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trustmypoison · 26 days ago

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Orbit - Act One

Y/N has a little problem and it’s that she’s literally never alone. She hasn’t known what a little peace and quiet is for nearly a decade. When her therapist suggests a wellness retreat, she expects to be bored to death and just maybe learn to like meditation a little bit. She does not expect to meet someone that she has an insane connection with. Too bad it might be too good to be true.

You can find the masterlist here.

Genre: medium au, a hint of soulmate au, heavy on the angst

Pairing: Minghao x reader (featuring therapist!Jeonghan, best friend!Junhui, and ghost!Vernon, with a tiny bit of coworker!Seungkwan)

TW/CW: *deep breath* a lot of discussion of death and moving on (or not) afterwards, grief, trauma (specifically regarding a car accident), therapy, meditation, hypnosis, sleep disturbances, psychic abilities, discussion of mental illness and treatments, and explicit smut. MDNI.

There are some difficult topics in this story and they are handled as delicately as possible, but proceed with caution if anything here might be upsetting.

Word count: 13k

The headphones aren’t working today.

They’re charged. You made sure of it before you left your apartment today. They’re also connected. You can hear the music just fine. However, you can hear everything else. So much for noise canceling, you think, huffing as you crank the volume.

The subway is busy this morning. It was your mistake, really. You usually catch the earlier pickup on this line, but you’re running late and so is everyone else it seems. Some passengers sleepily doze off. The man across from you has his face hiding behind a newspaper but you can tell his head keeps dipping and then sharply snapping back up.

Next to you, there’s a chatty group of teenagers, seemingly on the way to school from the looks of their uniforms. You’re only in your late 20s, but you can’t fathom having the energy they have at 7:30 in the morning without a single drop of caffeine. They chat animatedly. One slides a skateboard back and forth under his feet while he’s seated, and it bumps into your boot on occasion, not that he notices. The one standing to face them is probably only doing that because he’s gesticulating wildly as he tells a story. The punchline must be good because it brings the others to riotous laughter that earns glares from sleepy passengers, including the old guy eyeing them disapprovingly over his newspaper. You aren’t even annoyed by them, honestly.

It’s actually the Joseon era soldier next to you that’s annoying you. You swallow another sigh when he pokes you for the dozenth time since sitting down. Noise cancelling headphones can’t do much about a ghost trying to speak directly into your mind. Apple, Bose, Sony, Raycon, Beats, as well as a ton of lesser known brands - not a single one of them could truly help you with that and you’d tried them all.

You do your best to not show any reaction to the next jab of his boney finger in your arm. You’ve found it’s better this way. Most of them eventually go away. If you give any indication that you can hear or see them, they may never leave. That’s how you’ve acquired a few stragglers over the years.

This guy is persistent, though. Some of them have a good sense that you can see them, no matter how good your poker face is. “I know you can hear me,” he prods again. You don’t so much as blink, years of practice having prepared you for this painfully long ride to work.

Blessedly, the tin can you’re zooming in squeaks to a stop and you’re the first one to stand and get to the door. You don’t know if the soldier follows you, and you don’t look back lest you give away that you could see him. Life is much easier when you don’t give such a secret away.

The walk to your office building is short, only a few blocks and you make it just in time. Seungkwan raises an eyebrow from his desk. “You were almost late,” he says, like you don’t know. You have a love-hate relationship with him. He’s been your teammate for years now and neither of you sugar coat your conversations anymore.

“Almost. Cut me some slack,” you huff, tossing off your coat and grabbing your laptop from your bag. Seungkwan stands to meet you, since you both are starting the day with a meeting.

“I don’t cut anyone slack,” Seungkwan snorts. Though you can tell he’s just giving you a hard time, you give a look that must be a little sobering. “Rough morning?” He asks with a tiny bit of sympathy.

“Something like that,” you mumble, stepping into the elevator. “Let’s get this over with so I can have some coffee.”

You weren’t always like this. Until the age of 19, you were perfectly normal. You weren’t super outgoing, but you had a number of friends despite your spells of shyness. You had hobbies and played sports and were a good student. ‘Well adjusted’, is what your therapist called it when you had described all of this.

Then, there was the accident. You can’t think about it much. When you told your therapist, Jeonghan, that, he had just raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s hard to think about?”

His question wasn’t unkind, but you’d not grown used to his somewhat blunt technique in therapy yet, so it made you feel defensive. “No, because I literally don’t remember it. There’s a blank space of time from when I was driving and everything was fine to when I woke up in the hospital. Everything was normal, and then suddenly it wasn’t.”

Jeonghan had pursed his lips thoughtfully, drumming his pen on his notebook every now and then. “Do you lose spaces of time like that often?”

You’d sucked in a breath, trying to stifle the panic crawling up your throat. You didn’t want to be here anyway, didn’t truly believe in the power of therapy at the time and felt like this was a waste of time and money. You didn’t want him to scribble down a bunch of notes like a death sentence, or tell you you’re crazy and prescribe mind-numbing medication for you, or, if you were really honest about the things you had been experiencing, send you to a psych ward for an involuntary hold. You know you’d sound crazy and you didn’t know how quickly and severely Jeonghan would react to it. He was relatively new to practicing as a therapist at the time, but he was sharp.

So you’d shrugged, swallowing the panic and said, “Occasionally, but nothing like the accident.”

Jeonghan had, thankfully, just nodded and not clicked his pen to write anything. He changed the subject and you’d been thankful to hang onto your secret for a while longer.

The accident itself was straightforward, though you can’t remember it. At least, that’s what everyone told you. Your parents, the police, the nurses and doctors. All of them said it was just a tragic accident. You were driving home from college for winter break, your sedan packed to the brim with luggage for the month you’d be home, as well as presents, already wrapped with bows neatly tied around them. It was late at night and the road was coated in a full sheet of snow and maybe even a little bit of ice. Ultimately, it was the other car that slid first, according to police, but it doesn’t matter because it could have just as easily been you. Both cars ended up in a ditch and there were injuries on both sides. You heard there was also a death associated with the accident, but no information was ever released about the specifics.

But, devastating as all of that was, it was really the least of your worries. One minute you were driving with music blasting and another minute you were waking up, blinking up at the speckled tile ceiling of your hospital room. Your parents were frantic, asking you how you felt and what you needed. You remember feeling dazed as you try to make your eyes focus because nothing makes sense. Not the light because it was dark the last time you remember, not your parents’ panicked eyes, not the multiple IVs in your arm and the ache in your body, and not the old woman in a hospital gown standing just inside your open door.

You remember she looked sad, which is perhaps not an unusual thing for a hospital, but you remember tilting your sore head while you looked at her, ignoring the prodding and soothing that your parents were doing. She wasn’t asking for help. She didn’t look lost, exactly. Your eyes widen when a nurse walks in and totally ignores her, even though it seemed to you that she practically bumped into her as she breezed in. The nurse approaches you with a sweet smile, asking you how you are.

You remember narrowing your eyes at the nurse, anger simmering because the woman obviously needed something and it was rude to ignore her. “You should help her first,” you say, pointing to the old woman. The old woman shakes her head at you, and you start to understand why when your parents and the nurse turn and glance around the room, before looking back at you, confused.

“Who, sweetie?” Your father asks gently.

“The woman, right there,” you say, pointing to the figure.

Your parents look between each other, concerned, but the nurse shakes her head gently with a smile. “It’s probably the morphine. This happens all the time.” The nurse starts peppering you with questions. How do you feel? What hurts and how much does it hurt on a scale of one to ten? You answer all of these questions with a dry mouth because the old woman is still standing in the edge of the room, watching. She’s still there when the nurse gives you another dose of morphine and you eventually doze off again.

And it wasn’t just that one old woman. There were no less than ten mysterious visitors in just a few days in the hospital. You tried to talk to some of them, and some talked back, but most moved through the hospital aimlessly. You saw them in your room, much like the old woman. You saw them when you went for a walk around the floor. You saw them when you were wheeled down to the basement for an X-ray. You saw them on your way out to the car after you were discharged. Your parents would regularly ask you what you were looking at, like they didn’t see them too. And of course they didn’t. You just hadn’t come to terms with that so soon, head still cloudy from all of it.

After that, you were never really alone. Not really, anyway. Not even in your dreams could you be by yourself. You had to take a couple semesters off of school just to get a grasp on this new reality - to be able to sort out who was alive around you and what wasn’t. Or what emotions were yours and what wasn’t. Or what physical pain was yours and what wasn’t. There was often no rhyme or reason to it and you coped by yourself for the most part. You stopped mentioning things to your parents out of fear of worrying them, because you knew somewhere deep down in your soul that no doctor they took you to could really help. You kind of thought that not even a psych ward could save you. When you went back to school, you were antisocial, if only because you could never quite be sure that the person that was talking to you was alive.

That antisocial behavior carried into every other part of your life too, which is why, last year, your parents encouraged you to try therapy. They said it was okay to have a tight knit group of friends, but that a single friend wasn’t quite what they had in mind when they said that. Not that they didn’t love Junhui, but even they were aware that Junhui was only around still because he had the patience of a saint, despite your apparent 180 in personality. They thought you’d been flirting with depression or perhaps some other disorder that was causing this antisocial behavior.

You couldn’t tell them that you had a couple other friends too throughout the years, mostly because they were dead. So you took their suggestion and made an appointment, if only to be able to say you’d given it a shot.

You drag into Jeonghan’s office, plopping down on his couch, grabbing a pillow to hug to your body. He calls this your defensive position, and maybe it is, but you tell him that he should decorate his office so it doesn’t feel so cold. Then maybe you wouldn’t be so defensive.

Jeonghan gives you a wry smile over his computer monitor. “One minute,” he says. Jeonghan is not your typical therapist by a long shot, which is the only reason you still keep your weekly appointment. He doesn’t do the stuffy button down shirts, or the glasses he can peer over at you, or the ‘how does that make you feel’ bullshit. He wears jeans and a baggy t-shirt or hoodie every day, only wears glasses as a fashion statement, and just straight up tells you how he thinks you feel, encouraging you to correct him. You never thought you’d threaten to throw hands at a therapist, but you also never thought that a therapist would laugh when you said such a thing.

Jeonghan grabs his notebook and pen, plopping down into the couch opposite you. “So, how’s it going?” He says casually.

You shrug. “Okay, business as usual really.”

He nods but you can tell by the way his eyes sharpen that he doesn’t believe you and wants to be convinced. You see that look regularly from him. “Tell me about it. How was work? What’d you do this weekend? All that stuff.”

You sigh, because this is the part of therapy that you especially hate - the chit chat. “Fine. Just meetings and working on some projects. Nothing exciting. And this weekend, I ended up hanging out with Junhui.”

Jeonghan nods. “Good,” he says, mostly because he’s probably glad you didn’t self-isolate the moment you got off work on Friday. “What did you and Junhui do?”

“Just ordered dinner, watched some movies.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “What happened to going out this weekend? I thought we agreed.”

You raise a hand in defense. “That was all Jun’s idea! Not mine!” You had agreed to make an attempt to go out somewhere this weekend, just to get out of the house. But Jun had just shown up and made himself comfortable on your couch, and the night seemed to be decided. Could you have mentioned that you should go out? Yes, and Jun would have done it in a heartbeat. But you didn’t because you just didn’t want to.

Jeonghan adopts a smirk. “You’re feisty today. Tell me why.” You groan because you hate when he says that, but he’s waving you off. “Have you been eating like normal?” You nod. “Have you had any stressors, more than normal?” You shake your head. “Have you been sleeping?” You stall out before you can think of a good lie and your silence is deafening. Jeonghan’s smirk deepens. “Gotcha!” His smirk clears though and he’s serious. “What’s been going on there?”

You shrug, defeated. “The usual? Can’t fall asleep, can’t stay asleep.”

“Thoughts are too loud,” he muses, because he’s heard the excuse before from you. “What were you toiling over?” You don’t know what to say, so you purse your lips, blinking at him. Jeonghan lets a few beats pass and then sighs, putting his pen down and looking at his watch. “This is an early shut down, even for you.” Jeonghan stares at you for a second and this might be the first time that you’ve ever seen him hesitate to say something. Finally he says, “You know, you get out of therapy what you put in. If you don’t give me anything to work with, I can’t help you untangle anything. So what makes you constantly bite your tongue here?”

You snort humorlessly, because you can’t help it really. “I don’t know. You calling me crazy. You giving me medication. You sending me to the psych ward.”

Jeonghan blinks a few times and then puts his notepad and pen aside - a sign that this part of the conversation is sort of ‘off the record’. “I would not call you crazy, ever. It’s an unprofessional term in my career path. I can’t prescribe medications since I’m not a psychiatrist, so all I can do is refer you. And the only thing that warrants a visit to the psych ward is if you might be a danger to yourself or others, in which case I’d encourage you to ask for help.”

You blink at him, looking for any signs of deception but there are none. He looks incredibly patient and serious. He doesn’t even have a snarky reminder that the clock (and your bill) is ticking.

You think about how your parents worry about you. How Jun tries to ease you into social situations every chance he gets. How you don’t spend as much time speaking to living people as you should because you’re too busy trying to ignore non-living people. How you can tell that you come off as rude all the time, and it stings when someone says something about it because you truly don’t know how else to be. You wet your lips even though it doesn’t really help because your mouth has gone dry. You want a fix and Jeonghan is offering to help.

You squeeze your eyes closed as your mouth moves before you really know what you’re going to say. “Not to quote a movie from the 90s, but I see dead people.”

There are a few long beats of silence. You open your eyes to see Jeonghan’s widen slightly as he nods. A slow smile comes across his face. “Now, that’s something I haven’t heard before here.”

You raise a finger at him, pointing angrily. “I swear to god, Yoon Jeonghan, if you have me committed, I’ll be so mad.”

He nods with a smile at your threat, settling deeper into his chair. “No need for any of that. I can’t ask for a seance in the psych ward.” You screech and pelt the pillow at him. He deflects it, letting it roll into the floor, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine, sorry! Start from the beginning.”

And you do, or you try to anyway. He lets the timer run over and cancels his next appointment, saying that a breakthrough like this is worth it.

You’ve barely been asleep for an hour and you hear a little ‘pssst’ in your ear. Your eyes squint tightly, willing yourself not to respond. A little poke on your shoulder accompanies the next ‘pssst’. You sigh and hear the person chuckle. “I know you’re awake.”

You roll so your face is buried into the pillow, grumbling. “You are the most annoying dead person I think I’ve ever met.”

“I prefer the term ‘lost soul’. ‘Dead person’ sounds so serious,” Vernon says, plopping down to lay across the foot of your bed.

“I just got to sleep, you asshole,” you huff, curling up tighter into the blanket.

“You weren’t sleeping,” Vernon said simply. “You were working again.”

You sigh into your pillow. You’re working all the time, it seems.

You met Vernon in the hospital - surgery gone wrong, he said. But he got curious after he’d seen you getting wheeled out of the hospital to the car and tested it out himself. He found that he could leave the hospital, unlike a lot of other souls apparently, and didn’t like the term ‘dead’ very much if only because in a lot of ways, he’d kept on living life. He rode the subway often. He poked around in record shops. He liked to hang out in cafes if only to smell the coffee, though he couldn’t exactly consume it anymore.

Oh, and he’d followed you home to your parents’ house after you were discharged. You’d hobbled into your room late at night to find him lounging on your bed. He’d looked up at you from the book he’d claimed from your bookshelf and said, “nice room.” And when you’d moved into your own place, he’d let himself in there too.

He wasn’t there all the time, naturally, what with the wandering he liked to do. But he’d drop in with regularity. Sometimes Junhui would be over, none the wiser that Vernon was sitting in the arm chair in the corner watching TV with them. If anyone was going to hang out forever like this, Vernon was a good one to have because he didn’t make your life hard. He didn’t confuse you in social settings. He didn’t knock things over to alarm others around you. And he did give you privacy to be by yourself - or for you to try to be by yourself, anyway.

One night, a couple months after your accident, you’d woken up with a start in the middle of the night and Vernon was looking at you from your desk, concerned, Netflix still playing quietly in the background. “I think you were moving people on in your sleep,” he explains. He said he was in some sort of limbo and couldn’t see it exactly, but he could feel it. He said it was like a line out of the door when you dozed off, waiting to ask your open, relaxed mind for help. “You need to lock that down or they’ll bleed you dry.”

But you were helpless to do that when you were asleep, so Vernon had taken to calling it ‘working’. Over the years, he’d started to wake you up when he felt that others were taking too much from you. You weren’t getting valuable rest either way, but when you were awake you could protect yourself.

Still, you grumbled some more into the pillow. “My therapist told me to ignore you, you know?”

Vernon snorts. “You can ignore the others, but I’m special.” Vernon paused, quirking an eyebrow. “Since when did he know about your little gift?”

“Yesterday,” you sigh, rolling onto your back and propping up against the headboard. You’re resigned to not sleeping at this point, so you might as well look at Vernon while you talk.

“And he told you to ignore us?” Vernon asked curiously, looking at you from the foot of the bed.

You shrug. “For now. He’s going to do some research and see what techniques I can try. It’s not like I know anyone else that has this so-called gift that can give me advice. So, therapist it is.”

Vernon hums. “Gotta start somewhere, I guess. I’m glad you’re asking for help. I worry about you.”

You frown, because he’s said it before, and he’s not the only one. “I know. I just wish I could go back to what it was like before sometimes - when I was normal.”

Vernon seems to be thinking hard. “I don’t know. I’d like to think things happen for a reason.”

“But there’s no good reason.” Frustration bleeds into your words. “I got into an accident in the middle of a snow storm and now I’m some psychic freak that can’t determine what’s real and what’s not most of the time.”

Your foot gets tugged sharply. “Stop talking about yourself like that,” Vernon scolds. “Besides, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s not ‘real or not’. It’s ‘seen and unseen’. You just happen to see a lot more than the average person.”

Your eyes prick with tears and you throw the blanket over your head. Jeonghan calls you a professional bottler. You don’t like to react with emotion to much of anything because if you let something trickle out it will become a flood when the dam breaks. It feels like there would be no way to turn off the flow once you start to let it drip. Vernon has seen enough of your struggles so you don’t want to burden him with it tonight. Still, he pats your foot a few times in a ‘there, there’ motion, like he knows.

From underneath the blanket, you sniffle. “Are you sleeping down there tonight?”

Vernon takes the hint and you feel the bed dip next to you. He stays on his side like always, never encroaching on your space or making you uncomfortable. You wish you could be alone, but if you have to be with someone, Vernon is a good person to be with. He lets you doze off and only wakes you up one more time throughout the night when the line out of the door gets out of hand.

“This isn’t working,” you mumble sleepily.

“We’ve barely started,” Jeonghan says patiently from his chair. It’s been nearly two months since you’d finally told him your big secret, and he really had tried to hold up of his end of the bargain. He’d given you a laundry list of things to try, and urged to you to really put some effort in. His exact words for each instruction was, “Don’t half ass it, please.”

You have to admit, some of it you did half ass. The yoga and tai-chi bored you to death after only a couple sessions each. Jeonghan did refer you to a psychiatrist to discuss your sleep issues and this psychiatrist had provided some medication - which had been used a couple times and then stuffed into your medicine cabinet because you didn’t like how it made you feel. Journaling had been okay, at least in the beginning. You’d felt relieved to get the whole thing on the page at first, but the relief was short-lived and you hadn’t picked the notebook up in nearly a week.

Today’s experiment was meditation. Jeonghan had gone to a training for it and wanted to see if you’d respond at all to it. He turned the lights off, only a little sunshine peeking through the blinds, and had talked you into a ‘meditative state’. You’d snorted when he said that was the first step, but he pinned you with a look that said, ‘come on, work with me here’. So you’d laid down on the couch and closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing like he said. But, you were thinking that maybe you had only relaxed because it was dark and the couch was comfy and you were sleep deprived - aka nothing to do with his guided meditation.

