#wherever the wind blows him works out good enough.

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

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A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

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**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

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A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

[pasteidolons]

COME WHAT MAY - LSM

pairing: lee seokmin x female reader, one-sided hong jisoo x reader members: kim mingyu, yoon jeonghan, choi hansol (vernon), xu minghao, boo seungkwan genre: historical au (early 1900’s)/historical fiction, angst, fluff,  warnings: injuries, coarse language, alcohol, smoking, political insurgence, smut (next part, mdni), historical inaccuracies for the sake of plot progression word count: 22.1k summary: you follow hong jisoo to kyoto after a troubling letter sends you spiraling. among the faces of new friends, a bond is formed and fate begins to tightly weave itself around you and lee seokmin.

MASTERLIST || PART II

[ 1909.04.01. Boston, MA ] ‘Josh,

I feel enough time has adequately passed to allow me to write to you. Although, there is not much news from home to tell you of. 

The snow is fast disappearing now. I came across an article in the paper the other day about Boston and it said that 14 or 15 years ago bears used to roam around the northern end of the city, but there seems to be nothing around now except the wild fowl, and an uncountable number of deer. 

How are your hands now? I know that the winter air dries yours as it does mine. Mine are very cut, so scattered with paper trails that I fear I should bleed ink from all the books that you left me. Have you been able to acquire any more on your travels? I find that the supply you gave me is running rather low now. 

You left for Munich enquiring after Daniel Lim if I recall the name correctly, I hope you found him in good health on your arrival. I also hope he does not overwork you, you said as much happened the last you worked under him in London.

I am very pleased to say I am keeping very well, and I trust you are the same. If anything happens, know that I will gladly storm my way across the sea and give your wrongdoers what for.

I miss you. And I hope you return soon, you know I love to hear about your travels.’

A short chuckle to yourself as you pull the pen away from the paper after signing your name, ink stains settling into the grooves of your fingers as you aren’t cautious enough with the writing implement. Short blows over the thin paper as you try to dry the ink as quickly as possible, although this isn’t the sweltering heat of the summer you’re unsurprised the ink hasn't run but so much. Carefully standing from your seat you begin your search around the room for an envelope, fingers brushing over various stacks of papers and novellas lying around your workspace. Eventually you find a weathered, but perfectly usable one underneath a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. You address the letter to his newest residence, some boarding house in Germany, but you aren't sure if he is even staying there anymore. If that doesn't work out and one of your letters is stamped “Return to Sender” once more, you’ll just have to wait for him to send you something first. It seems like you are always waiting after Josh. Not that you mind much, you had been as thick as thieves as teenagers and that had hardly ever changed, even after he’d decided to go abroad and study, then go onto some teaching stints wherever the wind blew him.

As you return to your seat you hear gentle meowing outside, head peering over your desk and out of the glass panes into the garden below you spot a small gray and white tabby looking up at you. A sigh escaping your lips as you move to grab your pen once more, beginning to write a post scriptum,

‘p.s. Your lovely feral cat has now decided that I take ownership of her in your absence. Is there a name you prefer I call her?’

You hope he can understand your tone, it’s an issue of yours that the words you write sometimes don't hit their mark. Regardless, you’d send the letter and hear his thoughts on it whenever he has the gaul to write back. You straighten your back from your hunched position and move through the house, your fingers tracing along the smooth walls until you reach the door leading into the garden, it lay nestled in the corner of the kitchen. There’s a faint scratching as you approach, only opening it to find the same tabby waiting for you, it barrels inside once it sees an opportunity.

“You wretch,” tsking as she begins brushing up against your leg. “What am I going to do with you?”

[ 1909.04.30. 今出川, 京都 ] The ground crunches underfoot as Seokmin walks; the pavement, covered with a thin layer of grit from a small windstorm that had picked up an hour or so prior, feels as if it’s shifting as his leather soled shoes move over it. The storm having left its mark and not going to disappear until a rain shower decides to wash it away, he breathes in the particles still floating through the unseasonably balmy weather. A small frown as he fans his jacket, allowing some air to circulate under the thick fabric. Had it not been impolite, he would have shed the garment as soon as he stepped out of the train station only minutes ago. His hand still wrapped around his bag he looks to the signs adorning the tops of businesses along the road. Seokmin was never great at learning hanja, so when it came time for him to begin learning the already different kanji and further hiragana and katakana that would come along with his trip abroad, he thought he might set out to find a tutor during his time here. Hand moving to rummage around the inside of his jacket, he procures a worn letter from its depths. ‘今出川 居酒屋,’ it is the only thing foreign to him within the contents of the scripture, the sender had asked to meet him there for lunch on the second day of Seokmin’s arrival to Kyoto.

Seokmin finds the bar after walking a few more blocks, north from the station and hidden away behind a bookstore in a back alley. Before he enters, he pauses. His grip on the letter tightening, the parchment creasing from the increased pressure as the slight tingly pervasiveness of guilt begins to wrack him from the inside out. A look to his left, and then to his right, a ghost of a figure in his peripheral, deterring him from running from the drinkery. It drives him closer, away from an inevitable future and towards the uncertain present. 

A haze of smoke blankets the air as he enters, that of tobacco intermingling with the small fire stoking in the back of the bar. It invades his nose rather viciously, itching the back of his throat and causing tears to form in the corners of his eyes as he greets the hostess with a small ‘Hello’ and ‘A table, please.’ She guides him and he settles down at a chabudai towards the front of the building, almost with enough of a view so that he can peer past the two small curtains at the entrance and into the street.

The letter now resting atop the table and his bag by its side, he reaches into his jacket yet again to procure an almost empty pack of cigarettes and a newly bought lighter. He had run out of fluid during his journey across the sea and he thought that buying a new one would be a novel idea to commemorate his trip. Seokmin’s eyes wander around the enclosed space as he scans the faces of the patrons. Most are men but there is the occasional woman mingling among the crowd as well. Cigarette placed on his lips, lighter spewing to life and igniting the end as he takes a deep breath in. Seokmin hates smoking, hates the way it pierces his lungs with its inky black vapors. It leaves his breath smelling awful, but it is just something people do to pass the time, and it calms him if only for a quiet moment. Fingers finding the cigarette, he removes it for a moment, tapping it against a small silver dish atop the table, the ashes pooling at the bottom as he continues to look for someone he hasn’t met yet.

“Did you want to order anything else?” A voice to his right calls out, he jumps slightly before turning, only to find the kimono clad waitress at his side. She sets down a tray of dishes, some foods he recognizes, and some he thinks to be the local cuisine.

“Oh, no thank you.” As his eyes look over the food, he moves to rest his cigarette in the ashtray to come back for later.

The woman gives a short smile and brief nod before speaking again, “Please let me know if you need anything.” Even after she had walked away, Seokmin could feel her eyes lingering on him like a child seeing some sort of marvel for the first time. This is not to say that he thinks that highly of himself, just that he knows that he is an outsider in a foreign place, his accent could tell anyone as much.

“I think she likes you.” A voice speaks up when Seokmin goes to take a bite out of the onigiri on his tray.

Mouth half full and brow furrowed in confusion, Seokmin turns to face wherever the voice had come from, “What did you say?” Chewing his food and swallowing rather harshly, he almost chokes as he thinks he’s going insane after hearing what sounded like Korean. This time it was a man who spoke, he was sitting at another table across from him, a shifty grin on his face. Something about him seemed different from everyone else in the bar, but the man couldn’t quite put a finger on it in this dimly lit room.

“She’s still staring at you.” The other man answers, now standing up and proceeding to walk over to him. “But it’s not like she’s hearing me say that anyway,” He laughs, brushing his hands against the lapels of his jacket.

Now in a better light, the man can get a better view of this stranger. “Are you Korean too?” He asks in his native tongue, feeling much more relieved that the burden of speaking a different language is momentarily sated.

“Did I give myself away that easily?” Another laugh as the man settles down in the seat adjacent. He pauses for a moment, his eyes staring into Seokmin’s as if he’s trying to memorize his facial features. “You wouldn’t happen to be Lee Dokyeom, would you?”

“Seokmin, actually– That’s just a teasing name.” He clears his throat. “I am,” Eyes glancing at the letter still atop the table, Seokmin comes to a realization, “Are you Yoon Jeonghan?”

“I am,” he smiles as he extends his hand. Less practiced with western formality Seokmin looks at the greeting for a moment before raising his own to formally address him, “It’s nice to meet you.” After a moment they drop their hands away from each other, Jeonghan’s gaze shifting to watch the hostess move his food from his old table to the one he now shares with Seokmin. “With an accent like that you must be from the south, Daegu, maybe?”

“Suji, actually.” He returns to his food for a moment, Jeonghan taking this time to also take a few bites from his own bento. “Where did you learn Japanese?”

“Did Jisoo not tell you?” Jisoo is their mutual friend, he’d given Seokmin Jeonghan’s contact information to inquire if he had any availability to tutor him. “I studied with him when we were in college, I moved here a year after we graduated. I had my parents move here once my mother became ill so I could better look after her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Seokmin frowns, shifting as he sets his chopsticks down. The two must have met after Seokmin had left his schooling to return to his family, per their wishes. 

A smile, “She made a perfect recovery and even returned home. I, however, am still trying my luck here.” Jeonghan reaches for the porcelain flask of sake the hostess had brought over, pouring himself a small glass then offering one to Seokmin. The younger politely refuses, still not accustomed to the savoriness of the drink, as Jeonghan nods and knocks back his own cup before speaking again. “When can you start classes? We typically meet for an hour or two every day if we can.”

“We?” Seokmin is caught up on the word, he thought these would be private lessons, not an actual class. He leans forward, somewhat anxious at the thought of his abysmal language skills to be put on show for more than one audience member.

“Just a handful of other students from all over the place,” Shoulders shrugging, Jeonghan leans backwards, hands placed atop his knees as he stretches his back. “We have a few Korean and Chinese kids, even a Canadian student as well. Not everyone’s at the same level so you shouldn’t worry too much about it.” He smiles, toothy and carefree as if there wasn’t an unhappy thought that had ever crossed him, Seokmin somewhat resents the uncertain assumption he made. “The schoolhouse isn’t too far away from here actually; did you want to stop by?” Hand motioning towards the doorway, Jeonghan’s head tilts inquisitively.

“I actually have to check in at the hotel I’m staying in, my parents told me to write whenever I arrived and I’ve been putting that off for a while,” A sigh escapes him. Seokmin had been thinking about what to pen for the past day and a half but couldn’t muster the strength to go through with it. He’d left on rocky terms and was expecting to be hounded whenever they responded. “I’ll stop by tomorrow when you have class if that’s alright?”

“Fine by me,” He’s now searching his own pockets, finding a pen and reaching out for the letter near Seokmin. Jeonghan scribbles down something, a few kanji that Seokmin can’t decipher, and hands him the paper back, “Classes start at ten, when you’re in the area just ask someone if they know where this is and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” Seokmin looks down to the paper, seeing in his periphery that Jeonghan was already on his feet, straightening his jacket as he begins to head over to the waitress.

Seokmin sees him say something but can’t make out what, it’s only when Jeonghan turns to him and speaks that he can ascertain the meaning, “Don’t worry about paying this time, you’ll have to treat me to lunch some other day.” And with that Seokmin finds himself alone once more in the tavern.

[ 1909.04.30. Boston, MA ] The letter had arrived early in the morning, but you had been out in town with your mother attending some group function that you didn't want to be a part of in the first place. So, when you walk into your own little study and see it lying atop your things you race over and tear open the seal adorning it.

‘When I arrived in Munich, my work left me so urgent that I could not write in time before I left again. I thus deferred it to a point where I once again found myself with solid footing. It rains heavily in Seoul today; my travels have taken me here instead of crossing the Atlantic.

Currently I am holding a tutoring position for the American consulate’s son. I expect to hold this position for some time before I return home to Boston. 

Tell my mother not to fuss over me too much, if anything I implore her to look after you. Of all people, other than your own family, she knows of the antics you pursue.

I was able to sneak out a few books from Munich, upon my return I swear to you that you will have the greatest library in all America- no, the world, even.

If I were a better artist, or wealthy enough to photograph, I would show you how beautiful my journey across the world has been. Although so much has changed in Seoul since I held my studies here. I cannot help but have the inklings of melancholy eat away as I recall the memories and compare them to what I see now. This will come to pass, I hope. 

I hear the boy calling for me now— My writing will have to cease here, I fear. Send my affection to your family, I know they miss me as much as you do.

With all the love I can muster,

x Josh

p.s. I think I have decided to call her Minnie, please refer to her as that accordingly.’

While scattered with his familiarities and humor, the letter seems all too short, all too hurried. Your lips purse as you read over it, brow furrowing as a small knot in your stomach begins to form. Thumb rubbing over the x marking his name the worry only grows ever more prevalent, you pull your eyes away from the words and begin to rummage around for your own writing implements and paper, wanting to respond to him as quickly as possible.

‘Josh,

Your letter left much to be desired. Seoul? Your mother anxiously awaits your return any day now, before you left you said you would only be gone until early May at most. I hope that nothing unsavory has happened, God knows you find yourself in trouble more than any other man I know. 

Please let her know that you are safe, I fear that she may follow after you should you be gone any longer. A son should never burden his mother with his absence for an extended period, I can only keep her company for so long before her weariness sets in and she longs to see you. 

She also knitted you a pair of gloves, seeing as you left your moth-eaten ones behind. I know the air is growing warmer, but it is somewhat endearing to see how doting she is over you. Please, ease her mind by writing.’

[ 1909.04.30.-1909.04.31.  今出川ホテル, 京都 ] Seokmin eventually finds himself standing at the small entrance of a hotel, the name written in cursive English on a wooden sign above the doorway. Jisoo had recommended the inn, saying that it would be one of the more accepting places to stay at as a foreigner. It has a somewhat Victorian looking façade, contrasting the traditional Japanese styled buildings around it, he wonders why that is as he ascends the handful of steps to the door, struggling ever so slightly while lugging his bag behind him. As the door swings open, he’s greeted by an elderly woman with a rather round face, “Good evening,” she smiles and ushers him inside. “Did you need a room for the night? Or do you have a reservation?”

Mind fogging as he struggles to keep up, “Apologies, my Japanese isn’t—” The stone floor clicking underfoot as he follows her to the main desk.

“Ah, Korean?” It’s accented, but he appreciates it nonetheless. “Do you have a reservation?” Her hands dance along a worn leather book atop the desk, flipping it open as she looks down a list of names, some of those which are crossed out and some of which are not.

“I do,” He nods his head with a short smile, “It should be under Lee.”

Humming as she runs her finger down the list, as her head turns upward it causes Seokmin to return his attention to her, “Mr. Lee Heesung or Mr. Lee Seokmin?”

“Lee Seokmin,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, mentally hitting himself as he should’ve been more specific. Eyes scanning the list, Seokmin takes a short look around the interior of the inn. The space is smaller than he imagined, but rather cozy. A glowing fire going to warm the chill of the night, large armchairs beside it and the largest bookshelf he’s ever seen built around the hearth.

“Wonderful,” She smiles, turning her back to him to find his room key from a small drawer behind the desk. Before she faces him again fully, she shifts through a small stack of papers atop the desk, “This also came for you,” The woman reaches to pull out a thin card from the stack, it has both hangul and kanji printed on it so it was easy to assume it’d come from his homeland.

“Thank you,” He smiles back before taking the telegram and tucking it into his jacket pocket. She hands him the key and he’s off to find his hotel room. It lays up the staircase and down a winding corridor, as he passes by some of the rooms, he can hear the muffled voices of a few of the other patrons, speaking languages he can mildly understand and others that sound alien. Once he finds his room, he’s all too giddy to throw himself onto the bed. Door locked, shoes and suitcase strewn aside he falls onto the plush bed, his eyes watching the ceiling as the weight of sleep begins to take over his vision.

Broken sunlight filters into the room, the shades drawn enough only to allow sharp slants of light to come through. The city outside is bustling whereas the hotel room seems almost vacant of any form of noise, save for the sound of soft breathing as the occupant sleeps. Lee Seokmin continues to snore softly, dreaming of something sweet enough to add a slight curvature to his lips. He rolls in his slumber, the telegram received in the night folding under his weight, unbeknownst to him.

Three swift knocks rouse him from the depths of slumber. He bolts up, raising a hand to run through his hair as a frown of confusing forms on his lips, wiping away whatever essence of his dream remained. “Are you awake?” A voice rings out seconds after the rapping. It’s the woman from the night before, Seokmin was too tired to connect the dots quite yet.

“Yes,” He responds groggily, moving to allocate his footing onto the floor. He hears soft footsteps leading away from his door, he supposes his wakeup call is completed. Rummaging around his wrinkled jacket-pocket he pulls out his timepiece, the clock reveals that it is seven forty-five in the morning, he has two hours before his lessons begin. Letting out a soft groan, he places the watch away and pushes himself onto his feet. His knees creaking and cracking as he rises and stretches out his arms, signaling that his sleep must’ve been docile. Once again, his hand moves to his jacket as he recalls the telegram, now crumpled in the crevasses of his pocket. Seokmin pulls out the card, walking to draw open the shades to allow more reading light in.

“Lee Seokmin,” He mumbles out, reading over the first, short line as the sleep is rubbed from his eyes. ‘Mom and Dad are going to kill you if you continue to ignore them. For my sake, please write. - Seoyeon’

An audible scoff after he’s finished reading, he can almost hear his sister’s tone. Seokmin does care about his family, but his sister is as much on his parents’ side as he is against it, it is a giant rift in their already teetering relationship.

The telegram tossed onto the bed as Seokmin takes off his jacket, he has been avoiding his familial issues for a while now and it seems as if they have come back to bite him in the ass. It isn’t entirely his fault for doing so, his father was never a good listener and Seokmin’s ideas were always pushed asunder.

A few moments later he finds himself in a fresh set of clothes, ready to face the day. In truth, he is dreading his lessons but at least it will provide some relief from thinking about the drama happening back in Suji. His shoes drag along the wooden floor as he steps out of his room, locking it with the small, gilded key behind him. Once in the hallway, his posture straightens as he begins to make his way towards the staircase that would lead him into the main lobby. The crushed emerald, green velvet railing runs under his fingers as he descends, swiftly moving into his pockets once his feet land on the granite tiles splaying out an ocean of deep gray below him.

A thin beam of light shines in through the slit in the door of the entranceway, the windows attached to the door are covered in the same crushed velvet encasing the staircase via curtain. It feels like he is in a black hole with how dimly lit the interior of the building is. Eventually he makes his way through the lobby, past the plumes of smoke belonging to the lackadaisical men resting in overly decadent armchairs smoking out of their kiserus.

Seokmin shuffles his way to the front desk, a younger woman manning it instead of the elderly woman from the night prior. “Can I help you?” Voice sullen sounding, or maybe tired, Seokmin still isn’t awake enough yet to dissect it fully. 

Reaching into his pocket, pulling out the letter from Jeonghan with the name of the school, “I’m looking for this?”

The girl leans over the desk, it’s easy to tell the yukata she wears is inhibiting her from her full range of motion. Eyes reading the characters carefully, “Whoever wrote this has awful handwriting,” She mutters under her breath and Seokmin can’t understand it entirely. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk that way,” Hand raising to motion southward, “When you see the sweets shop you should turn right, and it will be a few buildings down on your right.”

A nod of his head as he thinks he caught most of her instruction. He takes the paper back and tucks it away, thanking her as he makes for the door. The heat greets him with a gentle breeze, an inkling of warmth as to what’s in store for later in the day. Seokmin looks to the sky, to see where the sun is positioned so he is able to gauge the direction he was supposed to go. He sets off, pace not brisk or lax, merely at a stride to absorb what’s around him. It’s still early in the morning, plenty of time before the school day begins to wander the streets for a bit.

The street’s crowded, thinning in places where it seems more residential than not, it reminds him of home. Different feel, different language but it has a strange nostalgic aura about it. A sweetness hitting his nose as he approaches a small wooden building, he can’t read what it is but by the smells emanating from it he supposes that it’s the sweet shop the girl at the hotel had told him to turn at. Head tilting to peer down the street, it looks like nothing of note. As he stands there, presumably looking more confused than the average local, he feels a finger gently tap on his shoulder, “Are you lost?”

The voice comes as a surprise, turning Seokmin on his heels to come face to face with a stranger. Eyes wide as he looks the boy over, “A little bit... I’m looking for,” reaching into his pockets as the other stops him.

“Are you Lee Seokmin?” It seems as if everyone here knew of him before he could introduce himself. Before he can speak, a nod of affirmation rattles through him and the other smiles, “Jeonghan said that we’d be getting a new student in today.” Hand outstretching, Seokmin’s a little more practiced with the greeting now, “My name’s Kim Mingyu, I can show you the way to the school if you want?”

“It’s nice to meet you,” He gives a brief smile before another nod of his head, “I’d really appreciate it.”

[ 1909.05.06. San Francisco, CA ] If anything were to be your downfall, it would be that of your impatience. You’d been sitting down with Josh’s mother, a woman you likened to your own family when the one back home was too involved in her own business, when the news broke. She was kind, offered you tea and as always had the little tin of biscuits you loved when you were a child sitting atop the tea tray, and then graciously divulged to you that her son was currently under police custody in Tokyo when the last you’d heard he’d been in Seoul. It would explain the absence of letters, or inability to write. Upon questioning her further you realize that maybe he was in far greater a circumstance than he left you off thinking.

It isn’t a matter of asking your parents to ship you off to a foreign land, it’s a matter of when and how soon you can leave. The money sitting in the dank vault of your late grandmother’s account had laid in wait for some sort of use, and she had wanted you to use it to fulfill some sort of errant dream of yours after her passing. You couldn’t find it within yourself to touch it, seeing it as too prized and too treasured a thing to take away from for some frivolous means. But your grandmother had liked Joshua, the late one on your father’s side and not the vile one from your mother’s. She had treated him kindly whenever he had stopped by, sometimes even saying that she had wished him her grandson more than the monsters that were your cousins. You think that is reason enough to pull from your funds and splurge on a rescue mission to Japan. There were several people you’d known that had been there before, detailing it as a curious place but had neglected to tell you why; you don’t think of the language or cultural barriers separating you until you’re standing on a pier in San Francisco, waiting for your ship to dock.

The brine of the sea had never settled well in your stomach, salty on your lips and your cheeks as the coastal winds torrent towards you. Your ship doesn’t leave for a while yet but the queasiness felt on the decks of other ships returns to the pit of your stomach with a ghostlike vengeance. Perhaps it is anxiousness that riddles you instead of the fear of the sea.

 “Im-a-de-ga-wa Gai-ko-ku-jin Ni-hon-go Ga-kko” words falling from your lips in strange and oblong vowels and consonants that were almost completely incorrect. Joshua had mentioned it in the letter to his mother, detailing that should she not hear from him for another month to contact the school and ask for the aid of a Mr. Jeonghan Yoon, a friend that he’d talked about in passing a few times. Apparently, he is a persuasive sort that would most definitely help him out should the occasion arise. Or so Josh had put it, you aren't really sure what to think of him.

Josh’s mother had insisted that it had been a mix up at customs but a bitter taste in your mouth and gut wrenching feeling in your stomach told you otherwise. He was a rebellious spirit and had probably said a few choice words that had gotten him in trouble, he had said his Japanese wasn’t great but he had learned a handful of colorful phrases from the aforementioned friend in University that could definitely be taken the wrong way by unknowing ears.

If the seas are steady and your luck is good, maybe you can reach him within a month. If not, a week or so longer but you’re not sure if the anticipation of it all would let you, you might jump ship and hope to swim there faster should such a situation arise. Again, impatience being your downfall you can barely stand just watching the large metal steamship land at port and empty its passengers before you were to board.

The air is salty, the gentle spray of foam from the shore landing on your cheeks carefully as you look towards the ship that is to be your dwelling for the next portion of your life. Maybe you shouldn’t have come alone, taken a chaperone or a friend with you, but you were worried, too crunched for time to even entertain the thought as you packed your bags and told your mother you were taking the first train out of town. Your face still stings with the remembrance of the slap she’d given you in her frenzy, calling you something along the lines of a girl too thoughtless to know her role. By no means a heartfelt way to leave her, but your father had said to go, knowing a little more than your mother how much Josh means to you.

Your bags, brown leather and worn from the days when your father was still youthful enough to travel, lay at your feet as the thin paper ticket folds under your grasp. The chatter from the crowds around you mixes in with shouts of vendors and merchants lining the docks over the squalls of seagulls overhead. It’s all too much when your mind is racing with concern, although not too much to deter you from a gentle tapping on your shoulder.

“I think you dropped this?” Deep voice causing you to turn on your heels and face the perpetrator. When you do, you’re greeted with your passport being held out to you and a dimpled smile to go along with a rather dashing face.

“Oh,” Eyebrows raised as you reach out to gingerly take your own booklet from the other, you hadn’t realized its absence since you had thought it stowed away in the depths of your handbag. “Thank you—?” A pause as you wait for an introduction.

“Hansol Choi, or Vernon, whichever is easiest for you,” he nods and then you offer your name before he speaks again. “It was really no problem,” he continues with a smile as he looks down to the bags at your feet, “Did you just get back or are you going somewhere?”

“Well, thank you Mr. Choi.” The innate curiosity of the stranger is mildly perplexing, “I’m off to Tokyo.”

“Tokyo,” his tone faltering as his hand drops down to his side after you begin stowing the passport back away in the small purse slung over your shoulder. “What business is taking you there?”

You pause as you think, it isn’t exactly family troubles or business matters that are taking you across the Pacific, stubbornness, and inability to take your friend for everything he said, more like it. “A friend settled there a little while ago,” a nod after a moment of silence, “it seems that he has gotten himself into a little trouble, so I’m going to make sure everything is alright.” Absentmindedly patting the bag as you can see the other mull it over in his head, “What about you? Are you heading in or out?”

“Out,” The answer is almost immediate, a shift on his feet as he straightens his posture. “I’m heading to Korea; I haven’t seen my family in almost seven years.”

“Seven years?” The most Josh had been gone was the three years he spent studying abroad; you can’t imagine someone gone from your life for that amount of time. “What were you here for?”

“I was staying with a group of missionaries as I went through college,” Hands in his pockets as he turns to the blue horizon overlooking the ocean you are both meant to traverse, “Now that I’ve graduated there’s nothing keeping me here.”

“What will you do when you’re-” you begin to speak when a loud whistle blares from the port your ship had saddled up to. Growing quiet as you begin to hear the general buzz of the people around you grow as they begin to shuffle towards the bridge that linked the port to the steamship. “I guess it’s time,” Reaching to pick up your bags, the leather against your palm somewhat soothing your nerves, “are you boarding too?”

A shake of his head, “My ship doesn’t leave until the afternoon.”

“Ah,” the sound leaving your lips as the thought of, perhaps, having someone to accompany you on your journey was swiftly diminished. “Well,” A small smile gracing your lips, “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Choi.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” his smile returns, “Safe travels.”

“And to you,” You nod as you begin to walk towards the front port, looking down to your hand to make sure that your ticket is still in hand.

[ 1909.05.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “It’s not kūremashita, it's agemashita.” writing on a chalkboard, the dust from the small white stick clinging to the ends of Jeonghan’s jacket as he scrawls out the hiragana. “Unless you’re thankful that Seokmin’s parents give him money?” A smattering of laughter echoing the room as he tries to teach the handful of students how to show appreciativeness and the reporting of it to others. “Try one more time.” Seokmin sits back in his chair and looks at a pink cheeked Seungkwan who leans over his notes in an attempt to reconcile his verbal mistake.

There’s another try from the dark-haired man, it sounds good enough to Seokmin but apparently, the structure of the sentence needs more tweaking, as seen by Jeonghan giving out a small sigh before walking to Seungkwan’s side. Seokmin takes this time to look around the small, confined classroom. It is in no means shabby, but one could tell this building isn’t meant to be a school, Seokmin thinks Jeonghan told him that it had been some sort of distillery prior to the deed falling into his hands.

From ten in the morning, when the sun slants in through the two glass windows of the classroom just enough to see the dust flying through the air, until noon is when Jeonghan teaches the native Korean speakers basic Japanese grammar and vocabulary. It’s only a handful of students; Mingyu, whom Seokmin had met on his first day, Seungkwan, who is somewhat timid but roaringly confident at times, Chan, a kid on some sort of exchange trip who hopes to build up his language skills before his university classes start in the fall, and of course, Seokmin himself. It is an intimate learning experience, perhaps that’s why Seokmin now feels miles more confident in his speaking ability now than he did a month prior. Hell, he could now converse freely, albeit somewhat confined in his topics, to the front desk woman at the hotel he still resides at.

There’s a knock at the classroom door, pulling the attention from the room’s occupants away from their work and now to the dark wooden door that leads out into the small foyer where the next group of students is presumably waiting for their lecture. “The next class doesn’t start until noon,” Jeonghan looks at the clock placed atop his desk, “You’ve got five minutes.”

The door opens with a small creaking noise, shadows from the entranceway spilling in as Seokmin catches a familiar face standing there to greet the class. “I was actually hoping to sit in?” A voice Seokmin hadn’t heard since his university days accompanied the squeak of floorboards underfoot as Jisoo strides into the room. “I think my Japanese is a little rusty.”

A small laugh from Jeonghan as he recognizes his friend, “There’s the jailrat.” Jeonghan returns to the front of the room to stand in front of the taller, no doubt feeling the confused gazes of the students behind him staring past him and to the stranger. “I’m surprised they let you out that early.”

“You know I’m persuasive,” Smile lingering on his lips as his head turns and he catches sight of Seokmin looking at him quizzically. He is still caught up on the word jailrat and the connotation behind it, when had Jisoo been incarcerated?  

“Well,” Jeonghan turns on his heels to address the class, “Why don’t we end early today?”

Mingyu’s already leaned over his desk to get Chan’s attention, Seokmin thinks he hears him say something about grabbing lunch at the nearby market, but his interest is far too deterred to be paying full attention to the younger men. The class packs their bags, Seokmin taking the longest time of all as he tucks away his books into his makeshift bag. In all earnest it was a bag he’d borrowed from the reception at the hotel, he’d neglected to bring or buy a suitable bag for school when he left home and arrived in Japan. The worn canvas of the thing is almost wearing through at the bottom, he slings it over his shoulder and makes his way towards Jisoo and Jeonghan, who look to be in deep conversation.

Jisoo spots Seokmin approaching in his periphery, turning to greet him with a jovial smile. “I see you made it here in one piece?” His eyes looked tired, his face gaunter than the last time he’d seen his elder, but he wasn’t going to question, it was neither the time nor the place.

“Mostly,” Seokmin replies, “Jeonghan’s been a great teacher.”

“Thanks for the ego boost,” Jeonghan’s fingers dance on the lapels of his jacket in mock vanity, only then moving into his jacket pocket for a lighter and his infamous pack of Chūyū cigarettes. He offers one to Jisoo and then to Seokmin, to which they accept, pulling their own lighters out of their pockets and lighting the butts of the sticks.

“God, these are shit,” a grit through Jisoo’s teeth after he pulls in a drag. “They confiscated my Lucky Strike back in Tokyo.” Seokmin’s brow furrows as the other begins to speak again, “Let me know when you’ve got a free night. I’d love to grab dinner and catch up; it’s been a while.”

“I should have time this Saturday?” Seokmin thinks of his schedule, it’s not that he had massive time commitments here, but he was making a point to travel around the city in his free time. “If that works for you, of course.”

“It sounds doable,” A nod as Jisoo moves his hand to tap his cigarette against an ashtray atop Jeonghan’s desk, the wood around the tray stained with the ashes of past smoking ventures. “Are you still staying at that hotel I told you about?”

Seokmin shifts on his feet, “I am, are you staying there too?”

“Jeonghan has offered me residence in his home until he is sick of me,” Jisoo nods to the aforementioned, “I can meet you in the lobby around five then?”

“Sounds good,” Seokmin agrees, looking at the clock hanging on the wall, “I think Seungkwan wanted to go over the homework together so I should go and help him out.” It’s something of an excuse but Seokmin could feel as if there was some sort of pregnant secret looming over the heads of the other two.

“Would you mind sending Junhui and the others in?” Jeonghan asks as Seokmin snubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and makes his way to the door.

Metal knob in hand, Seokmin turns and gives him a brief nod, “Of course.”

There’s something that doesn't sit right with Seokmin. Jisoo had noted that he’d planned on staying in Seoul for a while in the letter he’d sent to Seokmin a few weeks ago. It’s not as if plans can’t change or anything of the sort, yet he’d seemed vehement about it, detailing something about a someone he was going to visit before heading home to America. He isn’t one to question where questions aren’t due. If his friend was to stay in Kyoto for the time being, he’d be nothing more than appreciative of having a familiar face around.

[ 1909.05.18. 今出川ホテル、京都 ] When Seokmin ascends the staircase, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, he can immediately tell that Jisoo sits in one of the large armchairs by the hotel’s unused fireplace in the lobby. Although his face is obscured by the wings, with the way his hand taps in rhythm with the song wafting through the air, the excitedness of the movements are a telling sign that it is his friend. 

A glance to the victrola that lies in the corner of the room, the audio scratchy and soft as it emits a tune that Seokmin does not know. He strides over to the plush chair, glancing down to its occupant before speaking. 

“Good afternoon,” the words escape him and Jisoo turns to him with a jump and widened eyes before he realizes who it is. 

“Dokyeom!” Jisoo smiles from the armchair, rising to his feet to greet the other with a quick embrace, “Long time no see.”

“I’d prefer if you called me my real name,” he nods awkwardly as Jisoo steps back from him, his hand rising to scratch the back of his head, “helps me forget the meaning of that epithet.”

“Still having family issues?” Jisoo’s brow furrows as they break their embrace, “I thought you wrote that you had sorted that mess out?”

“More or less,” another awkward smile, “But enough about me— I thought you were supposed to be in Seoul?”

“Change of plans, there was someone I was meant to meet in Tokyo, but they left during the time I was imprisoned.”

“Jeonghan mentioned something like that when you first came in, what happened?” Jisoo holds out his hand, motioning to the door, as Seokmin questions. The latter begins to walk forward, towards the entrance of the hotel as his friend trails behind him, “Were you really taken into custody?”

“They thought I had ties with Homer Hulbert,” A laugh as the two make their way out the front door, trapezing down the steps and onto the sidewalk, “Which is correct, but they had no grounds to imprison me on the notion that I know him alone or had one of his books in my possession.”

“Hulbert— is he the one that—?” 

“The very same,” Jisoo waves the notion off, “But that is more than contrived at this point, let me know how you are. It sounds like things are the same with your family the last time I saw you.”

“If things were okay then I would have stayed home,” a huff of heated breath leaving him in something of a passive laugh. “My father is still trying to set me up with that girl, the past runs deep, I suppose.”

“I cannot agree with you more,” Jisoo agrees with a nod, “Have you even met her yet?”

“The last time I saw Seungwon was when I was thirteen, even if I saw her now, I cannot say I could point her out in a crowd if you asked me to.” Seokmin's hands find purchase in his pocket, hidden away from the sunlight that falls onto his head and burns the back of his neck as Jisoo and he walk further down the street, through the masses of people.

