the end of this post for a spoiler-y glimpse into the next chapter of Adventure gone Mini AND Hah! Our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest.

Current WIPs:

Adventure gone Mini

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / The Minish Cap

Summary: Sidon is given his very own Sheikah Slate, the first replica Purah has managed to make, and sets out to travel with Link with the intention of registering warp points for convenient travel in the future. However, when a malfunction shrinks them down to the size of bugs, and they meet little people called the Minish, they have to change their plans from “fun adventuring” to “getting out of this mess”. Not that those two have to exclude one another. Link/Sidon.

Progress: Chapter 35 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 26th of February. Chapter 36 is finished and will be posted on 18th of March. Chapter 37 has been started.

I post a new chapter every three weeks on Wednesdays. These updates always include a sneak-peek for the next chapter, slowly getting longer over the three weeks waiting period.

—–

That month of the year (previous known as The Dad Deer)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: Every year, for a single month, the Radio Demon gets… emotional. His antlers are in velvet and he’s pumped full of hormones that make him behave quite unlike himself: suddenly, everywhere he looks, instead of seeing fellow demons all he sees are helpless little fawns that nobody is taking a proper care of! Solution? Adopt them.

Husk, Niffty, Camille, Honey, and the rest of the older Fawns put up with their Mom/Dad’s nonsense every year, but this time there’s a new, rotten apple in their midst and they have to protect Alastor from this crook. Without Alastor knowing about it. As Husk likes to put it: “This is fucking bullshit. ...I mean fudgy nonsense.”

(Crack taken seriously. Gen)

Progress: The first chapter is finished! The second chapter hasn’t been started yet. I want to have at least three chapters written before posting anything.

This fic is co-authored by Maximillian!

—–

Hah! Our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: This is not a stand-alone story! This is a oneshot/drabble collection in the universe of “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife”. Read the main story before bothering with this one.

I decided to give my readers a chance to throw Radiohusk prompts at me, and had the Afterlife-verse as an option to set the stories in. Everyone liked that, so this fic is now a thing. Enjoy the extra mischief from these two dorks!

Progress: Chapter 5 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 13th of March. Chapter 6 will be posted on 17th of March, and chapter 7 hopefully on 20th of March. Hopefully, because chapter 7 hasn’t been written yet, oops. I do still have a whole week tho, so I’m very likely to get it done before the deadline, and it has been started as well. This story will have at least ten more chapters, but who even knows at this point. Prompts are no longer accepted, and I’ll need to make an announcement about that in the next chapter’s author’s notes, as I’ve actually received a few additional ones (that I still put in the list because I’m nice).

This fic is updated on Tuesdays and Fridays. I’ll post a sneak-peek for Tuesday’s chapter on these updates, and one for Friday’s chapter in a separate post on Wednesday.

—–

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to someday:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Rolling with it (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

Possibly worth staying for (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Experiment in Romance (Hazbin Hotel)

—–

That’s it for the WIPs! Here is the promised sneak-peeks into Adventure gone Mini and Hah! Our afterlife is the most hilarious bushwa, dearest. (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fic itself due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

Mini

Link grinned at Sidon, way more excited than the occasion probably deserved. He watched as a batch of Minish unloaded themselves from the mouse cart, and finally the person driving it signaled for the waiting people, Link and Sidon included, to come forward and board it. Why yes, after they had finished eating and gotten ready to continue their journey, a helpful Minish had stopped them and informed them that the mouse cart to the next city should arrive within the next ten or so minutes. Obviously they had chosen to wait for that instead, both because it saved them a five hour walk and turned it into a two hour ride, and because of course they wanted to try the mouse cart when the opportunity was there. Link had no way of knowing for sure, but he trusted that none of the Minish they had dined with were Vaatians; surely they would have caused trouble already if they were going to. So, sitting in the cart with them for about two hours didn't feel like an awful idea this time around, unlike the ride from the Capital to here would have been. Link and Sidon were guided to sit in the middle of the cart for balance reasons – Sidon was about three times the size of an average Minish, after all – and soon enough the cart was full and the journey begun. It was very similar to traveling on a horse cart, except for the fact that the ride was bumpier and faster, as the mice pulling the cart scurried along without the proper rhythm that horses were trained for. It was still a cool thing to experience and Zelda would no doubt want to try it.

Bushwa

It was quarter past midday when Alastor finally received the quiet notification from a shadow minion that Husker had emerged from his room and situated himself at the front desk. It was later than usual, but not unheard of, so he wasn't concerned when he dropped the conversation he had been having with one of the clients in favour of appearing by his sheik's side to wish him a good morning.

"Hello, Husker, my only sunshine!" Alastor said cheerfully and pulled his fluffy kitty into a side-hug. Husker hummed passively and leaned against him, which prompted Alastor to drop a kiss on his temple. "How are you this fine day?"

Alastor begun scratching behind Husker's ear while waiting for the answer.

Husker shrugged. "It's a day."

Alastor's scratching halted for a second and his smile dimmed in mild confusion. Husker sounded… off. Like he was just reading the words from a cue card without any emotion behind them. It was concerning, and needed to be fixed.

He widened the smile again and moved his scratching to the base of Husk's skull, hoping to get a better reaction from what he knew to be a sweeter spot. "Are hung over again? You sound a little unenthusiastic today. Have you eaten anything? Would you like a smoothie?"

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

AO3    FFnet    Purple Crayon    Ko-fi

[libralita]

Truths and Roses have Thorns About Them | Chapter 1

Next Chapter

Summary: The Marchen Tavern draws in many strange characters from all across Angielle and beyond. While it may bring wonder and mystery to those who stop, it does make keeping staff members a challenge. However, Fella Treslyn is up to the task of being the Marchen’s new cook. But is really ready to deal with all the antics it has to offer?

Disclaimer: First, I am not blind/visually impaired. This is NOT meant to be disrespectful or to be representative of the blind/visually impaired experience. This story was inspired by a blind contestant (and winner!) of Masterchef Season 3, Christine Ha. Second, I do not know much about medieval cooking or the time period’s cooking techniques. The food and techniques are based on modern techniques and also inspired by things like Masterchef. Third, this isn’t entirely accurate to the game's lore. For example, I imply that Delora wasn’t constantly watching Lucette as the doll because I wanted her at the beginning of the story. While I do change and bend things I also tried to stick to the plot of Karma's (and parts of Rumpel's) route with chunks of dialogue peppered throughout the story to keep the narrative similar.

Going to the Marchen was one of Dion Treslyn’s favorite parts of his job. He had been delivering grapes since the tavern opened. However, Miss Parfait was the only client who offered him a seat and drink before he left to finish his rounds. It was a warm summer afternoon and Dion was about to start unloading his cart when the back door burst open.

The irate man had blueberry pie all over his face. He tore off his apron and threw it at the back patio and stormed off.

“Oh, dear.” Miss Parfait said, standing in the doorway.

“Another cook,” Dion said, more as an observation rather than a question.

The Marchen was an odd place and tended to go through a lot of cooks because of its very strange patrons and employees. Dion did not ask many questions about the Marchen. All he did was deliver grapes every two weeks for them to make wine.

However, he did hear whispers that Miss Parfait was a fairy and that it was a tavern for the cursed to go. It would be possible for a magic-user to create food but everyone knew that the best food was created with two good hands.

The Marchen lost a lot of good hands.

“Two drunk men started a brawl over Miss Karma.”

“And there was pie involved?”

“Pie was involved.” Miss Parfait said a sigh in her soft voice. “Let me make you a drink, Dion.”

“Much appreciated.” He said, continuing to unload the several crates of grapes. He finished taking an inventory check and then went to go sit down at his usual table. He noticed Miss Karma in her usual spot, there was a very dark aura surrounding her. Probably not best to tease her.

He took a note out of his pocket and read it.

His cousin Fella had recently turned eighteen and now she was itching to leave home.

Hmmm…

“Miss Parfait,” Dion said as Parfait set down a drink for him. “You seem to be a cook short, but I think I might have an answer. My cousin Fella recently turned eighteen and she would like to see more of Angielle. She quite the cook herself. Perhaps I could talk to her about replacing your vacancy.” He took a sip of his drink. “Her cooking is as extraordinary as your beverages.”

Miss Parfait, tilted her head in thought. “Does your cousin have any experience?”

“Not much. She’s cooked for many family gatherings. And those could get pretty big. However, I think she’d be able to handle the Marhen’s patrons.” Dion said, taking another drink. If Fella wanted this job, he knew that she would be too stubborn to keep trying for it. “How about I tell her to come down for the weekend and she can try it out?”

“Alright.” Miss Parfait nodded. “You are always so helpful, Dion.”

“And you are always so kind, Miss Parfait.” He said raising his glass to her, swishing last of it down and then leaving.

~

Right before his delivery route, Dion would go to the post to check for his mail. He was not surprised when he received a letter shortly after his first one sent. Normally he would wait to read it but he decided to check it first.

Dearest Cousin Dion,

Dion smirked. Well, this was going to be good.

After speaking with Mother and Father about your proposition, we have agreed that it would be a wonderful opportunity. I greatly appreciate it. Please inform my future employers that I will be arriving at the Marchen this Friday and will be able to start as soon as possible. I will bring anything necessary and have my father send the rest if needed. I am certain that I will be able to persuade them to take me on.

However, would you be willing to take the weekend off to assist me?

Dion could already see a plan brewing in Fella’s mind of hers.

Again, thank you for this opportunity and I will see you soon.

Fella.

At the bottom there was more written by Fella’s father:

Dion—

Please read “speaking with” as badgered incessantly. Ophella is very excited to be able to do this and we a certain that her cooking will blow away the patrons of the Marchen. However, please make sure that she is safe. We know that you will look out for her but please make sure she doesn’t bite off more than she can chew.

Uncle Matthias

Well, it looked like the Marchen was going to get a new cook.

~

“Where is that new cook, Parfait?” Delora asked, they had finished up serving lunch and closed. Dion had promised that Fella would be there for dinner.

“Soon, Delora,” Parfait assured, glancing out the window and seeing Dion walking up briefly. She finished helping Annice with something and then went to greet Dion. She stopped when she saw the girl with him.

Fella had lily-white skin, red lips, and pale blue eyes. Her rusty red hair was tied into two tails by blue ribbons and framed her face with tight curls. She wore a matching blue dress with brown leather travel boots. She was almost a porcelain doll come to life.

And she had a wooden cane, she prodded at the ground. She also held onto Dion’s arm and was guided.

This girl was blind.

“Miss Parfait, meet my cousin Fella.”

“She’s blind?” Parfait cringed as Delora came over and glared at Dion who gave a leisurely shrug.

“She can cook,” Dion replied.

Fella stood up a little straighter. Trying to look more adult than her possibly eighteen years portrayed. “I am blind, yes. But I am quite capable.” She moved her bag and pulled out a wrapped dish. “A sample of my work.”

Parfait and Delora glanced at each other. Delora sighed and said, “Dear, even if your food is amazing, we can’t allow you to work when you’re blind. You could get hurt. Especially if you have no experience.”

“Then let this be my experience,” Fella said, holding out the food. “I have a learning curve. There’s no doubt about that. I’ll need to know where the food is and the layout of the kitchen. But I can do it. Dion has agreed to help me adjust.”

Parfait took the food and gave her a sympathetic smile. Then felt a little silly because she couldn’t see it. “We’ll at least try this.” She said, waving her hand a silverware floated over to them.