“Tell me what you feel. Do a body scan.”

You feel your eyebrows pinch because his voice sounds soft and small and you don’t really know what he means by that. “What do you mean? Like physically, emotionally, mentally?”

“Any of it. What sticks out?” Jeonghan gently prompts.

You sigh. “I don’t know. It’s loud in here.” You’ve grown comfortable admitting things like that to Jeonghan because he’s really not treated you like you’re crazy a single time. When you make comments like that, he doesn’t look around or pause to see if he can hear it too.

“Sort through the noise, if you can. Get to you, not the others.” This frustrates you and you feel your body begin to tense up again. You haven’t been alone in your head since you were 19. You don’t know how to fucking sort through the noise. If you had, you would have already done it. “Y/N, breathe,” Jeonghan reminds. You follow the command, remembering that he’d asked you to trust the process. “Let’s focus on the physical for now. What do you feel? Pain, pressure, weakness, anything of the sort.”

Your eyebrows are pinched again because his voice is getting softer and you can’t figure out why. His office isn’t that big and you wonder why he’s whispering. Your mouth kind of moves before you realize it. “Neck hurts.”

“Is that you? Or is that someone else?” His voice is so quiet that you have to strain to hear it.

“Me, I think. It doesn’t feel like a… wound. Just an ache, like I slept on it wrong.”

“Okay,” he mumbles. “What about emotionally?”

“Confused,” you mumble. Jeonghan hums distantly, questioning your answer. “You sound really far away.”

There’s silence for a while and then finally, he says, “And mentally?”

Your breath catches, even in your relaxed state. It’s… quiet. Not silent because there’s still a low murmur, like there are people talking behind a closed door, but it’s so blissful that your eyes prick with tears behind your eyelids. Jeonghan calls your name again, asking for an answer. “Quiet.” You can hear your own voice for once and it sounds totally foreign to you. But you can hear it and it makes the tears pour.

You don’t realize that the light has clicked back on until Jeonghan shakes your shoulder lightly a few times. “Y/N, come back.”

It feels like you’re slamming back into your body and the rush of sound and sensation is overwhelming. You pop up and cover your ears with your hands. Jeonghan eases you to sit up, leaning your head between your knees. You’re a snotty, teary-eyed mess when you sit up. “What the fuck was that?” You don’t hear your own voice anymore, but you can tell it doesn’t come out right based on the scratch in your throat. Jeonghan silently hands you a wad of tissues from where he’s squatting next to you. “Jeonghan.” You press, wiping your nose.

Jeonghan looks pensive, maybe even a little bit anxious. It’s an unsettling sight to see on your therapist of all people. “This might be above my pay grade for now. But I have an idea and I need you to hear me out.”

You watch him stand, going to his desk and picking up a folded paper, handing it to you when he comes back. You sniffle, glancing up at him suspiciously when you take it. You open it and scoff, putting your head in your hand, crinkling the paper slightly in the other fist. “Why the fuck would I do that after what just happened?”

Jeonghan is sitting back down in his seat across from you, albeit on the edge of it, arms propped up on his knees. “I didn’t expect you to respond at all to meditation. A lot of people don’t, at least not the way you just did. If anything, most people get sleepy. But you… drifted.” He doesn’t seem to like that he doesn’t know how to describe it, like it doesn’t fit cleanly into any diagnostic criteria he’s familiar with. He nods to the paper. “Give it a shot. If you can’t get anything out of it, we go back to the drawing board.”

“Say you didn’t believe me until now,” you snap through the exhaustion, avoiding committing to the flyer in your hand.

“I didn’t. Not really, anyway,” he bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. He sighs like he’s hesitant to say anything more, but his exasperation is clear. “I was actually thinking about a schizophrenia diagnosis but wasn’t ready to mention it. You started presenting symptoms around the age that I’d expect - the voices, the visions, the breaks from time and reality. It was all checking out and I was starting to think the accident really didn’t have much to do with it. But that,” he points to where your head just was on the couch a few minutes ago, “was not schizophrenia. That was something they don’t teach in a psychology program. At least, not with any sort of seriousness. It’s all talk therapy for the most part.”

You hide your face in your hands - you did the moment he mentioned such a diagnosis. It’s not that you’d be ashamed per se because it would be nice to put a name to whatever this is, but you recognize the stigma around it if only because of how you responded to the suggestion. “I don’t want meds and I don’t want a psych ward,” you stress through gritted teeth. “And I’m not a danger to myself or others. But you probably think I’m crazy.”

“No, Y/N, I don’t think you’re crazy. You’re sound of mind in literally every other way,” Jeonghan insists sternly. “No meds if you don’t want them, and no psych ward unless something changes pretty dramatically. Just… humor me and let me research a few things while you’re gone, okay? I’m not giving up on you yet.”

You recognize that he’s teasing you, trying to get you to laugh, but you can’t find it in yourself to crack a smile when the timer goes off and you grab your things. “Don’t cancel on me,” he calls as you leave the office, but you think he might kind of mean it.

You land in Jeju at approximately 4pm a week and a half later. You can’t really believe you’ve agreed to do this, but the plane tickets had been purchased and the hotel had been booked, and you didn’t have a good reason not to hear Jeonghan out. You’d left his office a week and a half ago, totally shaken, tossing the wrinkled flyer onto the kitchen counter when you got home.

But Junhui had come over that night, somehow sensing that you might need some company when he called. He’d been throwing out the takeout boxes after dinner when he came across the flyer. “A wellness retreat?” He asked quizzically, peering out of the kitchen.

You’d grumbled from the couch. “Yeah, my therapist thinks I should give it a shot.”

Junhui had come back to the living room with the flyer, reading over it. Then he shrugged, tossing it onto your coffee table. “Maybe you should. Might end up being lame, but it’s worth a try, right?” You’d huffed when you talked to Vernon the next night and he’d said pretty much the same thing.

So, you’d taken off of work for the week, booked your travel and lodgings, and started packing. And you felt so stupid about it as you walked into the ocean side resort. You always felt like this kind of stuff was such woo-woo bullshit that you couldn’t take it seriously. But here you are, stuck here having paid for the retreat for the next week. It would cost an arm and a leg to change your flight back home if this turned out as badly as you thought it would. When you whined about this on the way to the airport, Jun had shrugged about that too, telling you to enjoy the beach while you were there then. It was a vacation either way.

So, you checked into your hotel and crashed for the night. There was great irony in the fact that such a spiritualist event would be hosted at a haunted hotel, because it certainly was that. You got very little sleep. Maybe it was because you were ‘working’, but Vernon wasn’t here to wake you up and tell you. He wasn’t sure how far he could ‘travel’ and you didn’t dare ask. He liked his daily habits too much anyway to follow you here.

Early the next morning, you drag out of bed, pulling on some comfortable clothes. The kickoff for this retreat was early, starting with a guided meditation on the beach at sunrise. You’d snorted at the thought back home, but the air was kind of nice when you stepped out on the beach in the dark. Others were already there, some congregating, while some claimed a spot for the meditation starting in a few minutes. You found space in the back, if only to ensure that you could sneak away if you felt like it.

The instructor was a frail woman, a total hippie with an airy, zen-like voice that made your eye twitch. She started the guided meditation with things like ‘settle in’ and ‘feel the waves wash over you’. You roll your eyes behind your eyelids, simply trying to sit still for the next twenty minutes. When the instructor releases everyone and tells them to take their time, you’re the first one up, brushing off the sand. You hear a soft laugh from beside you.

“Didn’t like this meditation?”

You blink. The man next to you is cast in low light since the sun has only started to rise and it’s entirely unfair how ethereal he looks when he smiles lightly up at you. You frown down at him where he’s still sitting. “Would it be offensive if I said no?”

He chuckles again, standing up. He’s taller than you now, and you crane your neck up rather than down to see him. He’s got a lean, muscular build, all angles that are crazy attractive. But the soft brown eyes are truly the killer. You want to laugh because how could you ever ‘clear your mind’ around a guy like this. Maybe that’s why the meditation didn’t work. “Maybe don’t say it in front of the instructor. She’s sort of an expert in the field. I’ve been to a few of her sessions before.”

“Oh,” you say lamely, glancing to the crowd that’s beginning to stand and congregate, hoping that no one overheard you.

He smiles warmly. “I’m Minghao.”

“Y/N. I take it you come to these often then?” It occurs to you how weird it is that you’re seeking out a conversation with this guy, because you haven’t done that in years. But he has this air about him that is sort of magnetic. You feel lame when that word crosses your mind, but you don’t have a better word for it and you’ll never utter any of that aloud anyway.

Minghao shrugs. “On occasion. Mostly, I practice by myself though.” He tilts his head when he gives you an amused look. “Am I wrong to guess you’re pretty new to this?”

You huffed out a laugh, crossing your arms. You aren’t sure if the defensive pose is because of how weird you feel about this conversation or that you’d left your sweater in your room. “What gave it away?”

“Well, you squirmed the whole time, and then jumped up as soon as she said she was done. It’s kind of a sign that it didn’t work for you.” The crowd is starting to move back to the hotel, and the sleepy vibe is gone, replaced by some excited chatter. You remember that very few people here are probably quite as skeptical as you are. Minghao watches you watch the crowd for a minute, before speaking up again. “Wanna have breakfast with me? It’s nice to have someone to chat with at these sort of things, since you spend so much time at things like this in your own head.”

You want to laugh, because you are never alone and could only dream of what that feels like now, but between that stupid magnetism that he has and the fact that it would be rude to turn his offer down, you nod. “Sure.” He gestures in an ‘after you’ sort of motion and you both trail behind the crowd into the hotel.

You both find a seat in the corner of the hotel restaurant and order. He doesn’t bat an eye when you don’t order the traditionally healthy stuff at a wellness retreat of all places. You’re even a little relieved when he simply asks for the same, ignoring the judging look from the fitness guru of a woman sitting at the table next to you two.

Once you both have some coffee in front of you, he gives you an entertained look. “So, can I ask why you came to a retreat like this if you don’t buy into any of it?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Who said I don’t believe in it?” He gives you a dry look that makes you scoff, even though you aren’t all that annoyed. “You’re right, I’m new to it. I’m just seeing if it’s something that will actually work for me.”

He hums, nodding between sips of coffee. “Any luck yet? Outside of this retreat, I mean.”

You resist squirming in your seat, thinking about Jeonghan’s little experiment last week. “Yes and no?”

Minghao nods, his smile turning wry. “You don’t like the small talk, huh?”

This makes you snort out a laugh, earning another glare from the woman at the table next to you both that you ignore. “No, I’m not great at it.”

“I can work with that,” he says simply. Behind him something catches your eye. A man trudges in, totally soaked. Your first thought is a mishap too close to the shore, because he’s dripping small puddles throughout the restaurant hall as he shuffles. But you quickly realize what you’re seeing and that no one else is seeing it. A waiter breezes right past the man and doesn’t so much as slip in the puddles he’s creating. You don’t feel anything from this guy exactly, but it’s not hard to figure it out. He’s dead, probably a drowning victim.

A hand waves in front of you and you snap to attention. Minghao’s face is some sort of mixture of confused and concerned. “Are you okay? What is it?”

You blink at him, trying to focus on him, rather than the man that’s still trudging through the hall and into the kitchen behind Minghao, leaving a trail of water behind him. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Minghao just looks at you curiously and the look is only broken when the waitress brings your food and offers more coffee.

Minghao becomes your guide for the day. Workshops start at 9am and when a staff member for the retreat hands out a flyer for today’s options at breakfast, you’re kind of surprised when Minghao asks what you want to do for the day. You must have looked confused because he just gives you a little entertained look and says, “unless you want to go on your own.” You didn’t. So you let him talk you through some of the options. Admittedly, you aren’t too impressed by the sound of any of them, but he correctly assumes you’re a beginner and picks some that he thinks will work for you.

9am is a lecture called ‘Getting out of your own way’. It’s another super zen instructor and you cross your arms and lean back in your seat when he starts. But by the end of it, you’re squirming because this feels like some kind of therapy shit that hits too close to home. You even feel a slice of anger sometimes because it’s not you that’s in your way - it’s everyone else, namely the dead. You can’t imagine how Jeonghan or anyone here would love to dissect such a blame-shifting, defensive response, so you bite your tongue until it bleeds. You regret coming by the time the session ends at 10:30.

The 11:15 session is called ‘Trust your intuition’. There’s a short lecture, but then there’s an experiment to do with the partner next to you at each table. Each pair is handed a deck of cards. Minghao shuffles them well and then slides the top card to you, face down. The rule is that you can’t peek, but you can touch the top of the card if you’d like. When Minghao slides the first one to you, you look at him incredulously and say “I’m not a mind reader.” You recognize that that’s not quite the truth, but you have no clue which card is sitting in front of you.

Minghao wears a sort of secretive smile, looking highly entertained. “It’s not meant to be a quiz to stress about. Just try it. Close your eyes and touch the top of the card.” When you don’t move, he nods again. “Humor me, Y/N. You don’t have to be good at it, just try it.”

You’d scoffed, closing your eyes and placing your finger tips on the card. Nothing comes to you so you sigh, throwing your other hand up in exasperation. “Jack of diamonds,” falls out of your mouth as a guess.

“Okay, turn it over,” Minghao says encouragingly. You expect to have picked quite literally any of the 51 other cards, but when you flip it over, a jack of diamonds greets you. You freeze, face pinched in confusion, because how in the fuck did you do that? Mingaho raises an eyebrow, a flash of excitement on his face. “How about another one?” Ten cards and ten correct guess later, you feel your eyes water from something akin to shock. Minghao must notice that you need a break and he slides you the deck. “My turn.”

After lunch, the 2pm session is ‘Facing your fears’. The hotel has allowed the retreat to take over the courtyard, setting up ropes and a climbing wall. You’d never been particularly afraid of heights and you’d once been quite athletic, so you breeze through this. So does Minghao, though you aren’t surprised based on his physique. You do your best not to focus on his arms or the way his shirtless back flexes when it’s his turn to climb. You aren’t one to be enamored by someone’s appearance like this often, so you squash the thought. He’s been nice, and patient more than most people ever try to be with you, but he does not need to know that you think anymore than that. You’ve known him for a whopping eight hours.

At 3:30, the session is actually a fair that has been set up in one of the event halls at the hotel. There are tons of booths for all kinds of metaphysical stuff. Crystals of all kinds, body products meant to relax and rejuvenate, incense, teas, tinctures, and ritual items. Minghao spends a long time looking at the teas, purchasing a number of them. You bite back the smile at how kid-like he is about it, eyes full of excitement when he has you smell one and tells you about it. You tease that he might as well be selling the tea himself.

You linger on a few items, all of which are labeled with the word ‘protection’. First, it was a set of crystals that are supposedly meant to clear negative energy. Then it was a box of incense labeled ‘spiritual protection’. Then there was an anointing oil labeled for protection magic.

Minghao watches you pick up each of these items, before putting them back and turn like you’re ready to go. You are ready to go because you’re truly so far out of your depth with any of this. You feel like you’re playing with fire, risking any of these things making your problems worse. On the third time, he doesn’t budge when you’re ready to leave the booth. There’s something in his expression that you can’t quite decipher. Maybe it’s because you don’t really know him that well, but you wonder if you could ever read a look like that because it’s so layered. “If you’re interested in protection, you should try out those things. At worst, they don’t do anything for you.”

The woman that runs this booth clears her throat behind him, like she’s offended at the implication that her wares don’t work. But Minghao still doesn’t budge and you look back down at the little bottle of anointing oil, picking it up and rolling it in your hand. This feels like another ‘trust the process’ moment and you can afford it, so after a few beats you decide to buy it. Minghao guides you back to the booths that had the crystal set and the incense so you can purchase those as well. You’re kind of relieved that he doesn’t ask why you’re interested in this sort of thing, though you wonder if that question might come before the retreat is over.

Dinner comes and goes, and then later that night, there is a campfire on the beach. You admittedly aren’t into the drumming circle that comes first, but you are very into the marshmallows that are handed out to make s’mores. You and Minghao make half a dozen together, one of you holding the graham crackers and chocolate and the other roasting the marshmallow. This earns a few more glares from some of the more hardcore attendees who sneer when the bag of marshmallows comes around to them. You’re discovering that Minghao isn’t fazed by much, and it’s an attitude that you can appreciate. You wish you could be like that.

You crawl into bed a little after 11pm and drift off.

Just after 2am, you slide open the door to your balcony. The view in front of you is dark, but you can hear and smell the waves, and the breeze is cool. You’ll need the sweater you brought out with you in a bit, but not right now while you’re dripping sweat.

Sometimes, when you’re ‘working’ in your sleep, you meet someone demanding. Most of the time, you don’t even remember or realize what you’re doing. There are no flashes of the supposed line out of the door to assist in moving on. No unfamiliar faces that you remember when you wake up.

But on occasion, someone is desperate to move on and you assume that their urgency wakes you up. Jeonghan says the clinical term is sleep paralysis. The mind wakes up before the body is released from its frozen state. Your eyes are open and you’re aware of what you’re seeing, but you can’t do anything about it. A lot of people experience it, apparently, but Jeonghan says that most of these things are hallucinations - a demon or an old hag hovering over you. Even Jeonghan admits now that your situation is a little different, because yours might not quite be a traditional hallucination. He was hesitant to call it something real, but doesn’t utter what you expect, which is the accusatory phrase, ‘you think it’s real’.

So naturally, seeing the drowned guy from earlier, hovering over you with panicked eyes made your heart beat out of your chest. You have no clue how long it really was, but it seemed like an eternity that you were frozen, watching him gasp for air and try to beg for help. But as it happens sometimes, the moment you’re released from your frozen state, the man is gone in a blink of an eye. You have no idea if you moved him on, or if he’s still lingering, desperate for help. These are the worst nights, and you know you won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. In fact, you can’t stay in bed for a second longer, least of all in the dark. Your first step after getting out of bed is to turn on all of the lights.

You settle in the wicker chair on the balcony, propping your feet up on the ottoman in front of you, breathing deeply. You’re frustrated. You’d hoped you’d show up to something like this and find all the answers to your questions. Maybe it was a high expectation, but a place like this should have had all of the solutions to your problems - after all, they’re the spiritual experts. You feel the frustrated tears flow, but you don’t bother wiping them away, just leaning your head back. Your eyes drift closed, though you aren’t the least bit tired right now, too wired from what happened a few minutes ago.

With your eyes closed, you miss the light in the neighboring room flicking on, but your head does snap up when a sliding door opens nearby. Footsteps echo on the balcony next to you and you rush to wipe your face. You’re not in the mood for conversation, least of all any questions, and you’re hoping that your neighbor just wants some peace and quiet like you.

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps again, this time to look to the neighboring balcony. Minghao is peering around, looking a little concerned. You didn’t know that he was your neighbor. He’d stayed back to talk to someone at the campfire hours ago, so you’d walked up to your room alone.

“Are you okay?” He asks, pulling your attention back.

“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Minghao stares at you for a few beats, like he’s trying to read your mind, before he finally says, “No, you didn’t. I was up reading.” He leans on the railing, looking you over. From this position, his arms have you sweating again and you feel stupid for it. You’ve never reacted to a man like this. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You laugh, and you wish it held even a little bit of humor. “No, it’s not very ‘wellness retreat’ of me to share what I’m thinking. It would most definitely kill the vibes. Don’t worry about it.”

Minghao shrugs, that flash of humor that he’d had all day on his face again. “I’d say a wellness retreat is kind of the perfect place for that. You know, healing and relaxation, all that jazz.” Still, he falls silent, sitting in his own wicker chair only six feet from you, separated by the railing of your balconies.