The older one nods solemnly, almost as if he understands the situation, "I have a friend who's in a similar predicament as you. Although her parents haven't found her a match or approved of anyone she's liked, I'd say her feelings mirror your own."

"Is that right?" Seokmin questions rhetorically as Jisoo digs through his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes, "Is that the girl who you spoke so much about during our classes together?"

Jisoo sputters, his hands failing to ignite his cigarette at Seokmin's words, the object dangling from his lips, "Did I really talk about her that much?"

"So much so I feel like I know her," Seokmin smiles and shakes his head, a familiar pang hitting his stomach once he looks back to the street before them. "Do you want to grab something to eat? I don't think I've eaten since lunchtime yesterday."

"Too busy studying?"

"Something like that..." In actuality, he'd received yet another telegram, this time from his mother, scolding him for staying away again.

"You always were more studious than me," the other nods and looks to a small restaurant they begin to pass on their left before stopping in his tracks, "What about this place?"

"Soba?" The intensity of the sun once again baring down above him as he looks at the sign on the door, he nods quickly, "Sounds great."

 The pair make their way inside, settling down at a small table in the back corner of the shop as they wait for their food to arrive. Seokmin moves his hand to unbutton a few fastens from the front of his jacket to allow some of the shop's cooler air to hit him. His hands then move to rest atop the table, his long and slender fingers tapping as Jisoo smokes the last of his cigarette, snubbing it out on the ashtray settled at the end of the table. 

"How's your family doing? Is your father's business going well? I saw a few copies when I was in Seoul.” Lackadaisical in question, Seokmin can hear something edging behind his friend’s tone that tinges upon suspicion. 

“It’s going well,” a silent nod as a server comes to their table, the two order quickly, leaving little room for questions before Seokmin asks, “What about your family?”

“Willfully ignorant as ever,” Jisoo frowns, shifting in his seat. It looks as if bitter words reside on his tongue but he swallows them down with a redemption of a smile. 

“About what?” Seokmin pauses as he reaches for the pot of tea the server had brought on her arrival, his hand hovering over the handle. 

“Everything.” Jisoo’s shoulders shrug as Seokmin eventually pours himself and his friend a cup of tea. “Joseon politics, American politics, hell- even the politics of their own inner circle. I refuse to believe they aren’t intelligent; they refuse to accept anything that isn’t affecting them personally.” 

“I see…” He winds off his acknowledgement with the abating of his words, woefully aware that his parents are of the same mindset. His own father being the worst of all of them, claiming that any interaction or deals with unsavory businessmen were for the benefit of the family, not to the detriment. 

“My father’s own brother died in ‘07 and he seemed unfazed by it at all,” Jisoo huffs out, “At the hands of the Imperial Army, and yet he said nothing.” 

Seokmin’s eyes widen, and he raises a finger to his lips as if to tell the older to lower his voice, unknowing if anyone within the shop understands Korean. “Even if he did, there would be nothing your father could have done about it. Not only is he in America, but he also holds no authority in Joseon.” 

“No one wanting to do a damn holds any authority in Joseon anymore, you know better than me what the yangban have gone through, what everyone’s gone through.” Jisoo leans in closer to Seokmin, ceding as he lowers his tone, “It may be easier said than done but I believe we have the ability to change that.” 

“How would-” Seokmin begins but is interrupted when the server comes back with their food, carefully setting each dish atop the table before retreating into the depths of the kitchen. “How could ‘we’ possibly do that?” 

“There are ways, I know there are. I just need time to think of a proper solution,” Jisoo nods as he reaches for his chopsticks, eager to sate his own hunger that had risen during their conversation. “If you’re interested, I’ll tell you more when I have an idea.”

[ 1909.05.27. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Seokmin’s mind doesn't return to that conversation with Jisoo until a Wednesday afternoon about a week later. The sun begins to sink down in the sky as Jisoo, Mingyu and himself clean off some blackboard tablets in the main room of the school. Jeonghan is busy teaching a class down the hall as Seokmin’s fingers begin to prune from what feels like endless scrubbing with a rag and vinegar ridden water.

“You know,” Jisoo speaks up after an eternity of silence, brushing his hands on his pants after setting down a board onto the floor below. “I think we can really change something here.” His shoes quickly tap on the floor in a sort of anxious apprehension, “Jeonghan and I have been talking and the resistance effort in Joseon seems to be strengthening again.”

“What are you implying?” Seokmin asks, confused at the sudden statement. His brow wet with perspiration, even having the windows cracked open doesn't allow for much wind to travel throughout the building.

“I am saying that we can try and do something to change the… trouble happening back home,” Jisoo shows no anger but a passion resides in his voice that remains hard to mask. “Do something before something more is done to us.”

“That is…” Mingyu begins, looking up to Jisoo from his task of drying off the boards.

“Idealistic?” Seokmin interjects, biting his lower lip before continuing, “Jisoo you do realize if someone hears you talking about that you’ll get thrown in prison again?”

Eyes trailing around the space as if he hadn’t already known they were alone, “Every one of us are sitting ducks. You know that” a point to Mingyu and then a point to Seokmin, “and you know that. Is fighting back against that such a bad thing?”

“How do you propose we do that? Drop everything now, hop on a ship back to Joseon and just roam the countryside looking for this supposed group?” Blood rushes to his ears and it sounds like waves crashing on a beach’s shore. 

“Not at all,” A shake of his head. “There are ways of resisting that do not rely on fighting, think peaceful, diplomatic.”

A nervous laugh escapes Seokmin, it’s involuntary but he can’t help it. “Hong Jisoo, I knew you were insane, but this is another level.”

“I— uh— I’m going to get some chalk refills from the storage room,” Mingyu excuses himself from the conversation, a glance at him as he walks away tells Seokmin that he doesn’t know how to interact with the situation and was looking for an easy escape.

“Seokmin, if you would just listen to me and get that stupid doubt out of your head you might just be able to make some sense of it all.” A sigh from Jisoo as he stands, reaching into his jacket to rummage around for a pack of cigarettes. “Can I bum one off of you?”

Cheek bitten as he grabs his pack out of his pocket and tosses it to the other, “Do you have any idea what they would do to my family if they knew we were having this conversation? Your family and Mingyu’s are across the world and have no worries about what they say or do. The other student’s and mine are not privileged with that.” Cigarette carton tossed back, the sound of a lighter igniting and the smell of smoke pervading through the air as he tucks the pack away into his pocket.

Jisoo thinks, an exhalation of smoke through troubled lungs as his outward breath intermingles with the dust thick in the air. It dissipates without a sound, quietly invading the space as Seokmin is overcome with a sense of trepidation from the other, he picks his words meticulously, trying to string them together as carefully as possible, “This is not just about you or me or my family or yours. It is the fate of a nation on the line, is that so hard to understand?”

It causes the younger man to pause for a moment, his hand falling to his pocket, hovering there before he pulls on the fabric as if he’d meant to straighten the coat all along. His throat clears, thinking of his parents and brother he’d left behind in Suji, what any actions that Jisoo’s ideals cause may entail for them. Even if he was trying to get away from his obligations back home, he’d never want to intentionally put them in any sort of danger. 

Seokmin opens his mouth to speak before catching a bright glimpse of color passing by one of the front windows, followed by the school door opening with a large slam against the wall. Silhouette standing in the setting sun for a moment, not looking at all familiar to Seokmin. An equally confusing circumstance when the words, “Joshua Hong,” spill from your lips.  It’s a confused expression that crosses your face, standing in the front door of the school as the one named leans leisurely back against one of the walls. 

Cigarette in hand, Jisoo turns at the call of his name, nearly falling over in surprise to see you standing there. No, not surprise- bewilderment, shock or some form of abject horror as you take a few long strides to stand in front of him. It’s as if a child’s been caught by his mother and Seokmin is playing witness to it all.

Seokmin watches the scene in a state likened to childlike curiosity, he understands not one word that falls from either of your or Jisoo’s lips, but he can tell you’re angry and him beyond apologetic. Hand movements gesticulating, he catches the words ‘Seoul’ and ‘Tokyo’ at some point as you huff something out under your breath. Voices rising, Seokmin’s surprised Jeonghan hasn’t come out to tell them to be quiet, but if he were in Jeonghan’s shoes he wouldn’t as you sound royally pissed. When you turn on your heels Seokmin looks to Jisoo for some sort of explanation, but his gaze is solely locked on you leaving.

“Shouldn’t you chase after her?” Mingyu asks, the two others not realizing he had returned, box of chalk in hand as the three men watch you storm out into the crowded streets.

“She needs to calm down before I talk to her again or she might really kill me.” Jisoo sighs, bringing the cigarette to his lips before taking in a long drag. A hand runs through his hair as it looks as if all of the blood had drained from his face upon your arrival.

“Is that the friend you mentioned a while ago? You showed us a picture I think.” Seokmin questions, somewhat relieved at your intrusion into their previous conversation.

“It is,” the answer not coming from Jisoo, but from Mingyu. “And by the sound of it she’s ready to pack you into her suitcase and take you on the next ship home.” Head nodding as he looks to the space you once occupied, “You really didn’t tell her you were coming here?”

“You understood that?” Smoke leaving him he turns to the younger, “You didn’t tell me you speak English.”

“It never really came up.” Shoulders shrugging as he sets the box of chalk he’d been fiddling with down onto a nearby chair. “I was raised in Canada for the first eleven years of my life.”

“Son of a bitch, Jeonghan never mentioned that.” Jisoo muses, tossing the cigarette from his hand and smothering it with his shoe. “But yeah, that’s her. I may have neglected to mention that but I was a little held up,” he looks confused as he pushes himself off the wall and makes his way to the door, peering out in the street. “I just don’t know how in the hell she found me.”

“She probably used the wrath of God to do it,” Mingyu suggests, “That’s how my mom says she knows everything I’ve ever done wrong.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” A shake of his head as Jisoo turns to Seokmin. “She said she’s staying at the hotel you’re in. Would you mind meeting up with me tomorrow morning in the lobby to talk some sense into her and get her to go back home?”

“I don’t even know her though?” Hands dried on a nearby towel, Seokmin stands and reaches for the bucket of now dirty water. He walks past Jisoo and into the street to dump its contents out, “I don’t even speak that much English.” 

“It’s more of moral support than anything,” Jisoo steps aside to let Seokmin back in, “I wasn’t joking she might actually kill me if she gets the chance.”

“Fine,” Seokmin sighs, walking to pick up his bag from the corner of the room. His hands smell of vinegar and he rubs his still pruned fingertips together as he thinks of what the next morning would hold. “You owe me, though.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jisoo breathes a sigh of relief as Seokmin makes his way to the front door once again, this time with the intent of leaving. “Nine work for you?”

“Nine works for me.” A nod as he walks down the two steps and onto the dirt road below, the indentations from your shoes leading off down the almost empty road. He glances back to Jisoo with a, “See you tomorrow,” and then to Mingyu with a question of “Do we have a quiz on Friday?” before waving it off and beginning his trek back home.

The night descends on Kyoto quietly and without noise, the stores closing long after the sun has fallen behind the western mountains in Arashiyama, lanterns aligning the street as Seokmin shuffles his way to the hotel. It’s quiet, the city typically is at this time of night, he’s learned over the course of his stay in the ancient former capital.

Before he goes inside, he stands outside of the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he stares up at the night sky blooming with stars. His bag lays at his feet, more worn now than it had been on the first day of class. Crumpled in his fists, buried away into the depths of his coat lies a letter, the ink that had adorned it far too smudged and water damaged to read now. Seokmin hadn’t meant to ‘accidentally’ drop it into a puddle when it had arrived that morning, so the contents lie unknown. However, on the corner of the envelope, a blurred name, ‘Seungwon’ stays virtually untouched as if to remind him of former obligations. 

It’s as if there’s a clock ticking in his chest, counting down to a day, a time, when he’s meant to take up the holstered responsibility of his family and place it onto his own shoulders. A burden not yet ready to bear, he sighs out into the calm night and makes his way inside of the hotel. 

[ 1909.05.28. 今出川、京都 ] Seokmin wakes to the knocking on his door, his head burrowing into the tangled blankets and pillows from a restless night’s sleep. It takes a moment for him to find himself, writhing around the sheets before pulling himself out of his own stupor. Feet hitting the floor with a dull thud, he drags his lethargic body to the small bathroom, running his hands under the cool water of the faucet before splashing some onto his face to wake himself further. He meets his own gaze in the reflection, tired eyes and the slightest shadow of stubble beginning to darken on his jaw and upper lip. He’d have to visit the barber at some point in the coming days before he becomes totally unkempt.

He dresses himself in casual attire, a white linen button up, the most breathable thing he’d wear today, before he dons the dark blue of his three-piece suit, a light gray and black one still residing in his wardrobe. He notices the threading is nearly worn as he buttons the bottom half of his jacket, the things threatening to fall off should he exert too much force. The soles of his shoes too lie in disarray, wearing thin from endless wandering the streets of Kyoto after his classes have finished. It’s not that he’s searching for anything in particular, maybe a solution to his current situation. But he can’t find that at a merchant’s stall.

The route to the dining hall located on the first floor is a path easily tread, remembered in his first few days of arriving in Kyoto. The carpeted floors give way to a wooden expanse the further he delves into the hotel, the scents of varying breakfast foods calling out to his aching stomach. 

His hands keep busy with the morning paper, perhaps yesterday’s or the day prior to that one. It takes a while for the Korean post to arrive in Kyoto, the postage system seems to take years for important things to arrive, yet the letters from home seem to be weekly. A sigh as he sets down the news, reaching out for the carafe of coffee situated some ways away from where he’s seated. He begins to pour himself a cup, only pausing when he catches something out the corner of his eye. 

A few darkened drips from the coffee pot settle into the white linen of the dining room tablecloth as he spots you stalking towards him. His eyes go wide and his breath hitches when your gaze narrows on him, almost causing him to choke on coffee he’d just brought to his lips.

The way you saunter over to his table reminds him of his mother when she’d be out to scold either him or his brother. Seokmin doesn’t know you but can easily tell that you’re not a force to be reckoned with. 

“Where’s Josh?” You ask, standing before him, arms crossing over your chest as you look down at him expectantly. “You were one of the men with him yesterday, right?”

“What?” Seokmin asks, trying to make some sense of what you were saying. When he was a young boy, his parents had allowed him to take English lessons with a handful of the Christian missionaries that had drifted through Suji, but seeing as he understands nothing of what you just said, it’s obvious he hadn’t retained much, if any, of his vocabulary. “What are you looking for?” He sees no glimmer of understanding in your eyes as your brow furrows, probably trying to decipher what he’d just said. “Jisoo? Are you looking for Jisoo?” It’s the common connection the two of you seem to have, it’s his best bet on trying to figure out what you want. 

You nod at the name, recalling that his mother shouts that at him whenever she’s angry. “Where is he?” If you’d taken up Josh on any of his invitational Korean lessons, you may have had much better luck in this situation. But you’d gone off to learn French because you were enamored with one of your classmates at the time, you could almost hit yourself seeing where it’s gotten you. 

“Whe-” Seokmin pauses, lips pursing together as he thinks of the word. Jisoo was meant to be in the lobby when she came downstairs, but it’s now clear he’s nowhere to be found. 

 “School.” It’s one of the words he can pull from memory. “He’s probably at the school,” he says again and gestures in the general direction of Jeonghan’s academy. 

“The school- The language school?” You’ve said the name of the institute hundreds of times to yourself that you think it’s the only Japanese you know. Not that you fully understand what it means, just knowing that it’s the name of the place. 

Seokmin nods, somewhat surprised that you know the name. 

“Can you take me?” The question falls out quickly and you see he’s confused, so you repeat it again slowly in hopes that he comprehends it. It seems that he does, reaching for his coffee and finishing the cup before rising to his feet, motioning for you to follow him as he heads towards the exit.

The walk to the school is painfully awkward, drenched in a silence that neither of you want to address. Both of you are not confident enough in the other’s mother tongue to make small talk as the two of you begin to walk the streets. 

“Hey!” Seokmin hears Mingyu call out as the schoolhouse nears, “Took you long enough, you’re almost late.” When the younger sees that you’re accompanying him he gives you a small wave, “You’re Jisoo’s friend, right?” 

“I am,” You say after a moment, not having expected to hear English today. But with the company that Josh keeps, you can’t be too surprised at anything now. “Do you know where he is?”

“No, he’s not here yet,” he shakes his head and turns to Seokmin, “Didn’t Jisoo say that you’d meet him at the hotel?”

“He did,” Seokmin’s lips curve into a frown as the three of you make your way into the school. “She’s been interrogating me about him, I think. Although I can barely understand what she’s saying.”

Mingyu laughs at the older and then turns back to you, “My name’s Mingyu.” His demeanor has a lightness to it that descends onto you as something of a godsend. It’s an ease that you’d probably find with Josh if he were here, and you aren't still angry at him. 

“It’s nice to meet you Mingyu,” you offer him a smile before your eyes go wide and you turn to your partner, “I uhm, I never asked him what his name is.”

“Seokmin,” Mingyu answers, another chortle leaving him, and the elder looks confused as to why his name’s just been called out. “What’s your name?”

You respond quickly, glancing over your shoulder to see if Josh is on his way in, to your misfortune, he isn’t. Mingyu quickly introduces you to Seokmin, probably so he has a gist of who you are. It’s hard to tell if Josh’s said anything about you to these men, but it doesn’t look as if he’s said too much.

“We’ve got class soon,” Mingyu’s voice pulls you from your search and you turn back to him, “I’m sure Jeonghan would let you sit in on the class if you wanted to, although I’m not too sure that you’ll understand much, I don’t even get all of it.”

“It’s alright,” you shake your head at him, “I’ll just wait out here for Joh- Jisoo.”

The man in question strolls into the school around thirty minutes later, the local paper tucked under his arm as his brow raises in surprise to see you, “I thought I said I’d meet you at the hotel.”

“I got impatient,” a frown as your gaze flickers over to him. “Jail Josh? Jail?” You fume, storming over to the taller, “Do you have any idea how worried I was, how worried your mother was? God- If you don’t write to her today and tell her that you’re okay, I'm stuffing you in my suitcase and taking you back with me.”

He laughs heartily, despite you glaring him down, “I wrote to her as soon as I got out. I wrote to you too, but it doesn’t seem like you got the message.” A few more chuckles escape him as he holds his arms out, “I missed you.”

You sigh, falling into his embrace, “I missed you too.” After a moment you pull away, stepping back from him, “I’m glad to see that you’re okay, but if you ever do something like this again-”

“I’ve missed your hollow threats,” Josh smiles and glances around the school’s empty halls, “Do you want to get out of here for a while? I know a good cafe nearby, they have a lovely castella.” 

“Don’t you have class?” You question with a tilt of your head, the gentle murmurs from the classroom some ways away drifting out into the hall. “Mingyu said that Seokmin was already late, I wouldn’t want to stop you from your lesson.”

“I’m not a student,” Josh shakes his head, “I’m just… in town for a while and Jeonghan’s putting up with me for a bit.” He flashes you a grin before you have a chance to ask him exactly what he means by that, “Now come on before they run out.”

The two of you walk out into the dense heat of late spring, passing by a group of students as you do so. Josh recognizes some of them whereas you don’t, him saying something to them that elicits a laugh or two before you’re both back on your way to the city center. 

“Why were you arrested?” You can’t stop yourself from asking the question as you turn onto the main road from the alley in which the school is situated. There are only a handful of people perusing the streets, but none look interested in what you’d just said. “It wasn’t serious, right?”

“Of course not,” he reassures you and looks to a few buildings ahead, “We’re almost there.” Josh walks in silence for a moment, his fingers rubbing against his palm as he looks back to you, “I lost my passport, can you believe it?” You recall when you were leaving San Francisco and you had lost your own passport, if it hadn’t been for the man that found it for you, you’re not sure where you’d be.

“Well, actually, I didn’t lose it, it fell between the pages of one of the books that I bought, which reminds me- I have a few for you, I wrote you about them, just remember to tell me to give them to you,” Josh says quickly as you approach the building he’d been eyeing earlier, walking into the opened door confidently and heading to the nearest open table. 

You can tell he’s lying. You’ve only known him since you were children and he’s the closest person to you, you know almost every little quirk about him. And one of the first things you’d learned was that he talks quickly when he’s not being truthful. Yet, you don’t question him on it, seeing as you’d just calmed the tension between you, you don’t want to ignite it for the second time today. So, you just nod and follow him inside.

More oft than not, you hide your feelings behind a veneer of snark, of a bite that seems to sting but never lasts. It’s a sham way to hold yourself together, for if you let the dread of reality seep into your veins any longer than you allow it, you may just become the person you’re trying to hide. A vulnerable being who longs for the company of others but finds errant ways to keep them close instead of just outright saying it. 

Josh offers out a seat to you and you sit, hands folding neatly atop the tabletop as you look to the menu scrawled onto a chalkboard near the cafe’s counter. You’re not sure why you do, the mix of Japanese alphabets is still foreign to you.

“I’ll go grab something, just wait here,” he says, noticing your confusion, still standing before he turns on his heels and strides over to the counter. You turn away before he begins to speak to the barista, looking out of the glass window at the front of the shop, 

“How long were you planning on staying in Japan?” Josh’s voice stirs you some time later, the gentle sound of two cups being placed on the table making you turn in his direction as he sits down across from you. 

“As long as it took me to find you.” You smile at him, reaching out for the small cup, “I guess that means I can pack my bags and leave now.” The smile placated on your lips is joking, but you hold a sincerity in your gaze as if to ask him if that’s what you should do next. He was the entire reason you were here, to find him, to make sure that he was okay and to bring him home if you could. 

Josh’s finger traces the rim of his own coffee cup, gently lifting after a moment to tap along the surface of the tabletop. He hums, low and obstinate, as if to ponder the significance of you being here. 

“I guess you could,” a slow nod of his head, “You know, you were never obligated to chase me half-way across the world to try and get me back home. I’ve been detained before-”

“You have?” eyes widening as you look from your coffee to meet his eyes, “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“I’ve been detained before but,” he continues, gaze hardening at you as you interrupt him, “I really thought I had lost my papers so I sent my mom a letter saying I may need my official documents back home to get me out of the mess I found myself in. This was a little more serious than the others.”

“What happened the other times?”

“Well, in London they stopped me for taking too much tea out of the country, I guess they thought I’d run them dry of it,” a teasing smile twinges on the corners of his lips, “and in Cairo, I tried to sneak off with a few things from Cleopatra’s tomb.”

“You know,” you lean back in your chair, a snide frown on your lips, “lying less might help you out in the future.”

Josh laughs, reaching into his jacket pocket to procure his pack of smokes, it isn’t until he’s got a lit cigarette dangling from his lips that he speaks again, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He suddenly gasps, the smoke he’d been inhaling filtering into his lungs and causing him to sputter for a moment. You reach for and hand him his cup of coffee  so he doesn’t choke on himself. After a moment of hitting his chest and extinguishing his cigarette into the ashtray on the corner of the table, he speaks up, “You didn’t use your grandmother’s money to get you here, did you?”

“Well, technically it isn’t hers anymore,” a guilty exhalation of a chuckle, “but yes, I did.”

“Oh,” He’s crestfallen in the most faux of ways, “You said you’d take me to Italy with that.” It’s a joke, but you can see his concern wavering behind the sincerity of his words. 

Your hand falls to run over the textured brocades of your dress, a wavering smile delicately tugging at the corners of your lips, “I was just worried about you.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do,” brow softening as he reaches for his coffee, voice still a bit hoarse from his earlier choking. “But you don’t need to throw everything you have away for me, I know the trip probably wasn’t cheap.” 

Josh’s not wrong. It had taken quite a large portion from your deceased grandmother’s account to get you here, and the subsequent stay in the country. 

“I had to make sure you were okay,” you shrug your shoulders with a coy smile, reaching out to pick up your teacup and bring it to your lips. It’s then you realize something, setting the cup back down and looking around the shop, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Josh questions, noticing your shift in demeanor. 

“I haven’t ever been abroad before, I thought maybe I’d travel to Paris or London, Milan, even… Never…” A small hum as you turn to look back at him, “Never to Kyoto.”

“I’d have loved for you to see Seoul,” Josh smiles softly, his fingers tapping along the sides of the cup, “It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“You make it sound as if it’s impossible to go,” a tilt of your head. Josh had told you stories from his time studying abroad, of the antics he and his friends would get up to and of the history he’d learned. 

“It would be a little difficult to go back right now,” the smile lingering on his lips looks sad now, almost wistful in a way, “I’m sure we could go in the future if you want to.”  

“I’d love to,” you nod, glancing out of the window once more to watch the passersby walk up and down the crowded street. 

[ 1909.05.30. 今出川、京都 ] Japanese is difficult. You expected it to be, and you never expected yourself to have an aptitude for language seeing as how your conversational French lessons had left you with a minor understanding of the language itself. Most Korean words that Josh had tried to teach you over the course of your friendship had evicted your mind as well, so when Jeonghan asks if you want to sit in on the Korean student’s class as they learn Japanese, you’re not sure why you accept. 

You stay in that class for a few days, struggling to get along as you furiously scribble away into your notebooks. Jeonghan has offered you an English to Japanese dictionary and you copy and try to memorize the words as best you can, albeit the characters you draw are choppy and cause your instructor to spend a few more minutes with you trying to aid you in your quest to master hiragana. 

“Do you think we should have an English only class?” Jeonghan questions you one day after the class has ended, a few minutes remain before his next, so he pulls you aside as the rest of the students filter from the room. “Jisoo failed to tell me that he never taught you any Korean and I can see you struggling more than you have to.”

“If I’m going to be the only student, I cannot see the point,” you smile and shake your head at him, “Doing so would only amplify your workload.” 

“Never mind that,” a wave of his hand, “I can scrounge up a few of the boys who I know are a bit more… multilingual and have them sit in. Actually,” he thinks for a moment, his eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling before settling on you, “I think it would be rather beneficial for them… So, what do you say?”

You ponder on the thought for a moment, not wanting to seem selfish enough to steal away a few of the men from the other classes for your own personal gain.  

“If they’re okay with it…” Nodding slowly, “Then I don’t see why it should be a problem.”

“Great,” a toothy grin from the teacher, “I’ll see what I can do.”

[ 1909.06.05. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Kim Mingyu is sitting in the back of the schoolhouse’s main classroom, his nose buried inside Jeonghan’s mandated textbook, when you approach him. 

“I’m sorry to have pulled you from the other class,” you sigh out, taking a seat at the desk in front of him, yet turning in the chair to face him, “You must think me horrible for it.” 

“On the contrary,” Mingyu says after a moment before he sets the book in hand atop the table, a glance downwards shows that he had been hiding a small paperback book behind his study materials. He must’ve been reading that while looking so studious. “Ever since I switched classes I think I’ve actually learned more now that Chan’s not whispering in my ear or Seungkwan isn’t cracking a joke.”

“That’s a relief,” you smile, pausing for a moment as you take a deep breath, “I have a favor to ask of you, if it isn’t too… much.”

“A favor?” Piqued eyebrow as he looks quizzically at you, “Can I inquire what it is you’re asking of me?”

“You know Korean, right?”

“Well, uhm,” the question causes him to falter, “I should think so?”

“Teach me.” Hands finding themselves latched onto the back of the chair you sit in, you lean towards him, voice whispering as if you’re embarrassed, “I never bothered taking Josh up on it and now he’s too busy to help me study. And all I’ve been learning is Japanese except for when the others teach me a word or two.”

“You might want to forget those… most of them were pretty,” his face pinkening as he shifts in his seat, “inappropriate.”

“Oh really?” You feel your own cheeks warm with embarrassment, “I suppose I should’ve realized—”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell them to stop.” Mingyu says quickly to save you from any further mortification, “Are you free this weekend?”

“Are you asking me out?” Knowing the question will fluster the other, as it does, you stifle a laugh. “I am, should we meet here to study?” 

“If that works for you?”

“I’ll see you on Saturday.”

[ 1909.06.12. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Have you given any more thought to what I asked?” Jisoo stands in the doorway of Jeonghan’s main classroom, Seokmin scribbling away at something, too concerned with what he’s writing to notice that his door had opened.

With a small jump, he turns in his desk chair to his friend, “About?”

“Trying to organize something here.” With a cautious motion, Jisoo steps into the room. “I’ve been mailing the consulate in Tokyo but haven’t gotten a concrete meeting date set, I’m sure someone of your influence— of your family’s influence could—”

“Jisoo…” A frown settling onto Seokmin’s lips as he tucks the paper he’d been writing into the desk, away from the other’s prying gaze. “My family’s newspaper is scrutinized enough and it’s already considered pro-Japanese, what’ll my family do if they find out their son is working against the very thing keeping them afloat?”

“Where is your sense of justice?” Jisoo returns the grizzled grimace, “Didn’t you flee here to escape that reality for a while?”

“That is— It isn’t just that.”

“I am not trying to force your hand. I know that you’re smart and I know deep down you disagree with everything that’s going on.” A pause, “We’re meeting in Gion on the ninth, in Hanami. You’re welcome to sit in and hear what everyone has to say and make your decision after that.”

“... Okay.”

“You’ll go?”

“I’ll go, but don’t expect me to sign my life away just like that.” A sigh and Jisoo wordlessly leaves the room. Seokmin waits a moment more and pulls out the note sheet he’d been working on, as well as the letter he’d written earlier. He scans the letter once more before he sighs, folding it and tucking it away into an envelope and then into his bag.

‘Jihoon,

Much has happened since I left Suji. I hope things at home are still stagnant. 

The friend I told you of before leaving (the one who acquainted me with Yoon Jeonghan) has arrived under the most peculiar circumstances. I thought him to be in Seoul, but he arrived in Kyoto mid-May unannounced. And the strangest thing is that not even a month later, his friend from America shows up to scold him profusely for a litany of issues. I found her first impression rather intimidating, but I now find it rather endearing the more I try and speak to her.

I suppose I should ask how my family is doing, yet with their barrage of letters I feel as if I never left. The plague of this marriage overwhelms me constantly, I am not the heir to the company, yet my father and mother find it imperative to make a match. 

Enough rambling from my end, I hope your store is receiving the customer base it deserves. Starting any business now is sure to be wrought with turbulence, but I know you can and will persevere.

Seokmin’

[ 1909.06.15. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Excuse me,” Heat sweeps through the schoolhouse this afternoon, saturating the air in a humid gale that seeks to suffocate the air from one's own lungs. Seokmin stands before you as you sit in the main lobby of the schoolhouse, the textbook Mingyu has given you in your grasp as you look at him. 

“Is something wrong?” You ask, lowering the book in hand to look up at Seokmin. 

The toe of his shoe scuffs on the wooden floorboards as he rummages around his coat pocket for a moment. His brow furrows, and then lightens before he now moves his hand to search around his bag until he finds his fingertips brushing along a folded piece of paper. 

“For you,” he says, pulling out the parchment and holding it out to you. 

“Me?” A ginger grasp on the paper as you take it into one of your hands, unfurling it to read the contents. “Is this… the alphabet?” Various characters, both Korean and English, litter the page before your eyes in a haphazard, yet somehow meticulous, manner. 

“To help you study,” Seokmin says with a nod, his English vocabulary not proficient enough yet to tell you that he’d seen you studying the language after your class and Mingyu had mentioned in passing you were trying to learn. In no way is he sufficient enough in English to teach you major words but the alphabet… maybe that would be more doable.

“Oh,” your eyes still scan the page, eyes widening in recognition at some of the letters that Mingyu had taught you, before you return to looking up at the man, “Thank you, Seokmin. This will really help a lot.”

His heart flutters at your words, and he can only nod and return your smile before awkwardly rushing past you and towards the class he’s already late for. 

“What was that about?” Seungkwan guffaws as he settles into his seat, “Trying to make friends?” The younger looks back through the doorway of the class to note that you still have the paper in hand, carefully looking over its contents.

“It’s not like he fancies her or anything,” Chan shakes his head, noting Seokmin’s almost coy expression. “Oh my God, you do, don’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Seokmin bites, looking up to the front of the room where Jeonghan’s about to begin his lesson. “She just seems… lonely.”

The lesson drags on quietly after Seokmin’s sunken into his seat, his fingers aching with the sheer amount of notes he’d taken over the course of the hour and a half. When Jeonghan has finished his lesson on preposition making, somehow managing to reprimand Seungkwan in the process, the teacher dismisses his students out into the hall. The handful of men shuffle out into the narrow space, bursting into the lobby like salmon fighting their way upstream.

“Mingyu?” Seokmin thinks he catches his eye as he presses through the throng of Chinese students heading to class.

“Yes?” He locks eyes with him, the two stopping in the hall as the crowd recedes and it is only the two of them remaining.

“You know English, right?” He asks his friend, stepping towards him as to not clog the entirety of the hall.

“Why does everyone keep asking—” Mingyu sounds almost exasperated at the thought, “Yes, I do.”

“Would you mind teaching me? Or at least helping me with mine?”

“I mean, I can try to,” his hand runs through his tousled black locks, “I’m learning that I’m not the best teacher though, so it may take some time for me to get the hang of it.”

“That is fine enough with me,” Seokmin nods with a small smile, “Thank you.”

“Of course…” Mingyu says as the other begins to walk off, “Actually, Seokmin?”

“Hm?” The elder turns on his heels to tilt his head at the other.

“Why do you want to learn English all of a sudden?”

“Oh…” Shaken by the question, a flush of pink over his cheeks as the main object of his want for learning lies only several meters away in the lobby, in other words: you. He shrugs, “I just thought it’d be a good language to get a leg up on.”

[ 1909.06.21. 鴨川、京都 ] “Arthur? Really?” Josh chides as he walks along the sidewalk, his hands busy holding several blankets as he speaks to the man. Behind him and Mingyu, you and Seokmin walk step in step, carrying assorted picnic gear of your own. You notice the way Mingyu’s shoulders shrug in the summer heat as Josh speaks again, “It’s not a bad name, but a little Doyleish,” he turns to glance back at you before looking ahead, “don’t you think?”

“I think it’s a perfectly fine name,” you shrug loftily, your hand raising to your brow to wipe away a few droplets of sweat.

“Defend him because he’s got an author’s name, I see—” Josh scoffs jokingly as he sees Jeonghan waving at the three of you as the river’s bank draws near. “I’m going to go and help him set up.”

“Forever the busybody,” you sigh, looking to the other two accompanying you, “Why did you come to Japan, Mingyu?”

“My dad’s company is thinking about extending its outreach here, he’s in Tokyo trying to negotiate something and I’m here just… Well, I’m really just here,” he laughs, something rattling in the basket he holds.

“Are you going to take over his business?” The inquiry falls from you quickly, not realizing that he comes from a presumably affluent family.

“When I get older, maybe,” he sighs out apathetically, “I want to be a novelist.”

“A novelist?” You perk up at the word, “Who do you like?”

“I really like London.”

“He’s great,” A nod as the three of you walk onward, “You know, if you have anything, I’d love to read it.”

“Really? You’d do that?” His eyes widen as he looks to you, stumbling over an uneven stone as he asks.

“Of course, Josh typically sends me novels from all over the world, but now that he’ll be here for a while I haven’t got anything.”

“I can give you a few pieces tomorrow at the schoolhouse.” A sheepish blush dusts his face, “I’ve started a manuscript but it’s still fairly rough.” 