“Thank you,” Fella said bowing her head and then said. “My family raised a lot of cows, so I like cooking meats. So I made grilled steak with vegetables. Please enjoy.”

Parfait and Delora sat down and divided the food. They both took a bite at the same time. Parfait covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t remember the last time she tasted something so good. It was seasoned beautifully and juicy. Parfait looked over at Delora and even she seemed impressed.

“This is…quite good,” Delora said. “I am impressed.”

“Yes.” Parfait agreed. “You are quite talented.”

Fella clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head again. “Then perhaps you will give me a chance?” She asked.

“If Dion helps you…perhaps you could try,” Parfait said.

Fella grinned indicated that she took that as a yes and raised her head. “Thank you very much. You will not regret this decision.”

Delora glared at Dion. “We will have to deal with you and your little surprise later, Dion.”

“Would eating Fella’s food be considered repayment? As your fork is still moving as we speak.” Dion asked, Delora about raise another bite to her mouth but stopped to glare at him.

~

Alright, you have one foot in the door, Fella. The young woman thought to herself. She now held onto Miss Parfait’s arm while Dion graciously carried in her suitcases and bag. Though the taverner owner went at a good pace to lead her, she narrated every stool, table, and rug that was coming in their path.

Fella made her own mental notes establishing the stairs, about where the handrail was and the distance between the stairs and her room were. “Here we are.” Miss Parfait said and Fella could hear her starting to unlock the door.

“There is a bed, a wardrobe, a vanity.” Miss Parfait explained, Fella hurried the sound of suitcases being set down.

There a quiet moment and Fella quickly filled it. “I’ll start getting a feel for my room.” She said holding out her hand in the general direction she thought Parfait was in. “May I have the key.”

Parfait carefully put it there and Fella felt around her neck for a necklace. She expertly clipped it on. Fella thanked her and Miss Parfait promised to show her bathroom after she got settled.

“Dion, will you look at the kitchen?”

“You got it,” Dion said. “Call if you need anything.”

Fella gave a nod and waited until she heard the footsteps leaving the room. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. You can do this. She told herself and then stood up straighter. She untied her hair and then pulled all her curls on top of her head.

She first felt around the perimeter of the room. She felt where the door handle was and moved her hand against the wall. The wall had a smooth texture—wallpaper probably. Her hand ran along the wall and she used her cane to see if anything was in the way.

Fella’s cane hit something that made a muffled thump. She had come across one of her bags that Dion had placed near the wardrobe. She poked and prodded until she hit something sturdier. The actual wardrobe. She inhaled. It smelt of wood and was finally sanded to her fingers. Fella did this until she could locate her soft bed, the vanity, and then back to the door.

She went to her wardrobe and unpacked her clothing. At the bottom of her bag, there were several books. Well, it’s not like she would be looking at myself in the mirror. Fella moved them to the vanity. Perhaps Dion would read one to her before he left.

She should probably ask where the bathroom was located but she just wanted to go downstairs and prepare for dinner. She could tell how apprehensive the owners were of her. Miss Delora made it obvious but the way Miss Parfait doted on her, it was clear she was unsure.

I will just have to prove them wrong.

Fella took her cane she sat by the door and left. “Oh, excuse me.” Fella bumped into someone when she left her room. The voice was music to her ears. It was feminine and almost songlike. The woman’s clothes were soft and she had a lovely smelling perfume.

The woman put her hands on Fella’s shoulders to make sure she was righted. “My apologies,” Fella said, bowing her head before moving out of the woman’s grip.

“Ah, a new boarder. What is your name, darling?” The woman asked, walking by Fella’s side. “I am Miss Karma.”

Fella knew what she was doing. She was trying to politely try to help her. “Ophella. But I go by Fella.” She said, walking to the stairs. When she got to about the area, she grabbed for the railing. She was so relieved when she reached out and touched it the first try. Fella did not want to look like an invalid.

“An adorable name for an adorable girl. What brings you to the Marchen, Miss Fella?” Miss Karma asked as they walked down the stairs together.

“Work,” Fella said simply as they took the last step on the landing. Fella turned to face Miss Karma. “Would you help me with something?”

“Of course.” The woman said, gently.

“Would you take me to the kitchen?” Fella asked. Generally, people tried to help her. Some people were overbearing and tried to do everything for Fella. Miss Karma didn’t seem too pushy and Fella didn’t feel like calling out to Dion when she didn’t know who would be in the Marchen.

Miss Karma quickly agreed, Fella held out her hand and soft hands guided it to the equally soft fabric. The other woman seemed to be at the right height for Fella to comfortably be guided. “You said you were working at the Marchen?”

“Yes. I am its new cook.” Hopefully.

“The cook?” Miss Karma asked and Fella could hear a tenseness to her voice.

“Yes, I—” Fella flattered when stumbled into something. A chair?

“Oh, my apologies.” Miss Karma said, sounding concerned. Fella could hear the chair being moved out of the way.

“Fella!” It was the sound of Dion’s voice. “Relying on Miss Karma to guide you instead of your own blood? How hurtful.”

“I regret it. She appears to not notice the furniture.” Fella said.

Fella heard Dion laugh, Fella felt Miss Karma’s arm tense and so the shorter girl gently patted her arm. “It’s alright, I didn’t see it coming.” Dion laughs harder. “Oh, come now Dion, that wasn’t even my best ones.”

“Ah, but it’s the face on Karma that truly makes the joke,” Dion said and Fella heard his boots coming toward them. “I finished preparing the kitchen for you, Fella.”

“You will be cooking tonight?” Miss Karma asked. “Then…I will certainly have to come.”

Fella smiled, even though Miss Karma sounded as concerned as Miss Parfait and Miss Delora. Oh well. Another person to show what she can do. “Then I hope you’ll enjoy it and thank you for your help.” Fella respectfully bowed her head as she was taken with Dion.

“There’s a hook to the right of the door with an apron on it,” Dion said Fella felt for it until she felt cloth. She replaced the apron with her cane, using the small loop at the end. Then she put on the apron and retied her hair back. Fella would have liked to get her bearings of the kitchen a little more but dinner would quickly approaching.

Dion listed off the meat they had. “Salmon?” Fella asked. “They must have potatoes and asparagus?” Dion confirmed that they did. A plan started formulating. She asked Dion to prepare the potatoes. While she works on the fish. They were still whole so she would have to fillet them.

One laid out in front of her, it was cold to the touch as she ran her hand the length of the fish. First the descaling. Running a knife back and forth the fish. But she had Dion double-check to make sure that there were no scales. She cut against bone allowing the knife to be an extension of her right hand but using her left to feel where to cut. She made sure to get every bit of that fish off the bone. All that was left was to portion it.

She did this two more times, making sure to keep her area clean. Feeling and cutting until she felt they were right. She had 42 portions. The Marchen was a small tavern so that should be enough. She felt for Dion’s work on the potatoes. They worked together to mash the potatoes. Dion knew to let Fella do most of the work. If she was going to be working there, she wouldn’t have Dion to be by her side. However, they were pressed for time and she needed that support for now.

“We will be opening soon.” Fella heard Miss Delora’s voice. “Are you ready, Fella?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Fella said, retying her hair and then washing her hands. Burners were lit, all her seasoning was in reach and her food was prepared. “I am ready.”

~

As more voices began to fill the dining room, Fella felt herself begin to get nervous. She had cooked for a lot of people before but this was the first time she had a real job. You can do this.

“Two orders of salmon.” One of the servers called.

You can do this. Fella first put the fish skin side down on the hot pan. It made the right crack and sizzling sound. The sound and the smell calmed her. The muffled voices that threaten to overwhelm her faded away.

Some orders for other items came in but Delora and Parfait would be handling those. Fella began working on her sides, adding seasoning to the mash potatoes. She tasted as she went along, adjusting until she got it right.

Fella realized that it was time to plate her work. She reached below her and got out two plates first adding the potatoes. She flipped her fish to let it be kissed on the other side and placed it on top of the potatoes then vegetables on top.

Then Fella was at a loss as to what to do with it. “Dion.” She called. He moved her arm and placed it on top of something metal. She tapped it and a bell made a sound. He guided where to put the plates.

Fella felt like she had no time to wait to see what they thought. She needed to keep going.

~

She got in the rhythm, not needing Dion’s help for the most part. He would inform her if anything on the floor spilled but it was up to her to clean it. He was just there to make sure she didn’t kill herself the first night. However, he was mostly quiet and it went without incident. Parfait and Delora came in and out to check on her but she continued to work.

“One order of salmon, this one is for Miss Karma.” The server called. Fella reached getting another one going and found it was the last one.

Fella must have looked flustered at the realization because she heard Dion tell the server. “That’s the last one. We’re sold out of the special.”

Fella continued to work but…she had sold out. Fella worked on Miss Karma’s piece of fish. She made sure to finish the night well. Making sure it was cooked, seasoned, and plated to perfection. She rang the bell and let out a sigh when she heard the plate leave.

~

Fella finished cleaning up the kitchen, she could hear that the Marchen was mostly empty by now. Dion lead Fella out of the kitchen, the cool air hit her and it was almost surreal. She didn’t actually believe she cooked forty pieces of fish for total strangers.

“Fella.” Miss Parfait said. “Delora had to step out, she needed to…take care of something. However, we both feel like you did an incredible job.”

The younger girl felt her face turn red and she bowed her head. “Thank you.”

“And we would like to offer you a job at the Marchen,” Parfait added. “However, since your lack of experience, we’ll have to start with fewer menus items. We’ll discuss the menu later.”

I get to make my own menu!

“Thank you. I will be happy to do that.” Fella said.

They discussed a little bit about pay. Even with board deduction, she would be getting a nice bit of pocket change. When Parfait excused herself, Dion talked about sending for her things and teaching someone to help Fella so he wouldn’t be missing too much work.

“Miss Fella.” A feminine voice said.

“Ahh, the lovely Miss Karma,” Dion said, more for Fella’s sake.

Fella heard an annoyed sound coming out from Karma but tried to cover it as clearing her throat. Did Miss Karma not like Dion? “Miss Fella, I just wanted to say that your meal was truly wonderful.”

“Thank you, Miss Karma,” Fella said and then gave a small smile. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”

There was a pause and then Karma chuckled softly. It was just as melodic as the rest of her voice. “I will admit that I was skeptical but I don’t think being wrong has ever so been so delicious. So, I apologize.” She gave Fella’s shoulder a gentle pat. “But you’ve set yourself a high bar, Miss Fella and I’ll be holding you to it.”

“Miss Karma, don’t challenge her, now she’ll try to outdo herself every meal she makes,” Dion said with a chuckle.

Fella snorted. As if I wasn't going to try and do that anyway.

~

Despite being utterly exhausted, Fella could not sleep. Her body craved sleep and yet her mind was buzzing with events of what had just happened.

She sighed and got out of her bed. She still wasn’t completely used to the placement of things in her room so she felt around until she found her wardrobe. She put on a cloak over her nightgown and then slipped on her boats.

Fella quietly went downstairs and made her way through the dining room. She was a little impressed that she did it without making too much noise. She almost knocked over a chair or two but no one came down to see what was going on. Once she found the kitchen door, Fella slipped in.

The girl closed her eyes as she stood inside the kitchen and leaned against the wall. The back of her neck gently pressed against the wall hook. Her apron was missing to be cleaned for tomorrow.

And then she heard something.

Ching. Cling. Clang.

Fella pushed herself off the wall and made her way through the kitchen to the back door Dion had shown her. The wonderful cool air hit her. She breathed in deeply and smelled the wet grass and hints of flowers. She could hear the sounds a little more clearly.