You have no idea how much time passes when you finally speak up. “How are you so good at all of this?”

You see him look at you through the railing. It’s a look that’s open and says a lot, but the problem is that you can’t really decipher any of it. “I’m not good at it,” he finally says. “I’m just open to it.” You look away from him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Please don’t take offense to this, but it seems like maybe you’re not open to it. You seem to resist a lot of it.”

“I have a lot of practice with that,” you muse, but your expression feels a little off when you look at him again. Like you don’t know how to just slap on a smile and let it go.

He nods understandingly. “It’s easy to deny. It’s much harder to just let it be. Painful, even.” He hesitates for a second then finally says, “what are you trying to ‘let it be’?”

You give him a rueful smile through the railing. “That’s a pretty soul-baring question.” He shrugs good-naturedly, looking at the dark view in front of you both, seemingly not expecting an answer. You follow his gaze. “It would make me sound crazy.”

“Try me.”

There’s something so painfully genuine and secure about his tone. When you look back at him through the railing, he’s already looking at you and his expression matches his tone. You feel ridiculous and maybe even a little naive when your eyes water because you can’t remember someone ever looking at you like that. You don’t let a lot of people in, especially total strangers. But there’s something about him that makes you want to start peeling back the layers that you hide behind. You may never see him again after this retreat, and that might be okay because being soul-baring is scary.

You start with the first layer, even though it’s a big one. “I see ghosts.”

The next morning starts at 7am. The recommended solo activity for this morning is reflection and journaling. You debate on skipping it because you’re running on just a few hours of sleep, but Minghao knocks on your door at 6:45am, urging you to get dressed and join him.

After you spilled your secret last night, Minghao had just nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. You’d blanched at his lack of reaction. “Why are being so casual about this?” You’d asked, anger flooding your voice.

But his easy tone had squashed any anger. “I kind of suspected something. There have been quite a few signs today.”

At around 4am, he’d sent you to bed to get a few hours of sleep, resolving that he’d help you get the most out of the rest of the retreat if you’d let him. You guess this was step one of letting him.

After a shower, Minghao lets you into his hotel room. He also appears to be freshly showered and you brush off any thoughts of how good he smells when you walk past him in the doorway. He gestures to the little table by the sliding glass door for you to have a seat. You do, watching him come back with mugs of hot water and tea bags. You recognize the smell when he hands it to you. It’s one of the kinds that he bought yesterday.

The rest of the hour passes in relative silence. You’ve filled pages by then, and when you come up for air you realize that your tea is cold and Minghao’s page is nearly blank, save for a couple things. “Not into journaling?”

He shrugged, smiling at you. “I do it every day. Some days there just isn’t much to write.” You finish the tea as not to waste it and go with him to breakfast.

Minghao doesn’t tell you what he has on tap for you today, simply telling you to trust him as he leads you out to the beach. You suppress a groan, following him to a couple mats that are placed in the back. He gives you an amused smile, like he knows you aren’t into this. He turns to you on his mat, and you begrudgingly do the same.

“You’re going to hear the typical ‘clear your mind’ mantras. Don’t bother.” You raise an eyebrow at him to continue. “You’re beyond being able to just clear your mind. Do the movements, sure. But focus on the breathing and finding your own voice. Learn to filter the noise. Once you can filter, you can try to tune them out.”

You’re frustrated by how simple he makes it sound and he must be able to tell. “Don’t try to be a perfectionist here. Just use the time to be by yourself.”

You feel the frustration fade, replaced by an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, but it has stupid tears pricking your eyes because not even Jeonghan or Vernon has matched this sort of understanding. If Minghao notices the emotion, he doesn’t say anything about it. When the yoga instructor shows up, you mindlessly follow along with what she says, more focused on trying to do what Minghao said. The filtering is… hard. You aren’t even sure what your voice sounds like.

You’re so focused on the task, that you must miss the end of the session. You’re in a child pose when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You snap up and the hand squeezes, curving around your shoulder maybe attempting to comfort you. Most of the crowd has dissipated, only a few people still lingering with the instructor. It’s not the time loss or the way that you’d ‘drifted’ as Jeonghan had described it that bothers you.

You look up at Minghao, totally aware at how vulnerable you probably look. It’s because everything is quiet. Not even a murmur, like there had been when you tried Jeonghan’s little experiment last week. It’s silent and it had only started when Minghao touched your shoulder. It’s like he pressed the mute button.

“Are you okay? Too much?” He asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“What?” You ask, feeling a little numb with shock.

Minghao reaches out to wipe your face, gentle fingers grazing your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. “Too much, got it.” He stands up, hands leaving you. The noise rushes back and you fold into yourself, forehead hitting the mat again. “Y/N?” His hand lands on your back and the mute button is hit again. It makes your breath catch. He’s rubbing your back lightly, crouched next to you when you come up again. You’re more prepared when his hand leaves you again and the rush of noise comes back. He stands, holding his hand out to help you up. He doesn’t drop it when you’re standing next to him. “Come on. We have a break until 11:15 and I think you need it.”

You needed more than the 45 minute break between sessions. He must sense that you need some privacy to deal with things so he guides you back up to his hotel room where he gives you cups of tea, one after another. He asks questions but they aren’t pressing. You’re relieved by that because you don’t know what to tell him. You just say something happened, but you aren’t sure what. With you being new to all this, it must be an acceptable answer.

You both skip the next session and take a long lunch, showing up for the 2pm session. This one is ‘Developing your own spiritual practices’. You look at the little flyer that the instructor hands out when you guys take a seat in the back row and then look up at Minghao helplessly, still feeling pretty raw from earlier. “I don’t think any of this will help me.”

“That’s fine,” he simply, voice like honey to you. “This is just to get some ideas. A lot of this is trial and error for everyone, not just you.”

You listen to this instructor with bated breath because you need solutions fast. The silence earlier was blissful in a way that makes you want to weep if you think about it for too long. You need to be able to shut it off like that anytime. Whatever Minghao has to do with it is a mystery, but he won’t be around forever - only for a few more days. You aren’t sure what to do with any of what the instructor says, but you make notes on the back of the flyer and pocket them for later to research.

The 4pm session is ‘emotional clearing’. You feel overwhelmed by the concept and it must show because Minghao places his hand on top of yours in your lap once you both are seated. The hush falls over your mind again. “Remember what I said. Just get some ideas.” You feel like you need this session more than anything else you’ve experienced at this retreat so far and you’re desperate to focus, so you impulsively grip Minghao’s hand when he starts to slip away into his own space again. He lets you, keeping his hand locked with yours for the whole session.

There’s a similar pattern to the next couple of days. He has you try swimming, which you aren’t a huge fan of and don’t find particularly relaxing, but he sticks with you. Reiki interests you more than you’d expect and you think about searching it out later when you’re back home. On the last full day of the retreat, you give Minghao an amused look when he walks you to a session for ‘Messages from above’. He just gives you an amused look back.

“Hear me out. I know yours aren’t exactly from above, but maybe you can get something out of this.”

And he’s right, you do get something out of it. Perhaps they aren’t tools to help you, but you do feel a little less crazy when you hear how many people in the room believe in their own abilities, and even appear confident in them. You come away not wanting to totally get rid of this little gift of yours, but maybe to one day control it.

After dinner, you both go on a walk along the beach. It’s borderline romantic in a way that makes you feel silly. Your nineteen year old self would have loved something like this. But the thing about Minghao is that he doesn’t let you feel silly for long. He’s just so… safe. You don’t feel like a freak with him. You feel human. You feel okay, even when he’s not touching you, which you’ve avoided for the most part since that morning yoga session and holding his hand during one of the lectures.

A lot of your time together passes in comfortable silence. You find that so few words are really necessary to understand each other. You’ve walked from one pier to the other now and are on your way back when you stop in your tracks. Minghao stops with you, looking in the direction that you are.

“What do you see?” Minghao asks. Your bottom lip trembles because he didn’t ask ‘what are you looking at’. The distinction is something that you can’t spend a lot of time on because what you’re seeing is… bad. It’s the man that you saw on your first morning here in the hotel restaurant. The same one that woke you up the other night. You must not have moved him on successfully because he’s there, struggling in the waves. He washes up and he’s still. You exhale hard at the sight. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a replay of death, but it makes your gut twist every time.

Minghao’s hand lands on your back and you can’t even blink when the man on the shore disappears like he might as well have gone up in a cloud of smoke. Your jaw drops a bit because that’s new. Usually, these horrible visions linger. “Y/N,” he says gently. You glance up to him, feeling a little devastated in a way that only this little ‘gift’ can do. The look he’s giving you is crushing in its own way too. It’s one full of sympathy without an ounce of patronization. He’s quiet for a long time. “Why don’t we go up for the night and settle in?”

You let him guide you by the hand up to your hotel room, where he lets you go in alone.

You’re up again, sitting out on the balcony at a little after 1am. Your bags are mostly packed to leave tomorrow - or today, rather. You aren’t totally surprised when the neighboring sliding door opens and Minghao steps out. He leans on the railing next to you, peering over. “I saw the light click on a while ago. Penny for your thoughts?”

“Do you ever sleep?” You tease, looking up at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “I think I could ask you the same thing.” In the dim lighting, your mouth waters a bit looking at him. Given the location and weather, he’s abandoned a shirt a lot of the time, just like now. A pair of sweatpants hang low on his hips. You’re getting the full picture of the toned arms and chest, the abs and the tapered waist. It’s totally unfair because if he’s aware of how just looking at him drives you a little crazy, he doesn’t let on. His smile is fairly innocent. “Could I interest you in a cup of tea?”

Your time with someone like him is limited, what with a plane departure looming tomorrow afternoon. So you smile, standing up. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

He lets you in, telling you to make yourself comfortable. But this time, he gestures to the bed instead of the table. The covers are rumpled like he’d attempted to sleep tonight. He makes the tea, handing you a mug and sitting on the other side of the bed. The TV is on some kind of late night cartoon that you watch blindly. The silence stretches but it’s not uncomfortable.

It’s almost 1:45 when you set the empty mug on the bedside table and curl your legs into your chest. “Y/N?” You look over and Minghao’s giving you that exposed look that you can’t decipher again. He takes a breath that is perhaps deeper than normal, like he’s steeling himself. “The other day, at the yoga session, what happened?”

You purse your lips, scanning his face. He’s so handsome, and has shown you more understanding than anyone else you’ve ever met, and… he’s really a total stranger. You just met him four days ago. This connection is scary, if only because it will be gone tomorrow afternoon. You lean your head back against the headboard and he tracks the movement carefully. No wonder he doesn’t really miss anything. “It’s hard to explain,” you find yourself whispering.

“Try me.”

You can’t tell him about the power he seems to have over you. You can’t depend on him. But you decide that you can tell him the rest. You bite your lip and see how his gaze dips down for a split second. It sends a little shock for your system to even consider that this attraction might be mutual. You realize he’s looking at your eyes again, waiting for an answer.

“It did something. It was hard and frustrating to start filtering. But… I think it started to work.”

He doesn’t respond right away but he doesn’t look surprised. He sort of looks like he’s battling with something. Finally, he must come to a decision. “That’s not quite what I meant, Y/N. I meant your reaction when I touched you.” You try to squash your reaction now, but his eyes drill into you and you’re sure he noticed how your eyes widened for a second. “I’m just… concerned that I did something wrong. The look on your face is something I’ll never forget, and I’m not sure if it was even a good or a bad thing. It’s been eating at me for days.”

Minghao lets you stare at him for a while and it feels kind of like falling of a cliff to answer him. But you can’t let him think he did anything wrong. Not when he’s given you moments of blissful silence. Your voice doesn’t sound quite right, even through the din in your head. “It was good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looks a little relieved at your answer, shoulders relaxing a little bit. But then he’s battling with something again before speaking. “At the risk of sounding inappropriate, is it just that you liked when I touched you? Or was there something else?”

You feel your brows pinch together, frowning at him. “Does it matter?”

“I guess it does, so I know whether I should ask to kiss you.”

You feel your breath catch at his words. You scan him for any signs of bad intentions, but you find none. After all, you’ve already been in this room with him before. You’ve spent the last four days with him by your side from sun up to sun down, and a little bit after that too. And he’s asking for permission, giving you an opportunity to shut him down and go to your own room. You’ll both get on separate flights and go home and probably never see each other again.

“You can. Kiss me, I mean,” you blurt. A little smile creeps up on his face and he moves closer to you, hand meeting your cheek. Your eyes drift closed because of the silence his touch brings, and you feel his breath wash over your lips as he closes in.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, before his lips press to yours. They’re soft, light, lingering pecks at first, getting longer when you reach out to hold him close by his own cheek. A little swipe of his tongue at the seam of your lips makes you sigh, hand sliding into his hair. All of it is so soft that you barely feel it when he has you slide down to lay on your back in bed. You’re absolute putty in his hands as he hovers halfway over you, lips still advancing and retreating as his hand crawls up your shirt to lay flat against your stomach. Your hands are doing their own wandering over his bare chest and back, tight muscle underneath your finger tips.

He pulls away from your lips ever so slightly, hand tugging lightly on the hem of your shirt. “May I?” When you nod, he gently peels the fabric up over your head. You didn’t bother with a bra because you should have been sleeping, but you don’t have a split second to feel weird about that because his hand is grazing your breast lightly, then cupping it. You sigh at the feeling and it’s like you’re calling him back to you with the sound because his lips are back on yours again.

It feels like forever but also a blink of an eye when you’ve both lost all of your clothes and he’s gently spreading your legs to kneel between them. “Are you sure?” His tone is a sweet whisper and you think you can identify the look he’s been giving you all week. It’s soul-baring, like he has nothing to hide from you. So you nod, hoping your expression even comes close to his.

Minghao leans down, pressing soft kisses to your lips again as he runs the head of his cock into your folds. The feeling as you both hissing a bit. When he notches into your entrance and starts pushing in, you sigh, nails biting into his back. Once all the way in, he stays still, fully buried inside of you while he kisses you into oblivion. You kind of forget that the goal of this for most people would be sex because you think you’d let him stay like this forever. Between the warmth of his touch and the silence it brings, you feel like this rivals heaven.

When you both are breathless, he pulls back, propping up on his forearms over you. His hand grazes the top of your head softly. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you both are still whispering, but it just adds to the intimate air that you both have, like this is just for the both of you. You feel silly when you think that, because of course it is, but you can’t think long about it, because he’s just feeding this little bubble you both are in with kisses to your cheek.

“Want me to move?” You nod, his lips dancing along your cheek still. “Okay, baobei.” He pulls away, enough to reach for your legs that are spread wide. His fingers gently grip your ankles, pulling them to wrap around his lower back. Then he’s back down, hovering closely to kiss you as he slides out and slides back in with a gentle rock of his hips. The feeling has you whimpering against his lips and it seems to feed something for him. It’s not like you’re incredibly experienced, but something about being with him is so… softly passionate that it’s overwhelming. He’s barely moved or touched you and you feel like you’re already falling apart.

He backs away from your lips to look down at you as he picks up the pace and your eyes drift closed. His hand grazes the side of your face, long fingers combing into your hairline. “Look at me.” The command is still oddly sweet and you follow instructions. The look he’s giving you has your heart jumping out of your chest. You reach to grip his wrist and he simply intertwines your fingers together and rests your linked hands on the bed above your head.

The strokes get deeper and you feel something building. Tears prick your eyes because he’s still looking down at you like you’re the center of the universe. Like he didn’t just meet you four days ago. His other hand intertwines with your other hand and then both of your arms are above your head. You kind of feel like your surrendering to him in a way and you can’t imagine why you would ever say no to something like this because you haven’t even came yet and you know this will change your life in a way that sex shouldn’t.

Minghao’s hips move with just a little more force, and he hits a spot that has you seeing stars, jaw dropping. He groans softly above you, pressing a kiss to your cheek again. “You are heaven,” he sighs against your skin. You wonder if he said it wrong, that he meant that you felt like heaven, but you think he might have meant it the way he said it and it turns you to mush. The heat is building to something that makes you feel like you’ll burst into flames and your voice is weak when you say his name. His head pops up to look down at you again. “You’re close,” he says. It’s not a question and the fact that he just knows makes you keen. Like he knows all of your tells already, knows the ins and outs of your body already. “Look at me, baobei.”

You do and it only takes a few long seconds before the heat explodes, becoming unbearable. You can’t keep your eyes open anymore, fingers gripping his tightly, legs spasming around his waist. You hear a groan in your ear that makes the orgasm linger because you think you could hear him make that sound forever. It doesn’t take long before he’s jumping up, pulling out of you, and releasing across your stomach. You’re dazed, watching the whole thing, particularly the expression on his face, and the only thing anchoring you right now is his hand gripping your hip. Otherwise, you think you’d float away because you haven’t felt this light in nearly a decade.

When he comes down, his hand leaves your hip, grazing your thigh gently. The other hand is cleaned on the bed sheets before it lands on your cheek softly. He kisses you long and soft without a single care for the mess he’s laying across when he presses his body against you. “Okay?” He asks eventually when he pulls away. You nod and he pecks your lips one more time. “How about a shower?”

You feel clingy in that shower in a way that you’ve never been with anyone before. Not even as a naive teenager that was half in love with the first boy that gave you the tiniest bit of attention. He lets you cling under the warm water, rubbing your back gently and pressing kisses to the top of your head. You feel stupid for so many reasons.

You don’t know him. Not really, anyway. You don’t know his last name. You don’t know where he’s from or where he lives. You don’t know what he does for a living. And you feel stupid for knowing that you know none of that but that it doesn’t really matter. You can’t imagine ever feeling like this again. This connection is unparalleled, something that you’d only read about or seen on TV before. You’d laughed about those things, making fun of them, but now you dread the morning. You dread getting on a plane to go home somewhere that he won’t be.

You dread finding out that he doesn’t feel the connection that you do.

When the water starts to get chilly, Minghao urges you under the stream, washing your hair for you. You both wrap up the shower, drying off and pulling on clothes. It’s just past 4am when Minghao guides you back into bed, pulling you close. You lay across his chest, listening to his heartbeat under your ear. You feel the tears pour because you can actually hear it, paired with the sound of both of you breathing. Nothing else. He must feel the tears on his bare chest because he rubs your back until you fall into a dreamless sleep. You’re out cold when he kisses the top of your head and mumbles, “it’s okay, we’ll find each other again.”

#minghao #xu minghao #the8 #minghao x reader #xu Minghao x reader #the8 x reader #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #smut

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avoxrising · 1 year ago

Text

The Feral One • Ch 16

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

As a thank you for 400 followers here’s a bonus short chapter for tonight! Enjoy :)

Content Warnings - None

The doctors asked you every question imaginable about the treatment you received in the capital; what the medicine tasted like, what it smelled like, how long did it make you sleep for. You did your best to answer their questions but not being a medical professional yourself you honestly didn’t know most of the answers.

“Can we do a brain scan?” Johanna asks. “There has to be something to explain all this!”

“Miss Mason,” the doctor states. “We do not have the technology for that but based on all of our available tests we have performed and the discussion of the treatment I think she’s fine.”

Suddenly there is a knock on your door and Plutarch enters.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but Miss Y/L/N is needed in command,” he states. The doctor allows you to leave, much to Johanna’s protests, and you walk with the older man towards command.

“Don’t stress it’s just wedding planning,” he explains as you walk the long halls of District 13. “The whole district is very excited!”

You are met with the faces of Coin, Effie, Katniss’ prep team, and Katniss herself when you enter command. The prep team seems scared of you but you give them a gentle smile and take a seat next to Katniss. You can’t help but notice the way she subtly shifts away from you.

“Well my dear I am so excited for you,” Effie chimes. You give her a quick thanks and she continues to blabber on about ideas for the wedding. She talks about everything from which flowers to decorate the tables with to how the guests should be seated.