“That’d be great.” You smile and look at the others in your party, but before you can ask, Mingyu speaks up.

“And what about you, Seokmin?”

“Me?” The elder looks confused, as if he hadn’t been paying attention to the prior conversation. His attention elsewhere along the river before being interrupted. 

“What are you doing once you go back home?”

“My father set up a position for me at his business,” A sour frown on his lips, “I think that’s where I’ll put myself.”

“There’s nothing else you want to do?”

“Of course, there is, but I’ve given up my frivolity for the working mindset,” another frown as he lies to himself. The only reason he’d fled to Tokyo is because of his frivolity and unwillingness to settle down so soon.

“I see…” Mingyu sighs, turning to you, “And what about you?” 

“I suppose I’ll get married, live unhappily with my husband until I’m old and gray, and maybe after he dies, I’ll be able to do what I want,” humming as you’ve already given too much thought about the topic considering there aren’t many options for you. “If I were to have it my way though, I’d die a spinster, a book reading, novel writing spinster.” 

“You write too?” Mingyu interjects.

“Not well,” a bashful smile spreads to your lips, “I’ll let you read some of my works once they’re written.” 

“What did she say?” Seokmin asks, noting your change in demeanor.

“She wants me to read over a few of her things,” Mingyu says, looking from him to you. And then as if a light sparks in his head, he snaps his fingers, “You know. If you’re trying to learn Korean and you’re trying to learn English, I think helping each other out would be better than me trying to teach you.”

“If someone wasn’t chasing after James McAllen or whatever his name was, maybe she’d be a bit more proficient.” Josh guffaws as he saddles back to the three of you, the blankets he’d once been holding now lain on the bank of the river.

“French is still a good language to know,” you murmur, then looking up to Mingyu, and then glancing at Seokmin, “Although, that doesn’t really seem like such a bad idea, does it?”

[ 1909.08.10. 今出川、京都 ] “Is something wrong?” Your question pulls at Seokmin. For the last few minutes, you’d noticed that he hadn’t been working on the letter practice that you’d given to him when the two of you began your joint lesson. Instead, he’d been absentmindedly looking off into space as his hand draws thoughtless circles onto the page before him.

“No,” Seokmin jumps in his seat across from you as his gaze returns from the void where he sought nothing. “I’m alright.”

“Okay,” you nod, returning to penning out the sentences that Seokmin had given you. It only takes a few more lines of script before you get tired, stifling your mouth with a yawn before you turn back to your partner. “What does your father do for a living?” 

“My father?” Seokmin asks, wondering what could’ve spurred this question, “He’s a founding member of the biggest news publication in Korea.”

“News publication?” 

“The Seoul Daily,” he responds, “Although I have to admit I don’t read it often.”

“I see…” You say, not wanting to bore him with the simpleness of your own father’s profession as a clerk. “You know, I find it surprising that Josh’s here. He never likes to sit still. I thought he would be teaching somewhere by now.”

“Is he a teacher?” Seokmin questions, looking up from his work.

“Teacher, tutor, whatever the term is… but yes. He said that’s what took him from Seoul to Tokyo in the first place. And what took him from home.”

“Is he really?” Seokmin cannot recall Jisoo ever professing that his job was that of a tenured teacher, his degree had been in something of business administration if he recalls correctly. 

“Did he not ever tell you?” A prickling of suspicion biting at your lips. During your luncheon with Josh some time ago, the same inkling of distrust in your friend’s word invaded you, you had brushed it off then, forgetting it until now. “He said he was staying at the American ambassador’s home.”

“The American legation shut down some time ago in Seoul,” Seokmin muses, catching the glimpse of shock in your eyes before he moves to speak again, “That isn’t to say that the ambassador has left… To be honest I’m not well versed in Joseon’s political affairs with western nations to know such things.”

“Really…” You hum, pursing your lips as you try to process it. Not wanting to lower the already stagnant atmosphere of the session, you look at the sleeve on Seokmin’s jacket, noticing something peculiar about it. “Seokmin?” 

“Yes?”

“Is that hole in your suit?” You point your finger to the bit where the button should be on the sleeve.

His finger moves to trace the outline of the threadbare hole where his button used to lie, “I suppose it is.”

“If you ever want me to mend that for you, I should be able to.” You offer, failing to mention that your handiwork would be subpar at best.

“I may just take you up on that offer,” he smiles, only then to look back down at his notes, “Now, should we get back to work?”

[ 1909.08.15. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The light of the candle on your desk flickers ominously behind its pale shade as you reach for the wrapped parcel Mingyu had given you earlier in the day. You’d received it just as he, Josh, Seokmin and a few of the other students were leaving the school that afternoon. They hadn’t asked you to go with them, citing some sort of man’s meeting in which you could only presume a visit to one of the city’s geisha districts again. It was a favorite pastime of one of the men, saying it was much better to talk business in the confines of a private room where one language was known among them all. 

What they mean by that, you’re unsure. This is a school group, not a business venture, right?

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the thought as your fingers trace along the twine at the top of the large envelope. Unlacing it swiftly, you reach your hand inside to pull out a substantial amount of writing from Mingyu, some in his hand and some seemingly typed on a typewriter. The letters are strong, bold, and in the margins lie a mix of notes in both English and Korean. You try your best to decipher the latter but find it too scrawled to read, you’d practiced reading typed or printed Hangul rather than a messy author’s handwritten scrawl. 

Eyes flickering to the top page, you begin to read over his work,

‘The halls of the Haut have lain in wait for a mildly jolting occurrence for some time now. Ebbed in an inky and sickly black of gloom that settles itself on every person, beast and object that dare enter its halls. Yet for those that traverse its rooms, the darkness is felt more as a way of life than of a looming threat, some finding solace in the flickering lights of the candles that adorn the walls every handful of feet while others have succumbed to the habitual nature of torment that resigns itself to its home.

The spark of candles igniting save them from that horror, for a time. A thought of hope, a taste of the light that has been longed for for eons at this point, as the doors never open and the shutters remain bolted in place. Candles are the only light available to the residents of the Haut, whether that is a welcomed gesture or not. 

As the fires in the candles flicker endlessly throughout the day, I have come to a realization during my stay in the Haut. The light, shadowing across faces; new ones, ones they would see every day and faces they would never see again act as more than just a breath of hope to see the sun again. It acts as a catalyst, until their wick wanes low and it is to be tossed out like the ones before it, returning to an obscurity that prevails over all in the end.’

Mingyu’s thoughts penned down onto the page confuse you more when you read them over again. It is clearly alluding to more than a fictional Haut and the symbolism of candles is more than noticeable. You wonder why, of the fictional pieces that he’s told you of writing, he chose to place this one first. If there even was a reason, or if he had shuffled his papers together haphazardly before he left his apartment that morning. 

You look from the page to the window by your bedside, noting the sun had sunk some time ago, the small clock on your desk reading half-past eight. 

Almost as soon as your eyes settle on the clock, a knock resounds around your room. It causes you to jump and you quickly rush to the door to see if the men have returned. Upon opening the heavy door, you’re met face to face with Josh.

A bitter taste fills your mouth, but you hide it with a smile. The conversation that you had with Seokmin about your mutual friend had revealed a few things that you hadn’t known about your friend, and you’re still struggling to come to terms with the untruths he may have told you over the course of the years.

“I honestly expected you back later,” you say jokingly, noting the flush of red on his cheeks. He must’ve been drinking.

“Decided to call it a night early,” he shrugs. Josh stands there for a moment, as if he’s debating on whether to step into your room or not. It seems as if he opts not to, parting his lips to speak, “Listen… There’s something I want to talk to you about, you and I have known each other for a long, long time and I don’t think I’ve been very honest with my thoughts.”

“Your thoughts?” You give him a puzzled look; you had expected him to speak about something other than that.

“You see,” he starts, “I-”

“Oh,” a voice from outside of your room speaks up, both you and Josh look to see who it is. “If you’re in the middle of a conversation I’ll come back another time-”

“No, no,” Josh says quickly, motioning the other over, “We were only just chatting, Seokmin.”

“Hello Seokmin,” you give him a small smile as he returns the gesture. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I um, I wrote down a few poems for you to try and translate if that is of any interest to you.” The folded paper in Seokmin’s hand crinkles at the margins as he holds it toward you. You hadn’t seen it upon first glance. Through the thin parchment you can see his handwriting that has bled through a bit.

“Thank you,” you say, a small fluttering of butterflies in your chest as you take the paper into your grasp, “This was very kind of you to do.”

“It was no problem, really,” he waves his hand. “Well,” Seokmin says quickly, looking from you to Josh, although his expression shifts slightly when he looks to the elder, “I’ll leave you to your chat.” And with that, he quietly turns on his heels and walks down the hall, towards his room.

“That was cute,” Josh muses once Seokmin’s out of earshot, “Almost like a lovelorn schoolboy.”

“Don’t tease him,” you scoff, gently nudging your friend with your hand. “What was it that you wanted to talk about earlier?”

As if he’s remembered what brought him to your room in the first place, he quickly shakes his head, “Never mind it now, it’s a conversation for another day.”

[ 1909.08.19. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The wicker wiring of the basket’s handle is rough and almost sharp in your grasp as you lug the thing down the long street in front of you. One of the ladies at the hotel’s reception had offered to help you but you’d kindly refused. Yet with the beads of sweat beginning to form at your hairline, you almost wish you had taken them up on your offer. 

As you burst your way into the lobby of the school, several heads turn in your direction. Seokmin and Seungkwan look up from their hushed conversation and Jeonghan looks perplexed as he looks at what’s in your grasp, but makes no comment on it, only asking, 

“What are you doing here so early?”

“Seokmin Lee,” a sly smile as you hoist the basket up, “Do you have the availability for me to steal you for the day?”

“I…” his eyes travel to those around him, their heads tilting in confusion as they probably think that this is you coming to reign hell upon him just as you’d done to Josh upon your arrival. 

“I think he does,” Mingyu pipes up, realizing through the tone of your voice that there isn’t any ill will to be found. “Go,” he nudges Seokmin, “skipping class for a day won’t hurt you, believe me.”

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you smile as Seokmin walks forward hesitantly. Turning to Seokmin you smile, “I hope you’ve worn walking shoes; we’ll be going on a small trek.” 

The two of you take a trolly south, and then another one even more south to the edge of the city’s limits. Seokmin had offered to take the basket from your grasp as he noticed you shifting your weight with it as you stood in the interior of the crowded car. 

“I thought I might treat you to lunch,” You say as the car comes to an abrupt stop, jostling the passengers before you disembark, him following closely behind you, “if that’s alright?”

“Well, if I’m already here—” Seokmin accepts without outright saying it. “Where are we going?”

“That’s a secret,” you smirk, continuing to walk down the street.

It takes a moment, but you soon recognize several poignant features of the landscape that the hotel’s reception had pointed out to you. The town dwindles away, opening into a swath of open greenery and hills that roll on, seemingly forever. A few homes dot the landscape, you assume them to be the living spaces of the families that farm the land.

A rocky, dirt path leads you and him through a thicket of brush before coming out into a large field, yellow flowers saturating the landscape.

Noticing the way that your gaze seems to linger on the flowers as the two of you approach, Seokmin asks, “Do you like sunflowers?” Fingers dancing up one of the large stems beside him once the two of you near the field enough, his digits flitting up towards the petals bursting towards the blue of the afternoon. 

“They remind me of home,” wistful thoughts as you turn towards him, attention turning from the blossom in your gaze. “My mother grows them in her garden.” You set the picnic basket on the ground, reaching to pick up a fallen flower before you look back to him.

Eyes locking together, his own breath catches in his throat as he realizes how close you are, how the sunlight cascades onto you in a serene beam, not unlike a spotlight from a stage production. A cough and he looks to your grasp, to the yellow petals and browned florets in the center. Seokmin doesn’t know this now, but he’ll come to associate you and these flowers together in a harboring memory locked in the library of his mind when some time comes to pass. 

“Every summer the flower peddlers would come into town with their bushels of blossoms,” the memory can be recalled almost as if it were happening right in front of him. “My mother loves blue bells, my father and my brother both like carnations.”

“And you?”

“Sunflowers,” a nod as his hand retracts from the stem of the plant and into his pocket.  “I like sunflowers.”

“You must be happy that we came here, then,” a smile flaring onto your lips, “I bet everyone else at the school is jealous I stole you away for a while.”

“Jisoo more than any of them,” head shaking in disagreement, “he dotes on you, you know.”

“Dotes and guards are two very different things, Seokmin,” the smile falters a bit as you think of your friend. He had been acting strange lately, almost as if he were a caged animal with no escape. Was it because you had followed him here? 

“As he is not here I see no reason to fuss over him,” you shake your head, dropping the flower to the ground gently and turn to the assortment of snacks you’d brought. You open the basket, settling yourself down onto the ground near the stalks, and motion Seokmin over.

You reach inside to procure two glasses laying empty before you as well as grabbing a dark green bottle from its depths. “I had the lovely ladies from the front desk put this together for us last night.” Another rummage through the basket has you revealing a wine opener, the screw end eventually finding itself plunged into the cork in the bottle’s neck. 

“Thank you,” you say once you’ve poured Seokmin and yourself a generous glass of wine each. While you’d fiddled with the cork, Seokmin set out to lay out the small bites you’d brought along.

“For what?” A piqued eyebrow as he reaches for his glass, slight confusion shadowing his face. 

“Talking to me. I know Josh and Mingyu do as well, but I feel like everyone else ignores me.” 

Never mind the reason being that they’d heard of how you’d tracked Josh down and were worried that should they get on your bad side they’d suffer a similar fate— Seokmin found their fear rather funny but would make a note to try and tell them to open up, it isn’t as if you’re a monster. 

“Even if things are lost in translation— it’s nice.” Glass raised to your lips, giving the deep red a small sip before setting it back down. 

“I’ll tell them to talk to you more, and that you’re not that mean,” he chuckles and takes a drink from his own glass, the spirit flowing rather smoothly down his throat. It doesn’t stop him from making a face, though. 

“Are you implying that I can be?” A joking question as you peer over to him.

“Jisoo’s told me a select few stories,” Seokmin smiles, “but don’t worry, I’ll keep them private.”

“Promise?” You laugh out, only imagining what your friend had uttered. For a moment you catch Seokmin looking at you, a softness in his gaze and the smile on his lips seeming nothing less than genuine. It makes you pause for a moment as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“Promise.”

The two of you sit and talk in the midafternoon light until the sun slowly starts to sink beyond the horizon. Not wanting to be caught in the countryside at dark with no source of light, you and Seokmin make your way back to the southern edge of Kyoto. Another trolly ride and a brisk walk, the two of you find yourself back inside of your shared hotel.

“Mr. Lee?” The receptionist calls out just before the two of you pass the desk. By now far too familiar with the myriad of Jeonghan’s students who filter within the walls of the hotel, many of the staff seem comfortable enough to call out to them whenever a parcel, letter, or telegram arrives. “A letter arrived for you this afternoon.”

“If it’s from Suji I want nothing of it until tomorrow morning,” Seokmin sighs before waving off the offer of the envelope.

“It’s from a Mr. Lee Jihoon,” she reads over the address, “It seems to be from Seoul?”

“Ah,” you note a glimmer in Seokmin’s eyes and a slight smile overcoming him as he retracts his steps and moves to quickly take the letter with a ‘Thank you’ before heading up the staircase, you following closely behind.

“Who’s Lee Jihoon?” You ask as he ascends the steps, the sound of the envelope being torn open quickly ripping through the air.

“A friend,” Seokmin muses as he reads his friend’s words, chuckling at a witticism or two strewn among the mass of text greeting him. “He writes of home, of my family and….” He pauses before he allows himself to speak further, stealing himself away so as to not embarrass himself.

“And…?”

“Of you.”

“Of me?”

“Ah, yes, uhm,” he scrambles for words, his cheeks flushing as he recalls having mentioned you in his letter a month prior. Had he known his feelings would have coalesced into something more than an intrigued observation and into a budding courtship, he may as well have left your presence from the letter to deter Jihoon’s prying ways. “I mentioned your arrival and he’s inquired on whether you’ve turned out to be kindly or not.”

“Well?” You question, brow raised as the two of you stop walking in front of his room, the basket in your hand reminding you that you’d forgotten to return it upon your arrival back to the hotel. “Have I?”

“If your actions today don’t speak volumes to your generosity, then I should call myself a fool for saying you’ve been anything less than kind hearted— more so than anyone else I’ve met here… To me, at least.” His small smile once again prods at the corner of his lips, “I won’t speak on Jisoo’s behalf.”

“Thank you, Seokmin,” another smile creeps onto your lips as you look down the hall, “I suppose I should be getting to sleep—Jeonghan’s homework won’t finish itself.” Before you’re able to turn back towards him, you feel Seokmin’s hand gently pull you closer and then the soft feel of his lips against yours.

You had kissed a boy once before, but it had been at one of your family’s Christmas parties when you were a little over the age of sixteen. Josh and a few of his friends had smuggled some of their own spirits into the festivities, so while you danced and sang the night away, you were barely able to establish the stupor you were in until the next morning where it had formed into a splitting headache. 

Yet before the night had ended, you found yourself under the large oak in your family’s front yard, kissing one of Josh’s friends that eventually flittered aimlessly into the night, never to call on you again. 

That kiss had been sloppy, a drunken miasma of endearing regret that culminated from one glass of madeira too many. This kiss though holds words and emotion far too under the surface of both of your skins to be relinquished properly. Of unsaid promises and a look for direction in a darkened tunnel. 

It stays brief, his lips on yours lasting a few seconds, burning as they pull from you and his eyes widen. 

“I’m sorry,” his hands fly to the hem of his coat, messing with the fabric as he searches for words, a flush of red coating his cheeks, “something came over me I just—”

And you kiss him this time, wordlessly as your empty hand places atop one of his fidgeting ones. He leans into you, the fear of angering you subsiding as more spontaneous feelings begin to manifest deep within his chest. 

The two of you part, not gasping for air but feeling a significant lack of oxygen in your lungs. Seokmin stares at you for a moment, something forming in the glimmering of his eyes in the dimly lit glow of the hallway’s lamp. 

“I—” lips parted before you interject. 

“I should be going,” quickly speaking as you hoisted up the wicker basket in your grip. “I should return this before the ladies yell at me… See you tomorrow?” 

Seokmin nods too eagerly to look remotely collected, “See you tomorrow.” 

[ 1909.10.26. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The leaves had just turned color the prior week, the sickly smell of their sweet decay wafts into the classroom’s open window as the sun shines directly onto Seokmin and his desk. If he weren’t in class, the man might have found himself basking and napping in the midday glow.

His mind remains anywhere but Jeonghan’s teachings at the moment. The courtship between you and he had only remained steadfast in the weeks following a short confession the day after he’d kissed you. Both you and he are meant to go to dinner this evening at a place Mingyu had recommended, although with the younger’s cruder palate, both you and Seokmin want to venture there on morbid curiosity alone.

Seokmin’s daydreaming of the evening to come ends when the sound of heavy footsteps begins to echo throughout the building. Having attended the school, as well as gotten to know its attendants, for a while now, Seokmin can tell it’s Seungkwan who’s just barged into the building.

“Itō’s been shot,” Seungkwan pants as he races into the classroom, “the paper just announced it.”

The younger looks absolutely pallid, sweat on his brow as his heavy breaths remain the only sound emanating from the group of students and lone professor.

“Shot?” The name stings Seokmin’s ears as he straightens in his seat. “Where?”

“Manchuria,” the paper procured from the bag in Seungkwan’s hands, extending out to the group so that anyone may take it. 

Jeonghan reaches it first, scanning the headlines, “Itō Hirobumi, a prince of Japan, but the greatest commoner in the empire, who was assassinated by a Korean today, had stood for two years between Korea and the degradation of immediate annexation, hoping to build up that country anew. He was shot down as he alighted from a special train at Harbin, Manchuria, whither he went from Tokyo in his capacity as president of the privy council on a mission of peace.”

Gaze lifting from the print, he looks to the class, the paper falling down atop the nearest desk as others move to read it, “This is… troubling.” 

Seokmin rises from his seat and walks to Jeonghan, scanning the rest of the article with bated breath, knowing that the ramifications of this were to be far more than just troubling. His stomach drops, knowing full well that this could mean a swift return home depending on how the Japanese government reacts to this, and even more worrisome- how the general public around them would treat his fellow countrymen residing in Japan.

[ 1909.10.29  今出���外国人日本語学校、京都 ] “Can I speak with you for a moment?” Josh looms over your desk where you’ve sprawled out your notes for the day. Ink stains riddling your fingertips as you close the textbook and look up to him, his hands buried in his jacket pockets. 

“Of course,” you nod, standing from the small wooden table. Your hands brush the front of your skirts, smoothing the disturbed fabric before you watch him begin to walk off. Quickly, your footsteps trail after him, down the hall of the school, through the lobby and out of the front door. 

You pass Seokmin and Mingyu on the way out, offering them both a curt wave before the cool winds of autumn greets you on the streets of Imadegawa. 

“What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

Josh stays silent, his back turned to you as a cart ambles down the road. His shoulders shrug as if he carries Atlas’ burden before he turns to you and speaks, “The thought of you getting hurt if you stay around here for too long worries me greatly.”

“What do you mean by ‘hurt’, Josh?” A bubbling of strife in your tone as you ask, further culminating as you continue to speak. “Are you going to get hurt if or when I leave?” An angered step towards him, “I know you lied about having a tutoring job, why are you here?”

“I never meant-” He frowns, mutters ‘shit’ under his breath as he breaks his gaze away from you. Hand tousling the already disturbed locks, dredging down his face as he gently pulls at the skin with his fingertips before relinquishing his hold on his own face. “Who told you?” The question sounds accusatory as he fails to answer your own questions, “Was it Seokmin?”

“Even if it was, why do you care?”

“Because the longer you stay here you become more enraptured by everything you know nothing about. I see you fawn over him -- have been seeing it for the last few weeks now,” Josh shakes his head.

“And what of it? Am I not allowed minor courting?”

“The longer you throw yourself at him the more you will come to regret it when the time comes to part. You should be home, safe. Here you are neither of those.”

“Do you really think I am staying here for that reason alone? Just for him?” You nearly roll your eyes at him, “I went to Tokyo to find you! I followed you to Kyoto, I traveled across half of the world for you!” 

“And you fell into the arms of the first man who showed interest in you! You never think rationally and look where you are!” His voice raises, not to an octave to draw attention, but enough to make you want to raise your own as well.

“I can say the same for you!” You huff, stomping off for a few feet, only to take a deep breath and turn to him.

“If you cannot believe that I have paused on the possibility of me leaving I would call you insane,” the incredulity drips from your words as venom does from the hollowed teeth of a snake. “There is absolutely nothing here for me in the grand scheme of it all, I know that. And yet there is nothing for me at home except for the anticipation of a life that I do not want without you in it.” Breaths heaving from your chest as you try and compose yourself to the best of my ability, “You’re my best friend, Josh, but don’t think that I can’t make my own rational decisions without your input.”

“You two are more similar than I could have ever imagined,” His eyes rise to the clouded sky as if he’s having a conversation within himself. After a moment he sighs, exhaling all the air in his lungs before he shakes his head and looks at you.

“I was never planning on going back to Seoul,” he frowns, “I really did have a job in Germany, not in Seoul, though. I received news that a friend fell ill. I decided to visit should he not recover from the illness. He passed on the first of May and asked me to visit a friend in Tokyo for him prior to his death.”

“Why you, though?” 

“There wasn’t anyone that he knew in Seoul that would be allowed in Japan because of their acquaintance with him.”

“Who was this friend?”

“Ernest Bethel, I met him while I was with Daniel Lim in London.” Josh shakes his head, “He began a publication that called out the atrocities of the Japanese soldiers in Korea. They put him on trial for it and barred him and anyone that worked under him from entry into Japan.”

“Josh…” You begin but he cuts your words in two.

“With the climate now… With the growing disdain for foreign nationals after Itō’s assassination, I cannot guarantee your safety here,” the look in his eyes reminds you of an abandoned pup, lost and almost hopeless, “And that scares me more than anything.”

[ 1909.11.16. 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] The days since your conversation with Josh had been nothing short of meandering, lessons, studying and then more lessons. Time with Seokmin had been almost always interjected with another student hoping to make conversation or with the looming presence of your aforementioned friend somewhere beyond. Although you remain unsure if Josh had spoken to Seokmin about his malcontent with your new budding relationship, you can almost ascertain something has been divulged unto him as his more public displays of affection have become intermittent throughout the days progressing. 

And you cannot find it within yourself to press him on it. Jeonghan had assigned him a presentation project that he was to give in a handful of days and Seokmin had spent most of if not all of his free time in the little library of dictionaries and manuals that lay scattered about in the back of the classroom. Ink stuck to Seokmin’s fingers most evenings, and oftentimes most mornings as he seems rather unable to clean the stains himself. 

As your thoughts linger on this, you look to the sedentary streets outside, the inside of the schoolhouse dim with the waning light of worn lamps and lanterns scattered around. A few passerbys occasionally look into the building, most just move on without a second thought.

Quiet resounds around the building, only the gentle scratching of your pencil atop your paper. The interior is quieter than usual on this Tuesday evening– many of the boys had gone out, drinking, no doubt. But you cannot be too angry at them, apparently Jeonghan, in his chase of school authority, had given them a rather difficult test last week and had announced the results earlier this evening. Judging by the demeanor of those who left the classroom, this is a much needed getaway. So, after a chaste, secret kiss on the cheek, Seokmin was swept off by the other students, leaving you sitting alone to complete your work in silence. 

The seconds, minutes and hours tick away as you scribble and oft daydream into the ever becoming night. Then, you hear voices, feet scrambling and foreign words you only begin to comprehend as the doors to the school burst open and a plethora of bodies pour inside. 

“What happened?” The confusion sweeping into the room, overwhelming as an amalgamation of movement and shouting in several languages begins to overwhelm you. It’s then you begin to count heads; Seokmin, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Chan… 

“Where’s Josh?” Amid the chaos you look at Mingyu, dread in his face paling as the seconds pass. “Mingyu,” you ask, voice growing softer as a sickening dread begins to clamp around your abdomen, “where is he?”

“He was injured.” A voice to your right. Seokmin stands in the gentle twilight of the school’s entranceway, dusk falling behind him as he moves to shut the door. “Jeonghan has taken him to his friend’s home to get him treatment.”

Mingyu begins to call out to you, to deter you from what Seokmin’s just relayed. But you still feel that clutching dread begging you to ask for more information. 

“Injured? Is he okay? Can I go and see him?” Voice now fraught with panic, you begin to question everything. “What happened?” Even if you and Josh had been at odds earlier, he is still a dear friend to you. 

A glance downward and you see Seokmin’s hands, stained not with the ink you recall from earlier but red with what you presume to be the blood of your friend. Another glance around the room and you see some of their shirts and pants have oblong streaks of drying cruor adorning them, almost as if they’d been carrying the injured party. 

“I think it would probably be best that we fill you in tomorrow,” Mingyu says with a frown, his own hands shoving into his pockets as if to hide any evidence of what had occurred, “all of us are… trying to understand what happened.” 

“Hey, Mingyu,” Seungkwan says something offhandedly to him, but you’re too hyper focused to try and translate. 

“Really?” Mingyu says to his friend and sighs out, shaking his head, a few beads of sweat that had been clinging onto the ends of his soaked locks fall onto the floor. He returns his gaze to you, a grimace set on his lips before speaking, “The group is going to go back out, we can walk you to your hotel if you need us to.”

But you do not feel like walking, you’re not sure that you can with the weight surmounting in your legs as the joints are locked into place. You let yourself have a strangled gulp before trying to compose yourself, “I will wait here for you all to come back.”’

“Are you sure?” Mingyu says hesitantly, “There’s a good chance that we may not be back until morning.”

“I don’t think I could leave if I tried,” you offer a weakened attempt at a smile. Hands clenching to try and stop the undeniable tremble coursing through you, the nauseating dread making you want to curl up and cry. 

“I’ll stay back with her,” Seokmin speaks up from beside you, his voice soft among the chatter that’s occurring elsewhere in the hall. 

Mingyu doesn’t speak, only looks from you to Seokmin before nodding his head in acquiescence. He calls the others over to tell them of their next plan, each resounding off a stuttered goodbye before leaving the school and treading back out into the now darkened streets. 

You stand staring at the doorway for a while, you’re not sure for how long as time feels both encased in ice and unbelievably fast at the current moment. It’s only when Seokmin moves to close the door once more are you pulled from staring out into nothingness and onto something real. 

His hands, bloodied and crude, remain at his sides as he removes them from the door’s handle and looks to you. There’s a glimmer of what looks like weariness in his eyes as he glances down to his palms, perhaps now only realizing to the extent they were stained. 

“Let me get you some soap and water,” you tell him, quickly leaving him standing alone as you whisk yourself off to the small bathroom in the back corner of the building. 

You grab the lye soap that sits atop the porcelain basin of the sink, only then to grab a bucket sitting next to it typically used for mopping. The contents dumped into the basin, you refill it to the best of your ability with the lukewarm water from the groaning pipes. 

Returning to the lobby of the school, you find Seokmin sitting at one of the tables lying at the entrance. He’s watching the world pass by as he sits, his eyes lost as he distracts himself with anything but his present. 

“Let me see your hands,” you say, setting the bucket down on the table top, as well as setting down the towel you’d slung over your shoulder. 

Seokmin jumps before he turns to you, startled by your presence as he probably hadn’t heard you come back. 

“There are bigger things to worry about other than my hands,” he begins to protest, only to have you shake your head at him and motion for him to extend his hands to you. And he does reluctantly, still sitting as you take his hand into yours. “Thank you…” his voice is quiet as you take the towel in your free hand and dip it into the water, only then to do a precursory scrub of his palm and fingers before lathering the soap onto it. 

“...Can you tell me what happened?” You ask, dipping the towel back into the water, noticing the liquid turning a tinge pink as you do so. Stomach twisting, you can tell Seokmin’s reluctant to answer by the way the digits on his hand twitch. 

He coughs to clear his throat, “We were in Gion meeting with one of Jisoo’s acquaintances. The name escapes me, Donggeun, I think— But things turned sour quickly, some man started yelling at us after he heard us speak and then Jeonghan tried to calm him down. He was speaking so quickly that I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”  Seokmin recounts the event to you, but it’s still hard to get the gist of what had happened. “I know he said something about Itō’s death, but that wasn’t our fault,” tongue swiping over his bottom lip as you switch to his other hand, “even if it should have been. He got so riled up he called over a pair of policemen, we thought after talking to them they would let us go, but as we were leaving there were two shots that rang out. One hit the pavement beside us and the other hit Jisoo in the leg.”

Your grip on Seokmin’s hand tightens at his last statement, he winces and pulls away, settling his hand atop the coarse towel and beginning to brush off the suds and water that remain stuck onto his hand. For the most part, the gore and viscera that stained both his skin and nails had muted into a softer pink, splotchy, but for the most part gone. He heaves out a breath, unable to look at you as he composes his thoughts,

“I don’t think it was the officers who fired, though. Jisoo said that it was as we were carrying him off but when I looked back the officers had the man who was yelling at us pinned on the ground.” It’s hard to say why Seokmin’s relaying this piece of information, almost as if he’s doubting himself. “We took Jisoo to one of Jeonghan’s friend’s houses, you should probably be able to see him late tomorrow or the next day depending on how things go.” 

Hands fumbling around with the rag in your hands, you nod and drop it into the bucket with a soft plop. “Thank you for telling me.” After a moment you move to grab both sides of the bucket, returning to the sink in the small bathroom and dumping the bloodied contents down the drain before placing it on the ground. 

You meet your reflection in the grimy mirror atop the basin, the dim light overhead casting strange and oblong shadows on your face as you notice how downcast you look. Eyes with dark circles, hair unkempt, more so than the typically casual look you adorn yourself with. 

A tear, hot and scorching, rolls down your cheek, a mass of guilt engraving its way on the hallows of your face before it drops into the sick. 

“Are you… okay?”

Maybe you’d been in here longer than you thought, Seokmin’s voice calling out after a gentle knock on the bathroom door. The light above flickers from the rumble of an incoming train somewhere in the distance, your hand falls to grip the basin of the sink, porcelain cool against your skin as you brace yourself to speak.

A cough into your hand, a look from your bleary eyes into your bleary visage in the mirror at Seokmin’s words. 

“I’m alright,” you say to yourself more than Seokmin, turning to open the door. You meet him, face to face in the dark hallway of the school and absolutely crumple. “I’m alright,” this time you say it while falling into him, face pressing against his shoulder as the wells of tears brimming stain into the gray of his coat. 

His hands find yours after a moment, gently pulling you towards the lobby of the school, the quiet sounds of your footsteps ringing around the hall. You find seating on the staircase leading to the second floor, Seokmin quietly sitting next to you, letting you weep all you need to. 

Soon you find that your tears run dry, leaving hot and sticky trails down the sides of your face as Seokmin continues to provide quiet comfort, one of his hands still entwined with yours. 

Head on his shoulder, your eyes trail to the dimly lit street outside, not a single person caring or knowing the strife you’re riddled with. It’s hard to ascertain whether you’re unbelievably angry or unbelievably upset, but your breaths lay heavy in your chest laden with that uncertain feeling. 

“I think I’d like to go back to the hotel,” the statement cold as it leaves you, anything but the comfort of which you desire set into every syllable. 

The walk back is forgotten in the haze of the events that transpired earlier in the evening, glowing lanterns buzzing with an electricity seen only to you and dimmed in the darkness encompassing your very being. 

Your lips don’t speak another word until you’re standing in front of your door at the hotel, Seokmin standing beside you in silent solidarity. Fingers grasping for the small key in your bag, hesitating before you slide the gilded thing into the lock. Turning to Seokmin you softly ask, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

The statement that would typically leave him flustered and pink takes on the air of a silent plea tonight. Anguish in your eyes and voice that you lay in front of him, vulnerable and nearly at your wit’s end. 

“Of course,” it’s nothing short of a quick response, his hand sliding into yours as he waits for you to take the first few steps towards his chamber. 

As you enter his room, you find that the only garment you discard is your jacket and shoes, flung atop the sofa and scattered on the floor before you fall into Seokmin’s bed. The scent of him fills your senses, only more so when he comes to kneel by the bedside so he can speak to you. 

“I’ll sleep on the settee, try and get some sleep so we can visit Jisoo tomorrow.”

“Seokmin, I can nearly see your breath from here,” you reach out, taking his chilled hand into yours, gently pulling him towards the bed, “sleep in your own bed.”

“I should think a lady deserves a proper–”

“We can sleep on it together,” a pause as heat rises to the flesh on your cheeks, “Separately, of course. I just need the proximity of someone comforting.”

“You honor me,” Seokmin's smile curls at the edge of his lips, “I’ll go change in the bathroom, please make yourself feel comfortable.” 

For a moment more, Seokmin pauses, looking at you before you relinquish him from your grasp. He makes a slow approach towards the bathroom before heading inside, the door locking with a small click, leaving you alone with the empty space of the main interior. 