Clang. Ching-ching-ching. Clang.

Fella paused. There was a forest near the Marchen that Fella desperately wanted to explore. Back at home in Bellview, there was also a forest near her town that she loved to run through. However at night, alone, without anyone to guide her back to the Marchen? She wasn’t that foolish.

Still, it was nice out and it wouldn’t hurt to explore a little.

Fella made sure the door wouldn’t lock on her the minute she shut it and then went outside. She moved until she found the gate. She just stood a little bit outside of the gated patio, the grass tickled her legs as she enjoyed the night.

Clang. Ching. Ching.

“Hey…”

Fella nearly screamed when she heard a voice. It was slurred and unfamiliar.

“You’re that fancy cook…ain't yah?”

“Um…” Fella said softly, taking a step back and holding out her hand to see if she could find the gate. Nothing but air. “Sorry, sir, the Marchen is closed.”

“Oh c’mon…” The man said and Fella could hear steps coming closer. “You could get me something for me…”

“No, sir. I am afraid I cannot.” Fella could hear her voice becoming more shrill as she continued to back away. She hit the cold iron fence. Fella frantically felt for a handle and when her hands felt something she desperately tried to open it.

Locked.

She didn’t know how big the fence was. Could she climb over?

“Hey, has anyone told you how pretty you are?” The voice was getting closer. “You look like a dolly or something.”

“Mister, please leave me alone. The Marchen is closed. Go home.” She said, a little louder, the stench of alcohol and grime coming closer.

She was about to just try to climb over the fence but a large hand pulled her away from the fence. “Don’t touch me!” She shouted whirling around and swung her cane. She felt her cane hit something and the man cried out.

“Little—Gah!”

Suddenly Fella didn’t know what was happening. She was grabbed—by someone else?—and she was pulled close to them. A firm arm wrapped around her. She was hit with the earthy smell of a forest.

“A-A sword?” The harasser said.

“How observant.” Another masculine voice that was rich and deep. However, she could hear a bite to the words as he addressed the drunkard. “I am not one to show mercy, especially to those who harm damsels in distress. So I’d advise you to leave.”

Fella heard feet moving but she was still being pressed to this man. And he was…pressing her face into him. “Let go of me,” Fella said attempting to leave the grasp but he was strong.

“Please, I don’t want you to…”

The man trailed off and Fella tried harder to get out of his grip. “I said let go.” She said, still struggling.

The Swordsman grunted. “Wait just a mo—”

Fella continued to struggle until she was out of the man’s grasp. Fella took a few steps back but she stepped on something—her cane—which led her to fall hard on the grass.

“Fella!”

“Just leave me alone,” Fella said, her voice breaking as she started to cry. She was angrier at herself than this man. How could she have been so stupid? And now here she was on the ground in her nightgown crying in front of a stranger.

“Fella!”

She heard the creak of the gate opening and Fella tried to get up. She felt small hands on her arms.

“Fella, what on earth happened to you?”

“Miss…Parfait?” She asked.

“Yes, it’s me. Oh, dear.” She said sounding like a concerned mother. “Let’s get you inside.”

~

Fella left the situation with scrapped hands, a bruised bottom, and one wounded ego. She explained what had happened to Parfait.

“Did you know the man who rescued you?” Parfait asked.

“I…” Fella thought about it, something did feel familiar about the Swordsman but it didn’t really click in her mind. “No, I don’t.”

“I see. He ran once I arrived.” Parfait said. “Regardless, you should not have gone out like that, Fella.”

“I apologize deeply, Miss Parfait,” Fella said, pursing her lips and hanging her head. She wasn’t going to cry again. She heard the other woman move, Miss Parfait sat next to her and gently took her hands into her own.

“Please just don’t let it happen again,” Parfait said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Fella said, bowing her head. “May I go back to my room?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Fella.”

“Goodnight, Miss Parfait.” She said, being lead to the stairs and going up to her room. She got back into bed sorer than she had left it. She tried closing her eyes in an attempt to let the sleepiness take over. However, something gnawed at her.

Fella hadn’t heard the Swordsman leave when Parfait arrived. It could have been the stress of the moment. Fella was crying and confused.

But she was pretty sure Miss Parfait had lied.

[demaury]

the best of me (chap.6)

Eliott and Lucas have never worked up the courage to actually make a move, and thus spent years dancing around each other without ever acknowledging their feelings. However, an engagement party gone a little too wild, an hotel room and a very bad idea might be all it takes to make everything blow up. (read on ao3)

I think we already did.

The words sank and Lucas’ heart sank with them. His fingers tightened around nothing as Eliott’s eyes trailed over his face, and then just like that he was gone, leaving Lucas to stare at his back while he was retreating towards the elevator. His eyes started to sting painfully but he felt his blood boil at the same time, as if his body didn’t know very well how to handle that new rush of emotions.

He found himself following behind, feet moving forward before he really got behind what was happening. “You’re right,” he said.

If all was lost he deserved to be honest.

He deserved to let go of all the things he had been holding back for years now.

Eliott scooted around, and Lucas’ heartbeat picked up as he fought as hard as he could possibly do to keep his voice in check. “Our relationship is a burden. It’s too much and I don’t think I can take it anymore, but it doesn’t have anything to do with you getting depressed,” he pressed on, speech rate going a tad faster. “What I can’t take anymore, it’s all those people who constantly walk over you and that you keep letting in anyway. They don’t deserve you. They don’t deserve who you are, they don’t deserve your kindness.”

Julien, Eliott’s first boyfriend after Lucille, considered that Eliott’s drawings and animal characters were a waste of time and potential and had no trouble to speak up his mind about them. The girl he had dated alongside that boy had dumped him shortly after the third one had left them, simply because she got bored from dealing with a heartbroken Eliott. Hell, even Eliott’s parents didn’t have the decency to respect his wish for privacy and had blatantly told a friend of their son’s they had never seen before that Eliott was psychologically unstable.

“I was mad. I still am,” Lucas said again, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips as he made an evasive gesture with his arms. “Seeing you with them makes me mad. Having to make room for them in our relationship makes me mad. It’s not- It’s not even because I don’t want to share you, I just don’t want to share you with people who don’t give a fuck, but here I am, doing that every three weeks or so, and I’m tired. It’s exhausting and it’s unnerving, and it has no fucking end, and the worst part is that I just don’t know what my spot in all of this is. I find myself searching for words to explain your boyfriend or your girlfriend that you can’t deal with them at the moment, and I don’t care if it makes me look like the bad guy, I don’t care if it makes me look like I’m the one intruding in your relationships, I don’t care because that’s what you need from me, but all I want is- all I wanted was to know what my goddamn place was.”

Was I your best friend? Was I your found baby-brother? Was I just another part of your polyamory thingy? These were the questions he was dying to ask, but none made it past his lips, dying in his throat instead. He wanted to be honest but honesty was fucking hard and he didn’t know if he had any bit of energy left at this point.

“What am I for you?” he insisted again, and his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. What was I, before you decided to cut me off?

Eliott’s eyes fell to the side, his shoulders hunching slightly forward. “Does it count as something if I can’t name it?”, he eventually said, barely louder than a whisper.

Lucas’ eyes widened slightly and the lump in his throat grew ten times bigger. “You can’t name it,” he repeated flatly. “You wear you fucking heart on your- you know what? Forget it. Nevermind,” he shook his head and took a step back. “Whatever it is, whatever it was, it’s over anyway.”

He fought the tears as he turned onto his heels and strode outside the lobby where Manon was waiting for their cab. Eliott didn’t follow him. He didn’t utter a word, he didn’t say anything at all, and Lucas didn’t stick around any more minute to wait for him to do so.

It wasn’t like there was anything else to add anyway.

*

It wasn’t 11 when they landed in Paris, and before noon when he got back home, crawling back there as if he had been ran over by a bus.

The ride to the airport had been deadly silent on Lucas’ part, but if anything he was glad Manon of all people had been there with him. She had seen him at his best and at his worst across the years; she knew exactly when to push and to stop. The way he shoved his sunglasses on his nose as soon as he exited the hotel lobby was enough of a signal for her apparently. She didn’t ask any stupid question, resisted the social pressure of providing useless comments and sweet nothings, and undertook the small talk with the taxi driver on their way to the airport without asking him to take any part in a conversation he barely understood anyway. If she spotted a few tears streaming down his cheeks, she didn’t say anything.

Two days turned into five, five days turned into a week, a week turned into two, then three. Life went back to normal, or what was supposed to be the new normal. Lucas wasn’t used to normal, although the gap between him and his friends had lessened over the last few years — no, he was used to weird. The consequences of that weekend abroad hit him like a truck launched at full speed when he realized, halfway through the week following their return to Paris that yes, he did break up with Eliott. They were no longer friends. And if by any chance Eliott eventually decided to make his way back to the French capital city, they would no longer hang out together, let alone text each other until ungodly hours. You could decide to remain friends with the person you had stopped dating (although it was a performance he had never achieved himself), but how could you decide to downgrade a friendship out of the blue?

The prospect of having to establish a new paradigm for his and Eliott’s relationship started to occupy half of his time and to take over his sleepless nights, while the other half was more than busy stressing over the new responsibilities stemming from the fact that his boss on vacations for two weeks meant he was in charge. The workload wasn’t all that heavier, even more so because of the summer holidays, but the tiniest task had him regularly stressed out more than usual. Needless to say, he had known better summers. A week exactly after their weekend in Spain, Lucas had the honor, as the future best man and an honorary member of the Cazas family, to be invited to the engagement dinner Yann and Nola hosted for their families. It was all good and delightful, really, until a particularly nosy aunt of Nola’s decided to set him up with Delphine, her niece’s very single maid-of-honor — the cherry on top.

The atmosphere within the gang was still a bit weird, leaving more than one of them uneasy, and it was the extended weekend of the 15th of August before Lucas heard about Eliott again — about, not from. As far as he was concerned, the last time they’d spoke was in the hotel lobby, and the last texts Eliott had sent from that weekend abroad still laid unreturned in his phone. Even his Instagram account had been dead silent since then, which hadn’t happened in a very, very long time, if ever.

“Emma wants to talk with you,” Yann said one evening. “Guess she wants to apologize again.”

Lucas glanced in the distance. “I don’t really want to,” he admitted with a sigh, “but I guess it’d look childish to keep her at arm’s length.”

His best friend studied him curiously. “I never thought you’d be…”

“What? The bigger man?” Lucas snorted.

“-I was gonna say chill.”

Lucas shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not gonna thank her either. Neither her, nor the guys. It was fucked up and it will take a while before I can consider myself over it.”

Yann took a sip from his beer. “No one asked you to laugh it off, it’s okay.”

“Yeah.” He paused and let his beer bottle roll between his fingers. “You were right. About me and Eliott. We didn’t know shit about what was happening. It was best for us to part ways.”

It still felt so incredibly bitter on his tongue. Eliott, who wore his heart on his sleeve, who fell for the first person who gave him attention and support and called it love after hanging out a couple of times and banging halfway through the first date, that Eliott didn’t know how to acknowledge their relationship. It’s not love, it never was, a voice repeated him every one and then, and after some time he had started believing it; it didn’t feel so alien. It just was, period.

“I never said you two needed to break it off,” Yann countered. “All I said was that you needed to figure things out. Put a name on it once and for all.”

“Well, we did,” Lucas waved.