“Oh and I almost forgot!” she chimes. “Katniss has agreed to take you to twelve to pick out a dress for your wedding! She has some of Cinna’s designs there and we could make alterations so they fit!”

“Are you sure?” you ask Katniss, surprised she agreed.

“Of course,” she responds. “We can go this afternoon if you would like.”

You return that evening to your hospital room, having picked out your dress. It’s a sage green gown that flows eloquently from your shoulders like water. It’s simple, which is exactly what you wanted. The prep team brought back some of Peeta’s suits to fit Finnick with as well.

“Hey Y/N/N,” Finnick grins as he enters your room. “What did you get up to today?”

“Not much,” you shrug. “Johanna made the doctors run a bunch of tests on me cause she thinks I’m crazy, then I sat in on a two hour long wedding planning meeting, then Katniss took me to 12 to pick out a dress.”

“Sounds busy,” Finnick sighs, sitting down on your bed next to you.

“Finn?” you ask, catching his attention. “What is it that I’m not remembering? Everyone seems to know but me.”

He turns to you with worry covering his face.

“I don’t want you to remember,” he states. “It was something very bad that happened to you. It’s for the best that you don’t remember.”

“If it happened to me then I should know!” you exclaim, frustrated that nobody would tell you.

You would get your answers, you would just have to find them elsewhere.

Repeat end quote bc I didn’t have one I liked for this chapter lolz

Taglist:

@randomgurl2326 @mystargirl-interlude @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass @yourdailymemedelivery @americanprometheuss @l3xi3luv @noisyalmonddreamer @nordicvxid @teaganthemorningstar @samatokisunfinishedcigarette @justtrying2getby @heytherellala @notplutos @innercreationflower @nexxus13 @kachelleee @helluvafire @haymitchabernathyslover @memeorydotcom @frostsword @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @giverosespls @honethatty12 @just-levyy @dd122004dd @nekee-lilac02 @impeterporker @nox-the-gay-nerd @redsakura101 @hopefulatrocity @eddiemunson4ever @fangirlvibez @kittimbo @zucchinimalfoy @sleepy-roman @secretsicanthideanymore @writerofadream @vsnrly @mayonesavegana @lilifl0wer @finnickodaddy @abbersreads @fox-bee926 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @isasalom

*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick angst #finnick #mockingjay #the feral one

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captainlunaxmen · 9 months ago

Text

All for the Cameras

Chapter 8

Finnick Odair x Fem!reader

Here we go! With this chapter, we officially say goodbye to Chatching Fire, and we will soon enter Mockingjay-part1. I hope you guys will like this, and if you want to be added to the tag list, just tell me♥️♥️♥️

Chapter summary: we're at the Quarter Quell finale.

Chapter warning: Now, Cal is a huge warning himself, Hunger Games cruelty, death, blood.

Tag list.

@guacam011y @justtrying2getby @idontevenknow1359 @alexandra-001 @bambikitten @maggiecc @redh00dsbf @haneybunny @1-800-styles @sisiking99 @merromimo @yourdailymemedelivery @regsg18 @gordorio @bambikitten @gracieeleanorr @shev3nom @honethatty12 @savingprivatecass @erindiggory @martahabla @sterredem @aawdrea @wpdarlingpan @strawberry--fawn @barbarathewanderer @ih8books @a-mysterious-potato @mayonesavegana @celinaiscrying @katherinejess @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @abaker74 @syd649 @meikoo @secretsicanthideanymore @p1stachi @laylasshiftingtonight @yourmumstoy @s0urw00lf

I'm sorry if I can't tag everyone😔🥺

Masterlist

Finnick's POV

They managed to find some food. Finnick decided to catch some, more to distract himself that because he actually needed to eat. His stomach was completely closed after what happened.

He eats with the other because he does need his strengths, but doesn't feel like it at all.

Mags was like a mother and seeing her go like that... broke him.

The only thought keeping him going was Y/n, the thought that they could finally have a chance.

Finnick gets distracted from his thoughts when Peeta, opening one of the oysters, found a pearl. Finnick watches him giving it to Katniss, her accepting it. Finnick takes a moment to notice the way Peeta looks at her, the exact way he looks at Y/n, with adoration. Katniss is a little more reserved, of course, but she does feel something too, even though she doesn't realise it yet.

The sweet moment is interrupted by a loud scream.

"That's new." Peeta says standing up, Katniss and Finnick soon do too.

They look ahead, trees moving and breaking, then a big wave appears, it looks secluded to a section of the arena, but still aiming towards them apparently.

Even though the waves breaks at the cornucopia, it still creates waves towards the beach all around it. Thankfully not big enough to make damages.

As they watch the hovercraft flying to get the body of the dead tribute, Katniss grabs an arrow ready to fight.

"Someone's here." She says.

They all get their weapons, ready to defend themselves. They hide, watching who it was.

When Finnick sees Johanna, along Wiress and Beetee he lets out a sigh of relief, hope growing back in him as he walks to her calling her name.

"Whete the hell have you been?" He asks as soon as they're close enough.

"Me? I was looking for you the entire time, asshole!" Johanna shoots back.

Finnick knows she's not actually angry, rather worried, even though she would never admit it.

"So was I." He says, more calmly, "are you all okay?"

Johanna shrugs.

"Well, I got them out. We were a the way deep into the jungle where I thought it was gonna be safe. That's when the rain started." She starts explaining, while Beetee and Wiress got into the water to clean up, "I thought it was water. It turned out to be blood."

"Tick tock" Wiress comes close repeating the same two words.

"Hot, thick blood." Johanna keeps going as if she didn't notice her, "it was coming down. It was choking us. We were stumbling around, gagging on it, blind. That's when Blight hit the force field."

"Tick tock, tick tock" Wiress keeps talking as Johanna takes a big breath.

"He wasn't much, but it was from home." She says bitterly.

"What's wrong with her?" Katniss asks, referring to Wiress.

"She's in shock," Beetee answers, "dehydration isn't helping. Do you have fresh water?"

"We can get some."

As Johanna tries to, forcefully, stop Wiress from talking, Katniss immediately goes to defend her, almost starting a fight if it weren't for Finnick separating them, leading Johanna away.

"I got them out for you!" She screamed before she got dragged away.

"It's okay, it's okay." Finnick tries to calm her.

"Let me go, Finnick!" She insists, "let me go, I'm fine."

He lets her, and goes to sit down on the sand, soon Peeta joins as Katniss was helping Wiress clean up.

"Are you sure you're okay? I know Mags was important to you... and Y/n." Peeta asks.

"Yeah... uh... it was a possibility we didn't want to acknowledge, but... still a possibility." Finnick sighs, sadly.

"I'm really sorry." Peeta gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"It's alright."

"Can I ask you something?" Peeta suddenly whispers, so no one would hear and Finnick nods, still looking ahead, "your speech at the interviews... was for Y/n, wasn't it?"

Finnick only nods, so does Peeta understanding.

"What a situation, uh?" Finnick says sarcastically.

"Yeah.." Peeta sadly chuckle, then his attention shifts to Beetee, who was messing with a wire of some sort, "what's that?"

Beetee looks up to them, then back at the wire in his hands.

"Something we can use." He simply says before standing up and walking closed to the water.

Finnick and Peeta shares a confused look before shrugging.

The moment interrupted by the lightning hitting the big tree again, 12 times.

"They have out done themselves this time, uh?" Finnick comments once the lightnings stop.

"Yeah..." Peeta breaths out.

They attention is caught by Katniss walking back to them, a determined look on her face.

"I figured it out." She says.

Y/n's POV

"That's the plan?" I ask Plutarch as we talk in his office.

"Yes." He nods, "are you okay with that?"

"Of course, I am." I confirm, "does Haymitch know?"

"Yes, he does."

"Perfect... do you think they will do as you predict?" I ask, again feeling nervous.

"I am positive, they figured out how the Arena works, it's only a matter of time, we need to be ready." He replies, "I suggest you start packing and be ready."

"Got it." I nod, taking a deep breath, I look at Plutarch, who nods his head to give me courage somehow.

There's suddenly a knock on the door.

"Mr Heavensbee? Miss L/n?" One of the Gamemaker peers inside.

"Yes?"

"There's movement." He says.

"We'll be right there in a minute." Plutarch informs him so he can go back to the controll room.

"We still need to keep up the appearance, I know." I sigh.

"All for the cameras, miss L/n. Always."

We walk back into the room, just in time to see Gloss killing Wiress, I can't help the gasp leaving my mouth, it was so unexpected I couldn't stop it.

Plutarch put a hand on my shoulder for a second to make regain my composure.

We need to keep up the appearances, so I just move to one of the Gamemaker, to take a closer look. Katniss immediately kills him, Cashmere, of course, runs to attack her, thankfully Johanna pushes Katniss away and kills the district 1 tribute.

That means the other part of the Career pack is close.

"Keep the cameras on them, the other side there." I point where Finnick and Peeta stands, just in time to frame Brutus and Finnick fighting, Enobaria manages to wound Finnick before running away, thankfully is nothing bad.

Peeta tries to chase them, but Finnick holds him back, letting Katniss and Johanna go instead.

I look up at Plutarch, him already looking at me. Then he looks up and mouths "for the cameras."

He wants me to suggest something believable, to fool the president.

I start to think something that might be an obstacle, that might slow them down, we can't have the Games end now, we still have things to prepare, but it doesn't have to be something... deadly.

Think.

Thi.... okay.

"Make the cornucopia spin." I say, the Gamemaker, of course, looks up at Plutarch for confirmation and when he nods the cornucopia starts to spin on itself, making everyone lose balance.

Johanna helps Katniss stay on, as Finnick, Peeta and Beete do the same.

My heart skips a bit when Katniss falls, instinctively look at Plutarch.

"Okay. That's enough." He orders, "good thinking, miss L/n."

"Thank you, sir." I say, breathing heavily from anxiety, "it will be harder for them to tell time."

"Clever." He nods, and I let out a sigh of relief.

It made some trouble, but not too much... Good.

They quickly reunite, and go back to the beach... but a different section. I try to figure out which one it is.

"Brace yourself." Plutarch whispers so slightly to me as he passes by.

I take a quick look at the map, each section is perfectly labelled and I can quickly spot their position. It's the Jabberjays section.

Shit.

I take a deep breath and just wait to see what's going to happen.

They're counting down who might be left still in the games, now. Thankfully, it seems that Brutus and Enobaria are far from them.

"Activate them." Plutarch orders, I force myself not to look at him, because I know he has to do it. We are still not out of trouble, and at the Capitol, appearance is the most important thing.

So once Prim's voice reaches Katniss, she's immediately on her feet, running towards the sound. The rest of the group tries to keep her from going into the forest, to what they suspect is just a made up sound. Finnick is the fastest and immediately reach Katniss, who just shot a bird, finally realising it's fake, like everything else.

"You okay?" He asks, but Katniss can't even respond because another scream breaks in.

I can't help it this time, my eyes shoot up immediately to Plutarch.

That's my voice, screaming at Finnick for help.

Plutarch looks at me, guilty, he motion for me to just take a deep breath and stay calm as Finnick runs towards the sound with Katniss, this time, to convince him to stop.

"It's not her!" She screams at him to gain his attention. "It's just a Jabberjay. It's not her."

"Well, how do you think they got that sound?" He spits back, "Jabberjays copy."

I just want to scream at him that I'm okay, that's just a decoy... my idea nonetheless...

As Gale's voice adds itself into the mix, Katniss and Finnick run away, but unfortunately my idea has another problem.

They bump into the invisible wall, surrounded by all the mutts screaming at them.

Kantiss is holding her hands to her ears, Peeta screams at her, but of course, the wall around the section is supposed to isolate them even more.

I look at Finnick protecting his ears too, he's muttering something, but I can't understand what he's says, the birds screams are too loud. My throat feels tight, I feel the burn of tears ready to come out in my eyes, my chest hurts.

"Miss L/n?" Plutarch calls me, his voice feels so far right now, but I reluctantly look at him, "would you be so kind and go look into my office for the arena projects? I want to check something."

I can only nod and walk to his office, I know he wanted to give an excuse to be alone and recollect myself.

I close the door behind me, and I just lean against it until I sit down on the floor.

It's all my fault, I can't believe I make them suffer like this. Katniss' screams to somehow cover the noise broke my heart, so did Finnick's face.

I did that.

It's my fault.

I have to do everything in my power to get them out...

Finnick's POV

It's Johanna's voice asking him if he were okay to ground Finnick.

After God knows how long he and Katniss were trapped with the Jabberjays screaming at them, the invisible wall vanished and the other were able to rescue them.

Peeta reassures Katniss, telling her that at the Capitol they will never touch Prim.

"Your fiancé's right." Johanna agrees, "the whole country loves your sister. If they tortured her or did anything to her, forget the districts, there would be riots in the damn Capitol." Everyone looks at Johanna, a mixture of surprise and shock for having her reassuring Katniss. But she was not done, "Hey, how does that sound, Snow? What if we... what if we set you backyard on fire? You know, you can't put everybody in here."

The shock is shared between the other tributes as they listen to her screaming.

"What?" She asks, finally noticing, "they can't hurt me. There's no one left that I love. I'll get you some water." She finally says, seeing no one knows what to say... obviously.

They all go to the beach, Finnick put his trident in the sand and goes to sat in the water.

It always calmed him. He remembers the first night at the Capitol after he was reaped.

He couldn't sleep, he didn't even want to, not knowing what the Capitol actually had in store for him surely wouldn't accommodate a good sleep. He remembers he went into the bathroom, to fill the bathtub and get under the water. Unfortunately the bathtub wasn't big enough. When Y/n knocked on the door, he thought she was there to take him back to his room, instead she sneaked the two of them into the pool. There she tried everything she could to calm him, she got into the water with him and lay there with him, talking.

That's when he realised she was not like the rest.

The others looks at him, as they rest, Johanna brought Katniss some water and now they're talking.

"Why did they use Y/n's screams with him?" Katniss asks.

"Really?" Johanna's taken aback by that question. "Have you... haven't you noticed anything?" She slightly scoffs.

"I'm afraid not." Katniss answers flatly.

"Love sometimes is cruel." Johanna simply says.

Katniss thinks for a moment before understanding her words, and can't help but agree with her.

"I have a plan." Beetee suddenly says and everyone gathers around him listening closely.

"Where do the Careers feel safest? The jungle?" He asks the group.

"Jungle's a nightmare." Johanna speaks up.

"Probably here on the beach." Peeta suggests.

"Then why are they not here?" Beete asks once again.

"Because we are. We claimed it." Johanna answers.

"And if we left, they would come." He guesses.

"Or stay hidden in the tree line." Finnick says.

"Which in just over four hours will be soaked with the water from the 10:00 wave. And what happens at midnight?" He speaks as if he is teaching to a class, and wants them to understand the concept before having to say it himself.

"Lightning strikes that tree." Katniss answers, understanding the concept of the plan.

"Here's what I propose. We leave the beach at dusk. We head to the lightning tree. That should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight we then run this wire from the tree to the water." He explains, pointing to the tree and then the beach, "anyone in the water or on the damp sand will be electrocuted."

"How do we know the wire's not gon a burn up?" Johanna questions.

"Because I invented it." He replies, with a hint of pride. "I assure you, it won't burn up."

The silence falls as everyone thinks about what to do. Johanna and Finnick looks at each other, they both seem to agree to the plan. Katniss looks at Peeta, worried, and still a little suspicious.

"Well, it better than hunting them down." Johanna agrees.

"Yeah, why not?" Katniss agrees too, "if it fails, no harm done anyway, right?"

"All right, I say we try it." Peeta nods.

"So what can we do to help?" Finnick asks, hoping the real plan will work... quickly.

Y/n's POV.

"Keep me alive for the next six hours. That would be extremely helpful." Beete says to the group.

That's our chance.

Plutarch's in his office with the president, so I'm the one directing the Gamemakers.

"Keep it as close as possible to the lovers." I say, "the Capitol loves them. Give them as much as they want."

They of course want the other to win, and if it goes down to them being the last two one of them would surely sacrifice themselves for the other... I pray we get them all out on time.

Peeta tries to convince her, she is the one who should live, he shows her the pendant Effie gave him, opens it and show her the picture of her family.

It breaks me hearing Peeta saying that no one needs him, because it's so far from the truth and he doesn't realise it.

Thankfully, Katniss reassures him she needs him. As they kiss my heart warms, and also hurts as I think of Finnick... maybe when everything is over we could... have our chance.

No. I don't have to keep my hopes up, for no reason.

Plutarch comes out of his office, nods at my direction and then addresses the Gamemakers.

"We're almost at the grand finale." He declares. "How about you go get some rest, miss L/n? You worked a lot today."

"Are you sure, sir? If we're at the finale, you might need all hands on deck, right?" I ask, pretending to be sorry.

"Go have some rest and enjoy the show, you earned it." He nods.

"Thank you, sir." I force an enthusiastic smile and walk to the exit.

As I pass him he whispers to me, "pack what you need. You'll know when it's time to go, so keep an eye on the games."

"Yes, sir."

"When it's time, immediately go to the roof of the training centre." He instructs, I nod and just walk out, to my apartment.

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

I put the last item in my backpack, a picture of my brother when we were younger, before we got sent to Snow. I turn the TV on to keep and eye on the games, as Plutarch instructed. Thankfully, I got the program so I can see everything live and change angles.

Apparently the group has to split, Katniss and Johanna are sent to unspool the wire all the way to the beach. Peeta, obviously, tries to offer to go with them, but Beetee says he needs both Finnick and Peeta as protection.

Of course, it generated a little angst in the group, suspects raising, and it ends with them agreeing to part ways until midnight.

I look for any sort of signal within the games, but I can't see anything yet.

I bounce my leg anxiously, as I look at Johanna cutting Katniss' arm, I look closer and realise she's tacking off the tracking device, this let me let out a sigh of relief. I try to find Finnick with the other cameras, only to see him looking for Johanna. He probably heard the Careers and went searching.

But I need to force myself to look for Katniss instead, Finnick knows about the plan, he knows what to do, Katniss doesn't so if I have to look for a sign, she's the one I need to follow. She's going back at the tree, looking for Peeta, but once she gets there, she only finds Beetee. I gasp, looking at a shaking Beetee lying down. Then her eyes fall to a made-up spear, the wire wrapped around the tip.

The sound of the cannon distracts her, screaming for Peeta she stands up, but when Finnick shows up, my heart stops as I see her taking an arrow and pointing it at Finnick.

"Please..." I whisper.

The door opening only increases my anxiety, and I quickly grab the emergency gun I took from my small voult.

My eyes drift between the hallway and the TV.

"Hello, my sweetness." Cal appears in front of me, a creepy grin on his face.

"Cal? What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Missed you." He simply answers, stepping closer, but I take a step back. He gives me a surprised and irritated look.

I look at the TV, in time to hear Finnick saying something to Katniss.

"Remember who the real enemy is." He said.

Cal looks at the TV, then step closer again and I take another step back, the gun still behind my back.

"Turn it off, sweetheart." He orders.

My eyes are, instead, glued to the screen. Katniss takes the spear, unwraps the wire only to wrap ot again around her arrow.

"Sweetheart." He calls again.

Finnick tries to get Katniss to get away from the tree, but right before the lightning strikes, she fires the arrow towards the sky and the screen turns black.

"Shit." I mutter.

"What happened?" Cal asks, alarm clear in his tone.

"I have to go." I say, rushing past him, careful to keep the gun somwhow hidden.

"Y/n!" I hear him scream my name as I near the door.

I open the door, but I find Peacekeepers in front of me.

"Yes?" I ask, as flatly and emotionless as I can.

"You are to come with us." One of them informs me.