[ 1909.11.19. 今出川ホテル、京都 ] The space of your dreams is nothing but a black, endless void that only aids in helping grow the gnawing anxiousness that pervades you even during sleep. It isn’t until the unfamiliar feeling of a hand ghosting your side pulls you from slumber. For a moment your heart races, your own hand reaching to grasp as the one hovering over you now—

“Sorry if this is too-” A sigh escapes you as Seokmin’s whisper grounds you in quiet reality. “You seemed troubled.” 

“Don’t apologize,” your voice rough from sleep, the ghost of your fingers atop the smooth surface of his hand, gently pressing the pads of your fingertips to him as a quiet gesture. You don’t turn to him from your side, instead looking towards the thick blue velveteen curtains that obscure any notion of light from the outside in front of you. “It’s alright, I promise. Are you alright?” 

From behind you can feel the bed shift with a short, unfunny laugh from his chest, “I don’t know. I suppose I am but tonight… I think it’s shaken everyone.”

“Do you think Josh will be okay?” A murmur from your lips as you gently pull Seokmin’s hand closer to your chest in want of comfort. 

Another shift, and you can tell he’s gingerly moving himself towards you, “He has to be.”

The call of the darkening void begins to etch its way around your vision. How can you sleep at a time like this? You should be racing over there now to see him. But that would make it real, the peril, why Josh had been anxious about you staying those handful of weeks back… 

With a squeeze, you relinquish Seokmin’s hand from your grasp and he returns it to its original position on your side, “I don’t know if I made the right decision coming here,” voice lost into the darkness of the room, in the breathing by the being beside you, you think to be asleep. 

“I don’t know if I did either,” a sleepy response from Seokmin, voice riddled with a tired concern ringing in its whisper. “But I don’t regret it,” his hand laid across your waist ever so slightly grasping at you as if to show his unspoken thoughts.

[ 1909.11.18. 滑川康男の住居、京都 ] The areas of Kyoto you had previously traversed seemed to be marketed towards a more foreign influence, you’ve come to surmise. Now as you walk anxiously with your hands threaded together through rows and rows of wooden-sided homes with thatched or tiled roofs, you’ve begun to see past the veneer of opulence that sought to bring in the traveling and wanderlustful for what the average citizen sees on a day-to-day basis. It is no more humble than the homes of Boston, in a way it reminds you almost nostalgically of what and who you left behind across the ocean and near an entire continent. A cat lazing on a nearby stoop gives you pause for a moment before you continue, lengthening your strides as you return to your party. 

“When Josh’s better he’ll need to return to Minnie.” You say rather assuredly, willing it to be, as Seokmin and you trail behind Jeonghan.

“Is that his… Friend?” With the way Seokmin emphasizes the last word you cannot help but let out a stifled chortle.

“She’s a cat,” you answer him quickly and he nods in understanding. “Did you have any pets growing up?”

Seokmin looks ahead at the road in front of him, the bustling streets hindering your path for a moment, the crowds coming in and out like the tides along the river. “We had a dog to guard the house, he might still be there but he was old and gray when I left. Not really a pet, though.”

“I see…” 

“We’ll be there soon,” Jeonghan calls from up ahead, “It’s just around this block.”

With those words you subconsciously find your legs moving even faster towards your friend.

The house that you arrived at was much like the other ones lining the streets. You’re welcomed in quietly by the host, their name eluding you as your vision tunneled to where they said your friend lay in quiet rest. 

“He should be awake,” Jeonghan says quietly, “Go and speak with him, we’ll be out here if you need anything.”

Down the hall, first room on the left. That’s where you find Josh looking outside, one of the sliding doors open to look towards the inner garden of the home, facing away from the sliding door you'd entered from. He lays in a futon, a stack of fresh bandages on the tatami next to him. With the way his breath rises and falls, you're unsure if he’s asleep or not.

“Josh?” You ask gingerly, stepping into the room. “Are you awake?”

When you hear him mutter out something you take a few strides toward him. His injured right leg remains covered by a blanket, held up by what you assumed to be a propped up pillow. There are beads of sweat pooled on his forehead as he turns slowly to meet your gaze.

His name leaves your mouth in a whisper as you fall to his side, knees thudding atop the tatami as you inch yourself closer. “How are you?” You wince at the question, fully knowing it wasn’t the best one to be asked.

“I’ve…” The words are slow to come, hoarse from a throat rung raw from pain, no doubt. “I’ve been better. Would you mind fetching my water? I’m not very amble at the moment.”

“Of course,” You say quickly, looking to the nightstand where a singular glass and water filled bucket lay. You notice your hands trembling slightly as you hand him the glass and help move it towards his lips. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, I just had to see if you…” 

“I understand,” he says, you notice his face is pale. Too pale for comfort.

“You’re absolutely feverish,” the back of your hand pressing gently against his forehead. Your free hand reaches to one of the rags already submerged in the basin of water atop the nightstand. “Were you injured anywhere else?”

“My pride remains intact, my morale slightly asunder but I’m sure it will recover in time,” he flashes you a weak smile. “I never like making you worry, even if it seems that’s all I make you do.”

“Do you remember when you were twelve and you had scarlet fever?”

“I remember being absolutely miserable,” Josh murmurs out, wiping the beads of water away from his eyes with the fabric of his shirt.

“Your mother sought out any doctor she could find to try and help you, and the plethora of holy men too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rabbi and an Episcopal priest in the same room as each other before,” you snort, recalling how frantic his mother had been. It had been scary, but he had made it.

The frown on his face encapsulates him for a moment and his eyes close, his head hitting the wall behind him gently, “You said that you loved me.”

It feels as if your heart has dropped into your stomach. You remember kneeling by his bed, whispering prayers to any and all gods that would help him recover from that illness. His pinkend and rashed flesh on display as the doctors said exposing the areas of effect would cause it to weaken the strain of disease, maybe. Under heavy sedation of laudanum and whatever other mystery tincture, it had stripped him of happiness and prayer was the only thing you offer, it wasn’t as if you were a physician or miracle man. Also, hadn’t he been asleep when you confessed that at his bedside?

Freezing before you’re able to dip the rag in the bucket again, “That was years ago, Josh. I do love you but not…”

It’s him that stifles a laugh, “I know. But it is still endearing that you’ve stayed by my side, I really do appreciate it.”

“You ass,” a gentle nudge, “You must truly be ill if you’re complimenting me for my duty as your best friend.”

“You’re probably right,” he replies breathily. His hand reaches out, and you take it instinctively. His grip is weak but reassuring. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You sit there in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the rustle of the barren branches tapping against one another and the occasional chirp of birds. The tranquility of the scene contrasts sharply with the turmoil you feel inside. Josh has always been the strong one, the one to pull you out of your own dark times. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and dependent, shakes you to your core.

“You should rest,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “You need your strength. Did you want me to close the doors? It’s getting rather cold in here.”

He shakes his head, but you can see something stirring within. Words lay heavy on Josh’s tongue, you can see him formulating his thoughts before he speaks abruptly. “I’m going to Tokyo,” Josh sighs after a moment, sounding resolute. “After this,” his hand waves to his blanketed leg, “is healed.”

Now it is your turn to frown, “Tokyo? Whatever for?”

“It’s come to my understanding that my friends haven’t been making any headway for our cause,” Josh sighs out and you have the feeling he’s intentionally being vague.

“Why not ask the American government for help?” Even if he chooses to don the masque of ambiguity, you can still infer what he means.

“America and Japan have been formulating plans together for some years now, exercising their rights with one another. That’s how America gained control of the Philippines and Japan got control of Korea, the Pescadores, Taiwan and parts of Manchuria,” Josh relents after a moment. With the way his eyes widen briefly you can tell he’s already opened the door slightly for what his intentions may be., “I have hope and reason to believe that I can be more impactful if I reach the Korean consulate in Tokyo. I fear America will not be of any aid.” 

You take a deep breath, your hands still trembling slightly. “I understand your passion, Josh. I truly do. But promise me you won’t make any hasty decisions. Rest, heal properly. Then we can talk about how best to proceed.”

He nods, though you can tell he’s only partially conceding to your point. “I’ll rest. But I can’t promise to delay for too long.”

His stubbornness is both frustrating and admirable, and you feel a surge of protectiveness over your friend. “That’s all I can ask for now. Just... don’t push yourself too hard.”

Josh gives you a faint smile. “I’ll try not to, for your sake.”

You return to the main room, Jeonghan, Seokmin, and Jeonghan’s friend sitting around and not speaking. 

Seokmin stands as you enter, his hands twisting together as he notices the dour look on your face, “How is he?”

“As stubborn as ever,” you sigh out, “But I think he’ll be okay, I cannot be certain about the usage of his leg though–?” Eyes trail to Jeonghan and his friend, the latter of whom stands to address you.

“Apologies for not introducing myself, my name is Otomonoi Hiromu. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances but the doctor that was here earlier this morning said your friend would recover, albeit the mobility of his leg may be altered. The bullet failed to hit any major artery but shattered the bone of his femur…” 

Your stomach rolls and you nod your head slowly, “How long will his recovery take?”

“With the application of the Thomas splint anywhere from three to six months,” Jeonghan interjects, “We’re planning on having him moved to my residence within the next day. I fear we’ve encroached on Hiromu’s kindness too much already.”

“It’s truly no issue Jeonghan,” Hiromu nods and looks back to you, “Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” You say curtly and glance to Seokmin, “Did you wish to speak to him?”

“I think Josh needs his rest,” Seokmin says softly, and as if your apprehension is palpable suggests, “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“Oh? Okay,” you murmur and take the arm Seokmin offers you. 

“We’ll meet you back at the school tomorrow evening if you wish,” Seokmin states to Jeonghan. “I cannot imagine that classes will be held today or tomorrow?”

“No, they won’t be.” Jeonghan nods, “I’ll send out letters informing the students of our reopening sometime later this week or next. Until tomorrow then.”

“Until then,” Seokmin then leads you outside, past the gate of the home and back to the busy streets. The two of you walk in silence, the churning in your stomach not lessening, despite your far proximity to the house in which Josh lay. “How are you feeling?” His voice breaks through to your thoughts after another few moments of walking.

“I did not see his leg,” you murmur, “but with the blood and panic of everyone yesterday I can surmount that it is no simple injury…”

“That isn’t what I asked,” Seokmin says softly, “I can only imagine the horrors you have felt in the last twenty-four hours.”

“No more than you, I suspect. I was not there when it happened.” You wince as you speak, unable to conjure the imagery of the attack in your mind. “I know Josh will get better, know that he is alive. That alone is enough to make me okay for now, at least.”

[ 1909.12.31 今出川外国人日本語学校、京都 ] Josh’s leg never healed fully. While he can apply pressure, a tearing pain sometimes courses the length of it, so, rather to be safe than sorry, he’s become acclimated to walking with a wooden crutch to catch himself should he ever find himself unstable. Aided by the arm of another, Josh slowly makes his way down the streets of Kyoto.

“I could have made it on my own, you know.” Josh’s voice escapes him in a plume of white, the breath intermingling with a few flakes of snow dancing towards the icy and muddied street below. A thin line of perspiration begins to form along his brow, but as it hits the frigid air it makes his body seem almost colder. “My speed has been reduced but I do not need such constant attending to.”

“She asked me to escort you,” Seokmin says, releasing Jisoo from his grasp, “I could do nothing but oblige.” 

Jisoo lets out a short, dry laugh at that, “She has a way of ordering us around.” 

The two of them walk still, their cheeks becoming more and more reddened with the wind that whips at them, slashing through the air at no measurable pace. There are few others on the road at this hour, the streetlamps glow in the nighttime, leading them further into the heart of the city. It isn’t until they come upon the familiar building which houses Jeonghan’s school that a liveliness begins to pervade the wintry night. Music drifts from the building, as does the sound of chatter and laughter.

“Is that…  A piano?” Seokmin asks, both he and Jisoo know there were no instruments to be found in that building prior.

“A phonograph, perhaps.” Jisoo murmurs as they stop outside, noticing a figure loitering around the front. A plume of smoke rises from the turned figure, Jisoo lets out a sigh and calls out to them, “If your mother knew you were smoking, she’d have your head Mingyu.”

“Shit-” The younger jumps as he’d not heard the two approach. “She only wrote a scathing letter once about my allowance usage and that’s all you can remember of her.” Mingyu turns to the pair, “I’m happy you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Jisoo flashes him a small smile. “I think it’s a bit too cold out here for me, so I’ll see you inside?”

“Of course,” Mingyu nods, “And be careful– I think Jeonghan was a bit… heavy handed with his pours tonight.”

It isn’t long until the two of them make their way into the now cramped space, soon finding themselves with a respective rum punch in hand. Jisoo notes the faces that pass, most looking to the crutch at his side, and it leaves a sour taste on his tongue. Despite the people, he doesn’t find you among the faces that shift by him, and by the way Seokmin scans the crowd next to him, he cannot find you either. 

Eventually Jisoo and Seokmin find you at the keys of an upright piano. An upright piano that had not been there the week prior, which had been the last time Jisoo had visited the school. A cordial glass in hand, your free one seeks to play a small accompaniment to a piece that Seungkwan plays while seated next to you on the bench.

“I never knew you knew how to play!” Seungkwan says loudly, lifting his hands from the keys and reaching for his own glass atop the piano. 

“My mother made me take absolutely tear-inducing lessons when I was younger,” you laugh, taking a sip from your drink. You recoil a bit from the flavor, “Although I must admit it has come to my aid at parties, even though there is much to be desired.”

“I was unaware you played as well,” Seokmin notes as Jisoo and he approach the bench, “You play wonderfully.”

“It was Seungkwan doing all of the work,” you admit, “And Josh can attest to my skill, as poorly as it is.”

“I’ll adamantly deny your assessment, you played a lovely set at my mother’s birthday several years ago,” He gives you a warm smile. “So much so that she begs me every year to urge you to play again for her.”

“Well, if I am back in time to play for her next year, you can consider me booked.”

“Then I must write to her to let her know of it,” He says and you turn your attention back to the piano. Jisoo’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he sinks into the crowd, looking for Jeonghan. It isn’t long until he finds his friend mingling with a few of the Chinese students in one of the classrooms. 

“Would you all mind if I stole him away for a while?” Jisoo asks the group, while nodding his head towards Jeonghan. “Business, I’m afraid.”

Within a few moments the students have cleared the room, only leaving the two of them together. Josh sighs, setting his glass down onto one of the tables, and leaning against it slightly.

“Where in the world did you acquire a piano?”

“Do you like it?” Jeonghan smiles, “Hiromu’s sister was moving houses and had to do away with it… Too gauche or something of the like.” He hums and takes a sip of his drink, an old fashioned by the look of it. “Now, what is it you want to talk about? I know you cannot have asked to clear the room over a piano.”

“Am I that easy to read?” Jisoo laughs, glancing to the hall to make sure no one was listening. “It is my intention to go to Tokyo within the upcoming week or so. I hope to have your discretion on the matter.”

“Who is it that you wouldn’t want to– Ah.” Jeonghan begins to ask, “You’ve already run off on her once, are you so eager to do it once again?”

“It isn’t as if I wouldn’t come back to her, I never intend to hurt her as I did before.” The taller sighs out, reaching for his drink. He takes a hearty swig, “She is my oldest friend and confidant of all things unrelated to the reasons that brought me here. I had only hoped to keep these two spheres of myself from ever colliding. But she is a whirlwind I can never account for.”

“And what is to stop her from following after you once more?” Jeonghan prods, “She is a whirlwind, after all.”

“Seokmin.” Jisoo says simply.

“He’s staying here?”

“No,” Jisoo shakes his head, “He’s coming with me. With both he and I’s assurance she will have to accept that we will return. She adores him too much to allow him to put himself in harm’s way.”

“What a gamble, thinking that she’ll do just that.” Jeonghan muses, knowing fully how well you seem to take heed from either of the two men. “As a friend I will not say anything to make her feel untoward towards your departure. But you cannot be angry with me if she chooses to go after you.”

“How could I?” Josh says with a small, thankful smile. “Now, I was also hoping to get a few contacts from you, although I suppose that can wait until after this little soiree. Apologies for taking you away from it.”

“It’s not an issue,” a wave of the thought away. “Now have fun, be merry. Mingle before everyone begins falling over themselves.”

And fall over themselves they do. The hours seem to pass in minutes with games, stories and revelers in abundance. Jisoo finds himself flitting from group to group, with Mingyu and you speaking of prospective stories, to Seungkwan, Chan and Junhui arguing about some type of grammatical dissimilarity in Japanese compared to Korean and Chinese. He passes Seokmin at some point, who seems to be chatting with one of Jeonghan’s invited friends about the news industry. The party goes on late into the night, and it seems by the quarter hour another person has to step outside to regain their composure from the drunken stupors they find themselves in.

At one point, as the clock nears towards the end of the night and into the new year, Josh escapes from the bustle and sits on the stairs that lead to the second story of the building. He settles down, a third drink of the night placed on the stair next to him and his wooden crutch leaning against the wall.

A sigh escapes him and he tilts his head backwards, several joints popping in his neck. His eyes close and for a moment he listens to the chatter floating by him, of merriment and not the sinister dread that invades him most hours of the day. In another life he may have been able to enjoy tonight, but that path died early on in his life, especially since his first visit to Korea nearly fifteen years ago. A pang shoots up his leg as he shifts, reminding him more of the peril that he puts himself into. And another pang begins in his stomach, clenching and festering as he is reminded of the danger he has put you into. 

Jisoo laments not writing to you before he left Korea, perhaps that would have diminished his fears. He laments telling his mother a portion of the truth of his detainment in Tokyo. He should have known word would get to you and that only God himself would be able to stop you from reaching him. He laments for keeping his thoughts to himself when he should have been more honest with you. There are many things he regrets, the ire of which is now before him as he hears movement coming from the hall of classrooms. With stiffened movement, he straightens and looks over to see you leading Seokmin out of one of the busy classrooms, your hands intertwined with his. 

He thinks of saying something, to announce his presence, but before he can he sees your face near Seokmin’s. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek as you whisper “Happy New Year”. Seokmin’s hand breaks free from your interlocking fingers as he goes to caress your cheek, it lowers and he guides you to meet his lips in a kiss that Jisoo would not describe as chaste.

Jisoo looks away from the two of you, suddenly now very interested in looking at a poster of the hiragana alphabet hanging on a nearby wall. The two of them leave for the party after a few more words that are too whispered for Jisoo to hear, and he himself decides that he should return as well. After more mingling among the students and friends, he excuses himself, but not before asking Seokmin to join him for a cigarette.

“Okay,” Seokmin cedes as he bids you a short farewell, promising to be back soon. He follows Jisoo out to the school entrance, the few flakes that had been falling from the sky becoming nothing more than a flake every moment or so now. “It looks as if the weather has taken a good turn.”

“If only it will stay that way,” Jisoo says, reaching for the case of cigarettes and matchbook in his coat. “Would you mind striking this for me? I’m afraid I am still hindered.” 

“Of course,” Seokmin says, taking the matchbook and swiftly igniting one of the matches. He holds the flame to Jisoo’s dangling cigarette, making sure it’s ignited before dropping it to the snow below. 

“Thanks.” Jisoo takes a moment, letting the smoke mingle with the cold in his mouth before exhaling deeply. “Have you been enjoying your night?”

“It’s been quite a lovely party.” Seokmin nods, “Have you had any issues maneuvering around?”

“No, not at all.” Jisoo responds before taking another drag of his cigarette. “I was wondering if you had told her about our plans to leave in the coming weeks, or if I should be the one to break the news to her–?”

A look of almost panic takes over Seokmin’s face momentarily, Jisoo can’t tell the full extent as the streetlamps light only but so much. His brow furrows as he looks on to the younger, “Am I to take that as you haven’t mentioned it?”

“No– No, I have mentioned it to her.” 

“Then why do you look at me if I am a parent about to scold you?”

“I invited her to join us,” Seokmin says quickly as Jisoo lets the cigarette fall from his mouth to the snow below, “And I know you made note of not asking her to but with her aid I truly feel that–!”

Before Seokmin can finish speaking, Jisoo finds himself grappling the younger to the ground, the pain tearing through his leg be damned. “You fool–! It was expressly my intention not to bring her, are you deaf or so lost in your way you defy reason? Do you love her?” Both a question and a realization wrapped in a sentence too pained he hadn’t wanted it to spew from his lips. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Of course I love her.” Answered as if the question had been as simple as ‘Is the sky blue?’ Seokmin shoves Jisoo, so the two are now parted, sitting on the muddy ground. “But not like a disillusioned oaf. Think, for a moment, of the circumstance and not of her beguile that you too, seem to fall asunder to.”

The wetness of the earth begins clinging to Jisoo’s trousers, seeping up from the ground below. “In what way would she aid us? You’ve just about solidified her acquaintance with us and if we were ever to be found out…”

“Do you not think that she is aware of that?”

“No, Seokmin, I do not!” Jisoo shakily rises to his feet, reaching for the crutch he’d discarded in his fury. “I have had many friends die because they thought to speak their minds. Would you bear that responsibility for someone whom we both deeply care for? Her blood would be on your hand–” 

It’s Seokmin who acts out not, sending a fist flying that collides with Jisoo’s cheek. The older falters, but is otherwise unmoved from the display of rage from his friend. His hand raises to the site of the newfound injury, and he tenderly touches it.

“I will take your anger as drunkenness. But you know the truth as much as I do.” Jisoo says solemnly, “I cannot make her stay, but you have put everything at risk by bringing her. It would be in our best interest to send her home.”

Seokmin’s breathing remains heavy as he nurses the hand he’d used to assail Jisoo, “You know she would never let us.”

“Then we do not allow her a choice.” Jisoo frowns, his hands reaching back into his coat for another cigarette, “I will play the villain but you must not fill her head with promises of a bright future. Everything grows more uncertain by the day and I wish for her to be as far away from this politicking and scheming as she can.”

[not-ur-boy-toy]

Hartbreak Ranch Chapter 1

AN: FINALLY Chapter 1 of Hartbreak Ranch, I really hope you enjoy it! (btw I'm bad at explaining plots so apologies :,) )

Plot: Shawn is a famous model on his way to a new photoshoot. However, he finds himself getting stuck in the middle of nowhere. Luck just has it though as he finds himself staying with the Hart family, finding himself being drawn to a certain Bret Hart.

TW: Foul language, Alcohol mentioned

Word count: 3.6K

Next >>>

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Blond hair flowed freely through the wind as the bright, cherry-red Ferrari 308 drove down the desolate Arizona road. Music blared from the car as it raced through the empty route. The driver of it didn’t have a care in the world as he held a phone to his ear, his free hand on the steering wheel.

“Diesel! Trust me here, I’m doin’ fine, I know where I’m going!”, a laugh rang through the car, as the man spoke, his grin large as he kept his eyes on the road. 

“I know you know where you’re going, Shawn... But you’re in the middle of nowhere” the other voice rang through the phone before continuing, “You’ve already said you’re taking a ’shortcut’ but I just don’t think It’s a good idea!” the voice argued back, trying to reason with the stubborn man.

Shawn rolled his eyes before a soft huff left his lips, he was used to his bodyguard being overprotective, they always traveled together! Wherever Shawn went, a 6’10, hunk-of-a-man followed him. But not this time. The young 30-year-old man wanted to travel by himself! He knew the area reasonably well… maybe just enough to get him to the closest town and ask for directions. But Diesel didn’t have to know! 

“Diesel, Hun, Big Daddy Coolio, I’ll be fine, I’ll be there for Ramon’s photoshoot with what's-his-face…” Shawn hummed to himself, rambling softly to himself as he tried to figure out who he was working with again. Before he could even figure out the guy’s name, Diesel’s deep voice rang through his phone again.

“You’re working with Kid, Ramon’s toyboy or whatever.”

“Riight… That guy, yeah, I won't miss it, anyway, gotta go, phone is gonna die, Byyee!” And just like that, with a small click, Shawn hung up the phone before Diesel could say goodbye. He carefully tossed his phone to the empty passenger seat before adjusting the thick, black sunglasses on his face, humming along to the music on the radio. It had been a glorious drive so far. No traffic, the sun was hot, there were no clouds in the sky… and there was nobody to annoy him- other than Diesel every 15 minutes. 

It was definitely a perfect drive, yet there was one small problem. Fuel. Shawn’s trusty lady was running low, and the next gas station was a good 50 miles out, but there was a small town coming up in a few miles. It was a risk to turn off into the town. There was the chance there was no gas station in the town in the middle of nowhere. But there was just a nagging feeling, something that just drew Shawn’s attention to this town. It just seemed to call his name, and who was he to ignore that feeling? Shawn stepped on the gas, dust blowing behind the wheels as he sped up, going way past the speed limit before he reached the town that seemed to hypnotize him.

Shawn wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he drove through the town. He was used to the luxurious life, like main cities from New York to Los Angeles… but this was beyond different. It was small, tiny, barely anything compared to what he was accustomed to. There wasn’t anything branded, no hotels with infinity pools, no Prada stores, nothing! There was barely anything in this town other than small boutiques, a few restaurants and a few small businesses, as well as a few houses.

“There has to be a gas station in this place…” Shawn mumbled to himself, trying to distract himself away from the feeling he had awhile ago.

Driving around aimlessly didn’t seem to get Shawn anywhere, there wasn’t a gas station in sight, and his car didn’t have enough fuel by the sounds of it as it seemed to hiss and moaning from his beloved Ferrari. However, what Shawn didn’t expect though was the sight of smoke appearing from underneath the hood of his car. He hadn’t realized how hot it was in this place. 

“Shit, Shit, SHIT!” Shawn gasped out, quickly pulling up to the side, and turning off his car. He scrambled to get out of his car with urgency, slamming the door shut. Shawn quickly moved to the front of the car, lifting the hood with a slight hiss of pain from how hot the metal was and how smokey the engine was. He drafted away most of the dark smoke with a small cough before moving back.

“Son of a bitch!” he hissed out in anger, kicking his car slightly with his black leather boot. Oh, how Diesel was right about taking this shitty shortcut. He could see Diesel’s smug face in his mind, which pissed him off more. He hated being wrong. He couldn’t stand it. Rubbing the stubble on his face in frustration, Shawn paced in circles in front of his car, kicking slightly at the dirt on the floor. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Shawn’s blue eyes glanced around, looking at the almost empty street, seeing a few people staring his way before looking away as he looked at them. They weren’t gonna help, clearly. Shawn grunted slightly before slamming the hood down. He had to figure something out, but calling Diesel was not one of them. He could try to find a mechanic, but it meant he had to leave his sweet, beloved Ferrari behind for now… with a reluctant, annoyed huff, Shawn grabbed what he needed from his car, his phone, wallet and keys, before starting his walk to find a mechanic.

Instantly, Shawn knew he was out of place as he walked down the street. He was dolled up in his finest clothes, that being a white, open-shirt bought from Polo Ralph Lauren, khaki brown pants from the same place, his favorite Gucci belt in black and gold and finally his favorite pair of black leather boots, ones with a small heel. Of course, he had a few accessories, like a gold watch and matching earrings. He wouldn’t leave the house without them! This was one of his more ‘casual’ outfits, something he would wear to go shopping in New York. But being in this town? It looked like he was overdressed and everyone walking by gave him a second look. Now, Shawn loved the attention. He loved having people’s eyes on him. People would even say he craved it, but the looks he was being given now, it was more looks of judgment. Shawn mindlessly messed with his shirt, trying to flatten down invisible creases, trying to distract himself from the looks. A mechanic couldn’t be too far away.

A few minutes' walk eventually turned into a 15-minute walk into the town. He had passed more small shops including a bakery (which looked heavenly, from the strawberry cakes that looked freshly made to the croissants that Shawn would have loved to buy), a few cafes, a general store and even a liquor store which he kept in mind. Luckily, he had eventually found the town's repair shop. It looked like an older building, the corners of the building being rusted, yet a new sign in black and neon pink stood out on the building, reading out ‘Hart & Co. Auto Repair’. Loud country music was blasting, and the smell of oil and rubber burnt Shawn’s nose slightly, something he definitely wasn’t used to. As he entered the small shop, he noticed a pair of blue overall cover legs underneath a truck and humming coming from the person. He glanced around the shop, trying to spot anyone else in there, but no one else was in the small space, not even a customer. Shawn cleared his throat, trying to get the person’s attention, but it didn’t seem to catch the guy's attention.

“Excuse me? Hey” Shawn spoke up, moving closer, yet there was still no response. “Hey!” he continued in a louder tone, which seemed to catch the person’s attention.

“Shoot, hold on!” The mechanic yelled out from under the truck, finally rolling out from under the truck. The man who rolled out was quite young-looking, younger than Shawn, and had a baby face. He had blonde hair up to his shoulders and bright blue eyes. Of course, his sun-kissed skin was dotted with some splotches of oil and some sort of grime, and the blue jumpsuit he wore was covered in oil and dirt. Shawn looked at the name tag the other wore, barely seeing the name ‘Owen’ under an oil splotch.

Owen carefully stood up, wiping his hands on a cloth he had in his pocket before smiling at the man in his shop and holding a hand to him.

“Hi! Sorry about that. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. I’m Owen. What can I help you with?” Owen asked, his voice surprisingly soft and surprisingly, not an Arizona accent either.

Shawn eyed up Owen’s hand beneath his sunglasses before looking back at the man’s face before taking off the shades. He gave Owen one of his charming smiles before speaking.

“No, not at all, just got here actually,” he began, licking his lips slightly before continuing, “I need help with my car- Obviously-, It broke down a few streets back, smokin’ and all… and no fuel” Shawn explained as he watched Owen lower his hand.

Owen looked slightly hurt about the man not shaking his hand, a pout on his face slightly. He hummed slightly before grinning and nodding.

“Should be easy! Luckily, it’s been a slow day, so let me put my truck down and we can go grab your car and tow it with the truck,” the mechanic agreed eagerly after his slow day.

By the time Owen and Shawn had towed the cherry-red car back to the shop, Owen had realized it wasn’t exactly the easiest job… It was a newer car, one he had seen no one in the town drive before… but he wasn’t gonna let this new customer down! Owen had lifted the hood of the car, already knowing it would take a few days to fix from the parts he could see, knowing it would take a few days to order parts… and then a few additional days to actually fix it. 

“So… How long are you here for, Mr?...” 

“Michaels, Shawn Michaels… and I was only coming here to fuel up. "

Now that was an issue. Owen pulled a face, wincing at the thought that he’d have to give this guy bad news.

“Well, Mr. Michaels, I… I uh, suggest you plan your stay here for a few days, I don’t have parts for a car like this,” the mechanic explained, as he glanced over to Shawn who stood nearby with his arms crossed.

“A few days? You have to be kidding me, right? Fuck… Diesel is gonna kill me!” Shawn groaned out, pacing around. “Shit, there’s a decent hotel nearby… right?” he asked, raising a brow as he looked over to Owen. 

Owen winced again. Even more bad news to give the guy…

“Well… There’s a motel nearby… but it is a good 45-minute drive from town.”

Shawn ran a hand through his long, wavy locks in frustration. His day couldn’t get any worse. First, his car breaks, and now the closest place to stay is too far away for him! Diesel appeared in his mind again. That annoying, smug face. Shit, he needed a drink… or something stronger.

Owen could see the annoyance on the guy's face. He truly felt for him. He had a soft heart and couldn’t stand to see a customer disappointed.

“But! If it helps, you could stay at my family ranch for a few days? I can keep you updated on your car and you won’t need to worry about how you’d get back to my shop!” Owen offered. The family ranch had enough space to help the guy out for a few days.

At the sound of the ranch, Shawn instantly hated the idea. He imagined the place being muddy and just plain dirty! However, it meant he would have somewhere to sleep, and he wouldn’t have to worry about trying to get back to this hellhole, which was now his nightmare. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm his annoyance.

“I… I suppose it isn’t a bad idea…” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “... Yeah, fine. I’ll stay at this ranch of yours.”

“Let me close up and we can be on our way then!”.

It was common sense to not take a stranger's offer to stay at their house, but what was there for Shawn to lose? He could simply tell a small lie to Diesel, just saying that he’s spending the night at a hotel… And the day after say he was stuck in traffic and then tell him his car has broken down, just to calm the man's nerves. That and Owen just seemed so… sweet. His personality was so genuine and that was so rare to see in Shawn’s life. Yeah, he had a social life as a model, but most of the people he had met never seemed genuine. The only ones he got that feeling from were Hunter, Chyna and Diesel. Shawn truly felt as if Owen did want to help him out. 

Owen hadn’t taken too long to finish locking up. It did leave plenty of time for Shawn to have a quick look around the place. He quickly noticed that Owen was clearly a family kind of guy. There were plenty of pictures scattered around the workroom of Owen with different people, some he assumed to be his parents, others he assumed were probably his brothers and sisters, and maybe even some aunts and uncles. There were even a few pictures of a few kids- one that looked like a younger version of Owen- In some snow. But either way, it was a big family. 

The ride to this ranch was rather quiet. Yeah, there was some small talk, such as where they were both from which Shawn found out that the man was actually from Canada, which was ironic. Another question had arisen as well, the question of Shawn’s job.

“So… You’re a model? I would have thought you were an actor or something,” Owen chuckled.

“That’s sweet of you, I did want to be one, but modeling? Being all dolled up, partying… It’s the life!” Shawn grinned out, not mentioning the bad side of the job. 

“Ah, so you get paid to be pretty and to party… I wish life was that easy” Owen joked. He knew his older brother, Bret, hated that lifestyle. He was always talking about working hard for a good life, which Owen had to agree with. But the thought of partying every so often sounded like a great time. When was the last time he, Jeff Jarrett, Davey and Brian went out for drinks… It had been too long.

“I wish it was that easy,” the model started, “Strict diets, working with people you might not like with… The list is long, but the positives do outdo the negatives in my eyes”. The downfalls of being a model were clearly a touchy subject as Shawn’s grin seemed to disappear. The excited glint in his eyes after the compliment disappeared. Owen knew not to push further on that.

Owen hummed in response, nodding his head slightly, “Well, we’re almost here”.

Seeing a rather rustic house in the distance after seeing cactus after cactus was rather refreshing. The place looked rather peaceful in Shawn’s eyes. It had its own charm to it. The wooden fences that seemed to carry on for ages were cared for, the wood seemed almost new, even if grass tangled and vined itself around the posts. A sign soon came up as they drove along the side of the property. Shawn eyed it up, raising a brow as he saw the name ‘Hart Ranch’. Very creative. 

Entering the beginning of the ranch, Shawn could already see a few animals around in different pastures. There were a few horses, even cows… It reminded Shawn of an old photoshoot he did, one which he enjoyed a lot. He got to dress up like he was a cowboy, the hat, boots and even chaps, the whole shebang! Hunter and Chyna were there as well and they looked amazing in their getup… even if Hunter’s horse he had to ride kept stealing his hat. A small, reminiscent smile graced his face.

The house seemed to grow as they traveled down the long, dirt road. From a while back it looked tiny, something that an old couple would live in. Yet now being so close to it, he noticed how huge it was. It must have been handbuilt, there were uneven grooves in the woods of the walls and fences in front of the house, something that showed how much hard work was put into it. There were even some stone bricks that decorated the oak wood. Bright, fresh vines climbed through the maze of bricks in the house, adding more color to the home. This must have been built years ago, even before Shawn was born. 

Owen and Shawn exited the truck. Owen helped his guest by grabbing the large bag that they had lugged into the truck before they left.