He didn’t want to talk about it anymore and they easily moved onto another subject, which turned out to be the current intern at Lucas’ firm. The girl, Bérénice, was always slipping out to smoke outside, particularly since their boss wasn’t there, which profoundly annoyed him. First, because it was rude as hell. Her job was to welcome hypothetical clients and to answer the damn phone. Second, because she knew very well that although he was hired and he was older and he was in charge he wasn’t the actual boss and had no power to end her internship anytime soon. Third, because he had quit smoking two years ago and now he was dying to go back to it — all because of her, obviously, and not because of Eliott. She just had this ability to disappear in a blink, without a sound, and after nearly two weeks from that treat, Lucas was on the verge of strangling her more often than not.

That day was no exception. A Thursday afternoon overall quiet, the second to last day before his boss came back to work and hopefully knocked some sense into that stupid intern. Lucas had just gone to the archives to fetch a file he needed to complete a current work, only to find their shared office empty.

“Bérénice,” he called out, glancing around. “Bérénice.”

The only answer was the humming of the traffic down the street and Lucas huffed in frustration. That was it. He was going to deck her, he decided, and he slammed the file onto his desk. It sent a paper sheet flying, and then slowly falling somewhere under the table. Great. He hated his life so freaking much. With another huff to himself through gritted teeth, he postponed rushing downstairs to grab Bérénice by her ponytail (he wasn’t violent, okay?) and bring her back to her table work, and squatted down instead to fumble for the paper sheet.

He rapidly unfolded it with a quirked brow, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes stumbled onto the familiar outline drawn in black ink on the sheet. It was a familiar-looking raccoon, sitting alone on a bed, his black pointy ears down and a sad look on his face. Four words were scribbled underneath.

Three weeks without him.

What the fuck was that thing doing here? It was obviously recent, he couldn’t even doubt that it might have been an old one that he would, somehow, have forgotten about. The drawing wasn’t there when he had gone to the archives, which meant-

“Hi,” a voice said somewhere in the office, and it startled Lucas so much that his head snapped up, bumping it loudly in the desk above him.

He scrambled his way out with a wince, still holding the drawing. His eyes slowly climbed up a familiar pair of sneakers. Familiar distressed dark jeans. Familiar everything.

“What are you doing here?” Lucas asked, a little bit thrown off, as he rubbed the spot on his head while Eliott looked at him sheepishly.

“I, uh, I told your intern to go grab a coffee,” he cleared his throat.

Lucas snorted. “And of course she listened to you.”

Unbelievable, he was really going to deck her. He stood up, and after glancing at the drawing once more, he held it out with a quizzical expression.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Eliott said, biting onto his bottom lip.

I’m at work, Lucas nearly replied. Surely he could have found a better moment to drop by, like lunch time for instance. Instead he just sighed and put the drawing down on the desk. “Alright. Okay, but hurry up, please.”

Eliott swallowed and his eyes fell onto the ground with a small ‘okay’ before he started looking up again. “I should have written what I wanted to say,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Lucas apparently. “I’m sorry. For the way things went down in Spain. For the things I said. I just- I just felt like it was a fucking nightmare. Like I was losing everything.”

Lucas let out a little huff. “It’s not everything. I’m not all you have.”

“You’re a big part of it,” Eliott said again, brutally honest, and Lucas hated the way his heart softened in his chest, as if he was leaning into an invisible touch. “I never realized it bothered you how much I was unloading onto you. I think… I think I didn’t want to see it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door hanging wide open. “The first time I saw you, I remember, you had that… that big smile on your face and you were laughing with the guys, and, I don’t know, I just felt like I wanted to keep it on forever.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head without meeting his eyes. “I didn’t even know you and yet all I wanted was to protect you.”

Eliott’s eyes were impossibly soft, but there was a sad glint to them. They could go back to the way things were, couldn’t they? I don’t want to. He missed having Eliott around. He missed talking to him. He craved for his smiles and for his laugh and for his inspired comments on the beauty of this world out there. But he didn’t miss dealing with yet another fling of Eliott’s. For all he knew, there wasn’t anybody in the picture at the moment, which meant that Eliott had been single for at least a month, if not two. A prowess, if his dating records were any indication, which surely wouldn’t last much longer than that.

“You still haven’t given me a definition of what we are,” Lucas said.

“What we are, what we used to be- Does it matter?” Eliott asked. “Does it matter if that’s not what I want us to be?”

This is so fucked up. Lucas huffed and shook his head, feeling like his chest was constricting. How many times had he dreamt about Eliott confessing his undying love when he was 16, before wrapping his head around the idea that it’d never happen?

“You’re almost ten years too late,” he had a sad laugh. “I liked you. I always did. You were so cool and confident and obviously so fucking far out of my league. But then we talked, and you were nice to me, and you made feel so at ease… I never wanted it to stop.”

“And why do you think I stuck around?” Eliott had a small, almost sheepish smile.

“That’s the problem. People stick around until they leave. They just come and go, and I didn’t want you to leave, ever.”

Eliott looked down. “But I left anyway.”

“But you left anyway.”

“So that’s why you never said anything?” Eliott’s voice sounded sad, and his face almost crestfallen, as if he had just heard a devastating news.

Lucas chuckled, still blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. Why was he such a cry-baby? No one ever cried as much as he fucking did. You’d think that he wouldn’t have much more tears to shed after all this time but apparently he still had plenty. “Nearly ten years spent trying to bury it all and look at me now! A fucking mess.”

Lucas brought his hand to his face and bitterly wiped his eyes. He had never thought he’d start crying in the middle of his work office but apparently Eliott had so fucking much power over him than talking for five minutes was enough to turn him into a babbling, stupid mess.

“A beautiful mess,” Eliott said, soft, almost light-heartedly.

Lucas looked up to glare at him, but before he could even do so, he felt two arms wrapping around him and pulling him closer, closer, closer, until he was pressed into Eliott’s chest. The tension of the past few weeks seemed to lift off his shoulders as he inhaled deeply, losing himself completely in Eliott’s smell. It was familiar. Almost like home.

A small knock on the door made Lucas startle and Eliott and him pulled away from each other. Bérénice was standing in the doorframe of the office, looking vaguely smug. “Sorry to interrupt but, like, it’s already 2.30,” she said casually.

Eliott cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “Right. I’ll just- I’ll just leave.”

Lucas stared, a little bit stunned and a lot emotionally drained, as Eliott threw a glance above his shoulder while walking out. A part of him couldn’t believe he’d just leave like that. He had no problem telling Bérénice to fuck off before, why would he be scared of her all of a sudden? What the fuck had just happened anyway? There had been tears and ‘I’m sorrys’ and a whole bunch of things he was fine with keeping to himself, and now- now what?

“Your boyfriend’s hot,” Bérénice commented, not looking remotely ashamed.

Lucas snapped out of his thoughts, but was a bit too lost at the moment to tell her to fuck off. With a mumble he rounded his work table and dropped himself on his desk chair, just as his phone was lighting up with a text notification. Lucas’ heart literally jumped forward in his chest when he read Eliott’s name. He had never opened a text so fast in his entire life.

Boyfriends

That’s what I want us to be

 I’d like that

I’d like that a lot

[rkivepacks]

TITLE: good dreams make you bleed Originally posted on: AO3/dtgloss Pairing: taekook/kookv/vkook (Kim Taehyung & Jeon Jeongguk) Rating: PG13 Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2,081 Trigger Warning/s: Swearing Disclaimer: This work is solely from the idea of the author. Should there be similarities with the works of other respected artists are purely unintentional. This also do not reflect on the real lives of the artists portrayed in this work. Comments, suggestions and any other concerns are accepted in my inbox. Thank you! 

Summary:  i made reservations at a restaurant and the hostess informed me about my company that has already arrived and hey it's you ???? au

Jeongguk is a painter by law. Babysitter by choice.

It started when doing commissions all throughout his junior and senior year of arts school became too much for an arts major to handle all at once because, as his mother once said when he went back home to Busan for a short break ‘you’re in the last two years of your college which also means things get hard and even harder. At some point you have to drop a responsibility or two if you still want to walk the damn convention center and get the diploma yourself.’

Commissions and extra money for better dinner and boba teas be damned. Jeongguk gradually had less commissions coming in and some days and weeks, no commissions at all. He had actual plates and actual student stuff he has to finish unless he wants to repeat his past mistake of almost submitting a commission as his final project.

Jeongguk is officially a graduate. Unemployed definitely not by choice.

The period where he was waiting for his graduation up to the present, the man was busy babysitting on the side, doing some commissions and having art classes for kids during month-long summer camps nearby. Although he hates kids between the ages of six to twelve, it will have to do if he wants to be all mighty and independent as all people born under the sign of virgos do.

“Jeonggukie, Sanhi kept on moving and now my lines are messed up!” One kid from his class that day wailed, pointing to his ruined drawing sheet.

“That’s enough. Sanhi would you mind saying sorry and then finish your work on my table instead?” He reprimands and gives the kid with the ruined sheet, Miri, a new clean one. Jeongguk helps the naughty little boy move farther as not to cause more chaos and goes on with checking the works of the rest of the class.

“Remember to clean your brushes before packing up!” He reminds the kids who thought nodding once or twice would be enough to let their teacher know they heard him.

Eventually he gets tired and sits at the corner, checking the time. Only 43 minutes left until class ends and he can go home and wallow in self-pity. He checks the notifications he didn’t mind during the early hours of the class and figures he can reply to some (hoping some of these were commissions).

From: Joon-hyungoo Jungoo are u gonna go grocery shopping today?? Let me know so I can do it Press 1 for more info.

From: unknown Good afternoon! This is the guardian of Haechin. Do you mind keeping her company for a little while? I won’t be able to make it on time from where I am now. I’m sorry for the trouble.

Jeongguk ponders for a moment before checking the time again, seeing that there are 22 minutes left.

Haechin is the little girl with different hairstyles adorning her head everytime she shows up and her Sofia the First bag she always carries that contains more packed snacks than school materials.

To: Joon-hyungoo Got held up hyung !!!! Can u do it hhhehehek

To: Unknown Hello! I’ll be waiting in the classroom with Haechin. See you!

Later on the kids were dismissed, their parents slowly coming in to check on their child packing up and cleaning. Jeongguk taught the kids that cleaning up the work area is important and all that shit. He calls Haechin over and tells her to occupy the teacher’s table as he cleans up the rest of the materials and his own personal belongings as they wait for Haechin’s guardian.

“Daddy!” Haechin explains and waddles to the door. Jeongguk looks over to where she ran off to, expecting the guardian who was always taking Haechin to and from the art classes only to see a different person this time. He opts to make the connection that this man must be the guardian in the text messages.

Jeongguk shortly wonders if the usual guardian getting Haechin from his classes was the mother or a babysitter. The woman could pass for a mother although she’s young and petite.

The man (in a suit. Definitely not a baby sitter because he doesn’t think babysitters baby sit in suits. Or maybe this is a different household with different house rules?) squishes Haechin’s cheeks to greet her and asks questions about her day before putting his attention to him.

“Hi! Thank you so much. I’m really sorry for this I could not leave for work earlier to make it on time here.” The man in suit who definitely isn’t the babysitter says, extending a hand to Jeongguk.

“Oh. No worries, I don’t have to be somewhere else after this. So. It’s okay, really.” He says, shaking the man (again, in a suit) that was extending his hand to him.

“We’ll get going, I guess. See you soon…” The man trailed off, realizing the two adults do not actually know each other.

“Jeon Jeongguk.” He introduces himself. “I’m the teacher… obviously.” He chuckles.