"Where?"

"You're under arrest." Another says.

"What?" I scoff.

"What's going on?" Cal appears beside me, I hold the gun under the backpack harder.

"She's under arrest, she's suspected to be part of a rebellious group, a group Plutarch Heavensbee is part of." They explain.

"That's ridiculous." Cal laughs.

"I'm afraid it's true, sir." The peacekeeper replies.

I need to get out, I need to get to that roof.

I push past them, taking a little advantage of their talking. I arrive at the elevator, as I wait the doors to open I hear quick footsteps nearing. I point my gun at the Peacekeepers, firing twice, I manage to slow them down just in time for the doors to open and let me in, and I fire three more before the doors close again. I only injure some of them.

I didn't see Cal, he probably froze because of the news.

I decide to exit at another floor, I'm sure there would be more peacekeepers down, so then I'll go for the backdoor.

I get to the 4th floor, and carefully step out, analysing my surroundings as I walk to the stairs. I'm not so sure it's the best choice, but it's the only one I got. I try to be fast, but careful at the same time, the last thing I want is for them to get me.

Steady steps, controlled breathing, gun at hand, I move down the stairs.

"In here!" I hear someone scream and I just have to rush down now.

I run downstairs, jumping a few step in the process until I'm in front of the door.

I don't think, I need to get away from the ones on the stairs...

So I open the door.

Finnick's POV

Finnick sits up straight, holding his aching head, breathing heavily from exhaustion.

"Good, we started to think you were dead." Haymitch's voice makes Finnick raise his head to look at him.

"I'm... okay... I think." He says, he looks at his body, noticing some bandages, especially on his arm. They thankfully took off the tracking device.

"Yeah, the device is off, no need to worry about... that." Haymitch says, there's tension in his voice, resignation too, anger.

"What exactly happened?" Finnick asks, confused still.

"Katniss fired that arrow to the force field... that obviously broke, the screens, the cameras were down, this gave us the time to come and get you." Haymitch explains.

"Okay..." Finnick nods, he senses something wrong though.

"Come, let's talk." Haymitch nudges him to get up and follow him.

They arrive to a room with a big table, and screens taking their position on the walls.

Plutarch's there to greet him, but he's not happy, he's not satisfied.

Finnick hopes to see Y/n soon, he needs a friendly face to calm down.

"Mr. Odair... glad to see you're okay." He then says.

"Well, I'm alive... that's something." Finnick replies, forcing a small laugh out, "what about the others?"

He sees Plutarch and Haymitch sharing a look, then they both sigh deeply.

"We manage to get the Mockingjay out of there, which was the main mission." Plutarch starts, but doesn't continue.

"The others?" Finnick pressures.

"We managed to also get Beetee out." He answers.

"Johanna and Peeta?" Finnick's now scared.

"The Capitol has them." Plutarch simply answers.

Finnick pales, they might as well be dead, who knows what the Capitol will do to them.

"And..." Haymitch walks a little closer to Finnick, eyes down, guilty and angry.

"What? What is it?" Finnick snaps, frustrated.

Haymitch looks him dead in the eyes, so he can perfectly see the fury in his stare.

"They got Y/n too."

#finnick imagine #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick odair fic #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games fic #the hunger games imagine

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arcadian-litterateur · 1 year ago

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sick of kissing you in my head (when can it be real instead?) | modern au!gally x fem!reader

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

summary: your boyfriend, gally, is across the country, and despite the struggles a long distance relationship can bring, your love is strong enough to carry you through the long distance season of your relationship. but spending your birthday without him is different than spending normal days separated, and you know deep down that nothing will make you happy on your birthday when he’s all you need.

word count: 8k holy—i really didn’t even realize how long this was till i checked the wc omg

warnings: emotional meltdown, mention of anxiety and anxiety meds, brief mention of panic attacks

a/n: hey guys! i love love love the song this is based off of: all i need (the distance song) by avery lynch. it's such a good song. this was supposed to just be fluff about visiting your bf gally, and then it turned into a whole thing lol. so yeah, i hope you guys enjoy this long ass one shot. i really really enjoyed writing it.

“𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦. 𝘪𝘧 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥.”

𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥 onto my side, legs brushing against my sheets, I smile at the FaceTime call on my phone, but it's bittersweet. On the other end of the video call sits my boyfriend, the soft smile on his face mirroring my own. From where he sits, I can see the San Francisco skyline out his hotel window, highlighted by the rising sun.

“I miss you,” I mumble, studying the lines and contours of his face and wondering if they've changed since the last time I saw him in person. If I've missed any change; any detail while we've been separated. If anything has changed or tipped the balance since we've been apart.

I'm not insecure in my relationship with Gally, but be long distance for enough time and everyone gets in their head about it. Catches themselves wondering; doubting.

“I miss you more every time we have to part,” I add, watching the bitter take over the sweet in my boyfriend's eyes for a few seconds before he replies.

“I know, baby, I know.” His gaze wanders into the space between the atoms, his mind leaping forward into the future as he assures both me and himself, “Once my contract with WCKD Enterprises is up, I'll be able to move back to Denver. We'll be back in the same city.”

My smile is tired, only half there, and Gally knows it. It's been months since I've held him in my arms. This long distance routine is wearing us both out. We're both running out of steam—not for each other; not for our relationship, but for the complexity that being long distance has brought to our relationship. Conflicting schedules, spotty internet, the deprivation of physical contact with the person we crave it from the most…it's all beginning to pile up, and we both know it.

In an attempt to change the subject, I ask, “When is your flight back to Chicago again?” I already know, but I'm not sure what else to say, and besides, it's always good to check.

“Your birthday,” comes the cheeky reply, my eyes rolling of their own accord as I secretly admire the handsome grin on my boyfriend's face. But all too soon, his grin fades.

“I'm sorry I can't be there for your birthday,” he says gently. I wave him off, assuring him that I'll be just fine.

“Bren, Tes, and Sony are planning something. Won't tell me what, though.” I sigh before admitting, “It won't be the same without you. But your work's important.” Gally smiles gratefully, but there's cracks in the smile, and my stomach sinks. Guilt over my last comment settles in my digestive tract. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“No, no, don't apologize,’’ Gally says quickly. “You're allowed to be sad that I can't be there.” His amiable grin morphs into a scowl, “Tried to get Janson to give me the time off, I really did. But that rat wouldn't do it.” I give Gally what I hope is a reassuring smile.

“It's okay, babe.” We fall into silence, not necessarily comfortable, but not bad either, before Gally interjects,

“It'll be nice to be in my own apartment, though. I'm getting sick of all these Californian hotels. I'll be glad to be home, smog and noisy L-trains galore.” I chuckle, knowing that Gally loves Chicago because of its quirks, not in spite of them.

Still, Denver has always been home to me. But Gally and I've decided to cross that bridge when we get to it. We've got enough to think about as it is.

I'm trying to come up with another conversation topic, since I don't have work until later today, but unfortunately, Gally isn't so lucky. It’s the perks of working from home as a crisis hotline counselor, I guess. The hours aren’t as demanding, since the work itself is.

“Shoot, I have to go,” he hisses. “I'm sorry, princess. I'll call you tonight?” I nod, forcing myself to look forward to tonight's call, rather than be sad that this one is ending. “Alright, good that,” Gally grins. “I love you, babe!”

“I love you, Gal,” I smile and wave goodbye. The half-baked grin melts right off my face once he's hung up. Gosh, I miss him so much.

There's only so much comfort a video call can give.

Teresa calls me soon after Gally hangs up, blabbering on and on about a date she'd had with some guy named Ben, but I can't focus on her stories like I normally would. Usually, I'm all in to hear my friend's tales, but my mind is still fixated on the miles separating Gally and I. Something in me wonders how much longer we'll be able to go without holding each other. How much longer we can stand to be separated.

When we first started dating, I could have gone months, as long as we were still interacting. But as my love for Gally increased, the length of time I could stand to be without him decreased.

I'm fully, unashamedly in love with Gally now, and part of me wonders what I would do to be living in the same place as him. To be in his arms for good. The easy answer—the most raw answer—is anything. I'd do anything for him.

“(Y/N)?” Teresa's voice brings me out of my thoughts, her suspicious tone confirming that she's noticed my lack of focus today. “You weren't listening, were you?” To an outsider, her tone might sound harsh; reproachful, even, but I know her too well. She's not mad. Just annoyed she'll have to repeat her story if she wants me to hear it.

“I'm sorry,” I mumble, and it's sincere. I am sorry that I lost focus. But I don't apologize for pining after my faraway boyfriend. There's no reason to, for one, and two, I won't ever apologize for thinking of him. For missing him.

Teresa is grinning at my distracted tone, I can tell. Even through the phone, I can tell. “You're good. Dreaming about your bae, aren't you?”

I don't hesitate to admit, “Yes. I miss him more than I thought was even possible.” I hear Teresa's hum from the other end of the phone.

“You need to see him,” she declares. I scoff.

“Believe me, I know, and we're trying to figure out when he can next visit, but we're both just so busy.” Teresa clucks her tongue, the sound distorting oddly through the phone speaker. I imagine it running across the telephone poles, through the wires, twisting and bending and knotting out of shape as it flies all the way to me.

“I didn't mean like that, (Y/N). You need to go see him.” I chuckle, I wish I could.

“He's busy, Tes. Besides, he isn't even in Chicago right now,” I reason. This doesn't deter her.

“Well, when will he next be in Chicago?”

“His flight's on my birthday.”

“That's perfect!” Teresa squeals.

“How is that perfect?” I huff.

“You can fly out and spend your birthday with him! Surprise him!”

I actually laugh at this. “Um, no, I can't. I don't have the kind of money to just throw down for plane tickets. Besides, weren't you, Brenda, and Sonya planning something?”

“Well, yeah, but we could always change plans if we needed to,” Teresa says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. On any other day, I would entertain this kind of silly daydreaming, but today, I already felt lonely enough.

“Sorry, Tes. Those spontaneous decisions are not my cup of tea,” I sigh, and I think she can tell I'm shutting the conversation down. She lets it go, and I thank her silently, forcing the ache in my heart left by Gally's absence to venture to the back of my mind. If I waste the day away, it'll be evening again, and then he'll call, just like he said.

And so despite the fact that I know wasting the days away is bad for me, I do it anyway. Just today, I tell myself. Just today.

Of course, I know I'll do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and all the hours in between my calls with Gally. It's ridiculous, how they all say having space helps one think clearer, when having space just distracts me by making me miss him that much more.

When he's gone, I'm reminded that much more that he's all I need.

_______________________________

𝗜𝗧’𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡 p.m. by the time Gally calls, his eyes lighting up when he sees me despite the exhausted, burnt out look on his face. I'm equally as ecstatic as he is to revel in the gaze of my lover, both of us simply brushing every inch of each other's faces with our eyes, memorizing each other for the millionth time. It won't be the last time, either. I could never get tired of scanning my gaze across his skin, memorizing every inch of his beautiful face.

In our current situation, it's the closest I can get to kissing every inch of his beautiful face.

Gally is the first to break the silence, and I'm okay with it. He's the one who's had a long day. He knows what he needs to talk or not talk about. I just love hearing his voice.

“How was your day, baby?” he asks, a tired sort of happiness seeping into his voice. Like I'm giving him some kind of rest just by smiling at him.

“It was good. Uneventful.” I shrug, knowing that I'd barely moved from the chair I occupied now. “The real question is, how was your day, my love?”

Gally grins at the pet name. He always does. It's the same reaction that I have whenever he uses terms of endearment on me. It's our own personal love language of sorts. How many different ways can I call you mine?

“My day was okay,” Gally says quietly, sighing when he sees the look on my face. The one that tells him to lay it on me; rant if it'll make him sleep better tonight. “Well, it was…mediocre,” he amends, running a hand through his short hair. “Tim was being an ass. As always.” I nod sympathetically, understanding the deep hatred he harbors for his coworker.

Why Gally doesn't like Tim, I'm not exactly sure, but I know it has something to do with taking credit for a project that Gally did all the work on. It resulted in a harsh lecture from their boss for Gally, who was presumed to have slacked off, and a promotion for Tim.

Anyone who knows Gally knows that he would never slack off. He takes duty and work seriously; more seriously than anyone else I've met, in fact. I know my boy. He wouldn't hurt his company's productivity, even if his boss is an asshole like Janson.

“I'm sorry Tim was giving you trouble, baby,” I croon, watching the aches and tension of the day seeping out of his stiff shoulders at the sound of my voice. His smile weaves its way back onto his face. It's a soft, vulnerable smile, the one that makes me want to take him in my arms and just hold him like the precious treasure he is.

“I wish I could hug you,” Gally groans, rubbing his chin with his fingers before trying to regain his composure. “Sorry…I don't mean to bring everything up again. I just…I just miss you.” My comforting smile wobbles, knowing that those same thoughts are eating away at me inside, but I bring the happy thoughts back to the surface and my grin rights itself.

“Soon, love, soon,” I murmur, knowing I can't truly promise anything with how busy our lives have become. But soon doesn't have a time slot or expiration date. I can promise soon and define it later. All I know is that it brings a smile to my boy's face, and that's what I need right now.

We spend the rest of the night talking, lifted by the promise of Soon, love, soon, knowing that it could very well mean a long, long time.

_______________________________

𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗦 in my bedroom window, blinding me when my eyes flicker open. But once I blink away the black spots in my vision, I see that the sunlight isn't the only reason I was pulled from the comforting arms of sleep.

Brenda, Teresa, and Sonya are standing at my bedside, my sheets in a bunched up ball in Sonya's hands. I groan, trying to roll away, but Bren, ever the fearless one, grabs my shoulder and pulls me back to face them.

“Get up, (Y/N). No spending the day moping,” she orders. I heave out an exaggerated sigh, making my body intentionally limp as Brenda and Teresa each grab one of my arms, pulling me upright until I have to support my own weight.

“Sometimes I really regret giving you guys my apartment passcode,” I comment, leading Sonya to pinch my arm. I yelp, rubbing the red mark as I get manhandled out of my pajamas and into a new outfit by my best friends. “What—what are you crazies doing?” I splutter, quickly taking the pair of jeans from Teresa's hands before she can try to shove them on my legs, opting to put them on myself.

“We aren't letting you mope around until Gally visits. Who knows how long that would be? It's not healthy,” Sonya explains, linking an arm through mine as the three girls drag me to the bathroom. Brenda shoves my toothpaste-loaded toothbrush into my hand as Tes starts pulling my hair brush through my hair.

“Ow,” I complain around a mouthful of toothpaste suds, pulling away from Teresa's assault on my tender scalp momentarily to spit. She and Sonya make quick work of my slightly frizzy hair, tag teaming it to create a fun yet elegant braid.

“Beautiful,” Sonya sighs, leaning back to admire her handiwork. Brenda, on the other hand, seems to have some kind of mental checklist, full of all the tasks she must see me complete.

“Breakfast is next,” she commands, and I find myself being pulled into my kitchen, watching helplessly as my friends dive into making us a scrumptious, sugary feast.

I have to admit, the fluffy blueberry pancakes filling my stomach certainly make venturing out into the world much easier than I expected. I only feel the need to text Gally three times before leaving my apartment with my friends, rather than the usual five to ten. Whether these texts are to let him know I'm fine or to make sure he's fine, I've never been able to figure out. Maybe they're both. Either way, it's a good thing Brenda shoved my meds into my hand before breakfast.

When I'm here alone, I don't take them. Sometimes I skip them on purpose, sometimes I just forget. But either way, I don't take my anxiety meds unless Brenda is there to shove them down my throat. Thinking about it, I'm grateful she's here to force me to take them today. With all of these mixed up feelings about being separated from Gally for so long, having more control over my anxiety will be good.

A day shopping with my best friends is a good distraction from the painful loneliness I've been feeling without Gally. It's not exactly a cure, but it's close. My friends know this; know their own limitations, and so they do the best they can.

And I'm so grateful that they've put in the time. Put in the effort. All for me.

“Thank you,” I whisper to them as we sit in our favorite coffee shop, sipping oat milk lattes.

“Of course,” Brenda immediately responds.

“We love you,” Sonya adds.

“We know we aren't your boy,” Teresa chimes in, “but we're your best friends, and that means we stick by you. No matter what.” She leans over to rub my arm. “When you're down, I'm down. We wanted to help pick you back up.”

The smile on my face is genuine for the first time in a long time, knowing that my friends love me enough to support me despite having the knowledge that they can't give me everything I need. They give what they can, and accept me when it doesn't fix everything.

I haven't always had friends this good, and I look up at the sky, thanking the heavens that I've been blessed with such good friends now.

_______________________________

𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗦 before my birthday, I can’t get Teresa’s half-joking, hare-brained idea out of my head. Realistically, I know that the likelihood that I could find a flight on my birthday to Chicago that isn’t full (or way too expensive) is slim. Realistically, I know that I don’t have the money for plane tickets right now. Realistically, I know that flying halfway across the country on a whim to see my boyfriend is ridiculous.

But when Gally sends me his flight information, knowing I like to watch his progress and get confirmation when he lands safely, I find myself checking flights from Denver to Chicago, telling myself it’s just out of curiosity. Because what if there is a flight to Denver from Chicago on my birthday? What if there is a possibility that I could see Gally on my birthday? What if there is a chance that I could have this gift; the only one I truly want?

If there’s even a chance to see Gally on my birthday, I want to know.

Gally’s flight information is pulled up on my phone, which is next to me on my desk as I scroll through flights on my laptop. My right thumbnail is between my teeth, bitten down to the quick and then some. It seems that flying is a popular travel option right now, as flights are filled even into places like Dawson County, Montana. Every flight I find from Denver to Chicago is either full or too expensive for someone just out of college, like me. The cheapest is $374, and I know rationally that blowing through that much money would be devastating for my finances.

I swear under my breath, angry at myself for even getting my hopes up. It was a stupid idea to check the flights, and I find myself wishing I could go back in time to stop myself from looking. The disappointment grows even larger knowing that there would be a way to get to him if I wasn’t a broke post-college student making minimum wage in the Mile-High City. Then the disappointment and anger melt away, leaving me with a heart wrenching sadness that feels so empty and yet so all-consuming that I can’t help but break down into tears.

I don’t want to let myself cry about a silly daydream that was unlikely to happen anyway, but I’d let myself entertain the thought of seeing Gally soon; of holding him close and kissing him until we couldn’t breathe, and now everything else seemed pale in comparison. It wasn’t that my life had no purpose outside of him—I’d made it very clear when we started dating that the two of us needed to make sure we had lives outside of our relationship, too. But Gally had become a part of me; my favorite part of me, in fact. I was perfectly happy with the life I had, but Gally made it even sweeter. And knowing that sweetness was mine but was inaccessible made the absence of it even more palpable. Even more unbearable.

Crumpled into a heap on my floor with tears slowly leaking from my eyes is how Teresa finds me when she opens my door fifteen minutes later. “Hey, girl—” she calls before seeing me, rushing to my side with a worried, “Oh, my gosh, what’s wrong, (Y/N)?” I just shake my head, the waterworks turning back up to full blast.

“I miss him so much,” I sob as she gathers me in her arms, unable to care that I sound pathetic.

“Oh, I know, darling, I know,” Teresa coos, rocking back and forth with my shaking body, whispering comforting words into my ears just like she always does when I get so worked up. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, hand flying up to wipe the snot from my nose, but of course, the minute it’s gone, more replaces it. I’m past the point of an easy calm-down, instead finding myself close to the edge of hyperventilating. Thankfully, Teresa isn’t a stranger to my emotional meltdowns, and she isn’t afraid of them, either. Instead, she’s the kind of friend who will take my hand and guide me through it.

“Did you take your meds this morning?” she asks cautiously, to which I shake my head in embarrassment. Tears are still pooling in the corners of my eyes as I manage to get out,

“I’m sorry.”