“I’m not too sure who will be in… I know my Ma will be in, my dad will probably be working with Bret, my older brother, somewhere on the ranch… probably fixing something” Owen laughed, “and my sister Diana will be probably looking after the horses… So it should be luckily quiet for you, just for now at least”.

Quietly, Shawn followed Owen up the steps to the patio before opening the screen door, which had a beautiful panel at the bottom that had been engraved by hand into a tree, and entering the rather cool home, the door closing with a soft bang. The home was decorated with even more pictures than what was at the auto repair home, some that were in black and gray, their corners torn and frayed from age which confirmed Shawn’s thought of the place being handbuilt, while others were newer and fresher. There were a few shoes scattered around by the front door being in different sizes and styles, some being boots, some were flats and even a few heels. Owen placed down Shawn’s bag by the oak stairs that stood in front of them before moving into the large, spacious room to the right of them which Shawn slowly followed after.

“Ma! I’m home! I have a guest!” Owen hollered out into the rather silent home, the only noise he could hear after was the sound of the cicadas that buzzed louder. Owen continued to walk towards the kitchen, which Shawn assumed it was. 

Instead of following the young man, Shawn looked around the cozy looking living room. There were a few brown leather couches that surrounded a fireplace, a few blankets were carefully and almost lovingly lined up over the top. Handmade throw pillows laid untouched in the corners by the arms of the couches, embroidery were neatly laced throughout the rather soft looking material which had quotes such as ‘Home Sweet Home’ and ‘Welcome to our happy place’. It was rather sickeningly sweet to see, yet it seemed to suit the home rather well. A large, thick cow rug of brown, black and white laid underneath an oak table, a mug left on a coaster, clearly left and forgotten by accident in the clean house. Bookcases lined the back walls of the living room, full of leather bound books of different colors and sizes before more newer kids books littered between well used and loved books. Finally, Shawn noticed more family pictures, one of a whole family that was framed above the fireplace in front of a different house. 

Shawn wasn’t the type to get homesick. He had a pretty close relationship with his mom, but that was it. He’d phone her every so often. But even in his parents home, there were barely any photos of them as a family, as Shawn grew up, the pictures dwindled down until there was nothing new. Seeing these pictures though, it tugged at Shawn’s heart, the feeling of homesickness being more apparent. He quickly shook his head, trying not to get sentimental.

The perfect distraction eventually came, pulling Shawn out of his thoughts as he heard the front door open again. Shawn glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on a taller man. Now, Shawn may not have been the type to be homesick, but he was the type to be a hopeless romantic, and when this guy walked into the house? Shawn could feel blood rush to his cheeks.

The guy had curly, deep brown hair that reached his shoulders. His skin was tanned much like a god, the sheen of sweat clung to the man's brows and neck. His eyes were a dark, melted chocolate color that held warmth in them. And his outfit? Shawn was loving it. A black cowboy hat sat upon his head like a halo, his blue, checkered shirt hugged around his strong, muscular chest perfectly, his jeans hugged oh-so-perfectly around his legs. This man was something Shawn wanted and needed.

Silence filled the room as the man stared down Shawn, staring down his outfit before looking around the living room. It was an awkward silence, one that Shawn could tell that this guy was trying to figure out who Shawn was and why he was just standing there. 

Before Shawn could even speak, the mans low voice filled the room, “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my home?”.

[chaoxfix]

Wholesome Sonic & Tails Wednesday Cold Snap 1.6K

Sonic and Tails in the earliest of early days together.

(unedited and unapologetic yall will get what you get, i started writing this at 11:20PM on Wednesday and finished at 12:16AM on. Thursday. shhh it's still Wednesday in California so its fine.)

Sonic wasn’t going to accuse the little guy of following him, exactly… 

But he has shown up to each zone Sonic’s been visiting. And whenever Sonic camps for the night, the kid – Tails – is always a hundred or so yards away. Tails doesn’t think Sonic notices, but he does. Sonic just does his best not to be mean about it. The island is free now, and part of that freedom means that kids can sleep wherever they want. Even if there’s a perfectly good village a couple miles south. 

Sonic can’t blame the kid for not going back to his initial village on West Side Island, but they’re all the way on the other side of the island now. Surely the kid can try his luck with someone else? 

Sonic will leave the kid to it; he’s not about to decide Tails’s fate. And he doesn’t mind acting as an impromptu bodyguard for now. He just hopes the kid gets where he needs to go. Sonic’s not much for congratulating parents for doing the bare minimum – and he’s known plenty of kids who got on fine without them. But he doesn’t like the idea of a four year old out here all alone, either. 

And – well. He’s not going to leave him to his own devices either. Sonic just wants to make sure the kid’s not out of water, or anything. He seemed too shy to approach the river that Sonic refilled his own canteen in. And even though Sonic’s not responsible for this kid, just keeping an eye on him til Tails gets wherever he’s going… Sonic would feel a little bit bad if the kid neglected his needs just because he was too shy of getting caught. 

Which means Sonic cares enough to check, just this once.  

So when the kid falls asleep, Sonic sneaks over. He’s not much for stealth, but in his experience, kids sleep like rocks, so he’s really got nothing to worry about. 

When Sonic slows to a stop, he tests it by leaning over the kid and straining his ears to make sure his breathing is deep and even like it’s supposed to be – and when the kid doesn’t stir, he breathes a sigh of relief. Then, he gets to work. 

Sonic is quick to refill his canteen, and even leaves a couple fruits in the little blue backpack the kid brought along. Strangely, Sonic’s not really sure what the kid’s bringing with him; he hasn’t seen Tails open it, not even once. Which means it’s probably some of those papers that the little towns value so highly, maybe some toys. Hopefully some toys. Sonic was content playing with flickies and the like, but he’s self-aware enough to know most normal kids need something to keep them busy. 

A cold breeze blows in from the north, then, and Sonic’s quills rattle with a few shivers. Yeah – it’s a burrow-underground sort of night, then. The wind would keep him up all night otherwise, let alone the cold. Better to burrow where it’s a cozier temperature year-round. 

However… Sonic rubs his chin, looking down at the sleeping yellow fox. If Sonic’s got to burrow, that means things don’t look so good for the kid. As if on cue, the kid shivers, practically curled into a ball himself to retain as much body heat as possible. And sure, a blanket burrito’s better than nothing, and Tails is a fox, so he’s got a decent pelt – but Sonic doesn’t like the look of the kid’s shivers this early into the night. 

Sonic frowns and looks around the world around them. 

Then, with a heavy sigh, he knows what he’s got to do. 

Sonic does his best to be quiet, he really does – but he’s pretty sure it’s ultimately the unearthed dirt that wakes Tails. Sonic’s half done burrowing into the dirt – a mix of spin-dashing and more careful excavation with his gloves – when he peeks out to notice a yellow-and-white face looking in at him. 

“Mr. Sonic?” 

Sonic can’t help the nose wrinkle. He’s way too young for that kind of name. 

“Ah – sorry! I didn’t mean to forget your name already, is it something else?” Tails asks, which is extremely unhelpful, since it’s the worst type of yes or no question. No good answer to it. So Sonic chooses an alternate route, and ignores him to keep digging a makeshift burrow instead. 

Despite Tails occasionally interjecting with a, “M- Mr. Sonic? What are you doing?”, Sonic pays him no mind. He’s still got a second burrow to make tonight, and he’s gotta make this one big enough to fit both Tails and his backpack without it caving in. 

But once he’s done, he’s pretty sure it’ll hold. 

Proud of his handiwork, Sonic hops out of the hole, and stands over it with a confident grin and hands on his hips. Now that’s the way to do it. 

Tails, though, doesn’t quite seem to understand. 

Sleepily, the kid blinks at him – and Sonic figures he must be confused, somehow, despite having watched Sonic sleep in holes like these at least once the last few nights. 

Sonic decides to help him out by tossing the kid’s backpack (gently – in Sonic’s defense, it was gently) into the hole. Tails gives him a wide-eyed stare, then takes a few uncertain steps back. That’s when Sonic knows he’s got to ramp up his skills. 

He gestures broadly with his hands – as big of a, “for you!” gesture as he can. Tails meekly points at himself, and Sonic nods. Just to make sure the kid’s getting it, Sonic mimes falling asleep by laying his head on folded hands and making truly obnoxious-sounding snoring noises. 

The kid giggles, and Sonic grins. 

“So you… made that hole for me?” Tails asks, still sounding so uncertain despite clearly understanding. “Why?” 

Sonic mimes shivering. Tails completely misunderstands. Instead, he starts to take off the blanket that he’s now using as a shawl, and tries to give it to Sonic. Sonic’s eye almost starts twitching. The kid’s nice, he’ll grant him that – but no toddler on the planet ought to be that ready to give up their last defense against the cold. 

So instead, Sonic tsks, shaking his finger before curling the blanket tight as it can go around Tails – if he’s careful, he can even get it around a second-and-a-half time, which is good. Means the kid will be extra insulated. 

It does look a little silly, though, the kid just standing there as a blanket burrito with red-and-white shoes sticking out underneat. Sonic can’t help the chuckle that comes out.

Tails starts wriggling his arms to try and balance though, and Sonic realizes his folly. Tails won’t be able to balance and walk his way into the burrow. 

So with a heavy heart, Sonic realizes what he has to do. 

He bundles up the little guy, close as he can, and then tucks him into the burrow himself. 

“Mr Sonic?” Tails practically squeaks – but then he’s in the burrow, snug as can be, and finally Tails gets it. Which is good, since Sonic’s not sure he can maneuver him a second time. The kid’s pretty light, but Sonic’s not exactly the strongest guy around. The kid’s almost as big as he is, despite probably being less than half Sonic’s age. If Tails was any more than four, Sonic would eat his boots. But four or not, at least Tails finally understands what Sonic’s been getting at, and manages a small, “You – you really made this for me? To stay warm?” 

Sonic, realizing the kid can’t see him so well now that it’s dark, and he’s looking up from such a small hole, squats down next to him. He gives him a sharp nod – and a thumbs up for good measure. 

Tails looks up at him, starry-eyed. “Woah…” 

With that, a good deed done for the day, Sonic claps the dirt off his hands. He gives a two-fingered salute – and makes his way off to his own campsite. Only a stone’s throw from the kid’s – and in perfect view of Sonic’s. Though Sonic would hope the kid won’t get up and waste Sonic’s hard work, he’s got a feeling the kid would rather be cold than alone. 

So he doesn’t mind, really – just this once. Sonic can deal with some kid watching him sleep from a couple yards away, even if he’s not strictly the babysitting type. But it’s bound to be temporary, and… hell. Sonic would feel a little guilty if the kid got sick after coming all this way, that’s all. As long as the kid doesn’t freeze, and Sonic’s got time to make his own burrow to tuck in for the night, there’s no problem. 

Sonic finishes his own burrow a lot faster, since it’s just him. 

But, inexplicably, when he curls up for the night… Sonic can’t help but crack an eye open, one last time, to make sure the kid’s still asleep and not shivering. Funny, that. Sonic’s done all he can for the kid already – he’s not sure why he’s so invested. 

It’ll pass, he decides. Soon, the kid will find a nice village with some even nicer villagers, and he’ll go back to being a normal kid, albeit one who can fly with his tails. Hopefully this time, it’ll be a life without bullies. 

That’s all there is to it. Sonic’s not looking to be a babysitter. 

(And yet – 

Two weeks later – when another winter chill blows in, the kid is still tagging along – Sonic just makes a burrow big enough for two. And when it turns out Tails is a living furnace… Well, what was Sonic supposed to do, other than let the kid curl up with him?)

[quartzhearted]

great tree moon, year xx.

[ SECOND CORRESPONDENCE W. KINGDOM OF BRODIA. ]

Hi, honey,

It's been a little bit since my last letter---and let me tell you, there sure have been some new things here at the monastery. I swear it wasn't that long since I last talked to you, but maybe it has been? Time's a hell of a thing, ain't it.

A handful of moons ago, it was almost like some kind of mass exodus; a bunch of people disappeared, then came back after some time passed. Apparently it's a normal thing, but... it's really strange? I remember seeing something-or-other around the monastery asking for participants, I think... I don't know. It's all a little hazy. Apparently I could have gone, but there was too much to do and I decided against it. Lots of people came back with real bad sunburns.

I've got a pal, Lambert---he's the guy that consensually punched me, remember him?---and he'd gone off to wherever it was. He came back a completely different person. I'm talking new look, new attitude, new lease on life. I really wonder what happened to him over there, but I haven't had the chance to ask him yet. Baby, if you met Lambert, I know the two of you would catch on like a wildfire. He's fantastic!

Speaking of pals, I've made a few more since I last talked to you. One of my favorites is this guy named Matthias---I mean, guy's like an alternate me! He's huge, got short, orange hair, axe guy, and he's a mean fighter. When we first met, we did it the warrior's way. Ended in a tie, and that's while he had a problem with his leg! He's a lot more deadpan-looking than Lambert is, but he's his own brand of feisty. I hope I get to talk to him more; I think we've got some things in common.

There's a new wind blowing at the monastery right about now, and lots of people are getting involved. Heading out on missions, picking up odd jobs, or getting hired for real jobs, and that's just a few things off the top of my head. Hell, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, so I picked up a job. It was... well, there'll be some instant portraits in here. You can figure it out from those. Damn near gave Diamant a heart attack.

I hope my birthday wasn't too quiet. I assume it'd have turned into a day of mourning, given how things went with Alexand... but I'd much rather people drink and be merry like they always did. I was finally able to take Alcryst out to drink, and Diamant took me out to drink. And that's not even mentioning all of the neat gifts I got; this dragon squirt Nils gave me a dragon warrior charm! And Lambert gave me a sword. A really nice sword! I think I'll hang the charm off of it... but then it might break. So what should I do? You were always good about practical customization, so do you have any ideas?

A girl I've never seen before gave me a stone for my birthday. It was pyrite, so she has to be from Brodia, right? Because why else would she give something like that to me...?

Also, Lapis said something interesting to me when she gave me her present. Something about being newly-included in people that are worried about my health and somesuch. Very weird.

That's probably enough yapping from me for one letter. Like I mentioned, I've put in some instant portraits again---me in uniform, me working at my other job, Diamant is there in one of them, and a few random ones of people I've met. Being here has really helped me talk to people my age and people not my age. It's a real blessing.

I think about you every morning, afternoon, and night, my dearest. Even if you still don't believe this is real... that's all right with me. All I worry about is if you're healthy and happy. Hopefully Diamant and Alcryst have been writing you as well, but if they haven't, I swear that I've never seen them shining brighter or living healthier. They're doing just fine, and so am I.

Write me soon, sapphire. Even if it's just one word, it's one word from my loveliest gemstone.

Signed,

Morion, Professor of Axe, Sword, and Authority at the Officers Academy

[destined-to-never-meet]

With my Own Eyes - BoTW

Summary: After 100 years of devastation in the land of Hyrule, a hero awakens to a life and world beyond recognition--but that begs the question: does he remember the girl with the beautiful voice who speaks to him?

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48410350

@zelinkcommunity​

“Do you really remember me?” 

 The question startled him from his trance. The appearance of a divinely adorned girl across from him had taken attention away from the hard fought battle won moments before. Her lips parted softly, but no words escaped. She was unmoving, an unsure smile on her face, very patiently awaiting his answer. This was the girl literally in his dreams, in the back of his mind, cheering him on and assisting him at every step and turn. The beautiful voice that awoke him from his hundred year slumber. For months, he pleaded with the goddesses to let him see the face that matched the voice. His prayers had previously gone unanswered. 

 That is until, one day he was trotting along on his horse and he was hit with a sense so strong he nearly fell off. It didn’t feel like  his memory. As much as we wished it could be so. It was another wearing his face. Experiencing the moments and memories he could only dream of. It took his breath away when he eventually recounted how she had thrown herself to save him—not him—before ultimately witnessing himself die. 

 As much as he had avoided the topic before whenever his previous life’s acquaintances brought it up and skirted the topic, “fell” didn’t do justice to what actually happened. Stopping breathing felt like it was a death in his dictionary. 

 Still. The girl in the past didn’t do justice to seeing her in person, smiling—with his own eyes. 

 She was stunning in every aspect. Her confidence lit up her entire being, the meek timidity during her times of deep insecurity gone. So when he hopped off his horse to greet her descending figure, he was most perplexed to see the previous insecure girl turn to face him after a moment. He desperately wanted to wipe that look off her face, to give her every possible reassurance that everything was okay. 

 He could lie, and tell her that he did remember her. Maybe for a while it would work, he was quick on his feet and he would be able to skirt her attention away from wherever he simply lacked the precognition. But he knew that she would eventually find out, and would be devastated. He knew deep down that he was not the same person he was a hundred years ago. And as much as he yearned to be by her side, he couldn’t bear to lie to someone who meant so much to him—at least either version of him. 

 He didn’t know what to say. He had eventually learned that apparently the “other” he was silent, and so it wasn’t a surprise that he’d be lost for words. But for  him , it was unnerving. He loved to speak with others, it brought him great joy. At this moment it felt like the other him and himself would be in agreement, speaking his heart to the princess is no easy task. With great hesitation he finally opened his mouth to answer her. 

She looked back at him, for a moment great sorrow flashed across her delicate face. The wind blowing through her long hair is no good distraction from the tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. 

 “Oh. I’m sorry. I just. I shouldn’t.” She too, seemed lost for words, stumbling over her words. 

 He had to do something. 

 “I couldn’t lie to you and say I remember everything. Because I don’t. But I remember you. Your voice and your presence.” He stepped forward. 

 “Even though I didn't know your name. Your voice made my heart fill with joy and I had no clue why, but I know now that I’ve always  known you even if I can’t remember.” 

 “I hope that is good enough for you”—- his closing end of the speech was interrupted by her launching herself at him into a tight embrace. 

 Wait, wasn't he supposed to be comforting her? She was crying. Then why was his vision so blurry. 

 In another life, he might’ve yearned for her hand, but in this life he might never know. The way that she looked at him he might think that to be the case. 

[ssahotstuff]

Aaron Hotchner Playlist Collection 💕

How Do I Live? By Trisha Yearwood Found here

Word count: 14.8k

Warnings: the beginning is dark but happy ending! Mentions of the BAU working a case where there is torture, beating, bruising, dehydration, food, reader is being held captive. Mention of hospitals and medication, anxiety, PTSD and a slight panic attack, mentions of self conscious reader//tread lightly here folks! Smut—but not for a while, slow burn. Oral(f&m receiving) fingering, penetration, unprotected sex—if I missed anything, let me know

Side note: I use this emoji ✨✨✨ when I switch point of view!

Another side note: dreams and flashbacks are italicized

The darkness spread out around you like a blanket, nothing was visible at all, no matter how hard you tried to get your eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Time had slowed or stopped completely, you weren't sure which. You thought surely you were dead, in purgatory awaiting your afterlife, but your heart was still beating, in fact, it hadn't stopped drumming in your chest since you were thrown into whatever kept you captive—you weren't sure.

The hunger had turned into pain long ago, and no matter how hard you tried to break free of your bindings, you couldn't. You hadn't meant to get separated from Hotch, it just kind of happened. One second you were right behind him and the next you'd been knocked out cold. When you came to, you found yourself trapped in what felt like a room—there was a wooden floor from what you could feel. Maybe a barn.

Your mouth was bound and gagged, dry and parched as you struggled and cried for help. You saw a small window just above you, maybe a foot wide, and it was so dark outside that there were no stars, no moon. You were in Ray Donald's secondary location, no doubt, and you knew that thanks to the profile. It did you no good now, but your team had it, and they'd use it to their advantage until you were found.

You dozed off and when you woke again, the light was shining through your small window of hope. Things had been quiet wherever you were, you assumed Ray had left you to die until a hatch opened from above, and he came down, all 6 feet of his burly self, raggedy beard and beady eyes.

"It's time for your punishment."

You barely had time to register the pain as he kicked you at full force, knocking all of the wind from you. Another blow landed to your legs, and then his fist connected with your jaw, making your eyes water until your vision went blurry. When he was finished with you, he simply climbed out of the hatch and left you alone to writhe in pain on the floor.

You prayed they found you soon, and feared what would happen if they didn't.

The day quickly turned into frigid night, but it was eerily silent. You were grateful— you'd heard his truck start up and leave hours ago, so you hoped he was gone. You knew your body well enough to know nothing was broken—you were just in some of the most intense pain you'd ever felt, in and out of consciousness.

He came back and delivered another series of kicks and punches before sundown, your body battered and bruised—you were strong though. He'd have a hard time breaking you, if that was what he was trying to do.

I can take it. If it'll get me back to my team, I can take it.

All you could think about was things you should've said before, things you'd regret not saying if you never saw your team again. You wanted Penelope and Spencer to know they were your best friends, no matter what. Morgan was the best big brother, despite there being no relation, he treated you as you were with no questions asked. Rossi was like the father you never had, always taking his time to give you pep talks when you were feeling down. JJ was your confidant, the person you could always go to no matter what.

And then there was Hotch.

You had liked him since you very first day, and he knew it. He kept his distance at first, but once he let you in, the two of you were like best pals. He always made sure if you needed something, it was yours, and you always helped lighten his load as much as possible at work, with reports and working as hard as you could to prove yourself, still being new. Hotch always said you belonged on the team, that there was nothing for you to prove, but you pushed yourself anyway, wanting to make sure they knew you could be trusted.

Hotch trusted you anyway—he'd often pair you up with him for everything, and you quickly came to the realization that you were his partner and he had enough faith in you to have his back everywhere, and that was special to you. It was the man you cared about most putting his life in your hands, and you'd always protect him, which is partly why you were trapped. You'd been so busy making sure Aaron was okay ahead of you that you didn't register the commotion behind you.

Your eyes darted to the window, and you thought you were in for another beating when you saw lights, frantically darting in every direction. You stayed stark still, hoping it would make you invisible to his turmoil. It wasn't until you recognized the voice that invaded your thoughts so many nights before that you realized they'd found you, and they were here to help.

"Y/n? Everyone spread out, search top to bottom," you made as much noise as you could, flailing around until your feet found something—what felt like a table leg, and you began to kick furiously, knocking it against the cellar wall.

"Everyone quiet!" Hotch boomed, and from the sound of his voice, he was right above you. You didn't stop kicking, and things began to clatter to the floor one by one. As if it were a miracle, the hatch in the floor opened up and you saw a bright light shining down into the hole in the ground.

"Y/n? God, please, let her be okay," you kept kicking until he'd made it down the ladder and saw you lying on the ground. He worked to free your mouth of the gag and the rope around your wrists, and as soon as you were free, you were wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugged you back but you winced at the contact, forgetting your body was in a delicate state.

"Tell me where he hurt you," Hotch was examining your arms and what he could see of the rest of you. You could feel the dried blood on your face and you wondered what the rest of you must look like if you felt so badly.

"I'm okay. Just a little banged up," you told him, to which he shook his head, adjusting his light so he could see more of you.

"You don't have to be okay right now. Just tell me where it hurts," you could barely make out the mist in his eye as he pleaded with you for the truth, and with a gut wrenching sob you were telling him that the pain was everywhere—it wouldn't go away. You were beginning to feel trapped in what was your prison, trying to stand up. Hotch helped you to your feet but you looked at the ladder with intimidation because you weren't sure how you'd climb it in your current state.

"I'll go up first, you can hold onto my arms and I'll help pull you up," he climbed up the ladder and left you to panic in the dark. It took a minute for him to make it all the way up, but he'd disappeared from you while you waited at the bottom.

"Hotch? Please don't leave me down here in the dark," you began to climb with all the strength you could muster until you saw his hands reaching for you in the dark.

"I've got you," he whispered as you made it through the hatch, his arms wrapping around you and lifting the rest of the way. You sat up long enough to collapse onto your back, and you could finally see the stars twinkling around, dotted against the darkest sky you'd ever seen.

"Stay awake, mama. The ambulance is almost here," Derek told you; you could hear the whirring sirens in the distance but all you could focus on was Hotch, his soothing voice telling you that everything would be okay, that you were safe, even if you felt like you weren't.

"I'm so tired," you heard yourself tell him; watching with blurry vision as he shook his head.

"Come on, let me see those pretty eyes of yours. Stay awake just a little bit longer," Hotch urged, giving you the motivation you needed to hold out your hand for him so he could help you upright.

"I'm dizzy," the ground and everyone on it was spinning, making you nauseous as you closed your eyes and waited for it to pass. Hotch's hand was on your back, reassuring you that everything was going to be okay now that you'd been found.

"I was afraid—God, I was terrified I might not see you again," you could hear his voice laced thick with emotion, the fear that he might've found you in different circumstances. Your head was dangling between your legs as you peered your at him through tear coated lashes, trying to make him feel a little better.

"You won't get rid of me that easily," you choked, a sob caught in your throat. You were relieved, starving. But mostly you were glad to see Hotch looking back at you, even if he was sadder than you'd ever seen him before.

"I'm so sorry I didn't hear him. I was so sure you were right behind me," he started, but you shook your head and reached for his free hand. He let you take it, his hand swallowed yours up for the first time and you could see how rapidly his chest began to move.

"Don't. This isn't your fault, Hotch. It could've happened to either of us. I'm fine," the words felt like bile in your throat as you lied to him, but he knew better. You were far from being okay—your skin was crawling, your stomach was rumbling but so queasy that you felt like you may never eat again. Ray had told you things about yourself that he shouldn't have known—cut you down in ways you'd never utter to anyone. You knew you'd have to explain in detail what happened to you more than once, but there were parts you'd already vowed to omit to save yourself the heartache.

Hotch had the profile. He knew Ray got into people's heads; he used your insecurities against you, and he knew them all somehow, in just a matter of hours.

"We caught him shortly after he left this morning. He gave us the secondary location—he dared us to try to find you. He didn't think we would. I know—I know what he did," you used all the force you had to stand up so you could stumble away from him for a second, your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. Ray had already told him, and now you'd have to find a way to look Hotch and the rest of your team in the eye everyday because of it.

"Hey, shhh. It's okay, you're okay," he pulled you upright into a hug and after a minute he led you to an ambulance. He disappeared for a second but he promised he'd be right back, so you let the EMT look you over, her eyes full of sorrow as she did so.

"You're body is over half bruised—there could be internal bleeding. You need a hospital, and fluids. You're dehydrated," she explained softly, her hand covering yours for just a second in a comforting gesture as she helped you to lean back.

"Don't you worry, honey. You're going to be just fine. You're one tough little lady, that's for sure," she hooked you up to monitor you and gave you something for the pain, something that had your eyes drooping in seconds, and then the panic set in because they were closing the doors and Hotch was nowhere to be seen.

"No, we can't leave yet. Hotch!" You felt like you were screaming but the words barely came out; the EMT leaned closer so she could hear you, but you heard the door shut instead, and you succumbed to slumber soon after.

✨✨✨

I followed the ambulance as closely as possible until it took a special entrance I didn't have clearance for. I found my way to the parking garage instead, the rest of my team headed home for the night since we'd gotten a break in the case and had apprehended the unsub. I planned to stay as long as the hospital would allow me to, and if they made me leave, I'd just come back in the morning.

Seeing her body laid out on a stretcher was something I never could've prepared myself for. I gave them a few minutes to get her through triage and into a room, but a doctor was quick to come and find me, asking for me by name.

"Are you Aaron Hotchner?" I stood and nodded, and he instructed me to follow him down the hall.

"She's been asking for you since she was in the ambulance. She's had enough morphine to knock out a horse—I don't know how she's still awake, but I'd say it has something to do with what she's been through."

We stopped just outside of her door and I could see her through the curtains, propped up in her bed with a cup of water in front of her. Her hands shook as she lifted it to drink, in fact her whole body was buzzing with energy and I could feel it through the glass. Her nerves were completely shot, and she was on edge, and probably confused.

"How long can I stay? I know visiting hours are probably over," he shook his head and handed me her chart to look over while he talked.

"You can stay through the night, but only you. She'll be able to leave in the morning. There were no signs of sexual assault, but that's not to say she still isn't in rough shape mentally. I know she's FBI, but she's been through hell in the last 48 hours. She needs some time."

I'd be personally taking her out of the field for as long as I could, no questions asked. I knew she was tough, but she needed time to heal properly.

"Has she eaten?"

He shook his head, sighing heavily.

"She may not be hungry yet. She'll eat. She'll make a full recovery physically. It's her emotional state I'm worried about."

After he warned me to keep her calm and not to try to get her to talk until she was ready, he let me step into the room.

"Where'd you go?"

I took long strides until I was seated at her feet on the bed, my hands in my lap.

"I got separated from the ambulance but I followed you here. I'm sorry, I had to tell the team— I was right behind you the whole way."

She nodded, shivering lightly. I went to the cabinet and found another blanket for her, wrapping it around her shoulders as I moved a bit closer.

"I just got worried is all," she said softly, her hand on my knee as she looked up at me. I'd never seen her so vulnerable, so defeated. I knew she was trying to be brave for my sake, but I wanted her to tell me the truth about how she was feeling, and she never would.

"I'm here now, and I'm staying tonight. Your doctor said I can take you home in the morning."

She yawned, her eyes rimmed red with exhaustion, bloodshot from the medicine. I had no clue how she was still awake and functioning.

"Promise you'll stay?" She scooted over and patted the empty space in her bed for me to fit into, lifting her head so I could put my arm around her. She cozied into my shoulder, a shaky sigh escaping her mouth before she reached for my free hand and took it, lacing her fingers through mine.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere. Get some sleep, Y/n. I won't let anything happen to you."

I knew she was probably still scared, even with Ray behind bars. She'd be paranoid, lost in her head at some point for the rest of her life—being watched and studied so it could be used against you was something that was hard to recover from. I knew from personal experience.

"Thank you, Hotch. I'm glad you're here."

She was asleep on my arm in no time, finally giving in and letting sleep take over. She'd fought it for so long that once she finally got comfortable, she slept like a rock, barely moving all night. I tried to doze off but I couldn't—not with her so close after days of her absence. I could only look at her face, her tiny hand in mine and wonder how anyone could hurt something so precious—so perfect. I felt myself leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead before I could stop myself, and I swore a smile graced her lips for a second, even while she slept.

The weight of her disappearance had been heavy on my team, but especially me. She was my partner, but she was also so much more than that, and I'd never gotten around to telling her. I'd never met anyone as headstrong and determined to make a difference as her. She was ambitious and almost unnaturally gorgeous—I knew she didn't think so, but to me, there was no one quite like her. She'd joined us at 25 and a year and a half later, I'd grown so attached to her that I couldn't see straight if she wasn't around.

She didn't stir until morning when they brought her breakfast. She hadn't moved all night until the nurse came into the room, and her eyes were wide open and she was sitting up on high alert.

"Just me! How're you feeling today? Good enough to eat something I hope," she nodded politely and stayed quiet, her grip on my hand tightening at the sight of a stranger. I could feel her shaking against me, so I sat up and made sure I didn't let go of her hand.

"You're okay," I assured her, and she offered me a small smile in return as she picked at her food. The nurse checked her blood pressure, which was still a bit on the high side, so she gave her some medicine to calm her down some, just in case.

"We'll send you home with some of these in case you start feeling anxious or you can feel your BP rising. Usually it's accompanied by feeling flushed, lightheaded, rapid heartbeat. You know your body best, so you may not even need them once you get home," she explained. She managed to eat half a piece of toast and drink her coffee, but she still seemed terrified—I knew she would for a while.

As soon as the nurse left, she was in tears, unable to speak she was crying so hard. I tried my best to calm her down so the nurse didn't come back in. I wrapped my arms around her and allowed her to let it all out, as long as she needed. I rubbed her back, kept her close as long as she'd let me. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I wanted her to know I was there for her regardless.

"Just a little bit longer and we'll get you out of here," I whispered against her hair, hoping maybe her spirits would lift some when we were no longer in the hospital. She sniffled and nodded, gripping my shirt fiercely as she tried to calm down.

"I'm just—I don't know these people, Hotch. What if they want to hurt me too? What if it never ends?"

I felt helpless as she cried on my chest; I stayed quiet and brushed her hair back, kissing her forehead once more before I could will my body not to; she froze for a second before burying herself deeper into me, her face pressed against my chest. She had to be careful of her IV or else she would've been in my lap, she was halfway there already.

"I—I was thinking maybe you could come to my house for a little while, so you aren't all by yourself." She pulled back long enough to look up at me. She let me brush away a stray tear before she nodded, not quite ready to let me go yet.

"Please don't leave me alone," she begged, and I swore to her that I wouldn't, never again.

I sent the team a mass text to let them know she was okay, and then I got ahold of JJ and Dave separately to let them know I'd be preoccupied for the next couple of days, and unless it was absolutely necessary, I wouldn't be leaving her. Dave assured me to take all the time I needed, and so did JJ, who'd been worried nonstop since she went missing.

By the time her doctor gave her the go ahead to leave, she was anxious but happy to be going. I'd brought her go bag with me so she had a fresh change of clothes, so I stepped in the hall long enough for her to get dressed and we were on our way to her apartment to grab some of her stuff. I'd never been inside, but the bright, spacious loft apartment reminded me of something out of a movie. The entire space was open, stairs in the middle of the floor to lead to her loft bedroom. She stood at the bottom of the steps and looked back at me, defeated.

"It doesn't even feel like home here anymore," she said sadly before she retreated upstairs to grab her things. I looked around, plaques and diplomas lined the walls—photos of the team, the two of us always side by side in every candid. She was the star of every photo to me, always smiling the brightest or laughing the loudest. I feared it would be a long time before I saw either of those things again, and it made me wish I would've cherished her more then, so she didn't hurt as badly now. If I'd only told her how significant she was, maybe her low would be less detrimental for her.

She returned shortly after with everything she needed; she didn't even put up a fuss when I grabbed her bag to carry for her. She locked the door and didn't look back a single time.

"Do you feel up for some real food?"

She bit her lip, nodding, but she was hesitant, glancing in her visor mirror.

"As long as I don't have to go in anywhere. I don't want anyone seeing me like this."

I could only see her arms, but they were covered in deep purple handprints, and I could make out the clear imprint of a boot on her forearm. Her face was free of any bruises, she just had a small cut on her cheek. I could only imagine what the rest of her body looked like—over 50% of her body had been bruised. It was a miracle that she could walk, given the beating she'd taken. If I knew anything at all about her, she probably enraged him, challenged his manliness and it made her a target of his fury—but she took every bit of it, and I knew she didn't show him any fear. She wouldn't— she was too bold, too brave. I knew she probably took every bit of it and tried to ask for more, just to piss him off.

"I'll do anything you need me to do, okay? Starting with getting you some real food, and a cup of coffee. I was thinking Starbucks," her eyebrows shot I'll curiously before she looked at me, a smirk teasing her lips.

"You hate Starbucks."

I shrugged, because it wasn't about me. It was about making her as happy as I possibly could.

"But you love it, and that's all that matters."

We got food and coffee and her mood lifted slightly; she even became a bit talkative on the way back to my place. I let her carry the food inside while I took care of her bag, since it was heavier. She let me lead her to the table and we ate mostly in silence—she hadn't realized how hungry she was until she actually sat down to eat.

I already had her next order of business lined up; I let her finish eating while I filled the tub in my room. I sat her bag in the bathroom and when I joined her again, I reached for her hand. She followed me all the way down the hall, until we'd made it to the bathroom.