“Kim Taehyung. I’m Haechin’s dad.” The man in suit says. “It’s getting late so we’ll head out.” He waves and takes a hold of Haechin’s hand.

“See you tomorrow, teacher!” Haechin waves and Jeongguk makes the same gesture before muttering a “bye!” just loud enough for the two to hear. On their way out, voices that could only be attributed to the daughter and father duo in the hallway discusses what to have for dinner and the daughter replying with what she wants for her packed snacks tomorrow instead.

+

The shared apartment sounded eerily quiet and the locked door could only signify that no one was home as of the moment. Jeongguk makes his way to the kitchen only to find a cup in the sink that Namjoon or Hoseok probably used, and assumes that the two went grocery shopping and sending a silent prayer that they don’t miss something essential for Jeongguk’s daily routine (His fortified milk).

The sound of the passcode being punched in outside resonates throughout the apartment, signaling the arrival of the two and as predicted, the sound of numerous supermarket bags being carried into the kitchen. Jeongguk rushes to aid the older men in carrying the large bags before setting them on the counter.

“Why did you get home late? Didn’t I tell you that your curfew is only ten in the evening? Stop spending your lunch money on liquors and cigarettes. Study, Jeongguk.” Hoseok makes a big show of portraying a hardworking mother with a low-class financial background, Jeongguk being the deadbeat son.

“You’re so full of shit, hyung.” He deadpans before laughing at the latter’s antics. Namjoon goes straight for the coldest pitcher of water from the fridge and pours himself a glass, ignoring the usual banter of the two.

Jeongguk checks the fridge if it has been stocked up with fresh groceries (and to make sure his Hoseok hyung does not put another toothpaste in the freezer just because he can. The toothpaste tube ended up in the side of the sink for a whole three days to defrost and to properly be used). Jeongguk decides not to mention the nut tarts that are in the fridge that surely cost more than usual as it was a delicacy being sold in the local supermarket.

After a quick dinner all by himself as he got home late and the two already had their share of the dinner, Jeongguk retreated back to his room to check his other works in progress. One of his wips.

(“The fuck is a wips?” Namjoon asks, incredulously.

“Work in progress, hyung.” Jeongguk answers, half-annoyed his cereal was halted halfway to his mouth. “I thought it meant what in actual phuck.” Hoseok supplements, aiming to high five Namjoon across the table.

The three men laugh at the light joke over instant noodles for snacks.)

“Look at this baby… You’re only lacking a background and a few details, right?” Jeongguk talks to one of the paintings for a client. “Yes… I’m just going to save what’s left of these decent pants and I’ll give my full attention to you.” He sighs, walking over to his drawer full of clothes then to the bathroom.

Jeongguk gets back to his room with his face slightly wet from being washed and a few droplets getting to his top. With a soft playlist of live performances from various ballad artists from youtube, Jeongguk gets to work, opting to not do a grand background and only fixing minor details on the painting.

+

For Friday class Jeongguk had prepared his 17 students their own sheet of paper with a large initial of their first names covering the whole page. The students were bound to think they are in for another game that will surely get the whole class chaotic. Jeongguk promised to never again host another game (someone used a permanent market on the whiteboard that took ages to get off. He looks at the faint mark left on it). Everyone erupts in murmurs and Jeongguk listens to the crazy ideas of toddlers.

“We know how to do the alphabet though.” One wondered aloud.

“Teacher, why is my H bigger than Aehoon’s A?” One asked thoughtfully. “Teacher, Gonghoon wrote on the paper already!” Someone chastised his classmate.

“Okay, listen toddlers.” Jeongguk gathers their attention. Once settled, Jeongguk asks the little children to draw inside the big letters in order to describe themselves. He scans the faces of the children as some were left confused, some already forming ideas, and some were too busy folding the corners of the sheets.

Jeongguk settles to watch over the kids from his place, from where he can see all of them in one vision, with a rough overview of their artworks. Some dived in into work while some were busy watching the others work. He goes around at some point to assist students and to reprimand one for almost ruining a clean sheet of a classmate.

The class ends soon, Jeongguk signhs in relief at the realization that it’s the weekend, he can work on some commissions and rest. He tells all the children to clean up after themselves and to take home the unfinished work and finish it at home. Jeongguk cleans up the rest, only residing to his table once he has managed to fix the mismatched crayons to their proper boxes. He notices that Haechin is tugging at his pants, only the two of them in the room after having the other kids driven home by their guardians and parents.

“Is my daddy not here yet?” Haechin asks.

“Haechin, how about we draw something else? Your father said he’s having trouble looking for your favorite candy right now so he’s running late!” He comforts the child, although he also wonders who’s going to be at the door to get Haechin.

“Haechin?” A familiar voice makes way through the door.

“Daddy, teacher said you got me my candy?” Haechin greets his dad.

“I’m sorry I had to compromise so she wouldn’t feel bad.” Jeongguk rushes to apologize to the distressed father. He does not even know if Haechin is allowed near candies. Save him for panicking.

“It’s okay.” Taehyung smiles apologetically to the man before turning to his daughter. “Baby, your candy is so hard to find, I went everywhere for it but it’s gone?” The father consoles the little child.

As cute as the scene is in front of him, Jeongguk checks the time and he really should be closing his classroom now if he wants to make it home on time before rush hour picks. He tells the same thing (except for the getting home because his car’s coding hits on Fridays so he takes the public transportation) and the father and daughter duo rushes to get home but not before apologizing profusely courtesy of the man.

Haechin waves at him and he manages to choke out a “don’t forget your homework!” and the father smiles at him before the two disappears behind the door.

That night Jeongguk stays up in front of his laptop, using it as a heater on his lap as he browse through his emails and blog. An email confirming a dinner meeting with a new client was opened up to a new window, the secretary of the client of his informing him the details for tomorrow night (as it is the only available time for the busy man, apparently).

+

[end]

[See all works here]

[readbeneaththelines]

Love Hurts Pt. 1

A/N: This is a Re-Edit of a collab I did with @beautifulseoulliar a while back. I am re-editing it to share with my lovelies that love BTS. This is a multi P.O.V. Each person will be mentioned before their part. This is Angsty AF, but I loved writing it. Hope you all enjoy, and get ready, It’s a Long Ass Ride!

Synopsis: Yoongi is a tattoo artist with a broken past. Namjoon is the innocent college boy that is about to learn a few lessons. Will Namjoon teach Yoongi that love is still possible, or will he regret ever meeting the mysterious daangerous Yoongi?

Characters: Tattoo Artist!Yoongi x College Student!Namjoon

Warnings: Angst, Smut, BDSM scenerios, broken Yoongi (is that a warning?), some fluff, and I’m sure there are others (please let me know if I need to add some)

Word Count: 4690

ccr to gif owner

(Namjoon)

They say that you should never wonder on a bad day how it could possibly get worse. I guess I should have remembered that as I was trudging home, cursing waking up this morning. My day had started off bad- a missed alarm, which meant I was forced to watch from a block away as the bus drove away without me. It had simply snowballed from there, with a missing paper-laying at home on my desk, right where I’d left it so I wouldn’t forget it- to detention during last period because of the forgotten paper. I mutter under my breath, wondering just how bad it was going to get.

And of course, the clouds just had to open up on me several blocks from home. I shiver as the wind whipped past me, seeming to try and push me back. If you’d told me at this point that wind gods were trying to keep me out in the elements for as long as they could, I wouldn’t have been surprised. 

When I finally get home, I unlock the door, slightly amazed that the key doesn’t break in the lock, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me. The apartment is quiet, the only sound the slight tink of the sink dripping in the kitchen. I sigh, relieved that Hoseok isn’t home right now. As much as I love him-he is my best friend, after all, and has been since we were kids- I don’t feel like being bombarded with questions right now. 

I toe off my shoes and drop my soaked bookbag by the door, padding across the living room and up the step to my bedroom door. Flinging it open, I enter my room, not bothering to shut the door as I strip out of my wet clothes. My phone I rescue from the back pocket of my jeans, blessing Hoseok for buying me a waterproof case for my birthday. I toss it onto my bed, then grab some pajama pants from the drawer and slip them on. Then, gathering up my wet things, I carry them to the bathroom and dump them into the washing machine. Grabbing a towel, I rub at my hair, finally just draping it over me as I head back to my room. I lay down on my bed, grabbing my phone as I sink down, making myself comfortable as I unlock the screen with my thumbprint. 

1 new message. 

My head starts to pound and I feel my stomach drop to my feet as I open the message and read it. 

Joon, I’ve been thinking, and…

I can’t help the cry that spills from my lips as I bolt upright, throwing my phone as hard as I can across the room, where it hits my bookshelf and falls to the floor. I don’t know if I’ve broken it, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. 

My day has now been crowned with a fucking cherry-my boyfriend just dumped me. Bastard. Now what am I supposed to do? I lay back down, everything inside me hurting, but I don’t cry, because that’s just not something I do. Instead, I plan to just lay here and slowly die. 

(Hoseok)

Just as I'm walking in the door, I hear a loud crash coming from Joon's room as he screams.

What the hell is going on?

I scramble up the step, flinging his door open. He's lying on his bed, phone on the floor by the bookshelf, shattered screen and all.

I can tell by the look on his face, whatever was on that phone was not the best of news. 

“Joonie? What's wrong?”

I walk over, sitting on the edge of his bed. I lay my hand on his shoulder, silently waiting on him to talk. 

Namjoon's not much of the talking type, but sometimes, he and I can have some pretty decent conversations. We've know each other forever, having grown up in the same neighborhood. We've seen each other through some pretty fucked up things, but hey, what are friends for, right?

After several minutes of him mumbling and sighing dramatically, I was able to piece things together. 

So, his jackass of a boyfriend, who I hated anyway, broke up with him. All of this, after a day from hell, that he swears will only get worse. 

“Joon, my friend, what you need is a night out with me and some friends. We'll help you forget about today, what do you say? “

Pulling my best aegyo, I add with flair.

“Please, pwetty pwease? I Pwomise that you'll have fun!”

He finally agrees, only because he said my aegyo was on point. 

I call up my girlfriend, then my boyfriend, and a few other mutual friends and plan a night out to remember. Little did I know, that tonight would change Namjoon forever.

(Namjoon)

I didn’t hear the sound of Hoseok coming in the front door of the apartment over the noise of my phone shattering, so when he comes bursting into my room, I wince. He glances at me, then across the room to where my phone lays in shards on the floor. His brows crease in worry. 

“Joonie? What’s wrong?”

As usual, it’s hard for me to get the words out, especially when he sits down beside me, one hand resting comfortably on my shoulder. I bury my head in my hands and try to get it out. After a while, he seems to understand, both about the day I’ve been having and my boyfriend breaking up with me. 

“Joon, my friend, what you need is a night out with me and some friends. We’ll help you forget about today, what do you say?”

I peek through my fingers, studying his face. He grins at me, pulling out his amazing aegyo, which always works on me. 

“Please, pwetty pwease? I pwomise that you’ll have fun!”