Teresa just shushes me calmly. “Don’t apologize. It’s in the past now. I just wanted to know.” I nod shakily, the soothing pressure of her hand rubbing my arm helping me steady my breaths slightly. “What set you off?” she queries, squeezing me a bit tighter when the tears speed up again.

“I—I decided to check the flights for my birthday,” I answer, sniffling as my best friend strokes my hair lovingly. “It was stupid, because it just made me upset. They’re all too expensive, and I knew they would be, and it just made me miss him so much more.” Admitting it out loud makes me feel even dumber, the guilt creeping into my stomach. “I did this to myself,” I mumble. Subconsciously, my nails find their way to my arms, digging into the delicate skin and leaving pink crescents behind. Teresa pulls my hands away from my arms quickly.

“Stop blaming yourself. You did nothing wrong. I would’ve done the same, (Y/N).” I know she’s trying to comfort me, but I just squeeze my eyes shut.

“Yeah, and it wouldn’t have caused you to end up on the floor like a pathetic child.”

“(Y/N)! Stop!” Teresa scolds me. “Stop with the negative self-talk.” I try to protest, but she fixes me with that no-nonsense look that can get anyone to agree to anything, and I find myself nodding meekly. “None of this is your fault. You’re in a difficult situation, being separated from your boyfriend, and your heart isn’t sure how to handle it. That’s okay. You don’t have to know how to handle it perfectly yet.” I sigh, leaning into my best friend’s shoulder, feeling slightly calmer now. She always knows the right words to say when I’m in too deep to think straight.

Teresa coaxes me into the kitchen to drink hot chocolate once my breathing has steadied somewhat. She’s looking at me with an odd look that I can’t quite place, as if she’s…proud of me?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask warily over the top of my steaming mug. My best friend grins, staring at me for a couple more seconds before replying,

“You’re just, like, the strongest person I know.” My face turns what I assume is beet red at the compliment, not expecting such high praise from the woman who just held me in her arms as I sobbed like a baby. But then again, Teresa is special. She doesn’t judge based on outward appearances or impressions. She can see right into the heart of people, as if she can sense their goodness; their potential, and then she nudges them down that path. Helping them choose the sunshine. The good side. The light.

Knowing her compliment is slightly overwhelming, Teresa shrugs and changes the subject so fast I think I get whiplash. “You should call Gally,” she suggests. “Tell him that you were missing him and ask him for some love.” I cringe, turning away from her.

“I don’t want to make him feel bad that he isn’t here. I think I’ve already done that too much this week.”

Teresa scoffs, “That’s nonsense. He’ll be happy that you reached out to him after your meltdown. He’ll be touched that you wanted to let him know how you’re doing. He’ll feel honored that you’re willing to be vulnerable with him.” I know deep down that she’s right; that the only thing he’d do is make me feel better. Never after calling Gally do I feel worse. I know I’m just scared to hurt him, but he always assures me that I don’t need to harbor that fear. I don’t need to hold onto that anxious voice in my head that whispers, You don’t deserve him.

I can even imagine him next to me if I try hard enough, murmuring, “You’re perfect, baby,” when I grow insecure. Whispering, “I’m so lucky to have you” in my ear when I doubt myself.

“Okay,” I agree, letting Teresa take my phone and FaceTime him. Despite the fact that it’s the middle of the work day, Gally picks up on the first ring, a concerned look decorating his handsome face.

“Teresa? Wha—”

“She’s fine!” Teresa rushes to assure him, motioning for me to join her on the couch. I pop my head into the frame, wincing as I see how swollen and puffy my face is. Gally’s forehead immediately creases upon seeing me, obviously still worried when he sees the tear stains on my cheeks.

“Babe, are you okay?” he asks. Teresa silently asks if I want to take the phone, but I shake my head. My hands are still slightly shaky, and holding the phone is an added stressor. Teresa understands and angles the phone towards me.

“Yeah, I’m okay, don’t worry,” I whisper, my boyfriend’s shoulders relaxing only slightly. “I just had a bit of a meltdown. Teresa found me and helped me calm down.” Gally’s eyebrows soften, his mouth tilting down in a sympathetic frown.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “What happened?”

“I just miss you,” I mumble sheepishly after a second’s pause. It seems kind of silly once I admit it out loud, and I start to duck my face away when Gally gets my attention.

“Hey, (Y/N), (Y/N),” he says, waiting until I’ve turned back to him before continuing, “You don’t need to feel embarrassed. I miss you, too, okay? I miss you so much. You don’t need to feel ashamed for struggling.” He waits for me to respond, and I nod slightly. Truth be told, just hearing his voice has made me feel better; stronger. There’s something about his comforting, strong tone that soothes me. Just his voice can make me truly believe in myself. I swear, this man could make me believe anything as long as he says it aloud.

“Thank you for picking up,” I smile, finding my mood lightening as a grin finds its way back onto his face. “Seeing you helped.” Gally blushes slightly, rubbing a hand along his chin.

“I’m glad I could help, baby.” Offscreen, someone gruffly commands him to get back to work, and he mutters an apology before turning back to the screen. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. But call me if you need anything, okay?” I nod, trailing my eyes over his freckles one more time as he thanks Teresa for taking care of me and then hangs up.

“It helped?” she asks, as if double-checking to make sure I truly am feeling better.

“Yeah,” I grin sheepishly. “You know what you’re talking about.” With a roll of my eyes, I joke, “You should be a counselor for a living. At this rate, you’re better than me at my own job!” Teresa just laughs.

“Well, now that you’ve cracked a joke, I know you’re feeling better.” She pulls me into a hug, and I gladly return it, silently wondering how I got blessed with such an amazing best friend.

“Hey, I’m here for you,” she reminds me one more time as she leaves, her meticulous check-ins a promise for the next few days.

“I know,” I assure her. “I promise I’ll call if I need to.”

“Good,” she says, smiling as she waves. “I love you, babes!”

“I love you, too, Tes!” Feeling a bit lighter, I wave back as I close my front door.

_______________________________

“𝗜 𝗖𝗔𝗡’𝗧—I can’t take this,” I stutter the next day, wide-eyed at the wad of cash Teresa is currently shoving into my hands. Brenda and Sonya are flanking her on either side with looks that imply they’re attempting to telepathically convince me to take the money.

“Don’t be sorry!” Brenda sighs. “Just take the money! It’s our birthday present for you!” I look back and forth between my three best friends, realizing that there is no way they’re letting me reject the money. But it feels so weird having this many fifties weighing heavily in my grasp.

“Yes, you can,” Teresa sighs exasperatedly. “Like I already told you, it’s the money we were going to spend on your celebration pooled together. But we all know you’d rather spend your birthday with Gally, and we want you to be able to, so we’re giving you the money for that plane ticket you couldn’t afford. It would be a waste to throw you a party you don’t want to be at. Helping you see your boyfriend is a much better use of that money. We all agreed.” Brenda and Sonya both nod, Teresa shoving the cash even further into my palms. I take it shakily, counting silently as I gape at them.

“But—but this is nine hundred bucks! I can’t—I can’t take this, I’m sorry!”

“Please take it,” Sonya says softly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We want you to be able to go see Gally. We want you to enjoy this birthday. You’ll be giving a gift to us by making this impulsive choice to do what makes you happy.” My resistance gets melted away by her words, knowing that this was their tactic all along. Get (Y/N) all toughened up to the ‘just take it’ ruse and then let Sonya slip under her defenses when she least expects it. But I’m not annoyed by it. Instead, I let Teresa close my fist over the cash.

Immediately, the three start cheering, but before I can even blink, they’ve moved on from celebrating and are pushing me towards my laptop where, just as I’m sure Teresa suspected, the flights from Denver to Chicago are still pulled up. Teresa obviously asked Gally to share his flight information with her, because she seems to have it memorized as she scans the flights.

“Alright, here’s the best one,” she announces after a few minutes of looking. “United, nonstop, leaving at 9:30 a.m. MT and arriving at 12:56 p.m. CT. It’s in the same terminal as Gally’s flight, and he lands at 2:23 p.m. CT, so that gives you a little over an hour to get to his gate and wait for him. Sounds good?” I nod wordlessly, still slightly in shock over the way my best friends have handled this so nonchalantly, as if their friend flying across the country on a day’s notice is just a normal part of their lives.

Sonya pulls me towards my room as Brenda takes the stack of cash back from me, mumbling that Teresa insisted they have it for show but was just planning on Venmoing the cash to me. I laugh at our friend’s antics before following an impatient Sonya, who grabs my suitcase from my closet and starts making a list of what I should pack.

“We’re not buying you a return flight,” she explains, “because we didn’t know how long you’d want to stay, and we figured you didn’t know either. Just bring your work stuff and you can work from Gally’s apartment, and use the rest of the money to buy a return ticket when you decide to come back.” I shake my head in awe at the schemes of my friends, who have obviously thought of every single anxiety I could have because of this plan and have set out to refute them.

With Sonya helping me pack, a task that would usually take me at least three hours, two cups of coffee, and a panic attack is done in under one hour, no coffee or panic attacks in sight. While I wouldn’t have minded the coffee, the no panic attack part is nice, and I decide I can live without those two cups of coffee if it means my peace of mind is intact.

And the next morning when Teresa drops me off at the airport, my medicine taken and an ample breakfast eaten, the nervous butterflies in my stomach don’t feel scary. In fact, they feel almost…exciting. And I feel crazy for doing this; for flying halfway across the country to surprise my boyfriend so I can kiss him on my birthday, but I also feel so alive.

And today, the idea of living doesn’t seem as scary anymore.

_______________________________

𝗔𝗦 𝗜 wait at my gate and sip my Starbucks latte, I answer the countless birthday texts I have already received, smiling at the overflow of love from people I talk to everyday and people I barely even know. It’s funny, knowing that there are people out there who remember my birthday but don’t talk to me otherwise. Some might feel disheartened at the idea, but I just giggle quietly to myself, wondering if I’m going crazy for feeling so lighthearted.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, I think to myself. The adrenaline from doing something so stupid and yet so exciting. Shrugging to myself, I take another large gulp of coffee, finally getting to the text from Gally. I saved it for last, knowing it would be the best one. And sure enough, as I read the message, I feel happy tears pricking my eyes. As always, he’s sweet; sappy, even, but his message also holds the serious intensity that he always has around him. It’s like an aura, telling those around him that he does everything fully and completely, never giving only half of his effort. That intensity is probably why I love reading texts from him over and over. Even if it’s a simple good morning, his texts always seem to scream I love you from between the lines.

I text Gally back, thanking him for the love he’s sent zipping along telephone lines, across the country and all the way to me. I suck the last dregs of liquid from my Starbucks cup, finally accepting that the beverage is gone as the gate attendant calls for Boarding Group 1. I find myself bouncing from foot to foot, realizing once again that I’m really doing this. I can’t bring myself to sit down as I wait for my group to be called, instead standing by the gate’s charging station, fidgeting like I’m about to run the 100 meter dash. By the time I’m boarding, I’m breathing heavily like I just sprinted up Pikes Peak. Whether from nerves or excitement, I can’t really tell, but it’s enough that the flight attendant touches my arm as she checks the cabin.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” I look up in surprise before giving her a quick grin.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just nervous.”

She smiles empathetically. “Is it your first time flying?”

“No. I’m flying out to surprise my boyfriend, and I guess I’m just hoping it all works out like I planned,” I explain.

At this, I receive an even bigger grin from the flight attendant, who thinks that is just—“the most adorable thing ever!” I nod along, unsure whether I’m actually smiling or just masking my anxiety. Either one is a plausible explanation, and I’m pumped so full of adrenaline that all of my emotions currently feel interchangeable.

I spend the entirety of take-off nervously fiddling with the little screen in front of me, trying to distract myself. Once we’re at a constant altitude, the flight attendants offer drinks, and I ask for a ginger ale, my go-to drink on airplanes. It calms me down, the comforting security of it helping me stay rational. Unfortunately, the ginger ale combined with my anxious thoughts cause my bladder to reach its limit quite quickly.

I hate the little bathrooms on airplanes. So loud, so claustrophobic, so turbulent. It’s like trying to pee while in the middle of an earthquake. But my bladder isn’t playing games today, and the last thing I want to do is ignore it and then pee myself. The intrusive thoughts fight to take over as I rush through the motions, washing my hands as quickly as possible, but I stave them off and make it back to my seat in one piece.

The remaining hour until landing is the longest hour of my life.

When we finally touch down and taxi to our gate, all of the tension that has built up inside me feels ready to explode, but I hold it in, knowing that I can let it all out once I see Gally. It’s barely even occurred to me that I’m a year older now—that it’s my birthday—because all I can think about is getting to hold my boy.

I almost trip getting off the plane, too busy checking his flight’s progress and landing gate. His flight is still an hour and thirty minutes out, giving me more than enough time to go to the bathroom, get some food, and wait for him. I pull my suitcase behind me, so glad I decided to take everything in my carry-on, as I’m now realizing that baggage claim is outside the secure area of the airport. I break free from the flow of traffic heading in that direction, redirecting towards the bathroom.

One bathroom trip, makeup refresher, and food court scavenger hunt later, I’m standing against a column at Gally’s gate, drinking my second Starbucks latte of the day. Normally, I wouldn’t let myself indulge like this, but it’s my birthday, so I feel justified. I even treat myself to a slice of sweet bread, too. I’m too anxious to eat a full lunch. Besides, I’m sure Gally will be happy to get lunch on our way back to his apartment. He’s always willing to eat, no matter the time of day.

I’m trying my best not to look suspicious. There’s a flight leaving from this gate after Gally’s flight arrives, so I blend in, but my leg is bouncing nervously and my hands are shaking slightly. I’m a naturally energetic person, but the fidgeting increases exponentially when I’m either excited or nervous. Right now, I’m both.

Thankfully, no one seems to notice me or think I’m behaving weirdly. I’m simply overthinking, like I often do. At least it passes the time. I only have thirty minutes left to wait.

I run back to Starbucks and buy another latte. It’s gone within ten minutes, my anxious energy prompting me to gulp it down like I’m dying of thirst. Then I’m running to the bathroom again, bladder shouting angrily at me for the caffeine abuse I’ve been subjecting it to. It’s unpleasant, but it kills more time.

Ten minutes to go. I’m staring at my phone, Gally’s flight details pulled up, reloading the page over and over in hopes that magically, they’ll teleport and be here instantly. With anyone else, I wouldn’t be this obsessive; impatient, but it’s Gally. I could obsess over Gally for days on end with all the love overflowing from my heart. So I pass three minutes refreshing the page persistently, watching the minutes countdown.

I let out a quiet, barely there gasp when my phone screen tells me he’s landed. I can barely contain my excitement, nervous energy causing me to wiggle my hips like a rhythmically challenged dancer. His plane is on the ground, taxiing over, right to where I’m waiting. He’s going to walk through that gate, and I’m going to see his beautiful face, and I’m going to run and jump into my boyfriend’s arms.

All of a sudden, doubt crashes into me like a fucking tidal wave. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if this is weird, and he’s going to be all awkward about it? What if this was one huge fuck-up? I can feel myself starting to spiral, starting to lose touch with the confidence I’ve been channeling all day. The panic has started to grow, and it surges through my veins, reaching to the tip-top of the cliff that is followed by a plunge off the deep end. Thankfully, though, with only a few minutes to spare before my boyfriend gets off his plane, a little girl in a princess dress bumps into me, hard, causing my knees to buckle and my head to snap out of the spiral it’s in.

I catch myself against the trusty column I’m leaning against, looking down to find a young girl, maybe six, wearing an Elena of Avalor dress-up costume with a stuffed animal that looks like some kind of leopard with bird wings.

“Amity!” her mother scolds her, ordering her to apologize for bumping into me. Amity looks up at me with big, brown doe eyes and a huge, genuine grin.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she chirps. I smile back, making eye contact with her mom, before crouching down to her level and holding out a hand to shake.

“I forgive you. I’m (Y/N). Want to know something?” Amity shakes my hand, grinning widely, before looking at her mom as if to make sure it’s okay to talk to me. Her mom gives a gentle nod, a kindness in her eyes as they meet mine. “Well, Amity, you actually helped me just now. I was feeling super duper nervous and it was making me get shaky and worried. But then you bumped into me, and I saw your smile, and it made me feel a lot better!”

I can tell Amity’s mother is touched, and I make sure to assure her that I’m doing better. That Amity’s little scuffle with my legs was truly helpful. And then Amity and her mom are on their way, Amity’s tight hug and whisper of “You look like a princess” giving me the last boost of confidence I need.

Right as I finish waving goodbye to the adorable little girl, I hear the sounds of passengers starting to come down the jetway. I suck in a sharp breath, making sure my small suitcase and jacket are safe by the column before stepping closer to the junction between gate and jetway, watching passengers closely as they start to trickle into the airport.

It’s no surprise that I can pick Gally out of the crowd immediately after he walks out of the jetway, his head easily peeking over every other passenger. He doesn’t see me at first, focused on trying not to trample the small toddler whose family is trying desperately to get him to behave as they walk in front of my boyfriend.

I wait until he’s right there, just the toddler’s family in front of him, to call his name. “Gally!” His head snaps up, eyes scanning the surrounding area before settling on me, his jaw going slack, falling open in surprise as the toddler’s family quickly moves out of the way.

It’s like we’re living in slow motion, the way I watch Gally’s backpack slide out of his hand and hit the floor with a thump, his look of shock morphing into a state of joyous disbelief, as if he’s not sure he’s truly seeing me. He looks frozen in this state, unable to move towards me, but I don’t care. I’m already running up to him, happy tears gathering in my eyes as I jump into Gally’s arms, my head burying itself in his neck before I lean up to kiss him with all the pent-up love, tension, and nerves that have been coursing through my body all day.

His lips are warm just like they always are, soft and full and inviting as we kiss passionately; shamelessly, right in front of everyone waiting to board their flight. I can’t bring myself to care, anxiety nowhere to be found now that I’m here. In his arms. Held tightly, kept safe, flooded with warmth, just like I’m supposed to be.

He pulls away first, still in shock as he scans my face, as if expecting to find some imperfection that reveals me as a doppelganger. “Baby—” he chokes out, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes, my own tears rolling down my cheeks. “Baby, you’re here.” He lets out a giddy, confused laugh, cupping my cheek with his hand as he wipes the remnant saltwater away with his thumb.

“You’re—you’re here. In Chicago,” he repeats, putting my feet back on the floor so I can stand there with my arms around his neck, his other hand coming up to cup my other cheek. “You’re—it’s your birthday!” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s another reason he’s confused I’m here, or if it’s just an observation. Well, probably both, so I just giggle.

“Yes, Gally, it’s my birthday.”

“But—did you—when did you get here?” he asked, bewildered, a lovestruck, excited smile lighting up his whole face. I run my hands through his hair, admiring his gentleness as he cradles my face in his palms.

“An hour and a half ago, I think. I’m not sure the exact timing,” I shrug. He gasps.

“You flew on your birthday?” I give him an odd look.

“Yes…why? Is that illegal or something?” Gally chuckles through the joy-filled tears still drifting down his face every once in a while.

“No, baby. I just thought—most people wouldn’t be willing to fly or even be at an airport on their birthdays. Don’t you have cool stuff to do? Fun people to see?” I shake my head, pulling him as close as I can, our lips hovering inches apart.

“You’re the only person I wanted to see. This is my birthday present.”

Gally’s eyes water even more as he presses his forehead to mine, running his hands through my hair. “Baby, I—” He pulls away to wipe a tear from his eye and then leans back down, pressing a gentle peck to my forehead, “I love you so much.”

“I love you even more, Gally,” I whisper back, staring into his teary eyes with my watery own. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Not possible.”