"You're freezing. Let's get you warmed up some," I had a robe from some hotel we'd stayed in before that I left for her, so she had everything she needed to try to relax a little.

"Thank you, Hotch. I really appreciate you," she gave me a hug, her arms secured around my middle. She was so much smaller than me, it made her look fragile, breakable. She was delicate in all of the most attractive ways.

"You don't have to thank me. I—you should call me Aaron," I said finally, delivering one last kiss to the top of her head before I left her alone. Once I had the door shut, my mind was reeling—surely she knew I felt something more for her; she wasn't just a member of my team. She was someone I could see myself with, my partner full time and not just in the field. I let her soak off her worries, but I wasn't far away, just in case she needed me. I was in the living room, making the couch cozier, piling it with pillows and blankets so we could spend the rest of the day in front of the tv, doing nothing. She deserved a break, a few weeks to recover.

I knew she probably wouldn't feel like doing much, so I found some movies she might like and went ahead and put one in, so we could watch it together. I didn't want to pressure her to do anything, but a lazy day sounded exactly like what we both needed after the events of the last few days.

She looked brand new when she came out of the bedroom in her pink pajama bottoms and her t-shirt. She'd braided her hair back and she looked excited to join me on the couch. She took a seat in the middle and let me cover the two of us up, our combined heat under the blanket enough to have her sighing contentedly.

"I feel so much better. I'm still a little sore, but not as bad as before."

Her wrists were still red and irritated from the rope that kept her bound, but some of her bruises were already beginning to fade into greens and yellows—in a few days, they'd be gone completely, and hopefully she'd feel a little better about herself. I knew she was struggling with her image by the way she avoided the mirrors in my home, and how she got anxious if anyone looked at her too long. He'd shattered her self esteem while he had her trapped, and I saw it as my duty to fix it, or at least help her out as much as I could.

"You smell so good, like coconuts and the beach," she giggled lightly, her eyes crinkling up, and my heart melted at the sound. She had the best laugh; it was contagious, and I loved hearing it.

"That makes sense, I think it's called 'Tropical Sunset' or something like that. I've used it for years," I knew the smell better than my own cologne, I could pick her out of a crowd just by the smell of her hair alone.

"I've always liked it," I wondered if she knew I'd paid attention to the little things like that, the way she smelled, what kind of chapstick she preferred. I knew as much about her as I could given that I'd never had the opportunity to actually ask her, but I'd noticed plenty just from being around her everyday.

"I like your cologne too. If I had to guess, I'd bet it's Tom Ford."

I felt my eyes go wide before a let out a chuckle of my own at how well she knew me too.

"You'd be right."

I pressed play on the movie and we settled in, skipping the previews to get straight to the good stuff. After a few minutes, I silently slid my arm around her shoulder, and she leaned in closer, resting her head against me. It felt normal, cuddling with her in my home, somewhere she'd never been but she belonged more than anyone else who'd ever been inside.

"You picked a good movie. This is one of my favorites," she told me, her eyes glued to the tv. I tried not to let my gaze linger on her, but I couldn't help it. She looked so sweet on my arm, her legs tucked in at my side.

"Are you comfortable?" I hoped she was—I didn't want her to move. I was having such a great time getting to be close to her that I hoped JJ didn't call with a case for a week—maybe longer.

"Very. You're so warm," another giggle as she moved a tiny bit closer. I took the liberty of grabbing her legs as carefully as possible as putting them over my lap so she could spread out, watching the relief spread over her face as she melted into me.

"You can sleep if you want, I'll be here when you get up." She shook her head, but her eyes told a different story, she could barely keep them open.

"I'm not tired," she fibbed, her eyelids already beginning to flutter shut as she found her calm laying in my lap. Her free hand reached up, playing with the hair at the back of my neck as she tried and failed to watch the movie.

"You're safe here, you know. I won't leave your side again, not if I can help it," I promised her, and her eyes met mine briefly before she readjusted to lay against one of the pillows. She was stretched out over my lap, her legs on top of mine.

"You swear?" Her sleepy voice was adorable, sweet and inviting as she yawned wide.

I took her hand, trapping it in my own as she drifted off to sleep.

"I swear."

✨✨✨

"Something's not right," she was going over the victimology of the last 6 kills individually, just to see if there was anything we missed.

"What do you mean?" If there was a missing link, she'd find it. She always did. She had a knack for picking up on things we may have missed, which is why Morgan had given her the nickname 'Fresh Eyes'—she was perceptive in a way none of us could really explain, but we were grateful to have her on our side.

"If you saw these 6 victims lined up, what would stick out to you?"

She had a point, and she was trying to get us to see it, all of the victims lined up on a white board.

"They're all dark headed," Spencer pointed out, but she shook her head, ready to explain what we'd been missing.

"Out of all 6 victims, 5 were women with successful careers and no husband. Why change his victimology with Ray Donald? Unemployed, deceased spouse, not to mention he's male and the only survivor? It wasn't a crime of opportunity—Ray lives in the middle of the woods. So why him, after targeting one very specific kind of woman?"

The room went quiet as we all thought about our first interaction with Ray—he'd been jumpy, and Y/n thought he was hiding something from the beginning.

"Y/l/n and I will head to Ray's to question him a second time, see if there are any holes in his story. Morgan, have Garcia find everything she can on him while we're gone. Reid, someone like Ray would need a secondary location to be able to torture in private. Start working on a geographical profile that might tell us where that would be," we were on our way within minutes, Ray's house was only a ten minute drive.

"We should've realized it as soon as we talked to him. His story didn't add up," I was already beating myself up over missing the signs; they'd been right in front of me.

"We were focused on the age grouping of the victims, Hotch. We all missed it," she shot back, trying to help me feel a little better about the situation. She'd caught it though—the newest and youngest member of the team, always shining bright.

"I'll take the back, you cover the front," I told her, watching her sneak up to the front door as I crept around back. His dilapidated house could barely pass for a home—the roof was caving in on one side, and a few windows were broken out. I cleared the back and came back up towards the front, but Y/n was nowhere to be seen—in fact the house was silent, not even her creeping footsteps to tell me where she was.

"It's clear, sound off, Y/n," I called, only to be met with eerie quiet. I ran back outside, searching the perimeter once more, coming up empty. My phone was out immediately.

"Garcia, can you track Y/l/n's phone? I've lost her," I continued to to search the house and the surrounding property until the rest of my team could make it to the scene, and then we all searched for her with no luck. Her phone had been turned off, it's last known signal not too far from the house, but it did us no good unless her phone was on.

"We'll find her, Hotch. We'll work the profile and she'll be okay," Spencer reassured me, but I shook him off and told him to keep looking.

We searched the entire expanse of the property with no sign of her, heading back to the local PD to regroup so we could figure out where he was taking his victims. We followed three dead end leads with no hope until Ray was spotted outside of a local grocery store the day after, and we were able to bring him in for questioning. I feared the worst as he sat in the interrogation room, his hands clasped together on the table. He seemed calm, annoyed to be there, but the profile had told us his confidence would falter when confronted with a man just as intimidating.

"I'm going to save us both a lot of trouble. You tell me where my agent is, and we'll cut a deal, but unless I know she's alive, you can have fun in state prison."

He leaned forward, cracking his knuckles and popping his neck loudly before he spoke.

"Oh, she's alive. I can guarantee she wishes she wasn't, though. She's a fun one—feisty. I'm glad I chose her instead of you," he chided, trying to get under my skin.

"You enjoy hurting women that remind you of your mother, Ray. She looks nothing like her—why would you take her?"

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair to size me up.

"What do you know about her? I know she's your subordinate, and you've read her file, but do you really know what she's been through?"

I knew enough that I didn't ask any questions when she didn't feel comfortable interviewing certain men, and I knew that with the exception of our team, most men made her jumpy and intimidated.

"Why would you think you know more than I do?"

He grinned wide, his gnarly teeth curling into a menacing smile.

"Oh, I watched her just as long as the others, Agent Hotchner. I needed to know she'd been hurt too—all of the women I punished had been hurt by someone that should've loved them."

She never spoke about her family and I feared I might soon learn why.

"Where is she, Ray? All I need is a location," I wasn't getting anywhere with him, he was giving me information I didn't want, trying to hurt me with her.

"Oh, I'm going to tell you, don't worry. Tell me, how long have you known her? Long enough to know her confidence is a facade? The poor girl can hardly look in the mirror she despises herself so much, but I'll bet she comes to work with a smile painted on everyday, doesn't she?"

I unclenched my fists and tried to tune him out until he gave me something useful, but he was only interested in toying with my emotions—he knew she was my soft spot. He could see straight through me when it came to her.

"I had to gag her because she wouldn't quit mouthing off. She's sassy, that one. I'm surprised she follows your orders—she doesn't listen well."

"We're done here, Ray. Have fun in state prison."

"Wait!"

I turned around halfway to the door, hoping he'd at least give me a clue to where she was.

"There's a farm on Farley Road, at least 100 acres. You better find her before the rats do."

"We've already deployed SWAT to Farley Farm—the car is ready," JJ told me as I flew out of the interrogation room and headed for the SUV. I turned my lights on and raced in her direction, Morgan in the passengers seat telling me we'd find her and she'd be okay, and not to worry. I had to take Ray on his word that she was still alive, but he had no reason to lie.

"God, I can't even imagine what she's probably—"

"Morgan. That's enough."

The sun was beginning to set as we pulled into the farm. SWAT had already cleared the house, so we set to work on the grounds, spreading out near the house first. I'd just taken off south when I stepped on something hard covered by hay—after kicking up the hay I realized it was a hole in the ground, literally. There was a wide latch door and a ladder going down, and I could hear movement as I got closer to the bottom.

I nearly lost it when I saw her. She looked like she'd put up a hell of a fight, and thankfully she'd came out on top. I didn't want to think about what would've happened if I hadn't found her.

"You're okay. I've got you now."

✨✨✨

When I woke up, she was still at my side, sleeping peacefully. We'd both managed to get a nap in—it was nearly dusk outside, the sky blue and purple against the horizon. I watched her sleep peacefully against me; she didn't stir for another couple of minutes, stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Slept so good," she purred, and it made me not want to get up; she was comfortable on me, and I loved every second of it.

"Me too. You can sleep in my bed tonight if you want," I hoped I wasn't being too forward, but she gave me a sleepy smile before nodding her head.

"As long as you'll share it with me," she decided, and I couldn't say no to her—I didn't want to.

"We can find something for dinner and go watch something in my bed."

She followed me to the kitchen, on my heels as we decided on frozen pizza and breadsticks. I put the pizza in the oven and took her to get situated in my bed.

"You can pick whichever side you want," I told her, and she instinctively crawled to the inside, leaning against the headboard while I handed her the remote. I finished up dinner and put everything on a plate for us, making sure to grab the two of us a bottle of water. She'd already picked a movie, and was watching happily from her side of the bed.

"Smells so good," she marveled, and I'm sure after days without food that her mouth was watering at the sight of it. She took a breadstick, and I was immediately relieved that she wasn't struggling to eat. I worried it was more than the hospital food keeping her from having a meal.

"What are we watching?" I sat down beside her and we started to eat dinner like her in my bed was a regular occurrence.

"Something with aliens," I was immediately interested, and so was she. We had talked plenty enough to know we had things in common; she preferred to stay in, and so did I. We were always the first ones to leave any social gathering, usually sneaking off at about the same time. We'd never leave right away if it was perfectly timed; we'd stand at her car and talk until we were both ready to head home for the night.

The movie took a spooky turn, so after we finished dinner, I turned out the lights. I leaned back and she was next to me in an instant, curling in at my side as the movie played. Her fingertips were on my palm, tracing patterns into my skin as she watched with wide eyes. What we didn't realize was, the main character was being kidnapped, and when she realized what was going on, she put her face into my shoulder and I could feel her cheeks, hot and wet with tears.

"Aaron, I don't want to watch this anymore," she squealed, but I was already changing the channel. A cooking show took its place, and without missing a beat I pulled her into my lap, letting her straddle me with her head buried in the crook of my neck.

"I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay." I would've held her all night if she would've let me. I never would've let her go because I knew how badly she needed me. I feared for the day I'd have to return to the BAU and leave her alone—I'd already planned to let her stay at my place while I was gone if she didn't want to go home.

"I just want it to stop. I can't get it out of my head," she cried, and I squeezed her a little tighter, letting my lips press against her head.

"I know. I wish I could take it from you—I would do anything to be able to take this pain away from you. I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve this, and it's not your fault. I know at some point, work will take me away from you, but I'm here for you through all of this, okay? You're not alone," she let out a shaky breath that she probably didn't even know she'd been holding as she wiped her eyes. She looked up at me, her lip slightly pouty in the most adorable way.

"I'm so glad I have you. I really mean that. I couldn't do this without you, Aaron."

She laid back against me until her breathing steadied and I found out she'd fallen asleep on my chest. I was not about to wake her up, so I carefully slid down until my back was against the mattress and I kept her pressed against me all night long.

✨✨✨

You woke the next morning on top of Aaron, much to your surprise. You'd forgotten about falling asleep on his chest, but you'd assumed he'd move you at some point if he got uncomfortable. He was sleeping in total serenity before you woke him up trying to move to his side. His eyes fluttered open and his grip on your thighs tightened as if to keep you in place.

"Please don't move, been sleeping so good with you on top of me," he cooed, making you lay back down, happy he was content.

"I just thought you'd be ready for me to move," you could hear his heart beating through his shirt, drumming against his chest as you ran your fingers along his sides, still covered by his t-shirt.

"Quite the opposite. I'd keep you like this if I could," you felt the butterflies invade your stomach at his words, because since you'd been at his house, you noticed more about the way he cared for you. He'd went out of his way to kiss your forehead more than once, which made your brain feel fuzzy every time. You hoped that once your body had healed, you could give a piece of yourself to him, if he wanted. You'd been patiently waiting for months—you could wait a while longer.

"I'm awfully cozy," you agreed, knowing there was no place you'd rather be than right on top of him. You felt his hands move to your back, placed gently at the small of it.

"I need to go to the grocery store today and I was hoping you could go with me."

You felt yourself make a face even though he couldn't see you, but he sensed your indecision.

"I look pretty bad, Aaron. My arms—"

"You can wear one of my sweatshirts."

You hesitantly agreed, climbing off of him so you could get dressed. He showed you to the spare bathroom so both of you could shower, and you felt a lot better after you'd finished. As promised, he'd left one of his quarter zips on the couch for you to put on when you were finished.

Your panic didn't set in until you were in the store, and even then you kept your cool, following close enough to Aaron that you were nearly inseparable. He understood your current predicament and offered you his hand while he held his basket with the other. You laced your fingers through his even though you could tell he wasn't used to being so openly affectionate, you appreciated him coming through for you regardless.

You felt a fraction better as you got back to the car, helping him load everything in before you climbed in the passengers seat. You were off to his house in no time, the ride mostly quiet. Once you reached his house and got everything carried in, he found you both a snack, leading you to the couch.

"How much more uninterrupted time with you am I going to be lucky enough to get?" You knew he'd go back to work soon and things would return to normal for everyone but you—you'd be out of work and all alone.

"I'm not going back until Monday." It gave you almost an entire week with him, and you wondered how you got so lucky.

"Mhm. And how long until you'll let me come back to work?"

He thought for a moment before looking you over, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. It was sexier than it should've been, making you come a little closer to him.

"I'd like to see you out of the field for at least a month."

You nodded back at him, knowing it would do no good to argue with him. He could've made it longer—you could manage a month of loneliness. You dreaded the day you'd have to return to your apartment and face it's confining walls alone, more importantly, without Aaron. You didn't know how you'd make it another day without him, honestly. He was your rock, your solitude, and he didn't even realize he was the only thing keeping you from crumbling at any given moment.

"You're okay with that? If you need any more time, we can make that happen too," he wasn't sure how you were feeling, but he made sure you knew he'd accommodate you however he needed to.

"That's fine. It'll probably be good for me."

He opened his arms, so you climbed into his lap, your back against the couch arm's cushion. You were tucked into the corner of the couch, but he seemed satisfied with your current position, letting your legs drape over him, his arm around you.

"I was thinking if you don't want to go home next week, maybe you can stay here. That way when I come back from a case, you're already waiting on me. Would that be okay? I know you don't want to go home, and I don't blame you. So if you feel safe here, we'll get you a key tomorrow."

You were stunned to say the least at his offer, not even sure what to say.

"You're sure?"

He nodded, lacing his fingers through yours before he spoke again.

"You're my best friend. You should've had a key to my house a long time ago. You're always at home here."

You hugged him, your arms around his neck and your cheek smushed against his. You practically predicted his lips on your cheek, inhaling sharply when he didn't stop, he kissed the corner of your mouth next before his deep, dark eyes were peering back into yours, waiting on the green light. You didn't answer, instead your lips met his, tender and loving as he finally gave in and kissed you like he'd never kissed anyone before. You were in awe at how his lips felt against your own, like he'd been made just for you. You felt the smile on his face as he pulled back to look at you, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I'd really like to kiss you all the time." You couldn't help but to smile back at him, because you'd been waiting so long to experience what it would be like to have him like this, and it was finally coming true.

"I'm yours whenever you'll have me," you promised him, his nose lightly brushing against yours before he kissed you again, his hand on the back of your neck so he could pull you in closer. Now that you had him you didn't want to stop, but you didn't want the first time he saw you naked to be right now either. You needed to wait—for yourself, and your image.

He knew he could only kiss you for now, but he didn't mind—he wanted to kiss you all the time anyway.

"I'm going to make us dinner, come with me?" You nodded but he didn't let you go, he carried you to the kitchen and sat you on the counter so you could keep him company while he worked. The house began to fill with the tasty aroma of dinner as he buzzed around the kitchen. You enjoyed everything about it, watching him cook, tasting things he wanted you to try as he was cooking. You had no trouble adjusting to being around him, but he'd been right—he was your best friend too, and now he was something much more.

"I was thinking when you feel up to it, we could go out for dinner, on a date," he said from across the table, his legs brushing yours beneath the tablecloth.

"I've waited a long time to go on a date with you," you admitted, watching him beam back at you.

"I'll take you out any time you want. Maybe this weekend?"

You took a bite of pasta and nodded; this weekend sounded like the perfect time. You still had plenty of time to prepare yourself mentally, because you hadn't expected him to become a staple in your life in more ways than one so quickly.

"That sounds perfect."

✨✨✨

Unfortunately, Aaron was called back to the field a couple of days early, and it was a situation where his presence was absolutely needed. He woke you in the middle of the night to tell you he had no choice, that he had to go, so he kissed you and left, promising to be back in time for your date. The first morning you woke up without him, you felt the swift pang of loneliness as soon as you reached for his side of the bed. You rolled over and laid on his pillow instead, his scent left behind on it, wrapping you up just as he would. You quickly fell back asleep and didn't wake again until there was a knock at his door. You were petrified to answer it, because no one knew you were there except for Aaron, and you couldn't imagine him telling anyone else where you were.

You waited until the knocking had ceased before you got brave enough to peep through the windows and see who it was. A delivery van was pulling away from the curb, so you opened the door carefully and found a gorgeous vase of flowers sitting on the porch, your favorite color. You were even more terrified until you picked them up and read the card attached, your heart thumping in your chest for an entirely new reason.

I just wanted you to know even though I'm not there, you haven't left my mind. I'll be home soon.

Inside of the small envelope was a key, no doubt to his house. You knew it took a lot of work to pull something like this off, and something told you that Penelope Garcia was helping him from her office at Quantico while he was out of town. You knew he was in New York, so he wasn't too far away, but even then, you didn't know when he'd have the time to do something so sweet if he was focused entirely on his work.

Your first order of business was to go get your car—it was still at your apartment, and you didn't want to be stuck with no vehicle, so you locked his house up and tried to calm your nerves in the back of a taxi. The driver was polite enough, but you were in no mood to have a conversation with him. You tipped and thanked him before getting into your car, feeling a little bit better once you were behind the wheel.

You were going to spend the day out of the house, in hopes that it would be good for your mental health. The sun was shining, and the weather was only a little chilly; your light jacket was perfect to combat the cold. Your bruises were beginning to fade completely, the only one being stubborn was a boot print across your abdomen. It was beginning to disappear but it was haunting you for fear that it might stay forever.

Your plan was to shop until you felt a little bit better about everything that was going on. You hadn't expected to run into Penelope right after you'd gotten coffee inside of the Starbucks in the mall, but she was already hugging you, gently and carefully, unlike her usual bear hugs.

"God, you look radiant. A few days out of the field and you look like you could be on the runway," she beamed, and you felt yourself roll your eyes playfully as the two of you walked around, sipping coffee and catching up.

"Oh, please. I look like fresh hell, Pen. But I'm doing okay. Trying to come out of this funk," you'd been afraid of your own shadow, creeping around every corner in fear of what you might find. You spent the first night away from Aaron on the couch, your sidearm on the table while you tried to sleep. You were used to sleeping with it nearby—on really bad nights, it wasn't uncommon to be within arms reach, usually on your bedside table.

"You're allowed to be funky right now. You've been through so much. Listen, I don't want to pry, but the boss man had me send you flowers and a key to his house this morning," she wiggled her eyebrows for any details you might be willing to share with her, and so you decided to let it all out because you knew you could trust her, and she already suspected something.

"He's been great, really. I'm staying at his house. I think the key was so I'd drag myself off of the couch. I know he's worried. We uh—we kissed," you blushed, and she squealed in delight, a bright smile on her face.

"God, I LOVE! You two were made for each other. He was so sweet asking me to do it this morning, it was like, 6 am. He wanted you to wake up to flowers!" She gushed, and your stomach did a flip as you entered one of your favorite stores.

"He's taking me on a date this weekend," she stopped in her tracks, fanning her face with her hands.

"We have to find you something to wear! Oh my god, I'm so glad I ran into you!" Penelope spent the better half of her day helping you choose a dress and shoes, your Unit Chief the topic of conversation the entire day. You'd just stopped for lunch when her phone rang and she raised her eyebrows, showing you the caller ID.

"Hi sir, what can I do for you?"

She listened intently, a smile creeping onto her face.

"Actually I don't even have to do that, she's right here eating lunch."

You knew she'd fill you in on all the details when she got off the phone, so you sat and ate, knowing you were what he'd called about. It made your heart skip a beat that he was having Penelope to check on you, make sure you were okay without him.

"I'll tell her! Call if you need anything," she hung up the phone, her hands under her chin.

"Someone's got it bad for you."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as Penelope told you he was just checking in to see if she'd heard from you, and to make sure you had a nice time out of the house. They were hoping to have the case wrapped up by tonight and fly out first thing in the morning.

"He's going to take a couple days off. I don't know if I'm supposed to tell you, but he asked me to file the request for him this morning."

You weren't surprised considering the time he'd wanted with you had gotten cut short. If he requested it, there was no way they'd pull him back, not unless they had to. He never took personal days, but that was all changing quickly.

"He's like a dream. I don't really know if I deserve him or not," you admitted, and Penelope shook her head, sipping her drink.

"Don't you dare think that. You're perfect for each other, and he cares so much about you. You should let him make you happy."

You wandered the mall a bit longer, but you left to go to the grocery store, picking up a few things for when Aaron was back in town. You hoped it would be tomorrow like planned, but you knew the way the BAU operated, and it could often be unpredictable.

When you were back in the comfort of his home, you showered and got dressed for the night, spreading out across the couch. Usually you would've been in his bed, but you weren't tired yet. In fact, every hair on your body stood straight up in anxiety. You hadn't figured out why yet, but you were trying to ignore it—until your palms got clammy and you felt like you might pass out. You felt your face and it was hot to the touch, so you took one of the pills that the hospital sent you home with and laid back, hoping it would help soon.

By the time you found yourself calm, your phone was ringing. It was the first time Aaron had actually called you since he left.

"How're you feeling?" He offered no greeting, he immediately expressed his concern which told you how badly he missed you.

"I'm a lot better now. Thank you for the flowers," you wondered if he heard the smile in your voice, because you certainly felt your heart swell simply at the mention of them.

"Anything for you. I'm actually heading home, we finished things up quicker than anticipated. I'm hoping you'll still be on my couch by the time I get there," he purred, his voice much more seductive than he'd intended it to be.

"I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be," you'd been more than openly flirting with him since the two of you had started to get to know each other on a more serious level, and he loved every second of it; he was happy that you were just as interested in him.

"I'll grab dinner and you can find us something to watch," he acted like the two of you already lived together and it was just another Thursday coming home to you.

"It's a date," you chirped before you said your goodbyes and anticipated his return.

✨✨✨

I couldn't get home fast enough.

Pulling into the driveway knowing she was already there made me giddy, and now she had a key and could come and go as she pleased. I wouldn't have minded her spending every night in my bed, but I knew eventually she'd go back home and we'd have to start seeing each other when we had free time—but for now I had a week to spend with her, approved and finalized hours prior.

She met me at the door, wrapping me in a hug before I could even get the key in the door.

"Missed you," it was quiet but she'd said it, and I'd missed her more than she'd ever know; I hated having to leave her.

"I'm here now. I brought your favorite," I held up my bag for her to see and I filled her in on the case while we ate; I didn't give her many details and she understood why, listening intently anyway. She told me about her day out with Penelope and how she was trying to get to where she felt normal again. I didn't know how long it would take, but I'd stay by her side for any amount of time.

She was wearing a tank top with thin straps, most of her bruises faded significantly. Most of them had disappeared completely after the first couple of days, and I knew she was happy about that. I could tell by what she was wearing that she was starting to feel a little better about herself and I was thankful. I'd always be around to help boost her self esteem, but I wanted her to feel good in her own skin too.

"I'm excited to take you out, but I love nights like this with you," she didn't hide her smile as she sat down her to go box and looked at my lap, silently asking permission to climb into it. I moved anything that could be an obstacle out of her way and she was straddling me, her arms hooked around my neck.

"No one else I'd rather spend my nights with," she whispered, delivering a feather light kiss to my neck. I felt the goosebumps appear almost instantly, which only made her do it again. I shivered as her lips met my skin a second time, directly on the throbbing vein in my neck. My hands met the small of her back, her tank top ridden up slightly, exposing just enough skin to drive me mad.

"You want to know a secret?" She stopped long enough to look at me, nodding her head curiously.

"I've wished you were here everyday since I met you," I confessed, her eyes lingering on my lips as I spoke.

"That makes two of us. Surely you knew before now how I felt about you," I brought my hand to her face, and she leaned into my touch, a soft smile on her face.

"I had a pretty good idea, but I needed to be sure."

My lips met hers expectantly, the two of us so lost in each other that nothing else mattered except for her tongue in my mouth and my hands on her waist.

"Are you sure now?" She asked in a breathless whisper against my mouth, to which I nodded profusely; I didn't want to stop—I wanted to read her like a book, spread her open and take my time learning everything about her.

"Absolutely certain," I moaned into her mouth, her fingers dexterously working at the buttons of my shirt before she helped me shrug it off completely. Her fingertips slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and blazed hot against my skin, so I tossed my shirt aside. Her mouth peppered kisses across my chest and collarbone, leaving me writhing beneath her, wondering what her mouth would feel like everywhere else.

"So sexy," she said, her nails leaving streaks on my skin, marking me as hers—I was eager to belong to her, no one else even crossed my mind.

"You're perfect, everything about you," I loved all of her quirky traits and qualities, the little idiosyncrasies that made her special to me. I was convinced that no one would ever know me like she did, and I didn't want them to. She was the only person I'd considered letting in for a long time; I wouldn't want anyone else as long as she promised to stay.

She was swiftly working on my belt and the button to my pants, shoving them down to my ankles as she gave me the sweetest smile, toying with the waistband of my boxers. We were treading uncharted territory but I had already planned to give her every ounce of control—I wanted everything to be at her pace, so she didn't get uncomfortable.

"I want to touch you," her chin rested on my knee as she peered up at me, lips turned upwards the slightest, her cheeks pink. Her pupils were nearly blown out already and I hadn't even touched her yet. She was on her knees in front of me and I was too stunned to speak, I could only nod as she slid my boxers down and took my dick in her hands, stiff and throbbing for her. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted her until I came home to her and it was as if right here was where she always belonged. She was already more comfortable in my home than I'd ever allowed anyone to get, and I was ecstatic about it. I wanted her to feel safe, feel like as long as she was with me or at my home, nothing bad could happen to her.

Within seconds she'd plopped my dick in her mouth and I watched with wide eyes as she bobbed and gagged on me, saliva coating me and allowing me to slide easily into her mouth. My hips had a mind of their own as I guided my cock into the warmth of her throat, tears pricking her eyes as she nodded for more.

"Feels so good, been wanting this forever," I choked, her smile unmistakable even with my cock in her throat. It only made her take more of me, until she had nearly every inch of me stuffed in her mouth, her hand wrapped around the rest of my length. Her wrist worked in fluid motion with her mouth to send me spiraling—I felt myself finish deep in her throat with a groan, my hand rooted in her hair as she swallowed every last drop. She let my dick fall from her mouth, so I pulled up my boxers and pulled her into my lap before kissing her hard on the mouth.

"You make me so happy," I never wanted her to go—I hoped this would mean our time off would be spent together, and she'd be away from me as little as possible.

"That's all I ever wanted to do," she breathed, and I knew it was the truth. She'd always gone out of her way for me, and I tried to do the same for her. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of us that we always take care of each other, and now that was solidified by something stronger than being partners. We shared a special connection, one that I hadn't felt in such a long time that it was almost hard to catch myself once I knew I was falling. As soon as I knew she'd have me too, there was nothing to be worried about anymore. I knew without a shadow of a doubt where I stood with her, and it was more comforting than anything I'd ever felt.

"Hold on, I'm going to move you to the bed," I kicked out of my pants and carried her down the hall, laying her gently in the middle of the bed. She looked heavenly laid out in front of me, all I could do was scramble between her legs, admiring everything about her, from the way her pajamas fit on her hips to the curve of her breasts through the thin fabric of her tank top. It only took me a second to be hovering over top of her, my lips hungry against hers. As if she sensed my indecisiveness, she leaned up long enough to take off her tank top, letting me kiss her neck and chest, my hands reaching for her bra clasp. She helped me to get it unfastened before it hit the floor, my tongue swirling around her nipples. Her sweet little moans were like music to my ears as she wiggled against the mattress, desperate for my mouth in more than one place.

"Can I take these off?" I already had my fingers looped in the band of her pants, she just needed to tell me yes.

"Please," she pleaded, and in seconds I was dragging them down her hips, licking my lips at the sight of her nearly naked in my bed.

"You're exquisite. Thank you for trusting me like this. I won't make you regret it," truth be told, I'd do anything she asked for the rest of my life. I could easily picture my future with her, mapped out as clear as the moon in the sky.

"I know you won't," she was confident in her answer as I toyed with her through her panties, her brows pulling together instantly as soon as my fingers made contact with her clothed center. I'd been aching to touch her for so long that it almost felt surreal to finally be able to; I studied all of her curves, the swell of her breast, all the way to her legs. I drug her panties down her legs as slowly as I could manage, trying not to get ahead of myself when all I wanted to do was crash headfirst into her, give her everything I'd been holding back for the last year and a half.

✨✨✨

You were sure nothing on Earth could compare to the feeling of Aaron's lips wrapped around your clit like his life depended on giving you as many orgasms as you could handle. He was merciless; his tongue flicking your soaked bundle of nerves, your legs propped up on his shoulders so he could spread you open completely. You knew just by how he treated you that he'd be a selfless lover, and you'd been correct—he had no plans of stopping any time soon. His head rested on your upper thigh as he worked tirelessly to bring you more pleasure than you ever thought possible.

Now that you had him, you couldn't imagine sharing him ever again. You wanted to be the only one that experienced him at his most sensual; you had a hunch that he felt the same way, given that he'd completely surrendered to you, willing to do anything you asked him.

"Could never get tired of tasting you," he panted, his nose brushing your clit as he buried his face in your pussy, moaning into you without abandon. You weren't about to stop him, not when he looked more serene than ever, making your legs shake uncontrollably as your orgasm rattled through you. Your hands were rooted in his hair but only to ground yourself—he didn't need a guide, he knew exactly where you needed his mouth, his lips pressed gently to your clit, kissing it delicately.

"Feels so good," you managed to choke out, and he nodded in agreement, because he was enjoying it just as much as you were.

"Mhm. Feels like heaven every time you cum on my tongue," he'd long since abandoned his filter, filthier than you ever knew he could be. It was the sexiest thing you'd ever heard, his deep, nearly gravelly voice brought you more pleasure than you'd expected; you'd be soaked at the sound of him speaking alone.

You were hooked—simple as that.

No other man would ever be able to satisfy you the way that he was, and you knew it for a fact. No one else would take their time in learning your body like he did, experimenting until he discovered how you needed to be touched, and then doing everything in his power to make it incredible for you. It left your heart pounding and your brain reeling—you hoped he was here to stay, because you had no brakes now that you'd gotten started.

"You're perfect, Aaron," it was the only sentence you could form, and judging by the look on his face, he was happy to hear it. His lips curved into a stellar smile before he reattached his lips to your clit and sucked furiously, making your vision go blurry as your head hit the pillow.

"I was just thinking that exact same thing about you, sweetheart," he crawled up your body, leaving wet, sticky kisses as he traveled toward your mouth. His tongue felt divine against your flushed skin, goosebumps appearing shortly after. He met your mouth with haste, his tongue swirling around in your mouth deliciously as he used his knee to part your legs further.

"Please, Aaron," you could barely contain your excitement as he pressed into you at a snails pace, shivering as he sank further into you. You held your breath as he filled you, exhaling once he'd bottomed out completely and began to pump in and out of you, his hands on your body like you were the most precious piece of artwork he'd ever seen and he just needed to touch you or he might burst. You felt his desire for you over every inch of your body, radiating throughout the room as he looked into your eyes.

"I swear I'll never want anyone else. You just feel so good, baby," the term of endearment rolled so easily off of his tongue that you just knew he'd been dying to use it with you, it came too naturally to him. You captured his lips with yours, cupping his face as he made love to you for the first time. That was the only way you could describe it—it was tender and gentle and exactly what you needed from him, and he knew it.

"I'm all yours," you promised him, feeling the smile on his lips that appeared right after. You could feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach as his hips met yours at an agonizingly slow pace—it was sensual and steady, making you lose control quicker than you could register, your body going limp beneath his.

"That's it, sweetheart. I've got you, let it all go."

You'd never had a first time quite like this one; you were comfortable despite the fact that he'd never seen you naked, but you knew he adored you. It gave you a strange sense of familiarity, easing all of your nerves before they ever had time to surface. He was the most patient, loving man you'd had the privilege of meeting, and you were thankful that you had him in your life.

You'd never seen so much passion exuded from one man, but you weren't surprised. You knew deep down, past his stoic, stern exterior that his soft spot was you; you gave him a reason to show his sweet, sensitive side, and you were the only one lucky enough to experience it.

"I can't wait to give you all of me," he muttered against your lips, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his lip pulled between his teeth. You pressed sweet kisses to his neck, wrapping your arms around his broad frame to keep him close to you. You drug your nails across his back, feeling the muscles of his shoulder blades clench up at your touch. He filled you seconds later, finishing deep inside of you as his mouth crashed against yours in desperation. He stayed still, his forehead pressed to yours as the two of you tried to catch your breath.