I can’t deny that, so I nod reluctantly. Maybe a night out will be better for me than laying around the apartment. He whips out his phone when I agree, going out to the living room and closing my door halfway for privacy. He calls both his girlfriend and boyfriend, then a bunch of other friends, planning our night out. I half listen as I debate what to wear, deciding on something simple, since I’m not totally sure where we’re going or where we might wind up. I slip out of my pyjama pants and throw them on my bed for later. Then I slide into a pair of dark skinny jeans with large rips in the knees. A white t-shirt is next, and I complete it with a black-and-white striped jacket. I slip my tennis shoes on, run my fingers through my hair and observe myself in the mirror above my dresser. Not bad, but I decide to add one last thing, just because tonight I feel like I deserve it. I pull my eyeliner from my dresser drawer, where I keep it tucked safe under my socks. Lining my eyes makes them look even more amazingly cat-like than they normally do, and it’s the one vanity I allow myself. I know it gets me more looks than normal, which tonight I decide won’t be a bad thing. Smiling a little at my reflection, I turn to head out to the living room and join Hoseok. 

(Hoseok)

“Alright Joonie, let's go!”

We head out the door, walking down the street to meet with our friends. Namjoon is quiet, still sulking after his shitty day. Once we are all together, we pick a club with a bass, planning on drinking our cares away and dancing with almost anything with two legs. We decided on Le Queen; even though it's a gay club by nature, everyone goes there. 

The line was longer than the block, but we knew the owner. Shooting her a text, we were on the guest list before we got there. I really owe her a threesome with me and Chae. The music was blasting, sweaty bodies covering the dance floor like a crazed mass.

“Joon. Let's hit the bar first! First round’s my treat!”

The night was beginning, but I don't remember the end. Yeah for alcohol, right?

(Yoongi)

I really hate idiots. I hate dense idiots even more. I am trying to get the director in my company to see that I have to order the ink supply for the studio. My partner artists were running low, and they had clients coming thereat the end of the week. Our tattoo studio was about to open another shop and we still didn't have everything, which my director should know, but obviously didn't. Damn idiots. 

After spending three hours arguing with said idiot, I was ready to explode. I was going to be late to Le Queen, having to do body art on one of the dancers before her performance. I also really hate being late, so when I got there, I headed straight for the bar to get my drink order placed while I was getting set up. 

I was slightly, okay very, impatient, so I tried to ask the guy in front of me to hurry up. What preppy college kid would wear jeans and a jacket to a gay/Drag Queen club? Why would they be in this club anyway?  Tapping him on the shoulder, I was about to say something when he turned around. The first thing that caught my attention was his eyes. I am a sucker for eyes, they are the window to the soul, and I always want to search someone's soul. It's a way to keep them from trying to get into mine.

His eyes were cat-like, accentuated by heavy lines of eyeliner, that made them more mysterious. He was younger than me by at least a year or maybe two, innocent looking face. Aish, poor fella, going to get himself hurt with that face. But I had to admit that he had a strangely alluring pull about him. His hair was a deep red, his bangs slightly over his eyes. His lips were a bit plump, but not too overly plump, just kind of pouty.

Going back to his eyes, I focused on them while I spoke.

“Hey, I need to place my order, can you hurry it up just a bit?”

He just kinda looked at me, turned back around and kept ordering. Little shit, if I wasn't in a hurry, I'd be busting your preppy little ass. Finally he stepped aside, and I placed my order, telling them I would be backstage, prepping for the body art.

Preppy kid had walked away, and I caught sight of something when I wound up behind him. The way his body moved when he walked, those long legs stretching with each step in not quite a strut, not not quite a sway, but a bit of sass and and I couldn't help but follow him until I absolutely had to walk backstage.

Wonder if he can dance as good as he looked. I would have to wait and find out later. Off to paint some naked body now. 

(Namjoon)

Hoseok is his usual bouncy self when we leave the apartment, heading down the street to our usual meet-up spot with everyone he was able to call. As a group, we start our short walk to the club- Le Queen, a gay/drag queen club we’ve been to a hundred times before, and one of the few where I feel almost completely comfortable. Hoseok takes out his phone as the club comes into view, shooting a text to the owner, a woman he’s known a long time. I have my suspicions about their relationship, but I’d never bring it up. At any rate, the reply allows us to bypass the huge line, which I’m thankful beyond words for. I couldn’t imagine hell, but standing in line for hours after coming out to have fun might be comparable. As we entered the club, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was packed, as usual, which was usually a problem for me-I hated large crowds, but here it felt safe-there were way too many people for anyone to notice me. Hoseok turned to me, grinning, as most of our group splintered off, looking for a place to sit. 

“Joon. Let’s hit the bar first! First round’s my treat!”

I nodded, giving him a small smile, and we headed for the bar. He managed to order a drink and down most of it while I was still considering. Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned around, a little apprehensive for being touched. But what I came face-to-face with made my mouth go dry. 

To say he was gorgeous would be a gross understatement. His blue hair was something I was instantly jealous of-I’d tried it once with my own hair, and Hoseok had called me a mermaid for a month-but it seemed to suit him. His eyes were cool behind round, wire-frame glasses, and his white shirt hung loose on his slender frame, the top two buttons undone, giving a glimpse of a tattoo across the left side of his chest. He was probably a year or two years older than me, and he had an air of danger. In short, he was like my every wet dream come to life. But something in me recognized the potential for violence in him, and it both attracted and scared me. This was the kind of man I tried to avoid-the kind that could steal my heart by barely trying and stomp it into dust. I’d seen his kind before, even had a close call a time or two, and those had been learning experiences. I knew better than to do anything other than get out of his way, as soon as possible. 

“Hey, I need to place my order, can you hurry it up just a bit?”

His voice, smooth and dark as whiskey, had heat rising in my cheeks as I realized suddenly that I’d been staring. I blinked, forced myself to turn back to the bartender and choke out an order. At the same time, I was hyper-aware that he was still just behind me. I waited nervously for my drink, and when it was in my hand, I turned and walked away, without looking back. And, even though I knew it was a horrible idea, I couldn’t help but put a small sway in my walk, just a hint of sass. I giggled as I slid into the booth with my friends, keeping my head down until I couldn’t feel the heat of his eyes on me anymore. 

(Hoseok)

“There’s the Joonie I know and love! What’s got you so tickled?”

Namjoon joined us at our booth, a wide grin on his face and a giggle. I don’t like seeing him where he can’t just be happy and enjoy himself. When he gets like that, I know the only thing to bring him back out of his shell is a night out. Maybe even find him a one-night stand to get him over the ex-jerkface. Did I mention I hate his ex-boyfriend? Anyway, we finished our rounds, then Chae and Jimin went to the dance floor. I love watching them together, in more ways than one, but I digress. So NAmjoon and I are left in the booth, his eyes looking around, maybe trying to find someone he wants to hook up with for the night. I just sit back and enjoy the atmosphere. Getting ready for the performance tonight. There are a couple of Queens dancing and I couldn’t wait to see it. I was also itching to get on the dance floor, so I grabbed his wrist and drug him to the center of the floor. 

Man, can he dance too! Namjoon dancing, is like watching the sunrise after a storm, it enraptured me. He is fluid, graceful, and I would even admit, sensual. Everyone around us backed away, giving him room and just watched. He could get lost in it, and I was envious of him at times like these. When the music ended, he stood there breathless, and when he realized every eye was on him, he blushed and hung his head as he left the floor.

(Yoongi)

I started my painting, working on every minute detail she wanted me to add. It took my about an hour to finish her upper body, and I needed a break before finishing. I went to get another drink and stretch my limbs. I noticed people moving aside, their eyes trained on the center of the floor. I had to see what was so special that people weren’t dancing. I made my way to the upper level, pushing my way through some drunk people in my way. 

When  looked down, I couldn’t help but stare. The preppy college kid was dancing, and it was amazing. Those legs were… I can’t explain it. His body could hypnotize you with the way it moved to the beat. His muscles were taut under his jeans, his arms reaching out for miles. That red hair, already damp with sweat, hung over those soul catching eyes. When the music was over, he stood there like a statue, panting hard. Damn, I could make him pant harder. I shouldn’t be thinking like that, but I was. Funny thing was, when he noticed those people around him, he was suddenly shy. That’s not what happens to someone who can move like that. I had to tear my eyes away from him, but I was going to find him later.

I went back to finish my painting, but I just couldn’t keep my mind focused. Damn preppy college kid, you better not leave.

(Namjoon) 

“There's the Joonie I know and love! What's got you so tickled?”

I flashed Hoseok a smile as I slid opposite of him, but refused to say anything. He squinted suspiciously at me, but didn't push. I looked around, eyeing potential one night stands, the alcohol and beat of the music making me feel a little more uninhibited. I caught him looking at me from the corner of my eye, and I turned to look at him. He tossed the remainder of his drink back, then slid out of the booth, grabbing my hand. I knew he wanted to dance, so I took another drink and followed him onto the dance floor. 

The dance floor was the one place I felt completely at ease, no matter how many people were around. On the dance floor, with or without a partner, the world fell away and it was just me and the music. My body swayed and dipped, and my head fell back, eyes closed. But I could still sense Hoseok near me, and I effortlessly kept him as my anchor. 

And then the heat of that stare was back. It was almost a physical touch, and it almost made me falter. I opened my eyes, looking around, body still moving, until I looked up to the balcony on the second level of the club, and the guy from the bar caught my attention. I felt a familiar spark ignite in my blood, and I knew without a doubt that if he made a move, I would be going home with him tonight. 

(Hoseok)

After we finished dancing, Namjoon headed back to the booth and I stayed behind to dance with my lovers. I had seen enough, and I was ready to take them both home and have my own fun. Asking Namjoon if he was ready to head out, he told us that he was planning on staying a bit longer, that boy obviously knew what I was up to so he was being nice and letting me have the apartment for awhile. He’d come later, after everyone was either gone or asleep in my room. And that’s why I love that boy, he knows me so well.

“Alright then, we’re heading out. Call me if you need anything.”

Giving him a quick hug, we were out the door in a rush. 

(Yoongi)

I finished the body painting, admired my work for a bit, then headed out to the club. I want to see the performance, I swear I do, partly, kinda. Screw it, I want to find preppy college boy and talk with him. Who knew, he could be a pretty good release for my stress after today and painting all night on a moving canvas. I scanned the dance floor, no such luck. Looking to the bar, I caught a glimpse of him in a booth towards the back. Good, he hasn’t seen me yet. I walk around the long way, making sure I stay hidden by the throngs of drunk people stumbling around and bumping into me. I swear, one more drunk idiot running into me, I will just have to go all psycho on them, and that’s not hard for me to do lately.

I make my way to the far side of the booth, sliding in beside him. I have just a few seconds to really look at him before he notices I am in his booth. He is pretty hot for a preppy college kid. This close, those eyes are extremely sexy. His jawline is perfect, and i find myself wanting to run my tongue over it. Shit, it has been way too long. That red hair gives his complexion a haunting paleness. It reminds me of coffee with almost too much cream, but you want it anyway. It’s smooth and flawless. The way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, make me want to make it bob for other reasons.

If he doesn’t talk soon, I may be having a one night stand right here, and not that I would mind that, but he probably would. Ah, he looks at me at last.

“Hey there preppy college boy. Names Yoongi, What’s yours?”

(Namjoon)

When the song ended, I made my way off the floor and back to the booth. Hoseok stayed behind, his hands on his girlfriend’s hips as she swayed to the music, and his boyfriend behind him, plastered against his back. By the blissed out look on his face, I knew that I’d be staying behind at the club while he took them home. It meant a couple more hours at the club for me, but I didn’t mind. At least my best friend was happy. Sure enough, after another half-hour, he made his way over to me, politely asking me if I were ready to go. Shaking my head, I told him to go ahead, I was going to hang out a bit longer. Winking at me, he took his leave. 

“Alright then, we’re heading out. Call me if you need anything.”