“It is, too,” I giggle, still whispering as I press a kiss to his lips, “and I’m the birthday girl, so you have to let me win the arguments today.”

“Oh, that’s how that works,” Gally laughed, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Well, I suppose I can let you win this one, since you did fly all the way to Chicago on your birthday.”

“Oh, but that was selfish,” I smiled. “I wanted to see you. I needed to see you. It was purely selfish.” Gally just hugged me tighter, pressing kisses to the top of my hair as he admitted quietly,

“Well, I needed to see you, too. I needed to have you in my arms.” I relax into the warmth of my boyfriend’s chest, the material of his hoodie tickling my nose. I endure it because it smells like him, and that makes it the most calming aroma in the world.

“Being in your arms is all I need. You are all I need,” I whisper.

I kiss him again, a loving, sweet kiss, reveling in the presence and taste of my boyfriend, a sense of peace and safety wrapping its warm arms around me.

Nothing else matters in this moment. Not my job, or my life in Denver, or my birthday. All that matters is that I am here, in my boyfriend’s arms. In Gally’s arms.

Right where I’m supposed to be.

the end

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arkus-rhapsode · 4 months ago

Text

So wasn't expecting to make this Gaming Hot Take of the day but after reading this from Sony CFO Hiroki Totoki I gotta be honest I had to write something

So look, I can kinda understand this stance in a very retrospective sense as he says "Fostered from the beginning." Playstation 1 in particular didn't really make a big distinction between its original IP and its Third Party IP. It's why you had Crash Bandicoot or Cloud Strife as basically the mascot of Playstation when both come from third parties. Compared to the likes of Mario and Sonic who were not only their console mascot, but company mascots respectively.

But by now, Playstation has an undeniable back catalogue of first and second IP that it can either revive or rerelease if need be. Like if we're looking at like multi entry series and not just one offs, by the PS2, Sony had:

Jak & Daxter

Twisted Metal

Ape Escape

Sly Cooper

MediEvil

Wild Arms

Dark Cloud

Everybody's Golf

God of War

Rachet and Clank

And by the PS3 we have

Infamous

Uncharted

Killzone

Resistance

Little Big Planet

Like Sony has their own catalogue that can stand on its own. Its not like they should be struggling now to play catch up.

Now if you read my recent Emio and Mages post, I am very well aware that in the age of modern gaming, a game doesn't get made without a team devoted to it. And with the rising production and time costs of making games, no company can release a hundred games and be profitable. So sadly some IP just do fall by the wayside in favor of others. Guerrilla Games isn't making Killzone anymore, because their efforts are spent on Horizon and Sucker Punch went from being the Sly Cooper guys to the Infamous guys, to now the Ghosts of Tsushima guys.

However, I feel like Sony has had some circumstances that compound this problem. Sony and Playstation are technically powerful machines-they want to fully utilize the hardware they're selling you for hundreds of dollars. It is their brand. However, the downside to this is because of this the rise in production costs, it's now taking much longer to make games that make use of the powerful hardware. We went from being able to release a full trilogy in a single generation to basically one. Its also made worse by the fact that Sony has been very active in shuttering studios and cutting costs. The biggest would be the loss of Sony Japan Studio, who were beloved for their more varied Japanese-y style games. It added flavor to the more Naughty Dog inspired games of the sixth and seventh generation. But now, Sony went all in on being that one big budget release that leaned more towards broader genres that could maximize the amount of sales like Uncharted, The Last of Us, Spider-Man, etc.

With this, a lot of mismanagement, its really made the PS5 era feel very sparse compared to the PS4. Now, I wanna stress this, I actually do not subscribe to the mentality "Playstation has no games." Playstation has tons of games beyond just their first party titles, some are exclusive like Final Fantasy 16, some are just way too powerful to be something that could be played on a switch like GTAV. Heck, I played Bomb Rush Cyberfunk on my PS5 and it's probably the game I've dumped the most time into this year. So yes, even if Playstation's first party offerings are few and far between, you're still capable of playing a lot of good games on this really expensive plastic box.

And maybe that's indicative of the fact that Playstation has always been about selling you the hardware on the basis of the hardware. Going back to the PS1, the main selling points was this was the haven for third parties after Nintendo really burned a lot of developers with the N64, and that this was a much more system than the N64. When you look at someone like Nintendo now, they're hardware is underpowered they live and die by the power of their software that only they can provide and no one else. But the playstation even if its not shooting out a new Jax & Daxter every year, they're still the place you can play something like Final Fantasy or Elden Ring at a really great clip. Perhaps Totoki was alluding to that reliance on hardware instead of software because in retrospect, they never really had that big homegrown system seller on playstation till the PS2 with things like God of War. And now fostering that, has made it hard to have that sort of Zelda or Halo that are so undeniably their companies IP and will move launch units.

But a reliance on just being the place where you can play games at a high fidelity, means that its still got competition from Xbox and PC. So Sony would have to offer a service the others don't and that can be software you find nowhere else. True story, I was genuinely conflicted about getting a PS5 or and Xbox X/S for my birthday because I knew I needed to at least have a strong machine to play with my switch. And ultimately I took PS5 because that was the console that would have God of War Ragnarok and Spider-Man 2. So yes, IP absolutely factors into purchases in my experience. And the fact that this generation Sony has really struggled to put out first party games, really makes that purchase factor feel so much thinner and thinner. When you know-you know Sony has loads of IP (Some that haven't left their respective console) that even a simple remaster on the PS5 could at least hold people over in-between their AAA releases. So to hear their CFO say that they don't have enough IP, gets very disingenuous.

To close this out, I wanna stress something. I don't think wanting to make new IP is a bad thing. Im glad Sony is willing to invest 8 years and millions of dollars into something new. But eventually, we reach a point where this has to be better managed. We have to have some smaller titles that can be released between the bigger ones. We gotta have some variation in the types of games we're getting from the platform holder. And sometimes leaning in on those fan faves for smaller titles would help. Are they gonna sell 10 million units? More than likely not. But if you balance the budget, having something move between 1-2 million units would be acceptable. Perhaps maybe allow more second party developers a crack at using that IP so your internal teams can work on the bigger blockbuster titles?

The PS5 generation has been a pretty all over the map one for Sony, and the more we learn about the thoughts and management behind the scenes, the more aggravating it can become when this platform does something really cool, but then seems to take two steps back. I genuinely can't tell you if I'll get a PS6. But if I do, it will probably not be out of optimism for classic Playstation franchises to return.

#video games #sony #playstation #concord #ps5 #hiroki totoki #ape escape #jak and daxter #medievil #sly cooper #wild arms

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skylarstark4826 · 3 months ago

Text

Hobie Brown doesn’t believe in consistency. Hobie Brown doesn’t believe in labels.

So, if it came to light that there was a…little quirk about him that consistently labelled certain little “moods” he gets into, one could understand how he’d be hesitant to believe it.

Or maybe he’s just in denial.

��The fuck you mean I change colors?” He asked incredulously, his whole body shifting to a sort of greyscale before Miles’ eyes.

“That! You just did it!” Miles’ hands flailed a bit before he gripped his sleeves, and he laughed a bit at the look Hobie gave him. “When you get upset, you turn grey.”

“I can’t be grey already, mate, come off it.” Hobie chuckled, running his fingers along his hairline before returning his hand to the neck of his guitar. “Though, between the Spider thing and you lot on my arse all the time, the stress could be gettin’ me.”

Miles scoffed, offended. “You know that’s not what I meant! And since when do we stress you—” He paused, realization lighting his face as Hobie’s scheme turned to several tones of pink. “You’re messing with me!”

“Oh?” His voice remained steady, but his eyes were distinctly smug. “I felt like that was pretty serious just now. Full sincerity.”

“No, because you always turn pink when you’re being a goof.”

He froze, fingers catching a sour note on his guitar. Miles flinched a little when just his eyes moved to stare at him. That side-eye alone could level mountains.

…But he was still pink.

Miles eyed him warily, crossing his arms. “I know you’re just trying to get in my head.”

Hobie laughed quietly, and his color returned to…normal? Red Spider suit; black vest; and his skin was actually a human color. Yeah, this could be considered normal. “Hate to break it to you, mate; but it’s very easy to get into your head. You get in there so much on your own; you start leaving the door open.”

Miles pouted, but he inched closer to Hobie’s side and rested his head on his shoulder.

Hobie smiled a bit more, plucking a few notes. “Bit of a fuss-bucket, but we like that about you. ‘S cute.” He leaned in turn, letting his head rest on top of Miles’ as he hummed softly.

“Someone has to worry about you and Gwen, especially when you start scheming together. Or not checking in for days; remember the talk we had about that?”

“Gotta unplug sometimes, my guy.” His color shifted again, flipping between grey and another muted palette. “You…you worry about us?”

“Always. You guys both bottle everything up and then act like drinking from it will make it go away.”

Hobie winced, but he couldn’t help another little laugh. “That’s a half decent line, innit? I…You worry about me, huh?” He murmured, his hands going a little tense before he suddenly looked away and cursed under his breath.

Miles glanced at him curiously as he flickered again, between those muted tones and his bright pink. “Are you—”

“Shut up.” Hobie ran his thumb under his eye, a smile stuck on his face as his body settled into the pink palette.

“Hobie!” Miles said just a bit teasingly, hugging the taller boy’s arm and rocking against him. “You’re all pink~ You turn pink when you’re happy, is that it?”

“I don’t turn colors; what are you on about?!” He let himself rock with Miles, reaching to ruffle his hair with his free hand. “An’ I’m not happy; I’m miserable. You’re out here tormenting me.” He carried on dramatically, slipping his arms around Miles and pulling him into his side as he started to lean over. “Makin’ me cry and all. Terrible.”

“Aw, poor thing.” Miles snorted, trying to get his hands between them again. “Maybe I should cheer you up?” He got one hand just under Hobie’s vest, squeezing his side a few times.

“Oi, watch it!” Hobie yelped, giggles starting to slip out as he tried to lean into Miles. “You’re tickling!”

“You’re ticklish?! That’s crazy, man. Unbelievable.” Miles smirked, bringing both hands to scribble up his sides. “That sounds like a cute thing, and you hate being cute.”

“Miles, you—No!” Hobie let out a cackle as Miles grabbed his waist, electricity rushing through his midriff under his touch. Sparks of color flashed across his body, and he tried to shove Miles’ shoulder as his form settled back to pink.

Actually… Now that Miles really thought about it…

“Have you always turned pink when you get tickled?” He asked softly, letting his thumb press circles on Hobie’s hipbone and brushing stray tears off of his face with his free hand.

Hobie slapped lightly at Miles’ face as he giggled. “Stop saying that…” He half whined, lifting the neck of his guitar as he let his head fall onto Miles’ again.

“How do you keep denying it?!” He pulled his hands back, rummaging in his pockets for his cell phone. “Here, c’mere.” He giggled as Hobie slipped his arm around his waist and hooked his chin over his shoulder, and Miles snapped a picture of them without really looking.

“Okay, there, l—What. The. Fuck?!” Miles stared in disbelief at the photo.

Hobie snorted, laughing snidely as his body turned a few neon colors before going pink again. “Oi, that mouth, love.”

“There’s no way—Hobie!” Miles squeaked as Hobie suddenly pressed a flurry of kisses against his neck and cheek, his phone slipping out of his hand as he laughed.

Sure enough, the photo only showed the pair of them: with Hobie’s red Spider Suit, black vest, and dark brown skin.

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

Gwen had made the fatal mistake of letting Hobie bring her to a pub in his dimension. She had also made the mistake of letting him drag her to three more after that. They were cuddled up in the hammock Hobie had strung up on one side of his bedroom, rocking slowly as the canal shifted the boat.

“Not really sure why you thought you could beat Karl on that third one, lovey.” Hobie purred, fingers carding through Gwen’s hair as her head rested on his chest. “How many times have you told me you don’t even like whiskey?”

“Not my fault you keep shitty whiskey…” She murmured into his shirt. “’N I needed to shut him up.”

“Forgot the sauce makes you a rude li’l bitch, didn’t I?” Hobie smirked down at her as she set her chin on his chest and tried to glare at him.

“Why are you so okay anyway?” She griped. “You knocked back half a bottle of vodka right at the start.”

“Little lesson for the pub crawl: Ol’ Roy waters down the vodka bottles he serves out. Keeps the good shit for himself. Takes a bribe and a half to get so much as a shot out of him, but you need that buzz to choke down some of the food Mary’ll serve ya. Bet you didn’t even notice how fast we booked when they tried to give you those burger things; they’re awful, and you hadn’t even—Aw, love…”

Gwen’s eyes had fallen closed, and she smiled softly as she snoozed quietly against him. “’M listening… Promise.”

“Sure you are.” He pulled her head to rest against him again, tracing gently along the side of her face. “Kinda important, though, you do need to eat more if you’re gonna drink that much. The healing thing ’ll fix ya quicker, but still. That second place? We hit it just for those chicken strips, okay? The cheap wine was a bonus. And I’m still mad you let Riri take that root beer float from the Winchester, man; you’ve gotta try it.”

“I just try not to eat dairy when I have a stomachache…” She yawned for a moment, stretching her arms and hands like a kitten before loosely clutching at his shirt. “Bad things happen.”

“She said, shortly before getting into a drinking contest with a super soldier and keeling after three shots.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry; I got distracted by your cigarette breath. Run that by me again?”

Hobie barely stifled a laugh, ruffling her hair gently. “Okay. It was only, like, two.”

“Two per pub, more like.”

“Nah, it was not like—” He suddenly paused, thinking back to a few hours prior. “…Shite.”

Gwen chuckled sleepily, trailing off into a quiet snore.

Hobie huffed as he smirked, humming a tune and letting his fingers strum against her spine. He wasn’t entirely sure how long they stayed like that; the rocking of the hammock was good for melting away any semblance of focus. Suddenly, though, a thought jumped out of the remaining haze of alcohol to the front of his mind.

“Oi, Gwendy.” He murmured, dragging his nails more purposefully up and down her back.

She shifted slightly, a smile breaking her face as snickers slipped out. “Mmph… Not funny, Miles…” She grumbled, pushing softly at Hobie’s face.

“Ooh, I’ll try not to be offended at that one, love.” He sneered as she whined. He moved his hand to lightly tickle her ear as it turned bright red. “Remember you told me I could ask you one stupid question a day?”

“Seriously? Now?” She huffed, the pout audible in her voice.

“It’s still today, innit?” He kissed Gwen’s hand when it shoved the side of his face again. “Just the one, I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah…Go on.”

“So, um… Do I, like, change colors?”

Gwen was silent for a second before starting to giggle as she looked up at him. He could tell by her tone that she might still be a little buzzed. “What? Like a chameleon? Hell no!” She asked in disbelief.

“Heh, right?! God, I can’t believe I almost fell for that. Miles tried to get in my head that—”

“You change more like a fever dream.”

And, suddenly, his body flickered between normal and grey. “…What?”

“It’s like… Maybe a strobe light? No. It’s like flashing, but not quick, like…”

“I do not change colors!” He insisted, the greyscale settling in.

“Ack! Volume…”

“Sorry, just—” His palette was quickly muted, and he hugged Gwen close. “I’m pretty sure I would know if I was changing colors all the time, y’know? And you never said anything like that before.”

“I don’t go around questioning how people’s bodies work in other dimensions.” She shrugged, her head falling onto his chest again. “You want me to let you know every time I notice you breathing? I can hear your heartbeat; does that surprise—Oh, that’s really fast, actually.”

“Nah, nah, nah, don’t get distracted.” Hobie ruffled her hair again, his colors shifting brighter as she laughed softly. “Does—Does everyone do it? The gang and all?”

“Your gang here? I mean, yeah. I think it’s just your dimension’s thing. Changing colors with how you feel, I think.”

“Oh, you think now? Which is it?” He turned pink, unable to keep the smile off his face as she stretched groggily and let her hands fall onto his face again.

“Hey, you’re all different. I don’t keep track of all of you. I know most of your little patterns though, Cuddlebug.”

Hobie pouted, feeling his face heat up. “Don’t believe much in patterns…”

“Okay, but then how did I know you’d say that?” She cupped his face in her hands, thumbs drawing the smile along his cheekbones. “I can feel you blushing.”

“Pfft, yeah?” Hobie shifted between pinks and neons, taking hold of one of her wrists. “You wanna feel somethin’, eh?” He dragged the flat of his tongue up her palm, his piercing almost catching between her fingers when she shrieked and pulled away.

“Oh, my god, you fucking weirdo!” She accused, scrubbing her hand against his shirt as he laughed at her.

“I thought you’d see it coming, love~ I’m so easy to predict, apparently.” Hobie sneered, his colors still shifting despite lingering on pink.

“That’s not what I said, you big baby!” A few giggles snuck into her voice as she pushed herself up onto her knees, gripping her head for a moment and wincing.

“Easy there, Gwenny; watch your volume.” He taunted, lifting his hands and letting her brace herself against them. It quickly turned into her trying to shove his hands over his head, which he definitely didn’t just let her do without a fight. Definitely.

“You don’t believe in patterns; do you ever not speak bullshit?” She grumbled, letting go of his hands and crossing her arms.

“Gettin’ a little hostile, aren’t we?” He chuckled, crossing his own arms under his head as his colors flickered again. “I mean, here I am having an existential crisis, and you just want to leave me in the dark.”

“Yeah, you look so bothered by it.” She huffed and rested a hand under her chin. “You’re flipping between stuff, but…You light up when you’re happy; you start fading when you’re down; when you get upset, you turn grey. Actually, no, it’s like: You turn into some kind of newspaper collage. Like, literally, there are words on your face right now. I think they change depending on what’s bothering you…”

Hobie touched his face, finding himself distracted. “When do I turn pink?” He murmured, accidentally interrupting her going on about neon or something.

She snickered just a bit before she grinned brightly. “You turn pink when… God, it might be the best one. You turn pink when something makes you super happy. Happy like when cats purr; it’s your tail wag. You also turn pink when you’re planning pranks or goofing off with the band; it’s so great and—Wait. You said that Miles…” She paused suddenly, thinking for a second. “You do turn pink around Miles a lot, don’t you?! Hobie that’s so cute!”

Hobie groaned, letting his arm fall over his face.

“You turn pink when you blush sometimes too~” She poked his cheek, and a smile crept onto his face. “That’s the happy blush~!”

“Shut up…” He whined, a few giggles sneaking into his voice and getting amplified when Gwen’s fingers started crawling up his ribcage. “Gwen…”

“Is that my Gigglebug?” She asked teasingly, starting to scribble her fingers as her hands moved toward his armpits. “Oh, my god; did Miles find out you like getting tickled?! Is that what this is about?”

“Gwen, I do not—!” He started to insist, only to break into loud giggles when her hands shot up. “Gwendy, please!”

“Oh, yeah? Then why are you still pink?” She giggled a bit herself, bracing her knees around his legs as the hammock started to rock.

“I don’t change colors!”

“Okay, you’re just trying to do the contrarian thing. I love the commitment to the bit, but you are literally tickled pink right now.”

He lashed his hands out, hugging her tight and pulling her back down onto him. It didn’t help much; her fingers still found a bit of wiggle room against his upper ribs, but she rolled her eyes and chuckled.

“I hate you.” He murmured, the bright pink still lingering as he nuzzled into her shoulder.

“Hate you too, punk.” She teased, shifting slightly to kiss his mouth. “Ack! Yeah, that was definitely more than two cigarettes, Hobie.”

He snorted, his colors flickering for a moment as the hammock slowly stopped shaking, and Gwen chuckled and rested her head on his collarbone.

And then the hammock fell to the floor, and both of them laughed themselves hoarse.