"I'm obsessed with you," he broke the silence, making you smile from ear to ear as he gazed down at you. Your nose brushed his lightly before he kissed you, his hand brushing your hair away from your face so he could see all of you.

"I really hope you keep me around," you shot him a wink, a chuckle falling from his parted lips.

"I hope you understand that I'll want you, forever. It's always been you. I'd never even think about giving anyone else the time of day."

As if to show you he was serious, you felt his cock throb inside of you; he'd never moved, still buried deep between your thighs. You let out a barely audible whimper that had him stiff and needy in an instant.

"I really like the idea of forever with you," you'd barely had time to get the words out and he was sitting up on his knees, carefully placing your legs on his shoulders. You were folded up beneath him, able to watch him slip in and out of you, his thick cock pulsing with each slow stroke into your soaked center. He kissed your calf, his hands massaging your thighs, the rough, callused pads of his fingers kneading your sensitive flesh. It was a blissful combination, his hands on your body as he made himself at home inside of you. He sped things up a bit, hitting your g-spot at the perfect angle to have your back arching off the mattress.

"Such a good girl," his fingers met your chin, tilting your face upward to look at him before he found your hand and laced his fingers through yours. His gaze was penetrating and intimate as he brought you close to the edge once more, your eye struggling to stay open as you moaned his name. He loved every sound you made, a string of profanity falling from his lips, his eyes trained on his cock slipping out of you. You could tell he was getting close, drilling into you rapidly, the slamming of his hips into yours bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout his empty house. He came with a shudder, his eyes nearly rolling back, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.

"I hope you never get tired of me," you moved your legs so you could pull him forward, your lips on his. You could hear the insecurities in his voice although you were certain he was trying his best not to let it show. You brought your hand to his cheek, kissing him with all of the force you had, a moan escaping his lips as he held onto you for dear life. You'd never wanted anyone so badly, had such a strong connection and deep desire to belong to him.

"Never. You are everything I've ever wanted, Aaron. I'll never let you go. I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me this week. It means more to me than you'll ever know," you'd been going through so much mental turmoil, but Aaron made it all so much better. Just being around him calmed your darkest fears, knowing you were safe and he'd protect you from anything.

"You don't have to thank me. I want to take care of you every way that I can. Truthfully, I'll be sad to see you go. I'm already so used to having you around, and I love every second that you're here."

He slid out of you, finding a towel to clean you up before he joined you in the bed, pulling the covers over your naked bodies. You didn't bother getting dressed; you were cozy.

"Being alone is really hard for me right now. I missed you so much when you were gone," the days had felt like an eternity away from him, the seconds passing by slower than usual. You'd been so happy to have him back that you counted the hours until he'd returned.

"You have a key now, you can come and go as you please. You never have to be alone anymore, not if I'm around."

You cooked dinner together, eating at the table instead of his bed made things a bit more romantic than usual, with the two of you seated across from each other, your legs touching beneath the table. It was sweet, the two of you talking long after you’d finished your meal. You helped him with the dishes, which he tried to protest, but you did it anyway, the two of you stood at the sink like a married couple cleaning before you settled down for the night.

You fell asleep like a rock with him by your side, thinking you’d doze into peaceful slumber; you couldn’t have been more wrong.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in the back of a rickety pick up truck, bouncing against the cool metal of the floor. Wherever you were was cold—wet. You could smell the mist, invading your nostrils, making you get choked up. You began to panic when you realized you were gagged, unable to scream, or cry properly. You struggled to breathe, trying desperately to break free from whatever held you captive.

Your thoughts automatically flitted to Hotch, who’d been with you mere hours prior. You hoped he was okay, wherever he was. You tried to move around, but with your hands and feet tied, it was nearly impossible. You were stuck.

As if by a miracle, you could hear Derek’s voice from above, shouting your name. They were walking right over top of whatever you were in. You tried to move again, this time knocking something off of a nearby table. Movement ceased above you before their footsteps disappeared completely. You listened to them look for hours before they finally gave up their search, leaving you stranded. You heard the crunch of every individual tire as they drove away, the tears hot on your face as you accepted your fate.

“Shhh, you’re alright. I’ve got you,” you woke up with your limbs flailing, your cheeks wet. You were in Aaron’s arms, secured by his strong grip. You buried your face in his shirt as you tried to shake the nightmare from your mind. Aaron held you close, kissing your head, a soothing hand on your back.

“I was so scared,” you choked, and he nodded in understanding, cradling your head so he could bring you closer.

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you that it gets easier, but the important thing to remember is that I’m always here for you, no matter what. I won’t let anything else hurt you,” he kissed your cheek, his thumb brushing a stray tear away before it could drop onto your shirt.

You wrapped your arms around him, wanting to stay smushed into his chest for a little while longer, as long as he’d let you. He had an idea, bringing you to mount his lap, your head laying against his chest, just like that very first night. You fell asleep on top of him, no longer worried about what horrors might manifest once you closed your eyes—as long as you were with him, your worries seemed a million miles away.

✨✨✨

I admired the way she could stay put all night long without moving, because I woke up to her hair tickling my neck; I was just happy to have her to wake up to. I let her sleep, brushing her hair back so I could look at her face. Her mouth open the tiniest sliver, every muscle in her face relaxed, her breathing steady. She’d been restless that night, talking and thrashing in her sleep, but once she finally settled down some, she slept soundly. My hands were on the small of her back, beneath her shirt, her skin warm against my palms. My thumbs barely brushed her sides but it was enough to have her giggling sleepily, nuzzling into my neck as her eyes fluttered open.

“Tickles,” she muttered against me, her lips grazing my neck. I didn’t try to hide the shiver that came immediately after, which lead to her doing it again. I knew she could feel my dick growing stiff under her waist, pressed snug against her center. In perfect timing, she rolled her hips against me, our underwear the only barrier between us.

“Can I ride you?” Her voice was the softest thing I’d ever heard, hushed and still slightly raspy from sleep. I gave her an enthusiastic nod as she tugged off her underwear and slid mine down enough to free me from my boxers before she took my cock in her hand and lined herself up with me, peering down at me as she sank onto my length. It was the first time she’d ever taken charge and done the work, so I sat back and watched in awe as she used me, expertly working my length until we were both a sweaty, panting mess. It was lazy and fulfilling, the light barely creeping in through the curtains and the neighborhood still quiet on the rest of the block.

Her hips rolled against me in the most incredible way, my dick deep inside of her as she leaned forward and bounced on my dick, making me grip her thighs for support. She came undone, whimpering my name as she rode out her high, but I wasn’t far behind her; her mouth met mine and I filled her, holding her hips in place so she could take every drop. I loved being able to give myself to her, that she’d allow me to have her body in such a sacred way.

“I could never get tired of this,” I told her as she slipped off of me, my first instinct to get up and clean her off so she didn’t have to move just yet.

“Does this mean I’m your girlfriend?” We hadn’t explicitly had a conversation about it, but I figured it would come up sooner rather than later. She felt like so much more than my girlfriend; she felt like the woman I’d be growing and sharing a life with, and there was no label for that.

“You’re so much more than just my girlfriend—you’re my person. You’re my better half.”

She climbed out of bed so she could come give me a hug, her arms tight around me. She was the most special part of my life, and now that I had her I’d do anything to keep her. I didn’t want to know a life without her ever again.

“You’re the better half,” she shot back teasingly, and I was thrilled to see her getting back to her usual, playful self. I rolled my eyes at her, touching my lips to her forehead.

“Still feel up for going out with me tonight? I want to take you to dinner,” she nodded into my chest, peppering it with kisses.

“I’d go anywhere with you,” she assured me, pulling me back into the bed so we could waste the rest of the day wrapped up in each other.

Taglist: @wheelsupkels @periodtcevans

[ivarthebadbitch]

Your Hell or mine

(a little post 1x8 surprise for @chocolatecheesecake, thanks for indulging me)

Her enemy has finally chosen to reveal himself. In truth, Freydis Eriksdotter has felt his eyes on her ever since fleeing Kattegat, mile after lonely mile, but he has waited until the sun has already sunk below the horizon and she and Harald finally stopped make camp for the night—she might have risked continuing a little further, but Harald was in no condition to do so. He had let her peel away the layers of bloodstained bandages to inspect her clumsy stitches, and when she was done she replaced the bandages and informed him that she would take the first watch. He sank to the ground and he was asleep within minutes.

Now an icy wind whips through the trees and she suppresses a shiver. The days are growing short, and even the small campfire provides scant warmth. She misses the comforts she had in Kattegat, a bed lined with thick furs, fresh hot bread in the mornings, scented baths in a big copper tub. It made her soft, she thinks. It weakened her in some way. But she has learned her lesson and learned it well. She can thank him for that.

“Show yourself,” Freydis says to the darkness. She does not need to look up to know that he is here. She slides herself carefully in front of Harald, who does not stir, and tightens her grip on her dagger, though against this enemy it will do her no good. She does not need to look. She looks anyway.

“He will leave you,” Jarl Kare says. He sits cross legged on the ground across from her with his hood drawn over his head. His eyes are black with malice. “He says he loves you, he may even believe it, but one day you will open your eyes and find he has left you without even looking back. You will see.”

“Dead man, do not speak,” she warns him. “You tell only lies.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I tell you the truths you are afraid to hear.”

“What, then, have you come to tell me?” she demands. “Say what you must say and leave me in peace. Go back to your Christian Hell, as that is where you belong.”

His stillness unsettles her. He does not look away, he does not blink. “When I was about your age, I killed a man,” he says. “A stranger, a pagan; he was working alone in his fields. It was my first time. It was natural, like breathing. I sat there for a while with his blood on my hands and prayed to God and He cleansed me. You know this feeling, as you are like me.”

She glowers at him from across the campfire. There is a trickle of dark blood seeping from the long cut along his neck. His blood still stains her hair and her armor. She stinks of him. Before she left Greenland, she had never killed a man. Now she has killed many. She had once thought it would be a difficult thing, to kill a man—but when she sank her blade into the chest of the man who raped her, or squeezed the breath out of the man who attacked her friends, or struck Kare’s head from his neck with a single blow—she had not hesitated, nor felt a shred of remorse afterwards. Some part of her had not wanted to stop.

(She is her father’s child, more than Leif, and she always has been: her father’s daughter, her father’s monster. She carries him with her wherever she goes, as surely as she carries the scar on her back.)

“I am nothing like you,” she snarls. “You slaughtered innocents, as only cowards do. The people and the priests at Uppsala were living there peacefully. They had done you no harm.”

He laughs. It is an ugly sound. “Done no harm?” he repeats. “How little you know of the world. How little you understand.”

“I understand you well enough!”

Kare chuckles. “One day, you will. We will meet again in Hell, yours or mine, and then you will see. Your time will come.”

Behind her, Harald stirs in his sleep and lets out a small moan. She glances at him and forces herself to unclench her jaw. When she looks back, her enemy is gone; no trace of him remains.

“Freydis?” Harald murmurs tiredly. “Is it my turn to take the watch?”

She reaches out and runs her hand along his beard. His skin is burning with fever. “No,” she tells him. “Sleep for a while longer.”

He lets out a soft groan and obediently closes his eyes. “Was someone there?” he mumbles.

“Only a dead man whose time has come.”

Freydis holds her hands out in front of the dying campfire and waits. Kare does not return: his headless corpse rots quietly in Kattegat. Tomorrow she and Harald must rise early and ride hard again. Tomorrow she must plan her revenge. The wind whistles through the leaves; the birds are silent in the branches overhead. If the gods are in this place, she cannot feel them. After a little while, she pulls her cloak around herself, stamps out the fire, and leaves them all in the dark.

[bisognamorire]

Dear A.,

Happy Saturday!

I feel a bit stupid and pathetic to leave these messages here for you, because for all I know you might not even look at my blog. At least thats what I remember you telling me in a letter. I still hope that they might reach you somehow, somewhen. I had to think of how you agreed to me as we drove to Grasmere, ‘it was so horrible when we didn’t speak last year’. Why did it happen again?

Why, why, why.

Last week, after getting your message and realising I didn’t have the option to send my ‘goodbye’ message to you and wondering why you avoided using the word ‘love’ in regards to me and instead used ‘care’, I became so unwell that I needed desperately to be around people and keep myself from the need to harm myself.

I visited Sharon every day a few hours in the evening or afternoon. At some point she told me that her boyfriend was complaining about me visiting them and that I was annoying him by just seeming ‘down’ and that shes scared he might break up with her because I need so much support. I felt awful. Like I am unwanted wherever I turn to and that I cause harm everywhere. I told Sh. that I wouldn’t visit anymore out of fear that i might endanger her relationship but also out of feeling unwelcome. Seemingly unhappy with that arrangement too, Sh. started berating me for an hour. I want to give you a selection of things she concluded about me:

1. it is my own fault that I don’t have any friends because of ‘how’ i am

2. i don’t even want/ try to be not-depressed

3. the 10 years I’ve been to therapy in total were completely useless because in her opinion I have not progressed an inch

4. I am not making any effort to live ‘independently’ ((despite me literally doing that))

I asked her at least three times to leave my flat while she was ranting to me, but she refused and kept hurting me with those words. My brain switched into dissociation mode then.

People always speak of how we need to destigmatize the mentally ill etc. yet when I show symptoms of being depressed, all my relatives and friends are blowing in the wind. Seems like its more an ideal they’d like to uphold and not a reality that they want to actually bear. people always reveal themselves with their actions.

This week I tried to meet with the few friends I have. Some of those meetings helped me distract myself for a while with mindless chatter and others wounded me more, for example, with Fatma, who treated me harshly and basically kicked me out of her home. I think she didn’t do it out of bad intent. She is just very stressed because of always being at work. I wonder why so many people don't realise that their jobs are killing their joy in life and make them so irritated that they treat everyone around them like shit and why they don’t take action against it. But still, I’ve had enough of people kicking me out of their lives and homes.

Apart from all these things (as you can see, the people around me are little comfort to me) I bought a few tools and paints to create my Yamato (One Piece) cosplay. So, now, when I am not at work, I play my video game ‘Lies of P’ (I’m at that boss fight against Fuoco) or to tinker on the cosplay or take naps. It is good to occupy my mind by trying to figure out how to create things for the cosplay. I don’t get into repetitive thoughts about you and everything when I am doing that.

The other day I formed Yamato’s horns out of Foam Clay.

Yesterday I spray painted them with a layer of liquid plastic and then coloured them with Acrylics.

Since Yamato is a demon, he was shackled but he broke free at some point. I also made his shackles out of EVA foam and I will hopefully paint them today after work.

I miss you horribly and I wish I could cry and weep about your decision to not be in my life anymore or have any part of me in yours. But due to dissociation, I can’t cry these days. I just feel like this empty black hole that threatens to even swallow up itself if I don’t keep my mind preoccupied.

I just sit and stare at the ceiling. I go over your last message to me over and over in my mind and get into panic attacks when I try to think of what you’re doing, how you’re doing because I realise we’ve never not spoken in such a long time and I don’t know anything about you anymore. Most of the time this takes up so much energy of me, that in the end I just rot in bed.

I wish I could know how you’re doing and what's going on in your life, too. Before you asked me not to, I would check your blog but there wasn’t really much that would give anything away and since I also misunderstood the meaning of that greek song (did I really?) I wonder what else I might misunderstand, even if there is any hint. When I don’t see anything I get very disappointed and feel very hurt, so I try not to check it anymore but I feel desperate to. I sometimes wonder how you don't have the same urge to reach out to me and know how I am etc. and it hurts too.

I want to say ‘don’t be a stranger’, and I try not to be one to you by writing these and I wish you’d also not be one to me.

Your Sabo, who loves you.

[nerdyafwriting]

MatchaKittenBlossom I wrote for Kojiro's birthday!

Summary: Adam gifts Matchablossom cat-hybrid Miya. Miya is a good kitty.

Rated E

cw: underage, dubcon, heat cycles, power imbalance, mpreg, breeding, ambiguous relationships

Not your cup of tea? Look no further

—☆—☆—☆—

If there was one skill Kojiro was blessed with, it's having a good time. His birthday is certainly no exception. He's always willing to go wherever the flow takes him—since that's the key ingredient of a good time—so when he sees Adam across the bar from where he and Kaoru are,he doesn't immediately turn tail and make a quick escape even though Kaoru is tugging at his sleeve, urging him away from the counter where he's waiting for his celebratory birthday shot.

It's a wonder Ainosuke even found them. They've been bar hopping all night, getting the birthday freebies they could before moving on to the next place.

But whether it's a cruel act of fate or a calculated plot doesn't change the fact that Ainosuke is walking toward them faster than they can get away at this point.

"What do you want?" Kaoru snaps, though he's now clinging to Kojiro's sleeve as if preparing to use him as a human shield if needed.

Kojiro is less bothered, grabbing his free shot from the bartender and gulping it down before acknowledging the other man's presence.

"If you came over to mooch on our calamari, you're too late," Kojiro tells him, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Ainosuke when he notices something in his hands. He can't tell what it is, but he's not sure he wants to know.

"I'm only accepting presents I can consume this year," Kojiro says, turning on his heel, laying his palm on Kaoru's lower back to guide him toward the door.

"If you're looking for something delicious, I believe I've found the gift that keeps on giving," Ainosuke announces.

It pisses Kojiro off that he doesn't seem at all deterred, but he turns around despite his better judgment.

And oh, fuck. He should have trusted that judgement.

Ainosuke moved aside to reveal that the item in his hand was a leash. And not just any leash.

A leash that connected to the most gorgeous little cat hybrid Kojiro had ever seen. The kid smelled like an ice cream shop, sweet and rich. The kind of scent you want to follow until you find the source.

"Just look at him," Ainosuke says with what Kojiro knows is mock sympathy as he strokes a hand through the hybrid's hair and he cringes under the touch. "Think what you could do with a little pet like this."

Kojiro is mad now, mad enough to tear the leash from Ainosuke's hand.

"If it gets him away from you, I guess he's going home with us," Kojiro says, keeping hold of the leash as the hybrid moves to follow him. When he catches Kaoru's eyes, he sees the familiar fear he can always find there when Ainosuke is involved. "Let's get out of here."

Kojiro doesn't turn back to see Ainosuke's sly smile, and he misses the way the cat hybrid blows the man a kiss while he and Kaoru argue about whose place to go to.

When they get back to Kaoru's place, the first thing Kojiro does is open a bottle, filling a wine glass much more than he would it he were working.

"I didn't invite you here to drink all my booze," Kaoru argues, stealing the bottle away and drinking directly from it directly.

"I want some," the cat hybrid whines, reaching for the bottle, which Kaoru holds just out of his reach, eyeing him critically.

"You're certainly not old enough for this," Kaoru argues, taking another drink as he walks to the fridge to pull out a bottle of orange juice.

"Feed your stray, Kojiro," he tells him, pushing the bottle across the counter in his direction.

"Don't be jealous, Mommy," the cat-hybrid says, stepping in closer so he can wind his tail around Kaoru's leg. "I won't get in the way of your special alone time with Daddy."

Kaoru seriously doubted that, pushing the wandering tail away and stepping defensively close to Kojiro, blinking up at him with pleading eyes.

It was no secret that Kaoru had been planning a special surprise for this day, and he wasn't at all keen on allowing Ainosuke to spoil it.

For as long as they'd been together, Kaoru had always bottomed.

They fit together so naturally like that—with Kaoru riding Kojiro's cock or Kojiro taking him on his knees. They'd tried every position together, at least in that particular arrangement.

But under his clothes, Kaoru was hiding a surprise that would change all of that.

The last four weeks since he'd gotten a frenum piercing had been agony. He'd gotten it early enough that if he needed more time to heal, he would still make it in time for Kojiro's birthday.

But as a result, he'd been averting Kojiro's attempts to seduce him. Which had only gotten harder the longer he went without it.

When his piercing had healed as early as scheduled, he'd nearly given in right away.

Since he'd waited, it was only that much more important that they finally get to indulge together.

Kaoru's thoughts broke with the glass crashing to the floor in front of him.

The cat hybrid crossed his arms, looking away as if the glass he'd just pushed to the floor offended him.

"I want milk," he whined, leaving a very stunned Kojiro to sigh and clean up the mess.

"We don't have any milk," Kojiro said, tossing the broken glass in the trash.

"I might have left some cream here though," he said, walking to the refrigerator to check.

"Don't encourage him!" Kaoru argued, grabbing Kojiro's bicep and pulling him away from the kitchen.

"I haven't given you my gift yet," Kaoru murmured, his hand smoothing over the muscle of Kojiro's arm. "I'm sure the kitten can take care of himself," he said, his gaze shifting to shoot a threatening glare at him.

"It's Miya," he corrected, swinging open the refrigerator.

Little did Kaoru know, under his clothes, Kojiro was hiding a surprise of his own. He clenched around the plug buried inside him, feeling lube leak out around it as his muscles tightened. His pants were beginning to soak through, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"You can take care of yourself, right Miya?" Kojiro asked, already walking toward the door to the bedroom. "There's a spare futon against the wall," he showed him, avoiding bending over so he didn't reveal the wet spot at the seat of his pants.

Kaoru didn't wait to make sure Miya was settled before grabbing Kojiro's wrist and tugging him toward the bedroom.

Kojiro knew he looked like a hybrid in heat like this, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he stumbled behind Kaoru, letting him push him to the bed.

Kaoru looked down at the lower half of his body before glancing back up at Kojiro, who was sprawled on the massive bed, leaning up on his elbows with red cheeks and spread legs.

He cursed under his breath, glancing down again. "Undress yourself," Kaoru commanded, walking toward the bathroom. "There's a blindfold for you on the nightstand. I expect to find you wearing nothing else, lying on your back just like that when I return." Kaoru excused himself to the bathroom to clean his piercing.

Kojiro's mind felt hazy as he stripped off the last article of clothing, sliding the blindfold over his eyes and returning to his position. His breathing was the only sound filling the room, aside from the occasional squelch as he tightened around the toy.

He'd felt like this before, when Kaoru took his time intricately tying knots, fully incapacitating him so he could take what he wanted. He'd fucked himself on Kojiro's cock at every angle, not letting him cum until he'd reached his own climax at least four times.

It didn't feel entirely dissimilar at all as Kojiro finally heard the door hinges squeak as it opened, felt a warm weight settling on his lap. Hands spread, tracing the muscles of his chest with two fingers while the other hand moved between his legs, jerking him a few times.

Kaoru rarely bothered with that when he was already so hard, but maybe that was the reason for the blindfold—to make this seem like it was someone else.

"Fuck, baby, that's so good," he groaned as a warm heat engulfed his cock. His hands moved up to grip Kaoru's hips.

Only for his hands to tighten around a much smaller waist than he was expecting. Kojiro ripped off the blindfold, blinking as he adjusted to the light only to find that it wasn't Kaoru's hips he was gripping. Since Kaoru was standing across the room with his jaw and eyes wide.

Kaoru was seething as he returned, finding Miya sitting confidently in his boyfriend's lap, arching his spine as he bounced.

As hard as he was obviously trying to, Kojiro couldn't hide what this was doing to him. Even as he tried to pull Miya away, his brow was scrunched to hide the look of pleasure on his face.

Kaoru rolled his eyes. As upsetting as it was, he wasn't about to be the one denying Kojiro what he wanted on his birthday.

Even if what he wanted was this slutty little kitten.

If the little brat was around, he might as well make himself useful.

Besides, with Miya's body in the way, it was even easier to distract from what Kaoru was hiding.

"Just leave him be," Kaoru said with a sigh, waving a hand indifferently as he lined himself up between Kojiro's legs.

As he pushed his legs up and out of the way, a glimmering sparkle caught his eye.

"What's this?" Kaoru asked, brushing his knuckles over the plug, sending Kojiro's hips up and thrusting into Miya as he nudged the toy. "Did you get yourself ready for me? So considerate..."

When Kaoru twisted the plug, the cat hybrid had to grip Kojiro's knees to hold himself upright as the powerful man twitched beneath him, whining in protest.

Their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, and Kaoru wondered if he looked as natural riding Kojiro's cock like Miya was. Did it matter that he couldn't make slick that dripped down Kojiro's perineum?

Kaoru found himself so caught up in his thoughts, he was startled out of them when Kojiro's thighs squeezed around him.

"Please..." Kojiro whined, shaking Kaoru back to reality. He stopped toying with the plug, instead slowly removing it.

When the end finally popped out, he could hear Kojiro's sigh of relief. Kaoru smirked.

"You haven't even taken me yet," Kaoru reminded him, his fingers trailing along the insides of Kojiro's thighs as he spread them apart, moving in closer.

Kaoru hadn't realized how wound up he was watching his husband fuck a little kitten until he gripped his cock, a dribble of precum trickling down across his fingers.

"Unless you're too much of a chicken for it," he added with a sly smile, resting his chin on Miya's shoulder so he could catch his boyfriend's gaze.

A flicker of thought crossed Kojiro's features before his brows creased and he shook his head. "As if!"

As much as Kaoru wanted to stubbornly deny him since it was clear that Kojiro could finish like this, there was no denying they were both ready for more. Kaoru's cock throbbed in his hand as he brushed his fingers over Kojiro's hole.

Gathering some of the slick on his fingertips, he pushed his middle finger in, drawing out a throaty moan from Kojiro. He drew his finger back, dragging it across Kojiro's walls until he found the spot that had him gasping.

"Kaoru...!" He cried in warning.

"Ah, yes...!" Miya whimpered, grinding down to meet the thrust of Kojiro's hips. "Breed me, please...!"

Kaoru's eyes widened as he watched a trail of cum dribble out from where their bodies met, pooling in Kaoru's hand.

"Right there?" Kaoru asked, pressing the spot again and smirking in satisfaction as he felt Kojiro twitch with overstimulation. "If you can barely take this, how are you going to take my cock?"

"I can—fuck—" Kojiro's protest was cut off by the joint pleasure of Miya dropping down on his cock as Kaoru pressed against his prostate. "I can take it...!"

Kaoru grinned. Even though he was forced to share this moment with someone else, he had to admit he was impressed with the hybrid's skill. Considering he was just a kitten and all.

"If you say so..." Kaoru sighed, smearing slick across his cock. Kojiro was more eager than he was stretched, but if it was too much, it wasn't Kaoru's fault.

Besides, it just made it that much better when his piercings dragged along Kojiro's soft skin.

Kaoru's mind blanked at he bottomed out, his mouth falling open in a broken curse.

"You're perfect, Kojiro," he gasped out, gripping Miya's hips for stability. If the kitten was going to come between them, the least he could do is be useful.

"Wha...?" Kojiro asked, his voice fucked out and hoarse from his moans. "Kaoru, did you...?" He didn't need to finish the sentence for Kaoru to know exactly what he was asking.

With a triumphant smirk, Kaoru pulled his hips back, ensuring the sensation was undeniable.

"If you're asking if I got a new piercing, the answer is yes," he said, raising a brow at Kojiro where he caught his eyes over Miya's shoulder. "I only wanted to surprise you."

Kojiro's mouth fell open, his eyes rolling back in his head as Kaoru pushed in again. "Fuck—we're talking about this later...!" Kojiro said, signaling the end of the conversation.

From there, the three of them fell into a rhythm, their bodies moving on their own as they each chased their pleasure.

Kojiro was the first to cum, his moan cut off by Miya moving from his wilting cock to grind against his mouth.

The view Kaoru had of the scene was debauched: Kojiro's own cum dripping down his chin as his tongue filled Miya's pussy, drinking down the mess he'd made.

Kaoru grabbed Kojiro's hips, his thrusts growing faster as Miya's whines climbed. He knew it wouldn't be long now. Not with the way Kojiro was sucking on his swollen clit, his fingers wrapping around the base of his tail.

None of it was what Kaoru had imagined when he'd planned this night. And he usually hated to see his plans fall apart. Somehow, as Kaoru's vision went white and Miya's screams reached a piercing height, everything felt completely perfect.

The weeks after Kojiro's birthday, everything seemed to return to normal.

Well, almost everything.

Kaoru sat at his usual spot at the bar, teasing Kojiro for the splatter of sauce on his chin. He had just reached out to wipe it away with a fingertip when a familiar voice filled the room.

"It's a good thing you have someone to clean up your messes," Ainosuke said, addressing Kojiro as he leaned a hip against the counter next to Kaoru. "Perhaps he can help you with this one too."

He wrapped Miya's leash around his hand to shorten it, pulling him within view. If the hybrid hadn't been so small already, it wouldn't have been obvious to Kojiro or Kaoru that his little tummy had rounded out.

If they hadn't seen him naked just a few short weeks before, they might have been able to dismiss it as baby fat.

Instead, Kojiro and Kaoru exchanged a nervous glance, both of them knowing that the little hybrid was, in fact, pregnant.

[jovialkingdomlover]

Is GioFilms Currently Dating Anyone.

We’ll take a look at who Oliver Tree is dating right now, who he’s dated prior to now, Oliver Tree’s girlfriend, and his dating historical past forward. Unlike native brides, overseas ladies search for matches amongst American guys. You want to look good and smell nice, but what outfit suits the bill with out being too sexy, too dressy or too casual? Yes, I feel like I've to give them what they need. And that features all the pieces from the type of music you wish to whether or not you have kids. נערות ליווי בראשון לציוןAim for open-ended questions, the kind that requires more than a yes or no reply, and you'll find yourselves talking about all the things from work to films to wherever the conversational wind blows. You want to verify that you're comfortable with the type of particular person that you are dating. Younger women searching for older under 35, most of them struggling within the early a part of their profession however want to live a rich life immediately with the help of older rich males. Philip Labonte, like most celebrities, prefers to maintain his private and love life non-public, so test again typically as we'll continue so as to add new dating information and rumors to this web page.

In 132 days, King Bach will turn 34 years previous. In 323 days, Luke Singletary will flip 17 years old. Not solely will it present the other person you are comfortable to see him or her (regardless of whether or not this can be a blind date), it additionally exhibits open and friendly qualities -- perfect for a primary date. Are you attempting to take care of a relaxed perspective throughout your date? If persons are going to stay on these apps to seek out dates, are there ways to mitigate the grind? While going to a live performance or film -- or even skydiving -- might be a lot of fun, a lot of these actions tend not to make the most effective first dates. While caffeine could make you more anxious -- it raises the stress hormone cortisol -- tea has the alternative effect. The actress, who has been in “Viking,” “Once Upon A Time,” and “Descendant,” is 5ft 6inches tall, but extra importantly, she has risen to prominence in her work. Be trustworthy about who you are, what you do, what you want, all of it. Who has Mopi dated in the past?

How many relationships did Todrick Hall have previously? Do you might have directions to the restaurant? Also, consider that you're new to her, so plan a primary date that's intimate, but not too intimate -- a cozy nook desk in a restaurant is a greater alternative than making dinner for her in your house. We've compiled 10 first date ideas for both women and men, so let's get began with choosing a primary date exercise. Group journey is also a popular activity on the Stitch webpage. Planning a date around an exercise that doesn't enable for conversation will not show you how to study anything, except that your date likes butter on her popcorn or is actually into the native music scene. Fenamore, Laura. "Confidence, Casualness and Care: The Three C's For Date One." eHarmony. But what we are able to take away from that is that there are numerous single Americans, and a good proportion of them are swimming round searching for a date. Well, we might not have the solutions to all your burning first-date prep questions, but we did take a stab at the one query that must be answered: What do we do? Well, then congratulations- you've found yourself someone special enough value meeting outside this app…

Instead, concentrate on making your date feel special. There are folks who have been known as inactive because they like to wait for the proper person to return along moderately than actively on the lookout for folks to this point. Your first few dates are all about getting to know another particular person. It's best for mature singles on the lookout for serious as well as informal dates. Remember: First dates are usually not the time to speak about exes. Note: Time is expressed in seconds, besides in any other case specified. Offer a hug or a kiss, and let your date know that you simply had a fantastic time and also you'd like to do it once more. Listen to what your date is saying, but also pay attention to your personal physique language. Even if there are not any sparks, be courteous, listen to the conversation and provide a goodnight handshake. Most of the journal is free to browse, even without a membership and is nice for folks of all ages. I really feel obliged to stay the whole dinner, even if it's awful. I really feel obliged, however I do not act on it. It relies on how I really feel for the time being. I solely really feel obliged to be polite and say thank you!

[huntinghags]

4. The Price of Glory, a Tale of Bakar Muru

The taste of bile mixed with ale that rose in Bakar’s throat would ensure that last night’s revels would be the end of his drinking for many a moon… at least if he lived to see another eve. His gloved fingers pressed hard against the gaping slashes that decorated his side in macabre stripes, a futile effort to staunch the flow of blood that was making his head swim. It had only taken moments for Bakar to realize he had been nothing but a fool to select an Annis hag as his first bill. How good it had felt to gloat before the other boys that he had claimed the most dangerous mark. He wondered grimly if the other boys he had beaten to the hunt board were likewise bleeding out in whatever miserable corner of the region they had set off to in search of glory.

The bravado seemed so idiotic now, as he cowered in a small alcove of his adversary’s lair trying to come up with a plan before she found him and finished the job. A feast to celebrate the hunters to be, the six of them had gotten drunk on ale and pride. They had made light of the task they would set out for at dawn, and how they would relish in the kill of their first hag. The older hunters must have known how gruesome it would be, yet they had said nothing. They had raised their steins and laughed with the rest of them. Bakar wondered if they were simply to jaded to care anymore… or perhaps they found some sort of sick humor in the act of sending foolhardy boys to die in some twisted trial of survival of the fittest. He wondered if they’d placed bets on how many of them would return.

The wind had left his sails as soon as he’d seen the first signs of the Annis hag’s work. Bones of infants were strewn like cobbles. Corpses of those who had been flayed or crucified had been left like grim way markers. His enemy was one that delighted in the slow slaughter of the young and innocent. He had tried to let his heart burn with rage, but only a rising fear had filled it. It had escalated to full terror when he’d beheld the size of his foe. She had towered above him, brandishing iron claws the length of his forearm, and an expression of pure wickedness. Baba Nostra had laughed in a way that chilled him to his core as she gazed upon him. They both knew in that moment that he was not fit for the task.

Mortal strength could not contend with the awful power of the unseelie, it had taken one blow of her claws to knock his blade aside, and then she had used the next to tear his flesh into ribbons. He fled, struggling not to slip on his own blood. The hunter had become the hunted. Baba Nostra stalked him through the halls will deliberate slowness, her iron nails scraping along the stone walls. The sound grew closer, setting his teeth on edge. Bakar had taken the deepest breaths he could manage, willing his pulse to slow enough for him to think. The hag would prolong his suffering… he would have to use that to best her, it would be his only advantage. He heaved himself up, leaning heavily against his longsword. He withdrew a dagger, deftly holding it so that it was concealed behind his wrist. He would only have one chance to sell his ruse.

“There you are feeble pup. Let me hear you sing sweetly again.” The hag had drawled, advancing leisurely. Bakar lifted his longsword to ready in one hand, his side screaming has he did. Baba Nostra gave him a bored look, and with a flick of her fingers iron spikes sprouted from the ground, impaling his sword arm, and locking him in place. He screamed so loudly his own ears rang, and barely heard his sword as it clattered to the ground.