He hugged me, then headed for the door. I waved as they left, then sighed as I sank into the plush back of the booth. I was tired, and I really did want to go home, but there was no way I was going to cock-block my best friend. And even if going home didn’t hinder his ability to be with his lovers, it would certainly not help my mood to hear the three of them, with our rooms sharing a wall. No, thank you, that was something I’d avoid at all costs. 

I was so immersed in my thoughts that I didn’t even see him coming. Usually, with someone who has caught my interest as much as he had, I made it a point to keep tabs on them. Unfortunately, this time I let my guard down, and all of a sudden, I wasn’t alone in the booth anymore. Blinking, I realized he’d slid in across from me, and was staring at me intently, studying me. I have no idea how long he’d been there, but I could read the hunger in his eyes well enough. I had a feeling that he didn’t let people read him very often, but here he was, looking at me as if I were a particularly tasty treat. I swallow, hard, and his eyes follow the movement of my adam’s apple. When he finally speaks, the sound sends blood straight to my cock, making me half hard in an instant. 

“Hey there preppy college boy. Name’s Yoongi. What’s yours?”

As far as pickup lines go, it’s kind of cheesy, and I want to laugh, but I get the feeling that that wouldn’t go over very well with him. So instead, I shrug. It’s half a protective measure, half a flirt. I don’t know if I could even answer him if I wanted to- he makes me nervous, and being nervous makes it hard for me to capture the words I want to use. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks, suddenly worried that I may not be able to speak at all. And, suddenly reckless, I make a huge effort to answer him, for heaven only knows what reason. I know this is a bad idea, but I can’t seem to stop myself. 

“Namjoon”

 (Yoongi)

So, his name is Namjoon. And that voice, it's so soft. Not like soft soft, but just the right amount of soft. As I look at him, I can tell he's getting nervous, and I secretly want to warn him that he has good reason to be. 

I'm usually not as nice in the bed as I am in public, a few lovers have found that out the hard way. I like control, lots of it, and that innocence in his face tells me he hasn't been treated as rough as I like it. I hear my brain telling my crotch, guess you need to break him in. I really want to listen to my brain right now.

I feel a familiar stirring low in my gut, but if I plan on taking him home, I have a feeling I need to take it slow and play my cards right. Guess my little brain didn't get the memo, though.

“I see your friends left, need a ride home?”

(Namjoon)

“I see your friends left, need a ride home?”

A small, quiet voice inside me is telling me that accepting a ride home from this guy- Yoongi- would be the epitome of a bad idea. I usually listen to said voice- I’ve had years to learn that it’s usually the thing I should listen to when I’m making important decisions. 

And if there were ever an important choice to be made, this is it. 

I swallow nervously, his hot gaze staring me down, seeming to promise so many things I’d love tonight, but that I might well regret in the morning. 

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

I nod almost imperceptibly, then I say it out loud, just to make sure he knows I’m accepting. 

“Yes, I suppose I will.”

I readjust my body, acting like I’m relaxing, when in fact I’m more aware of him than ever, waiting to see what he’ll say. 

(Yoongi)

Nice! I get to take him home, but not to his place if I can convince him to come home with me.

I begin thinking, with my little brain, all that I could do to those pouty lips. I don't usually prefer the younger ones, but there is something about him that makes me want to break him. I really hope he's not as innocent as he appears, because that would make me feel bad if I cause him some pain.

I nod, getting up from the booth. When he stands up beside me, I find that he is almost my height and actually had some semblance of strength in his body. Oh boy, this could be fun. 

We head out, walking the short distance in silence. I wonder what he's thinking, hopefully the same thing I am. A one night stand, that's all I need, to get today's frustrations out of my system. Rough, hard sex, just the way I like it.

“So, college boy, your place or mine?”

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@min-shookga-yoongi @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi@trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 43

Codsworth welcomed us with customary fanfare, and Shaun was glad to be home. Nat was eager to tell him about everything he missed at school. Ellie was thrilled to have Valentine and I back, greeting us both with a hug. Some cases had come in while we were gone, which we decided to divide amongst ourselves in order to help as many as quickly as possible.

One case came from a sensible woman who was perfectly realistic about the chances of her husband being alive, but desperately wanted confirmation of his fate so that she could begin the process of moving on. They’d been travelling to Diamond City and become horribly turned around among the rubble and skyscrapers. Super mutants found them, and they'd been separated in the escape. She made it to Diamond City; he hadn't, yet. She described the location he was last seen and gave a few various identifying objects that might be found on his person. Valentine didn’t like the idea of me lurking through a super mutant camp without him, but there was a raider kidnapping that required immediate attention. He insisted I take Dogmeat with me, some excuse about spending a hundred years tracking people down on his own. So he went west, and I went east.

The location was the Wilson Atomatoys Corporate Headquarters. In my gruesome search, I frequently paused to find some sanity in the toy making business… only to instead discover the head of the company had secretly signed a contract to build mines for the military instead. It’s little wonder the world ended.

One employee’s name caught my eye - Arlen Glass. He was one of the cofounders of the company and was fired after challenging the secret military project at a board meeting. The name sounded familiar. I found his office; he habitually forgot his familial obligations, so absorbed was he in his work. He was fully cognizant of this, and made efforts to correct it… in vain.

I confess, I was distracted by Mr. Glass’s story. A pair of super mutants took me by surprise, but in my escape I stumbled, quite literally, over the arm of my client’s spouse. The rest of him was not attached; I recognized a ring she had described. I grabbed it and ran.

In my haste, I realized I had run east, instead of west. Fortunately, the raiders I was running directly toward were more concerned with the super mutants chasing me than a man and his dog. I did fire a few shots to get their attention and start the fight, but then hid as thoroughly as I could behind a pair of dumpsters, Dogmeat bristling beside me. I managed to quiet him, and together we made our way back to town.

I delivered the ring. I could think of nothing to say that would have been appropriate. How does one counsel a stranger after their husband has been eaten? The stoic woman thanked me, paid me, and walked away. I mentioned that there was a settlement northwest that could use another worker, guard, whatever she could provide. She thanked me again, and continued on.

Valentine hadn’t returned yet. I told Ellie to inform him I was headed for The Slog, I’d be back in a few days. I remembered one of the ghouls living there was a technician with a fascination for toy making. I'd found a holotape in the office of Arlen Glass. If this was the same man, he would probably want it returned.

To be honest, I’m not certain why this was so urgent in my mind. I could have simply waited until the next opportunity brought me to that area of the Commonwealth, but for some reason this burned in my brain. I’d listened to the holotape, of course. A heartfelt wish from a daughter to her father. Perhaps the memory of a different holotape spurred me forward.

Whatever the impulse, I needed to see it done. I stopped at the Railroad’s headquarters, even though I wasn’t on Railroad business. I was not in a mood for Goodneighbor. Deacon was surprised to see me, so I explained I simply needed a place to rest. Desdemona would not be completely dissuaded - as I was there, I might as well provide some information. The Railroad has shifted its efforts away from helping synths escape the Commonwealth to helping them blend in. Coursers are rarer than ever, so a synth’s greatest threat these days is the Brotherhood. Fortunately, so far there is no way for a Brotherhood soldier to know if a person is a synth or not, with one notable exception.

Institute refugees are regularly checked on by the Railroad’s agents to make sure they’re getting along in this new world without attracting too much attention. The Brotherhood’s patrols of the Commonwealth tend to spend their time fighting the things they should be fighting, such as raiders and mutants, but they’ve started making personal visits to camps and settlements. The trade caravans out of Bunker Hill are now occasionally stopped, just long enough for the soldiers to get a good look at the faces of the people travelling in them. They haven’t bothered the Minutemen provisioners yet, especially as one regularly delivers food to the airport, but it’s only a matter of time.

Desdemona wanted to know why the Brotherhood and the Minutemen were… tense. Some synths have successfully made themselves a part of Minutemen settlements, some have even joined the ranks. I explained that there was a conspiracy theory among some Brotherhood soldiers that the Lieutenant Colonel of the Minutemen is not only a synth, but a former Brotherhood Paladin who was supposed to have been executed but has secretly been alive and well all this time.

She was surprisingly skeptical. “A Brotherhood synth.”

“He didn’t know he was a synth when he joined,” I said. “He didn’t discover it until after the Institute was infiltrated. I suppose in a way it’s my fault, but I never could have imagined his picture would be on a list of missing synths.”

Desdemona blinked. Then she glared at Deacon.

“I totally mentioned this at least once,” he protested.

“You told me a Brotherhood soldier found out he was a synth and was now living in Sanctuary. You told me you were confident this was not a Brotherhood ploy to infiltrate the Minutemen. You did not tell me he was a goddamn Paladin, or the goddamn Lieutenant Colonel of the Minutemen!”

“That’s the Danse guy!” Tinker Tom added from his terminal. “Eavesdrop on some of their communications, every once in a while someone’ll say something about how if Danse is a traitor anyone could be, and then whoever they’re talking to will say stop being paranoid, and then they get back to the mission or radio silence or whatever.”

“So,” Deacon slowly reasoned, “if they’re on edge about their own soldiers being synths, then they’re on edge about anyone possibly being a synth, which is bad news for us.”

“Can we get a copy of that list you mentioned?” Desdemona asked. “The one with Danse’s picture on it? If Institute data is what the Brotherhood are using to try and find synths, then that’s what we need to keep hiding them.”

“I’ll have Sturges make a copy for you,” I promised.

“Good. I’ll let you get your rest, thank you,” Desdemona said.

I gratefully claimed a mattress.

Deacon volunteered to accompany me in the morning. “If Nick ever found out I saw you and let you go wherever you’re going without going with you, he’d be pretty pissed off.”

“Surely my partner’s ire can’t worry you that much,” I said with a smile at the thought.

“Are you kidding? Have you ever seen Nick Valentine angry?”

“Yes.”

There was a beat of realization. “Oh. Oh shit that must have been a hell of a domestic spat.”

“I’d rather not discuss details.”

“Backing off and changing the subject,” Deacon nodded. “So, you see the game last night?”

I laughed, “Deacon, why are you following me?”

“Eh. Nice to get out for a bit,” he shrugged. “And… if I’m being honest, which I’m usually not but go with it just this once, I wanted an excuse to spend some time with a friend, even with bullets and grenades flying. Which happens an awful lot.”

I was flattered. “Hopefully bullets and grenades will be minimal this trip.”

“Do I get to know where we're headed, or is it a surprise?”

“The Slog.”

“Not what I expected, but cool. Nice place. You know, I spent a month as a ghoul once, must have been ten, twelve years ago now? Hard to keep track. Scared the shit out of HQ.”

“I'm sure they found it unsettling to say the least.”

He chuckled, “This a Minutemen check-up, or personal business?”

“Neither.”

“Huh. Cryptic is usually my shtick.”

I smiled, “You invited yourself, Deacon. I'm glad to have you, but don't expect anything riveting to come of this.”

Mutants, ferals, and wildlife slowed our progress, and it was after sundown by the time we reached Finch Farm and decided to stop for the night. A man with a sniper rifle was sitting on the roof. I called out as he aimed, “Good evening, Mr. MacCready!”

“Holmes?” The rifle lowered, “What the hell you doing here, boss? Think I wouldn't show?”

“Not at all,” I assured him. “Did you just arrive?”

“Yesterday,” he clambered down, “Duncan's inside with the Finches. Abigail's taken to him, getting him to do little things around the house. Abraham and Daniel are gonna fix up a shack for us, give us a little privacy, make some more space. I guess their other son is a trader? Isn't around much.”