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

“What happened?” Miguel had asked worriedly when he first saw the look on Peter’s face. He had rushed Miguel across the facility and down to the infirmary before finally answering:

“There was an, uh, incident down in Equipment Development.” Peter explained a bit warily. “One of the kids got hurt. Kinda figured you’d want to make a proper report, and he’s not exactly being cooperative.”

Miguel had paused at that, realizing that there were very few Spiders in Spider Society that tended to be uncooperative. Definitely only one uncooperative kid. Sure enough, there was a single occupied bed in the infirmary, and Hobie sat as tense as if he were made of stone. His left forearm was wrapped tightly in bandages, his hand barely having the leeway to squeeze the grip strengthener in his hand.

“Hey, hey, Hobie Brown!” Peter called in a playful tone, clapping Hobie’s shoulder. “Lookin’, uh, a little blue there, eh?”

The muted blue shifted instantly to greyscale, and a distinctly not-human sounding hiss filled the air between them.

“Okay, not funny; got it!” Peter said quickly, stepping back and nudging Miguel forward. “Miguel, here, just needs t—”

“Fucking hell; what’d you bring him for, pops?!” He griped, flopping himself over onto his side and cringing as he adjusted his arm. His voice was groggy, still slightly affected by the heavy anesthetic that had been used on him.

Peter sighed softly, and Miguel rolled his eyes. “I brought him because your injury is, well, pretty bad. We need an incident report, y’know?”

“He said you were being obstinate about it.” Miguel chimed in, and Hobie’s color flickered as his head whipped around to glare at both of them. “He has half a point though. Tell me what happened.”

Hobie huffed, settling back to greyscale as he returned his focus to his hand exercise. “Ain’t nothin’ to write about.”

“Literally, the one thing I asked you for.” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, if it were nothing, you wouldn’t be sulking in here.”

Instantly, Hobie put on his smirk, rolling onto his other side and looking at them with a shrug. “So, who’s sulking? I feel great.” His greyscale somehow grew cloudy, those dark blues melting in as if the newsprint had been dropped in paint. Neither Miguel nor Peter commented on it.

“I mean, Miguel definitely knows a thing or two about sulking; I’d tend to agree with him on this.” Peter tried another joke. Hobie chuckled, but he didn’t change.

“I don’t believe in agreements, then.” Hobie shrugged, smiling a bit tauntingly.

Miguel eyed him for a moment. “LYLA, pull up the footage from Equipment Development. And the medic’s record.”

Hobie’s face fell before he could catch it, and he sat up quick enough to make himself dizzy. “Oi, Tink—”

“You got it, boss!” LYLA’s voice was bright before she appeared on Miguel’s shoulder. “It is a little rough though.”

Miguel watched through a small holographic window as Hobie assisted Peni with repairing and recalibrating the blade weapons in her mech’s arms. He’d made some joke, and she laughed and punched his arm. They stepped back a bit—not nearly enough, and definitely not behind the designated safety glass—and she pressed a button on a remote. The saw blade spun, apparently picking up speed even after she pressed the button again. They moved warily, and Hobie’s eyes never leaving the mech as he put one arm in front of Peni, his color shifting to the harsh greyscale. It quickly turned into both arms snatching her off the floor when the saw shrieked and launched off of its gear. Miguel tore his eyes away before the impact, clamping his hand over his wrist before the scream could bury itself in his mind.

“Dios mio, kid…” He murmured, and Peter covered his mouth as he tried to find something to say.

Hobie stayed silent, wincing a little as he stared at his arm.

LYLA hummed sympathetically, petting the side of Miguel’s head. “Medics’ report says that the wound was pretty deep. Hobie’s one of the faster healers, but nerve damage is no joke. They want him on observation and physical therapy for a little while before he goes on another mission.”

“And why exactly did you need me to ‘get a report’, Blue?” Hobie asked gruffly. “Just rip me up and piss off, alright?”

“Excuse me?” Miguel might have stammered a bit.

Hobie’s hand clenched as his body stayed that dark grey, and he groaned irritably. “Just tell me how fucking stupid I am! How the irresponsible rebel let a poor li’l bird get hurt! I know what the others said!”

“Wait, wait; hold on.” Peter said slowly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Who said that about you?”

“Oh, like I keep a fucking catalogue of which Red-Suit Peter Parker is which. Come off it.”

Miguel pulled up the video again. Peni got hurt? And if she had gotten hurt, why didn’t Peter mention it? He braced himself as he let it run this time, and he spotted it: The moment of impact, as Hobie held her tight, the very edge of the blade nicked her forehead. And even then, he only realized it had happened when she kept wiping a dribble of blood away from her eye. She was the one to activate her watch and send out an alert, but a few Spiders had already come running as Hobie screamed.

He looked up, watching Hobie bicker with Peter for a few seconds. “Why do you think I’d call you stupid for this?” He asked, and both of them balked at his tone of voice. His eyes were soft, concerned; and his tone seemed a bit shaky.

Hobie cringed, the look on his face incredulous as his colors flickered. “You’re asking me that after last year, huh? We’re only supposed to save some people sometimes, yeah?”

Miguel sighed. “I haven’t forgotten. But don’t try to put words in my mouth about this. I’m not going to scold you for probably saving your friend’s life.”

Hobie rolled his eyes, biting his lip on some comment, surely.

Peter’s hand returned to Hobie’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. “Hobie, no one—No one—should even have the nerve to tell you that you were wrong here. Lab accidents just happen. Peni is safe; no one’s dead; HQ isn’t on fire; I don’t see any sentient saw-based super villains, and you’re not even missing that hand.”

Hobie huffed softly toward the end, remaining mostly stone-faced despite his color shifting brighter.

“Just know you’re amazing, Spider-Man.” Peter said finally, patting Hobie’s back.

A shock of neon flickered through Hobie’s palette, and he let a soft chuckle slip out.

“Oh, that’s what gets a smile out of you, really?”

Hobie lightly shoved Peter’s arm with his good hand. “Yeah, right, pops. You know you ain’t that funny. Lemme go back to my sulking; I’m so good at it.” He let himself fall onto his back, draping his arm across his face and sighing sadly.

And flecks of pink bloomed across his normal colors. Peter gave a look of exaggerated offense, crossing his arms and looking back at Miguel.

Miguel let out a fraction of a chuckle. “Didn’t think you were the type to doubt yourself this much, Spider-Punk.”

“Sorry, Hook, I like to think I’m multifaceted. Full a’ surprises and all.”

He blinked at the nickname, letting a smirk creep onto his face and resting his hands on his hips. “Well, if you can’t pull yourself up out of this little rut, I suppose we’ll have to help you—” He gave a light tap to Peter’s shoulder and winked as they made eye contact. “—And the method might not be so delicate.

“Pfft… Don’t know what I believe less: You thinking I want your help or you thinking I’d need you to be delica—!” His voice was caught in a yelp as one of Miguel’s hands suddenly squeezed one side of his ribcage. As he started to flail, Peter fired a bit of webbing that stuck his bandaged arm to the wall.

“If you really want some commentary, you should probably keep that arm immobilized for a bit.” Peter taunted, leaning closer to scribble gently at Hobie’s other side.

“Oi, hey!” He griped, giggles starting to slip out of him as his free hand pawed Miguel’s arm. “Fuck off; that’s not funny!” He curled over onto his side, pinning Peter’s hand under his weight. It didn’t stop him scribbling his fingers at all, but Hobie seemed determined not to let him have that hand back.

“It’s a little funny.” Miguel shrugged as he sat on the bed as well. He set his left hand firmly on Hobie’s shoulder, flexing the fingers on his right to get them primed. “You called me Hook earlier, didn’t you? I wonder why.” He said it playfully, as if he didn’t actually know, and he dragged his claws gingerly against the back of Hobie’s t-shirt.

Hobie’s legs kicked out as a shriek escaped him, his laughter jumping quickly to cackles as bright pink tones covered his body.

Peter chuckled as he watched them, squeezing Hobie’s side softly until he got the opportunity to pull free when the kid suddenly writhed. “Must be really funny if you’re laughing this much.” He teased, sneaking a few pokes across his stomach. “Hobie ‘Spider-Punk’ Brown stuck in a giggle fit from the evil backscratcher~!”

“Pops!” He laughed, his free hand making a grab for Peter’s wrist again. Miguel, completely undeterred—and maybe a little shocked by it—pulled Hobie to lie flat on his back, and he let his claws scribble softly all across the kid’s stomach. Hobie covered his face, giggling brightly as he seemed to make an effort to keep still.

“Aw, the lone wolf still kicks for tummy scratches.” Peter smirked, leaning on Miguel’s arm and tickling along Hobie’s ribs. “Definitely something Miguel knows about.”

“You are terrible.” Miguel chuckled, shaking his head and sneaking scribbles toward Hobie’s sides.

“You’re both terrible!” Hobie barked out, twisting a bit harder than he meant to and shouting suddenly. “Ack, shit!” Bright red lightning-like bolts flashed along Hobie’s arm as his body flickered between the pink and newsprint palettes.

Peter flailed to remove the webbing from the injured arm, not that there was anything he could do beside watch Hobie ride out the sting of pain. “I am so sorry…” He stammered, suddenly panicked and rambling while Hobie’s voice came out a bit ragged:

“M’fine, m’fine, mate, really.” He insisted, flexing his fingers as best he could and letting out a sigh as the pink tones started to reappear. His eyes fell on Miguel, and when he smirked, Miguel realized he’d been holding his breath.

“You’re fine?” Miguel asked, pushing himself to stand back up.

“As I can be.” Hobie shrugged, grinning harder to cover the wince. “You two gonna stop bothering the invalids now?” His bright pink was muddied by the muted blue, though it flickered between the two.

Peter sighed and shook his head with a weary smile, patting Hobie’s knee as he got up.

Miguel crossed his arms. “Not just yet. Have you told your little crew about this?”

Realization flashed across Hobie’s face, and grey text etched itself into his skin as he tried to push himself up. “Shit, I need to get home, I—”

Miguel grabbed his shoulder before he could accidentally put his weight on the wrong arm. “We can arrange that. I meant: Have you told Gwen and Miles? Or Pavitr?”

For as tall as he was, Hobie seemed to shrink at the idea alone.

“Hobie…” Peter scolded without scolding him.

Hobie pulled a pillow over the side of his head, groaning in frustration. “Ugh, look, okay? I don’t want them worrying over me. I don’t de—” He bit his tongue and paused, the color draining away from him— “They’re busy and all, and I’ll be fine. I begged the doctor not to say anything to you, but Peni had already run off. Then Pops showed up, so, yeah, maybe I was a bit pissed off.”

Both men glanced at each other. Some parts of Spiderman really are always the same.

“They care about you, you know.” Miguel said softly, and Hobie cringed himself into a smaller form. “They love you.”

His hand clenched tighter on the pillow, and bits of the newsprint highlighted itself in pink while others crossed themselves out or tried to become more prominent.

It was sort of an unspoken rule in Spider Society not to read the words that would flash across Hobie’s body, or at the very least, not to comment or draw attention to them. He rarely got emotional enough for them to be legible anyway, but most Spiders could respect the idea of staying out of someone’s head.

But Hobie doesn’t change colors. So, if Miguel’s hand covered up the words “I don’t deserve them” when he pressed his palm to Hobie’s back, it was a coincidence.

“If you stay here to heal up, they’ll notice you missing.” Miguel caught a glimpse of something and glanced away. “If you try to sneak out before you’re healed up, they’ll notice when you can’t use your hand properly. Tell them.”

“…Fine.”

“Promise you’ll do it.”

His colors darkened a bit. “Promise…”

Miguel pat his shoulder firmly, finally stepping back. “And stay behind the safety glass next time. That’s why it’s there.”

Hobie chuckled softly, letting out a quiet sigh as Miguel and Peter made their way out of the infirmary.

“LYLA, let the medics know that Hobie might need another round of painkillers.” Miguel said once they were definitely out of earshot.

She appeared on his shoulder again, a clipboard in her hands. “Already done, boss!”

“By the way, give me an estimate on the kid’s recovery. What do you think?”

She flipped through papers on the board, kicking her feet casually. “Well, based on previous known injuries, and the medic’s report; adding in physical therapy time: I’d say he’ll be mission-ready by next Friday. Probably the Monday after to be 100% normal. Just estimating; you know he’d probably say otherwise.”

Miguel nodded. “Check in once in a while. If he hasn’t told anyone by Wednesday night, drop them a message first thing Thursday.”

Peter looked at him with a smirk, and Miguel rolled his eyes and chuckled.

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

“Hobart Brown!” That was Miles’ voice, and it was weighted by his Puerto Rican accent. He was pissed. His sneakers squeaked against the infirmary floor as he stomped up to Hobie’s bed.

Hobie nearly choked on the sip of water he’d taken, catching the grip strengthener when it slipped out of his hand and flickering through several different color palettes.

“Oi. We don’t pull the government names, you know that!” He had barely set his water bottle down when Miles cornered him against the headboard, eyes sharp with rage.

“Shut your punk ass up!” He barked suddenly, seeming to shock both of them for a second. Hobie rested his left hand on his chest, and he felt his face heating up.

“When the hell were you going to tell us that you got hurt?” He continued, crossing his arms as he glared.

Hobie winced, and dark blues settled in with flickers of pink. “I-I, well…When I stopped being hurt?”

“Hobie!” Miles ran his palms over his face, and absolutely none of the anger had drained from his eyes when he looked back up at him. “How could you do this?”

“I did check-ins; you can’t say I didn’t!”

“Yeah, and you lied to us!”

“I—I did not lie. I just…didn’t…”

“Lying by omission is lying, Hobie! And it’s a shitty thing to do to your partners!” His hands were moving a bit wildly before he clutched at his jacket sleeves for a moment. He sighed heavily and let them fall to his sides. Hesitating just a little, Hobie slowly took Miles’ hands into his own, and Miles stared at the remains of the newest scar on his forearm. Miles squeezed his hands tightly, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

“It’s just… After everything that happened, and out of everyone here…You were the one person I thought would never lie to me! Not about important stuff, at least...” He moved one hand to the side of Hobie’s face, brushing his thumb over the words he pretended not to see. “And you are so important! To me and Gwen and Pavitr and your band and so many people.”

In the midst of his speech, Hobie spotted Gwen creeping in with her hands behind her back, but that last part might have gotten to him a bit. The colors on his body fluctuated again, and he felt himself sinking into the hand cradling his face.

“Did you make him cry yet?” Gwen asked a bit playfully, approaching the bed and lightly nudging Miles with her elbow.

“Gwen…” Miles chided softly as brighter tones started to appear on Hobie’s body.

“He has such a way with words, Gwendy; I don’t know what to say.” Hobie leaned to rest his chin on Miles’ head, rubbing his thumbs across his knuckles.

“Yeah, yeah; I wasn’t done, by the way!” Miles pouted.

“I’m not stopping you; I just thought we should give our maybe still-injured partner his flowers.” As she spoke, she pulled a picture frame and a card from behind her back. Pressed inside of the frame was a bouquet of clearly handmade paper flowers wrapped around the neck of a familiar-looking paper guitar.

Hobie found himself staring, the breath stolen from his lungs as he took one corner of the frame in his hand. Gwen didn’t let go, and he was glad for it, because he felt like his hands would have been weak even without the injury.

“Miles made them for you last week—”

“Don’t tell him that!” Miles groaned, blushing as he tried to glare at her. He gestured to Hobie’s face and color with one hand while the other rested its palm on his own face. “See, he’s not going to listen now!”

Hobie had slipped his arm around Miles, pulling him in for a hug and kissing his wrist instead of trying to get him to move it. He had shifted almost completely to a bright pink, bits of text occasionally visible on him before shifting back to blurry lines.

Gwen snickered and sat on the bed, hugging Hobie’s arm. “You seemed pretty off in that first call. Guess we know why now, but he wanted to make you something to cheer you up.”

“I can admit it’s working.” Hobie nodded, smiling at Miles again. “It’s beautiful, love. You never stop amazin’, do ya?”

“Do not compliment me when I’m mad at you.” Miles huffed, his face softening as he looked up.

Hobie set the frame on the table beside the bed, holding the stand out with his pinkie and flexing his hand as he pulled it back. “’S the best time to compliment you though, innit? You care so much; feel so much; I admire that about you.”

Gwen nodded. “Plus, your accent slips out when you’re mad. It’s the cutest thing.”

“He sounds like his mom.”

Gwen slapped Hobie’s arm, barely stifling a snort. “Stop right now. You know his parents already don’t like me. Plus, don’t say that after I saw you blushing when he yelled at you.”

“I like a li’l double meaning, I’m afraid. And Man’s got a bark on him. Makes me weak.”

Miles looked between them, groaning. “Of course you would roll up like this. You two are practically the same.”

They glanced at each other; Hobie’s colors flickered darker, so Gwen was the one who said: “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a type.”

Miles glared at them, but the tiniest hint of a shy smile pulled his lips.

Hobie chuckled softly and shook his head. “Ey, come on, don’t lump her in with my bad decisions. If she had listened to me, she wouldn’t have told you about her broken arm from that Rhino mission.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot you were the one who said that first. Do you do this a lot?” She murmured, and suddenly both of them were eying Hobie with an edge of…judgment? Felt like judgment. Hobie cringed, looking away for a moment.

“I…” No, no, no. He’d jumped from the church wagon a long time ago; no need to start an impromptu confessional.

They love you.

Shit.

“Look, we’re Spiders, okay? We heal fast. I heal faster. When I get hurt, it’s nothing. Maybe I have to sit out for a while, but the crew can handle most work and shows.” The words were just falling out of him without much control, and he found himself squeezing Gwen’s sleeve when one of her hands traced lines on his arm. “My crew—My friends—I feel like they, uh… How the fuck…? T-There’s plenty of them. They go out, knock some heads and chill with each other. You two… You have whole cities to go home to; you’re flying solo when you’re on patrol. And I don’t want to be the one… distracting you?”

Somehow, stopping felt worse than the rambling. They were still staring at him, but their eyes were soft; both of them took hold of one of his hands.

“You wanna translate?” Miles asked, running the pads of his fingers along some older scars before pulling his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

Gwen shook her head, smiling. “Just means he loves us~” She said almost teasingly, lacing her fingers with his and hugging his arm again. “Loves us so much he thinks he’s not good enough.”

“Did I not just get through telling him how important he is to us?” Miles asked in disbelief. “Honestly, this guy.”

“Feelings are dumb like that.” Gwen shrugged, huddling closer to Hobie’s side. “That’s why I can’t stand them.”

“Tell me about it…” Hobie murmured, resting his head on top of hers. “I do care about you birds, though. Can’t really hide from that. Where’s Pavi, by the way?”

“He’s gonna call before he drops in; said he was making your favorite thing from his dimension, and he didn’t want to interrupt us.” Miles finally walked around the bed to properly cuddle up to Hobie’s other side.

“He also told us it was supposed to be a surprise,” Gwen giggled as Miles leered over at her, “but I think Miles was already raging.”

Hobie chuckled, grinning softly as he looked down at his hands. He flexed the fingers on his left hand; they felt a bit stiff, but they moved just fine. Well, fine enough for now; he needed to get his hands on his guitar.

“What are we thinking?” Gwen pressed a kiss just below Hobie’s shoulder.

“Oh, you can’t tell?” Hobie teased, his palette settling on the bright pink tones. “I thought you said I change colors.”

“Do you seriously still think we’re making that up?” Miles laughed lightly.

“Maybe~ What color do you see?”

“You’re pink, as usual, you dork.”

“Cool, so you probably know what I’m going to do next.” He slipped his arms around both of them, hugging them tight as he let his fingers scribble against their stomachs. “Or not? How were you both too slow?” He laughed, speaking over them as they fell into loud giggles and complaints.

And, okay, maybe he could admit that he would call this moment “pink”.

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