“What a beautiful song you have.” She crooned, drawing so close now that he could smell her fetid stench. She reached out and caressed his face, her claws leaving angry red scrapes wherever they met his flesh. Baba Nostra let one wicked finger rest beneath his eye, tapping his cheek.

“A fine gemstone this will make, perhaps it will adorn the necklace of some unlucky lord. The best ones are made from fresh stock, you know.” With each word she brought her nails closer, until they began to dig into the socket. Bakar thrashed and shrieked, trying to hold onto any scrap of his wit and patience through the pain as she slowly extracted his eye. She leaned in, leveling her gaze to his, a gloating expression plastered on her face. It was replaced with one of shock as Bakar used his free hand to lodge the dagger he'd concealed beneath her chin and force it up into her head. The hag staggered, spitting up a black blood that stung like acid, and then she fell in a heap.

Using the last of his adrenaline, Bakar had ripped his arm free of the spikes. He was losing blood, from his eye, his arm, and his side--- far too much of it. None of the bandages or herbs he’d brought would staunch it, and so he gathered what little strength he still had to summon fire. He pressed his hand first to his gaping socket, nearly losing consciousness from the pain as he cauterized it. Wheezing, he repeated the process for the other two wounds before slipping into darkness.

When he’d woken, hours later, he had taken his trophy: the head of Baba Nostra, lopped off with his long sword in messy, tired chops. He felt no pride in it, in fact he’d felt nothing but numb shock as he made his voyage back. Bakar let the head fall at his master’s feet, his one eye staring at it on the ground, not able to bear meeting the eyes at the man who had allowed him to go on such a quest. He asked, in a voice hoarse from screams, if any of the others had returned. Musa was the only one at the time of his asking, and it would remain so.

When they were given their hunter’s amulets, Bakar had thought that it was the heaviest piece of metal he’d ever had in his hand. The rectangular coin was barely a knuckle in length, but it held the weight of the burden that had come with earning it, and the weight of the four others who had not returned to claim theirs. Musa and the older hunters drank and celebrated for a week, exaggerating the tales of his deed and adding more outlandish details in every telling. Bakar was silent, he drank nothing...said nothing. The story of how he felled Baba Nostra would not be told until years later. When the tale finally came from his lips, it would be as one of caution against the seeking of glory, for none had told him what it would cost.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Surf’s Up! (Linked Universe story)

@bokettochild I am honestly surprised I did, in fact, get this written before midnight lol. Anyway, enjoy! :)

Summary: When the Chain settles in early, Legend seeks out some peace and instead ends up having a very eventful evening. Because where Wild’s concerned, nothing can be peaceful... especially when you throw Sky and Warriors into the mix. Fluff, fun, and chaos with the knights and the veteran.

The clouds created an overcast, shrouding the world below in dull light. A cold chill blew through the trees, blowing what remained of the dead leaves off branches and onto the ground in cascades of dull brown. Legend absentmindedly stepped on a few, listening to them crunch under his boots. He kicked a rock off the beaten path, watching his breath materialize in front of him in a cloud of mist.

 The group had set up camp early in the afternoon. With no monster sightings and a majority of the beasts eliminated, they were winding down in this particular era. It was nice, but it was almost too quiet. It made the veteran uneasy. He didn’t like not having a clear goal, and nothing about this adventure was clear.

 He wished they had something to work with. A particular temple to go to, an item to collect, a particular destination to free. This new adventure was literally just wander around and hope you find something. This adventure felt more like aimless walking with an occasional idea of what was happening with no end in sight.

 Legend’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard the clash of steel on steel. Alert, he hastened his steps, quickly making it to the other side of the trail into a small clearing. He slid to a stop when he saw Wild sitting on a hill looking ahead of Legend, the Master Sword on his back.

 The veteran approached the champion slowly, his eyes tracing from the back of Wild’s head to the sword to wherever he was looking. The sound of blades making contact emanated from farther into the clearing, down the hill a ways, and he finally caught sight of the source.

 Sky and Warriors were sparring.

 Legend watched the two for a moment, marveling at Sky’s speed as he dodged another attack from the captain. It was always fun watching the others spar. Legend sometimes made bets on the outcomes, and any day where the captain got knocked onto his backside was a good day, honestly.

 Shifting his attention to the champion, Legend asked, “You gonna go next?”

 Wild jumped, his hand flying to the Master Sword, when he stopped himself.

 Legend raised an eyebrow. “Boy, sure am glad you’ve got great situational awareness.”

 Wild rolled his eyes. “Oh hush. You sneak around like a little critter, it’s not the same.”

 “Right,” Legend quipped as he lowered himself to the ground, ignoring the mild ache in his knees. The ground was cold, and he shivered a little as his bare legs pressed against it. He pulled his knees to his chest. “Didn’t answer my question, though. Or did Sky already kick your butt?”

 Wild huffed with a smile. “No, not yet. I’m just watching. Figured I’d learn something.”

 “You could just ask him, you know.”

 Wild looked at his lap, his hands fiddling with his tunic. When he said nothing, Legend prompted, “Something wrong with that?”

 The champion sighed. “I… I used to be really good, apparently. He used to be really good. Anyway, I can barely remember anything these days.”

 Legend pulled Wild’s ponytail, garnering his attention with a yelp. “Enough of the self-pity talk, Champion. You’ve more than held your own in battle, and if I recall correctly, you summarily annihilated Ganon. You’re more than capable, so don’t give me that crap. We’ve got enough self esteem issues rolling off of Traveler, I don’t need you adding to the drama.”

 Wild looked at him with wide eyes for a moment before he shook his head and laughed. “I appreciate it, but I really wasn’t trying to be self-deprecating. I know I’m a capable warrior… and I do also wish Traveler would understand that he is too. But it’s not the same… I was a knight, and I thought I knew what that meant, but watching them…”

 “Being a knight isn’t some big deal, you know,” Legend snapped. “Just because they have those titles slapped in front of their names doesn’t mean they’re special. Knights more often than not were the morons helping the enemy by getting themselves tricked and trying to stop me.”

 Wild gave him a flat look. “That doesn’t mean they’re all like that, Vet.”

 Legend shrugged. “Of course not. But it also doesn’t mean that you should think they’re amazing just because they’re knights. Sky and Captain have proven their worth, their status as knights didn’t do that for them. You’re no different.”

 Wild hummed, looking at his lap once more. There was a yell and a grunt, and both Links looked below to see the captain on his back with Sky’s sword pointed at his face.

 Legend clapped. “What a great sight to see, thank you Sky.”

 The Skyloftian glanced up at them, eyes slightly widened in surprise, and then he quickly sheathed his sword and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. Then he reached down to help Warriors stand. The pair walked up to the two seated heroes, and Warriors made a scrunched face as he looked at Legend.

 “Thanks for flashing us,” he remarked.

 Legend let his legs slide to the ground in front of him. “I’m wearing shorts, you ass.”

 “Still a frightening sight.”

 Wild chuckled and unstrapped the Master Sword from his back, holding it out to Sky.

 “Champion wants you to teach him some sword techniques,” Legend interjected.

 Sky blinked, glancing at the champion. “Oh, really?”

 Wild froze for a moment and then threw a sharp gaze in Legend’s direction. Then he sighed and closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. “Actually… yes.”

 Sky smiled kindly. “Sure! Let’s go back down the hill.”

 Warriors crossed his arms, tilting his head as he looked at Legend. “How about I teach you some fighting moves? You could probably use it.”

 If looks could kill, the captain would be in pieces. “Pretty sure I’ve been fighting longer than you, so maybe I should be teaching you.”

 The captain huffed. “Well how about we spar and you prove it?”

 Legend shot to his feet. “Gladly.”

 Stomping down the hill, Legend felt his foot slip on some damp leaves and suddenly his world shifted as he slid the rest of the way on his backside. His cheeks burned and he heard Warriors laughing hysterically.

 “Are you okay?” Sky asked, kneeling beside him.

 Legend smacked his helping hand away, embarrassed and irritated, and stood. “I’m fine.”

 “Please teach me that move,” Warriors said as he caught up to him, his face glowing with amusement. “Does it have a name? Because I think the Veteran Slide would be a good one.”

 “I slide like that all the time down sand embankments,” Sky noted with a shrug. “Can’t really stand on the moving sand anyway, you have to kind of run against the current.”

 “Moving sand?” Wild asked. “It moves?”

 Legend ignored the conversation, adjusting his shorts, which had ridden up and practically given him a wedgie during the tumble, and his tunic, which was now covered in dirt and moisture. Sighing, he looked up to see that Warriors’ attention had been directed to the other two, and he felt his annoyance fade just a hair. Thanks, Sky.

 “Anyway, are you ready to get your butt kicked again?” Legend asked, drawing his weapon. “Because Sky’s not the only one who’s going to have that satisfaction.”

 “Ha! If you say so, Vet, but remember this is a sword fight. No fancy items.”

 Legend took a ready stance. “I don’t need my items to beat you.”

 Warriors smirked at that, also steeling himself for the fight. The two circled each other briefly before Warriors took the first move. Legend dodged it easily; he’d watched Warriors and Sky fight, he’d fought alongside the captain, he could figure this out easily enough. The Pegasus boots allowed him to be quick on his feet, preventing Warriors from ever landing a blow on him. Although he dodged around the captain, he himself couldn’t land a hit either. Warriors’ defense was rock solid, to the point that Legend almost started to wear himself out at the effort – every time they locked blades he’d send a riposte towards the veteran, who would parry and move into a sequence of attacks that would nearly break through but was never enough. He took some satisfaction in seeing that Warriors was also sweating.

Changing tactics, he instead held his ground and let Warriors draw closer. When their blades met, he tried to use his off hand to grip the captain’s wrist and keep his sword at bay. The captain dropped to the ground the instant his fingers curled around his wrist, bringing them both down with a grunt. Warriors maneuvered his blade to Legend’s neck just as Legend did the same thing.

 Both stared at each other, surprised and annoyed. Wild, who must have started watching at some point, whooped. “A draw!”

 “Hmph,” Legend curled his lip, climbing off the disheveled captain. “That was a dirty trick. Not to mention dangerous – you could have skewered yourself let alone me.”

 Warriors dusted himself off. “I had it completely under control.”

 “Right. Hence the draw, yeah? Because you totally wanted to not win.”

 “Maybe I just wanted you to feel better about yourself.”

 “Maybe you just need more training.”

 “Hey, I’ve got something that would be good training,” Wild chimed in. “It’s excellent for building core strength.”

 “What is it?” Sky asked curiously.

 Wild smiled, smacking his palm into his fist. “Shield surfing.”

 Legend gave him a bewildered look. “Shield surfing? I’ve heard of regular surfing, but…”

 Wild smiled maniacally.

 The next thing the veteran knew, he had somehow been talked into hiking up the nearby mountain with the other three, with Wild insisting that he’d seen some ‘great trails’ and that the ground was ‘soft and slick,’ which apparently was perfect for shield surfing. Legend still wasn’t sure about that.

 But at least he could get one last quip in as the four stood at the top of the track, side eying Warriors. “Guess you won’t be able to use my mirror shield to quaff yourself tomorrow morning.”

 Warriors groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m never going to live that down.”

 “All right, I talked you guys through the basics,” Wild continued, ignoring the bickering. “So, whoever reaches the bottom first wins! Ready?”

 Legend plopped his mirror shield on the ground and stepped on it, wobbling slightly in place, his shield hanging at the precipice, his heart in his throat. He hadn’t had a chance to get a good look at the trail (Wild had insisted it was obvious and wouldn’t be a problem, which rarely boded well). Warriors pinned his shield to the ground with one foot but hadn’t committed to balancing on it yet. Sky assumed a similar position to Warriors, his body tense with anticipation. Wild, however, kept his shield on his back.

 What was he doing? Legend understood the game correctly, right?

 “Three… two… one!”

 Legend leaned forward and felt his stomach lurch as the shield tipped down the hill. He picked up speed fast, and he trembled as he tried to maintain balance. The shield rattled beneath him as it hit small stones and twigs, and he threw his hands out for balance. To his immediate left he saw Wild leap into the air and somersault before throwing his shield under his feet. Then he leaned forward and shot ahead.

 “Hey!” Legend yelled. Oh, he was not losing that easily!

 “See you at the bottom, Vet!” Warriors shouted from his right as he leaned away from him to dodge a boulder.

 Legend gritted his teeth. He was not going to be last. He hadn’t seen Sky yet, so at least that was something.

 The shield jerked under his feet, and he yelped, wobbling wildly and flapping his arms in an attempt to resituate himself. Doing so slowed his descent, which at least gave him the chance to reorient. In the process, Sky blazed by, completely at ease on his shield.

 “Get back here, bird brain!” Legend bellowed, bending his knees and tipping forward as he willed himself to go faster.

 Like hell was he coming in last, blast it!!

 He accelerated quickly, and suddenly the cold wind was stinging his cheeks as his surroundings turned into a blur. He could see Sky just ahead, easily dodging a tree stump. He could see Warriors wobble and yelp as he almost fell off his shield. Wild was nowhere in sight.

 Legend growled. He would get ahead. Narrowing his eyes, he lowered himself even more so his center of gravity was closer to the ground. As he did so, Warriors, who was just ahead on his right, wobbled too dangerously and his shield flew out from right underneath him. The captain went flying, landing on his back and rolling a ways down the mountain.

 “Sucks to be you!” Legend yelled in delight as he passed him.

 The trail, surprisingly, was pretty easy to spot. Legend simply had to avoid boulders and stay away from trees. He felt his adrenaline surge through him, giving him a rush like adventuring always did. This was admittedly quite fun if it weren’t for the anxiety of not knowing what came next.

 The mountain suddenly seemed to lose its gentle slope, and the grading of the hill sharply increased. Legend’s speed nearly doubled, and his joy started to shift to terror as he felt almost out of control.

 Legend yelled, the shield practically vibrating under him from the speed at which he was going, and a small rock was enough to launch him into the air. While in mid flight he could see the bottom of the mountain where Wild and Sky were standing, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as his body finished its little arch and started to descend from the heavens. The ground became uncomfortably closer, and then—

 Splat.

 Legend landed flat on his face, groaning as the air was knocked right out of him (at least the packed leaves softened the blow) and slid on his face all the way to the bottom. He moaned when he stopped, not bothering to get up.

 “Veteran’s in third place!” Wild whooped excitedly from somewhere ahead of him. “I think the captain got wiped out.”

 Legend heard leaves crunch by his ear as Sky knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

 Legend grumbled into the leaves. He was fine, but his pride sure as hell wasn’t. He wasn’t going to get up. He refused.

 “Wasn’t that fun?” Wild asked, seeming to understand that Legend wasn’t injured.

 Sky’s hand settled on Legend’s back, and the knight laughed. “Yeah, it was. I need to find a way to go faster, though, that definitely wasn’t enough speed.”

 “Wasn’t bad for your first go, honestly! I wiped out the first time I tried it.”

 “Okay, but I need tips, how do I go as fast as you?”

 “It’s all in how you—”

 Legend grumbled again, ignoring the excitable chatter between the two. He heard crunching leaves behind him and the captain’s baritone said, “Well, that was interesting. I see I wasn’t the only one who had an exciting landing.”

 “I’m glad you two are okay,” Sky said before adding, “Let’s go again!”

 “YES!” Wild yipped in delight.

 Legend finally lifted his face, spitting out leaves. “Great. This’ll be fun.”

 He really should have put his foot down after that first round. Instead, he and the captain trudged up after the other two, who were cackling like excitable cuccoos. As they lined up again, Legend smirked at Warriors.

 “Maybe you’ll actually get to the bottom this time.”

 Warriors stiffened, annoyed. “Yeah, and I won’t do it on my face.”

 Legend crossed his arms. “I still finished the race. You’re just a sore loser.”

 “Ready guys?”

 The two glared challengingly at each other and nodded for the champion.

 Round two went better. Legend knew what to expect this time, and he could plan accordingly. What he didn’t plan for, however, was Warriors hovering close to him.

 “What are you doing?!” he yelled over the wind.

 “You’re hogging the smoothest part of the track!” Warriors shouted back.

 “You jerk, get to your own part of the track!”

 “There isn’t a set path for any one of us!”

 “Maybe you should just be better at this so you don’t wipe out!”

 “Maybe you shouldn’t hog the smoothest trail!”

 He really shouldn’t have taken his eyes off the trail.

 Legend’s shield abruptly stopped moving while his body continued, and he realized only too late that he’d smacked right into a tree root. His body lurched once more, and he finally decided that yes, this was the last round.

 Particularly when he landed foot first and his ankle rolled.

 Yelling out, his body fell sideways and he tumbled briefly before clawing into the ground in an attempt to slow his descent. He finally stilled, but he heard Warriors’ own shield quickly coming closer. Looking up in horror, he saw the captain heading straight for him while desperately wiggling his arms in an attempt to avoid hitting him.

 When it became apparent that Warriors did not have enough control over his shield to properly dodge, he instead jerked his body hard to the left, shooting the shield into the air for some undetermined distance and letting him land on his hip and tumbled immediately in front of the veteran.

 Warriors slid to a halt, lightly bouncing against the veteran, and groaned.

 Blowing out a breath of relief, Legend laid back on the ground, trying to ignore the throbbing in his ankle.

 “You alright?” the captain asked breathlessly.

 Legend bit his lip, debating, and then admitted it. “Pretty sure I just twisted my ankle.”

 Warriors grunted as he sat up, brushing dirt and leaves off himself. “Well, at least it isn’t worse.”

 Legend huffed, about to protest that it was actually pretty awful, thank you very much, ankles were so temperamental it was oftentimes easier to break a bone than deal with a sprained ankle.

 Instead of saying any of this, though, he yelped as Warriors pulled him onto his back and held him there by supporting him under the legs.

 “Put me down!” Legend immediately protested at being carried piggyback style. “I’m not a kid!”

 “You want to walk on it?”

 Silence.

 “That’s what I thought.”

 It was quiet as Warriors carefully made his way down the mountain. The more he struggled with his footing, the worse Legend felt. He knew he was useless right now, and he hated it. Maybe he could just slide the rest of the way down the mountain, but he doubted it would end well. He just had to be dependent on the captain. He hated being dependent on anyone, but after the last incident with Twilight… he was learning to grow less hostile about it.

 Legend sighed, grabbing his wrist with his other hand and creating a loose hold around Warriors’ neck. “Thanks.”

 Warriors hummed, and the veteran could hear his smile in his tone. “Of course.”

 He felt his heart grow warm, and he poked the captain in the chest with his thumb. “If I hadn’t crashed I would have totally beaten you.”

 Warriors laughed. “You keep telling yourself that.”

 When the two reached the bottom, Sky and Wild both immediately approached. “What happened?”

 “Just a twisted ankle, nothing too serious,” the captain explained. “But I think the two of us are done with shield surfing for the day.”

 Wild immediately looked guilty, and Legend rolled his eyes. “Quit your stupid blaming and go for another round, I know you two are dying to.”

 They hesitated, glancing at each other, when the captain gave them the permission they were looking for. “We still have a bit of daylight yet. Go on. One more round.”

 Their faces brightened, and Wild grabbed Sky by the wrist, saying, “Okay, so since you still want to go faster, I have great idea, I’ll just use the stasis rune and you’ll be having the time of your life!”

 Wild and Sky’s happy laughs and enthusiastic words dissipated after a time, and the two sat at the bottom awaiting their return. Warriors gently settled Legend on the ground against a tree and out of the way for when they returned.

 Patting Legend on the shoulder, he said, “Well, I guess we’ll just wait. It doesn’t take long to climb back up there, I think.”

 “Yeah,” Legend agreed and then the two sat there awkwardly.

 Great. This was going to be fun. He knew the quiet wouldn’t last long; Warriors was among the chattiest of the group.

 As if on cue, Warriors questioned, “You think we have more monsters to track in this area? We haven’t found a portal, after all.”

 Legend sighed. “I doubt the Shadow would make it that easy for us, so probably.”

 Warriors hummed, leaning back and cupping the back of his head with his hands as he settled against a tree beside Legend. “You do fight well, you know.”

 Legend raised an eyebrow at him. “Hm?”

 “Our sparring from earlier. You’re a great warrior.”

 “I know that.”

Warriors laughed. “You’re almost as bad as me, you know.”

 Legend smirked. “Nah, I don’t come close to your arrogance, oh mighty Captain.”

 “If you say so, Mr. My-Nickname-Will-Remind-Everyone-That-I’m-Clearly-Good-at-This.”

 Legend choked on his spit, spluttering and coughing. “Why you little—!”

 “Easy there, I wouldn’t try to fight me now, you’ll be hopping all over the place. I don’t think I’ll be able to take it seriously.”

 Legend rolled his eyes. “I’d probably still kick your ass.”

 Warriors barked out another laugh, filled with joy. “You know, with your items you just might!”

 With a smile cutting through the scowl he’d previously had, Legend chuckled and sighed, relaxing.

 This adventure was definitely interesting and unpredictable, but he could live with that. He may not know what tomorrow would bring, but at least he knew he had his brothers at his side.

 It was actually kind of… nice.

 “WOOOOOOHOOOOOOO!!!!!”

 The peace of the moment shattered as both Legend and Warriors looked around wildly before glancing upward, following the sound. A small speck of a person was flying at a velocity Legend couldn’t even fathom, and the speck quickly vanished into the tree line.

 “What the f—”

 Wild abruptly slid into the clearing, his face flushed and mildly panicked. “Guys!”

 Warriors and Legend both looked at him at the same time, immediately knowing.

 “What. Did. You. Do.”

 Wild laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head.

 Legend groaned, rubbing his face with his hand. Okay, sometimes it was nice. Other times…

 Oh, who was he kidding? He enjoyed it, chaos and all.

[misschifuyu]

hii <3

i would like to request a headcanon with kazutora, chifuyu mitsuya having sex with their s/o please? if it's too much feel free to ignore it :)

thanks <33 have a nice day/night

- hi there my love !! don’t worry, this request is absolutely fine, and it’s actually the first full nsfw one so I do hope you like it

Kazutora, Chifuyu and Mitsuya general n/sfw headcanons

genre: smut. the characters are depicted as their present selves

warnings: explicit content & language.

Kazutora

jumping right into it, i feel that kazutora is more on the make love side rather than blowing your back out. sure, if you asked him to be rough on an odd day, he'd happily comply. he's just more on the softer side

this is mostly due to his past; he knows what he's capable of, even after all those years since his toman days, so he'd be very precautious not to hurt you in any way

you'll know when he's needy, like you just will. kazutora will turn ever to touchy and try to remain as close to you as possible when he's trying to get you into bed

he doesn't really need words, but he'll speak if you ask him to

"i...really need to be inside you"

don't think this translates as skipping foreplay, though

very much the opposite. kazutora loves feeling up on your soft skin, leaving faint marks with his teeth that would gradually turn into darker shades of purple

he quite likes marking you up, it's really the only thing that could be mildly classed as rough, as he'd frequently leave teeth marks. he adores hearing your voice when he'd catch you off guard with a particularly harsh bite, squirming beneath him

this man is an avid lover of giving oral

he won't turn down a blowjob, but he'd sometimes feel a little awkward whenever you did. he'd ease into it after a few minutes, but he still preferred pleasuring you instead

between your thighs is his favourite place to be, no matter the time of the day. whether you're laying on your back or hovering over his face, kazutora will keep you there for a good while, voicing out praises at you as he basked in your reactions

if his tongue wasn't too occupied, of course

"god, i just can't get enough of you"

make sure to praise him just as much. he absolutely loves hearing loving nicknames from you whenever you tell him how much of a good job he's doing

it gets him even more riled up, and would frequently grind himself against whatever surface you were on

speaking of surfaces, though the bed is the most convenient place to indulge in you, kazutora isn't picky about the location, so long as it's somewhere inside

he's been known to take you whilst you watched a movie, on a counter as you waited for food to cook, even up against a wall when he couldn't be bothered to make it all the way to the bed

as long as he gets to watch your face twist into one of pleasure, he really couldn't care less where it was

a key point when having sex with kazutora: pull his hair

it can be in a ponytail or loose, doesn't matter; he will let out the prettiest moans ever if you just so tugged gently on his locks

it's a sensitive spot of his, so be sure to use it wisely. it'll take him some self control to not go absolutely feral on you if you do, so its best you tell him it's okay to let go before you play with his hair

whenever you start reaching your high, no matter if he's over or behind you, he will bury his face into your neck and suck on the skin, emphasising the already noticeable marks

during aftercare - because this man will pamper you after a session, no matter how long or short it was - he will trace over the marks with light kisses, asking if any of them were still sore

and, of course, a shower will be waiting for you as soon as he's done with that. it's a perfect excuse to spend so more time pressed up against you; a double win, in his eyes

Chifuyu

let's get one thing straight: chifuyu is ready to get it on with you whenever and, frankly wherever. it doesn't take much to get him all needy and, more times that not, he will approach you with the intention of getting in your pants, no matter what you were doing

of course, he will ask if you're up for it, too - consent is key, people

see, he's a very touchy, affectionate person. he loves being around you and will take up any chance to be near you. sometimes, though, this need to be close to you will escalated into something more. even if you were simply cuddling, chifuyu will, occasionally, start to feel his pants getting a little too tight for comfort

when things get going, he is an absolute sweetheart. treating you with care, he will melt into your lips, hands roaming around your body. he's not very talkative during foreplay, but that's mostly because his mouth is usually occupied

however, once your clothes have been discarded, something with click inside of him, making his only goal to leave you in an absolute mess by the time he was done with you

littering your skin with kisses and subtle bites, he will run his hands along your sides, causing goosebumps on your skin that he'd always notice, a sly smile on his lips whenever he did

he's a tease. whilst you try and push your hips towards him, he will simply place kisses on your skin near the area you most needed him to touch

you're going to actually have to tell him what you want before you loose sight of the playful smile that hung on his lips

"that's it...wasn't that hard to ask, now was it?"

chifuyu will get right to the point once he drops his teasing act, though, and expect a good two to three orgasms before he decides he's done with you

when it comes to positions, he likes those in which he can be closest to you. skin on skin is his favourite feeling, and the closer his face can be to yours, the better

when he's pounding into you, he'll bring a hand up to your face. he'd hold it softly, contrasting from his rough pace, and whisper out a series of praises

"you look so pretty like this...does it feel that good? tell me, i want to hear your voice"

a fun thing about chifuyu is that he's a switch, a big one at that. if you find the impulse to flip him onto his back, or simply take over, he will automatically slip out of his position in charge

this is when you'll be able to hear his pretty voice. although he will start with small whimpers here and there, by the time he's edging towards his orgasm he will let out a string of soft moans, grabbing onto you in any way he can as he does

when he reaches his orgasm, his grip will keep you in the position you were in, his body stiffening up as his eyes would close shut

this will be applied whether he's in control or not, honestly. chifuyu loses most of his focus when he's nearing his high, only having enough to call out your name

he may be shorter than most of the guys, but he has one hell of a stamina. one round will never be sufficient for him, and he'd certainly be up to waiting for you to calm down until the next one if it meant he could make you - and himself - see stars again

this will be when, as well as during aftercare, he will give you soft kisses against your skin, massaging areas such as your stomach and thighs as he'd let out hums of happiness

as said before, he's a sweetheart. sure, sometimes you'd be sore after being with him, but he'd always make it up to you with the most perfect cuddling session afterwards

Mitsuya

mitsuya is very skilled with his hands, as shown by his talent when it comes to designing and creating magnificent fashion pieces

watching him work is quite the sight, and even more so if you're familiar with other wonders he's able to do with those fingers of his

but, to start off, know that it will take him some determination to start anything up with you

he's a busy man with a lot on his mind, so it would take him a bit to hold himself back from just jumping on you because of the growing stress that had built up throughout the day

he's a respectful man and, therefore, will take his time and look for subtle hints to see if perhaps you'd follow his lead

when you catch his drift, though, he will be all hands on you

sex is a perfect way to wind down from his hectic schedule, and he couldn't ask for anyone else better to do it with rather than you

oral is key during foreplay. he will start by making his way down on you, his voice speaking words of appreciation between the kisses he'd place on your skin

watching you writhe from the position between your legs was something he thoroughly adored, your body jerking with every skilled move from both his mouth and his fingers

after a good few minutes of pulling his hair and high pitched moans from your behalf, he will lift himself away from you. this will be your turn to switch up places

and also when you'd see the truly, needy mitsuya

you see, he has very, very sensitive skin. his neck, his chest, his waist...with simple touches of your hand, you can reduce him to a squirming mess

when he's the one receiving oral, he will absolutely lose any sense of straightforward thinking, especially if you run your hands on his thighs whilst you peer up at him through your lashes

his moans are like music to your ears. he won't speak much, unable to actually form words as he shivers from the feeling of you between his legs, but his hand on your head will be enough to tell you that you're doing a good job

if he's sat up whilst you give him the blowjob, expect to be pushed down as soon as he reaches his orgasm. he tends to curl over when he does, his whole body turning into a trembling mess

he will make up for accidentally making you gag, though. in the sense that you won't be able to walk straight for the next few days

he may be sensitive, but he also isn't one to go slow when it comes to intercourse. he will also go for a few rounds, loving how you'd come undone before him every time

hold on to him when he does: the feeling of your nails digging into his back whenever he's on top of you always makes him pick up his speed, and he loves the marks that would appear afterwards

it was a way to know that he was taking good care of you

mitsuya isn't one to talk dirty, but he will shower you with loving comments during aftercare. he'd trace your skin with his fingers as you lay on his chest, both equally as tired and worn out

his sex drive is high, but so is his love for you

so he'd always prepare a bath for you afterwards, where he'd try and keep you awake with soft kisses and talking to you whilst you enjoyed the warm water

[mini-melo]

right, because i just want to write down my headcanons man, and @petrichormeraki reblogged my last post with an ouch in the tags and i'm very willing to make it hurt a little more.

also it is literally 2 am, my new bed is too hard to sleep on, and i'm still sleepy as shit, so this is in no way a quality post.

---

Nobody "found" Tommy, exactly. Things started going missing in small quantities, objects moved randomly, and there were remnants of a basement that Grian never built in his old hobbit hole.

When the pranks started, and the obnoxious laughter followed it, the hermits weren't surprised so much as they were relieved that they weren't going crazy. They still don't know who it is, but as long as they aren't just imagining things, they're fine.

Eventually, Tommy just... shows up.

Grian sees blond hair in his hobbit hole every once in a while, and it's much too tall to be Zedaph, so he investigates his old base. When he sees a lanky guy who's very much not Zed preparing what looks to be a chicken canon, Grian turns around and pretends he didn't see anything. He laughs when he wakes up the next day with said canon in the middle of his base, shooting chickens all around him.

Scar sees red dart into some shops now and then. He thought it was Grian, pranking hermits again, so he follows the red streak running around and finds a tall—boy? man? —guy rummaging around the chests in The Barge. It doesn't take long for Scar to realize this is the guy that's been taking from the shops. He was about to confront the mystery man when he realizes that the guy in red leaves something else in the chest, and it may not have been diamonds, but Scar knows enough about scuffed appearances to know this guy doesn't really have a home. Doesn't really have anything.

Mumbo catches glimpses of a tall figure hovering around the edges of his industrial district. He thought it was Xisuma, with the height and all, so he leaves it be until he finally sees the figure in full view, blond hair blowing in the wind as he just stares at the melon and pumpkin farm. The next day, Mumbo doesn't acknowledge him except for a shulker box full of melon and pumpkins in the exact same spot. When he finds it again, the box is empty except for some redstone and a note. "I wanted to try it but I don't know how, so here's your redstone back."

Tango changes his door's button to a lever, and he keeps hearing it open and close. He thinks it's Mumbo checking the redstone, or Grian pranking him again, so he goes down only to find a blond boy (not like he realizes until much, much later that this is a child) flicking his lever repeatedly, a relaxed air about him and a small grin on his lips. Tango leaves him be, and the next day puts the button back. He leaves levers, unconnected to anything, around his base, and smiles when hears delighted laughter followed by the flicking of a lever.

Beef makes new maps only to find cobblestone dicks already made in some parts of his map district. He thinks it's probably another Grian prank and just destroys them. Suddenly, he makes a map clear of anything and he starts flying there. The next moment, he looks at the map and there's a grey line in the middle. Beef encounters a tall blond (he looks young but so does Grian so he doesn't think about it) happily building a cobblestone dick when he gets there, and he can't help but feel a little guilty at the thought of having to tear it down. He leaves it up, makes another map to build on, and hangs the map with the cobblestone dick in Grian's old hobbit hole, where the mystery guy is supposedly staying. The next time Beef visits the map district, the area above the cobblestone dick is full of wool, obstructing it from the map and making it free for more wallapaper.

It all comes to a head when Xisuma checks the whitelist after one-too-many incidents and finds a glitched out name.

T̷̢̧̰͙̜̩̺̜̤̰̣̖̣̙͋̊̅̽̆̚͘͠ọ̷̗̮̯̺̪̤̬͖̗̌̌̍̀͗̒͗̚͘͠ͅm̸̡͓͎̦̠̲̫̯̓͒̍̔̍̌͗̐͆͊̀̅̀̔͘ḿ̶̛̫̯͖̰̤̗͋̃̄̓̆̓̇͛̍̅̏͝ÿ̵͙̙̯͙̈́I̷̲̫̞̠̮̒̂̒͘̚̕͝n̸̡̳̮̲̝̮͍̦̑͗̑̄͌͛͌̋̀̇͆͠n̴̖̄̓̋̀i̴͚̘͂͆̿̕͝ţ̵̞̪̬̯̠̮͈̬̮̼͈̠̥́͊͐̀̊̐̆̂͑͋̎́

He looks at the code and realizes that wherever this TommyInnit came from, it doesn't have a very good admin if this is what his internal code looks like. Xisuma tries to fix it, and succeeds. For the most part. The only thing he couldn't seem to touch was a line of code so glitched out that he couldn't read it at all.

After that, Tommy is seen a lot more. Everyone has just accepted this random guy that Xisuma hasn't kicked yet and collectively decides to let him be. He seems to be paying for his stuff now, although not with diamonds, but he's still trying.

Tommy, for his part, comes onto a peaceful server full of big buildings and redstone contraptions. He wants to destroy shit, destroy everything beautiful, but then he remembers Wilbur blowing up L'manberg, and Techno summong withers in L'manberg, and Dream blowing up Logstedshire, and Tommy can't bring himself to destroy the hard work of these so-called hermits. Instead, he watches and observes and steals just enough to survive. He sees Grian's pranks and just emulates the gremlin, and his very first prank was so harmless and subtle that people didn't notice until they hit their own furniture. Who knew moving stuff two inches to the right would be a great prank?

Somehow, Tommy becomes part of the hermits without even trying. He emulates Grian even more and makes a small starter base of his own. Mumbo leaves him some redstone in shulker boxes and he makes his own farms, and eventually he starts his own big base. It takes him so long, so many tears, so many tests, and so much energy, but when he's finally finished, about a year into his stay, the hermits throw him a party in the big dining area of his cobblestone textured castle.

And if the castle was vaguely dick shaped? Nobody needs to know it was intentional.

---

it isn't even that angsty, which is surprising.

anyway, i have so many thoughts about this and i might expand on some things eventually. maybe later today, or tomorrow. definitely when i've slept for more than 2 hours.