“Jake volunteered to be a provisioner for the Minutemen. There was some tension between him and his family. It's since been resolved, but I think he and his father appreciate periods of distance.” I turned to Deacon, “Have you and Mr. MacCready met?”

“Met? Not exactly, but I know who he is. Still killing people for caps, MacCready?”

“I don't know, you still pretending to be anyone but yourself?”

“Ah, you have met,” I said.

MacCready shrugged, “Nah, just recognize him from Goodneighbor. Different hair and clothes, same face and sunglasses.”

“Come on,” Deacon groaned. “No one else ever notices!”

“I'm a sniper, and I was sleeping with one eye open. I notice when I know what to look for.”

“Well that settles it, next week I'm turning into a girl just to throw everyone off.”

I chuckled at MacCready's confusion as Abraham Finch stepped outside, “Ah, Mr. Holmes! Good to see you. I understand you're to thank for our new guard?”

MacCready sighed. I smiled, “Let's save him some professional dignity and call him a... freelance soldier. He'll be making regular patrols once he and Duncan are settled, after all.”

Finch nodded, “And he'll get paid for his efforts, we've an agreement. Shelter and food, but also caps. I'll work out something with County Crossing, too.”

“Thank god,” MacCready muttered.

Mr. Finch returned us to immediate practical matters, “If you and your friend are staying, you're welcome to some supper. Not sure where you're going to sleep, though.”

“A chair or corner of floor will be fine,” I assured him.

“Just happy for a roof over our heads,” Deacon agreed.

Finch led us inside the small farmhouse, and made us feel welcome despite the cramped quarters. We traded news and gossip, shared a meal, and turned in for the night.

An early start the next day brought us to The Slog in the afternoon. I told Deacon there was a personal belonging I had to return, and would be back in a moment. He struck up a conversation with one of the farmers while I searched for a ghoul named Arlen.

I found him in a small makeshift workshop, muttering to himself as he tried to adjust a piece on a small mechanical horse.

“Excuse me, are you Arlen Glass? The toy designer?”

He stopped what he was doing, surprised. “I am. Where did you hear that?”

“I read about you in the Atomatoys headquarters.”

“Headquarters? Yes, I worked there once, before the war. I tried to go back, but the place was overrun.” He was suddenly excited, “Oh, but you made it out, didn't you? Tell me, was there anything left in the old stockroom in the basement?”

I was taken aback, “The stockroom?”

“There was a storage room in the basement, on the south side of the building. We kept some toys there for testing and product demonstrations.”

I understood what he was getting at, “Yes, I believe I did see some toys like the one you're working on.”

Mr. Glass was pleased. “After all these years... Well. Well, that changes everything. I'm sure I can salvage the parts I need from there, and more besides.”

I was still bemused by this unexpected exchange, “Parts for that toy?”

“It's a genuine Giddyup Buttercup,” he was quite clearly proud of this fact, “The 2076 special edition. Best toy on the market, before the war. I helped make them. A long time ago. Do you know why toys are important?” he asked hopefully.

“I must confess, I do not.”

“They help children dream. They let them imagine a better future, beyond this blasted wasteland. They give them hope. At least, they did before the war. They still can now.”

I smiled, “A fine sentiment. Mr. Glass.” I thought for a moment about leaving the past in the past, but I couldn't in good conscience. With a sigh, I asked, “Forgive the intrusion, but did you have a daughter?”

He was hesitant, “She died in the war. I wasn't the best father. Too old. Worked too much. In the end I... I never even got to say goodbye.” He turned back to the toy, “I've... seen a lot over the years. You just have to find a reason to keep going on. For me, it was the toys. It's always been the toys.”

“I think I have something that belongs to you.”

“Me?” I handed over the holotape. He was puzzled, but put it into a holotape player on his workbench and pushed play. As a woman's voice said “Go ahead,” he gasped. A young girl's enthusiastic “Hi Daddy” brought an anguished moan from the toymaker. “Marlene. Oh god, Marlene…”

I thought that perhaps I had made a terrible, cruel mistake, but he was transfixed. The voice of his daughter two hundred years ago told him he worked too much but begged him to find a good home for all the horses. She told him she loved him, and missed him, and he whispered responses in kind.

When it was over, he was shaken… but grateful. “It's been so long... I never thought I'd hear their voices again. You can't imagine what this means to me.”

“What happened to them?” I gently asked.

“We had an apartment, in Cambridge. I went to the office that morning, try to talk to Marc again. He'd sold us out to the military, using our factory to make weapons. I had to make him see sense. When... when it all happened, I tried to get back, but the city was in chaos. By the time I got home... there was only a crater. I lay down in the ruins. I... I just wanted to die. Instead... I woke up like this.”

I winced, and found myself admitting, “I lost my wife, too. For a time, I thought I had lost my son.”

“Then maybe you can understand,” he sympathized. “She was right, you know? I did work too much. And now... I'll never hear her voice again, never get to hold her, kiss her good night. All I have left are the memories. And this tape. As one father to another... thank you.”

I glanced around the small room, “You never gave up, did you? You're still working too much.”

He nodded, “I suppose so. We made toys. We made children happy. That's all that mattered. And as long as I can still do that, I will. It's the least I can do. For her. Here,” he retrieved something safely stored in a cabinet, “I was saving this for her birthday. All these years, it was all I had to remember her by…” He handed me a much smaller, perfect replica of the larger toy he'd been working on. “Please, I want you to have it.”

“I can't -”

“I mean it. And... thank you. For everything.”

He turned back to the tape. I left him to his memories.

“You ok, Detective?” Deacon appeared beside be and asked, quietly. “Seem a little shaken.”

“I am.”

“Which, ok or shaken?”

“Both.”

He nodded, “I get that.”

We walked.

“You know, boss, since we had the Big Talk, it's been easier to look at myself in a mirror.”

“Big Talk…? Ah.” His personal history. He had called it a confession. “I'm glad to hear that.”

He shrugged, “Thought you should know.”

“Thank you. Is that why you haven't changed your face lately?”

“What?” He laughed, “Oh, man am I overdue, but who has time, am I right? And with the Institute gone it doesn't seem so urgent.” We walked a little farther. “You still don't know if I was telling the truth or not.”

“I'm not sure I ever will. However, on this matter I believe it best to give you the benefit of the doubt until further evidence suggests otherwise.”

“Works for me. Just warm fuzzy feelings or did you do that weird deduction thing where you know way too much?”

I chuckled, “Simply the fact that every lie you've ever told me has either had a purpose, or been harmless hyperbolic flippancy.”

“... Huh.”

We returned to Finch Farm that night, and spent the day after returning to Railroad headquarters. Deacon didn't say much except to quip about the wildlife we encountered and ask questions about 'old-worlder' obsessions with tall buildings. Desdemona reminded me of my promise to share the data stolen from the Institute, and Deacon said he'd keep me informed if the Brotherhood started causing trouble.

I made my way back to Diamond City. Codsworth informed me Shaun was off playing with Nat, and Valentine was at the office. He reported that Valentine had been a bit “put out” by my sudden trip to The Slog. I thanked him for the warning and went upstairs.

I pulled the small locked box from under my bed. Valentine and Codsworth have never inquired as to its contents. I don't know if Shaun has even noticed it. I opened the lock and carefully pulled out one of the two holotapes inside. I did my best to ignore the other one. I've considered destroying it, but the idea that Shaun might one day need to know the truth stops me. The only other item is a wedding ring.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and put the holotape in my Pip Boy. I pushed play, and felt my heart cease and breath shake as her voice echoed through the centuries.

“Hi, honey!”

I expressed an interest in beekeeping once. She found it hilarious. It was the only saccharine term of endearment she ever used.

A baby giggling mixed with her laughter as she kept Shaun’s curious hands away from the microphone. “I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a father you are... but we're going to anyway.” She knew how much I doubted that fact.

I heard the front door open, Codsworth's greeting, and Shaun's hurried footsteps through the hall and up the stairs.

“Dad? What are you listening to?”

“A recording of your mother.”

He was surprised. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He sat next to me and leaned close. “That’s what she sounded like?”

“It is.”

“She sounds nice.”

I nodded, a bit disconnected from what was happening. “She was. Inspiringly compassionate, but just as forceful and stern when necessary. She loved you very much.”

The tape played to the end and he asked if he could hear the beginning. I let him. He marveled at the sound of himself as an infant.

The front door opened and shut again. I expected Valentine to join us, but… he didn’t. I watched through a gap in the floor as Codsworth hovered over to my partner, hesitating at the foot of the stair.

“Mr. Valentine?” I couldn't make out Valentine's precise words, only catching the word 'interrupt’ but Codsworth's response was clear, “Mr. Valentine. You are my master’s partner, and a second father to his son. You are a part of this family. I don't know what spurred Mr. Holmes to listen to that holotape after all this time, but I am certain he would welcome your presence. As he always has.”

Valentine ascended the stairs.

“Nick, have you heard this?” Shaun asked. “It's my mom.”

“I heard a little from downstairs,” he sat down on the other side of Shaun.

“In the Institute, they told me she died when I was a baby, but I don’t know how or anything.”

“It wasn’t pleasant,” I said. “She... never would have imagined everything that happened. She would still love you, though, very much. Of that I’m certain.”

Her voice was coming to its end. “But everything we do, no matter how hard... we do it for our family. Now say goodbye, Shaun... Bye bye? Say bye bye?” The infant Shaun found the idea hilarious. “Bye, honey! We love you!”

I ejected the tape and set it on the bedside table.

Valentine patted Shaun's shoulder, “Hey, Shaun, head down and pester Codsworth about plans for supper, ok? I’ve got to talk with Dad for a bit.”

“Ok, Nick,” Shaun obeyed. Codsworth took his cue and kept Shaun busy helping.

Valentine closed the distance between us created by Shaun's absence, “Can I ask what brought this on?”

“A conversation with another father. One of the men at The Slog survived when his family didn't. I found a tape his daughter had recorded for him. I debated giving it to him, why open old wounds... but I did, and he was thankful. It hurt, that was clear, but it still seemed to bring a strange peace to him.”

“So you thought you'd try?”

“I wondered if... I didn’t expect Shaun to come home and hear it, but I suppose it’s good he did.”

“You ok?”

I was not. “It hurts. God, Nick, it hurts.”

I gratefully fell against him as he put an arm around me. “Worth it?” he asked.

I took a breath and nodded. “It was good to hear her voice again.”

He held me in silence for a time. “You think she'd approve?” he asked.

“Of you? Absolutely.”

“Even though I'm not -”

“You love me, and Shaun, and that is all that matters. You and Watson would have gotten along well.”

“Watson?”

“Jane Watson. I introduced myself as Holmes when we met, she replied with Watson, and it remained that way through our friendship.” I sighed, knowing full well my eyes must have been red, “Good lord, how did I devolve into such an emotional mess.”

“Hell, Holmes, after everything you’ve been through?” Valentine softly chuckled, “An emotional mess is exactly what you were due for. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Ha. Thank you. Did you stop the kidnapping?”

“He's home safe and sound, though a bit rough for wear.”

“I'm glad you were successful.”

“So am I. Glad you were, too, even if you did take off without me again after.”

“It was important -”

“I know, I know,” he lightly squeezed my hand. “You know, Holmes, I, uh, wouldn't mind getting to know her, if you ever want to talk about her.”

I smiled, bittersweet, “I'll remember.” I kissed him and we stood. I secured the holotape in its box, and we joined our son downstairs.