trueenemyorfalsefriend

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

iii | Harbingers of Change | Bruno Madrigal

Bruno Madrigal x Original AFAB Character [ masterlist ] | [ ← previous chapter ] [ read it on ao3 ]

cw: obsessive-compulsive behavior, emotionally abusive parents, suicidal thoughts, reference to to past self-harm and suicide attempts

word count: 12481 | rating: mature

⧖⧗⧖

“Jueputa…” Sofía mumbled to herself as she pricked her finger on the sharp needle when finishing up the last few stitches of her design. Quietly cursing to herself, she eventually managed to tie the thread and place the orange dress in her basket, diligently keeping her dripping finger far away from the delicate fabric until she could grab her things and rush out of the studio.

She was late, but unfortunately, that wasn’t anything new. Bringing her finger to her mouth to catch the few drops of fresh blood on her tongue, Sofía winced at the sudden potent metallic taste invading her senses, just as she reached the first crossroads on her path.

With little to no deliberation, Sofía decided to walk the path that led through the forest up the hill - the scenic route - instead of strolling through the busy afternoon streets crowded with pedestrians. The tailor’s shop was close to the small river that ran through Encanto, about halfway between Sofía’s family’s house and Casita, which were both practically home to her at this point.

After her interest in art and sketches had morphed into a fascination with sewing and embroidery at a fairly young age, it had only been a matter of years until Sofía had become a seamstress in town, and one of the more prominent ones at that. Granted, despite her initial interest in the profession and her genuine enthusiasm for most of the projects she got to work on, Sofía’s wish for this job had not derived from a need for money; instead, it had been born out of necessity.

She had learned very early on in life that she needed to make herself useful somehow, no matter how, even though her involvement with the Madrigals, especially Pepa, had helped her own family’s farming business out significantly already. Sofía had been there anytime Pepa had needed someone, not only to help relieve her of her overwhelming emotions, but also to talk things through. They often spoke about her feelings, about why she was experiencing them and most of all, about how to deal with them on a day to day basis.

This arrangement had started in the very beginning, right after Sofía had received her gift, and over the years as both Pepa’s mood and the weather around town stabilized, her own family had grown to be the biggest farmers in all of Encanto, supplying and providing the majority of the town with produce daily. Although it had all been a lot of work on all of their parts, Sofía had to admit that now, way over a decade after it had all started, her family was happier than ever.

After the vision Bruno had given her cousin Gabriéla that fateful day Sofía had received her gift, it had only taken months until she had caught onto the longing, lingering stares Andres was shooting her cousin every time they passed his family’s stall in the marketplace, and only a few more until Gabriéla reciprocated them every single time. It had been fascinating seeing Andres' entire character change over the course of mere weeks as he dropped his mask, and after some time had passed, he came off as a genuinely nice person whenever Sofía got the chance to see him.

A while later, just after his first dinner at their family home, she had caught the two lovebirds kissing outside the front door just as she prepared to make her daily journey to the Madrigal home, where she had continued to be a frequent guest. They had gotten engaged shortly after, and now, almost fifteen years later, the two of them were expecting their second child.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” were Julieta’s usual words to describe the feeling of just how quickly time had passed from then until now, and Sofía never once doubted that Gabriéla was indeed having fun - in fact, she was thriving. Never before had she seen her as happy as she was now. Despite her initial concerns about marriage and children in particular, she was a natural. Even on stressful days, when her son Arturo cried and she was exhausted enough to pass out, Gabriéla emanated a glow of sheer happiness that Sofía knew from her own experience to be extremely rare, and she could not have been happier for her cousin.

Of course, there had been tough times as well. It had been hard when their abuelo Dario had passed away a few years prior, just after the birth of Gabriéla’s son. He had died peacefully in his sleep the night after he had gotten to hold Arturo for the first time, and his daughters had found him the next morning, a smile still permanently embedded into his face.

It had been sad, but they all knew it was okay - he had been happy in his final years. The whole family had decided to celebrate his life rather than mourn his death, and with the help of the Madrigal’s, they had thrown a party the likes of which had never been seen. It all had ended in a bittersweet goodbye to her abuelo, but Sofía knew she would never forget him for what he had given her in allowing to move and live here in the family home.

The afternoon sky above Sofía was mostly clear as she ventured along the beaten path through the forest, only a few fluffy clouds lingering above the mountains on the horizon. She was glad Pepa was having a good day today.

As of late, she had been having more trouble controlling herself again. Over the years, the two of them had grown to trust each other more and more, but in recent times Pepa had slowly grown hesitant to call on Sofía’s gift to help her deal with her emotions. Once, when the younger girl had been comforting Pepa during a particularly bad breakdown, she had told her that she often felt like she was using Sofía for her gift. They had had a long, in-depth talk about that, ending with a lingering hug and a mutual understanding: they were always there for each other, in whatever ways they could be. There was no reason to feel guilty, as long as they weren’t forcing the other person to help.

The fact that was compounding Pepa’s whole problem was Sofía’s realization that she craved feeling needed; it was what gave her a purpose in life, it was what motivated her to do anything at all. It wasn’t the validation or gratefulness, it wasn’t even money or any other material pleasure; it was the simple act of feeling useful that kept her going.

Still, even after their talk, Pepa had started a habit of bottling up her emotions more and more, with the simple goal of not feeling them for fear of annoying those around her - especially her mother. Alma had once called Pepa “abnormally neurotic” during a fight, one of many fights about her annoyance with rain or hail even just entering her field of vision, let alone get on her or any of her clothes or furniture. Sofía was sure that Pepa had never forgotten that and was now acting on pure instinct to prove her mother wrong.

When Casita emerged in the distance, its colorful facade like a bright beacon on the horizon, it distracted Sofía so much that she accidentally tripped over a thick root on the forest floor beneath her, barely preventing herself from tumbling to the ground as the bottles in her basket clinked together loudly. Sofía grinned to herself, both out of sheer embarrassment at falling over practically nothing, and also because of the gentle reminder of what she had brought with her.

It was the triplets’ birthday tomorrow, and whilst Alma had planned a huge celebration for her children, Sofía had learned to avoid larger gatherings years ago because they tended to overwhelm her, no matter how much she prepared for the onslaught of feelings that would threaten to suffocate her every time. Knowing full well it wasn’t a good idea for Sofía to attend their birthday festivities, Pepa, Julieta and Bruno had made Sofía promise to come over in the evening and spend the night together to celebrate their 20th birthday right as the clock struck twelve. Naturally, she hadn’t come empty handed - nay, she had a wide array of gifts in tow. Apart from the yards and yards of elaborately embroidered fabric, what was weighing her down most were the aged bottles of alcohol Sofía was carrying with her. They had all planned on experimenting whether Julieta’s cooking could flush alcohol out of their system, and Sofía had sort of splashed out, getting some bottles from the market as well as the wine her family had given her to bring as a gift.

As Sofía strode closer to Casita, a strange tightness spread through her neck and chest, and she only took a moment to realize what it was. These days, it was a rare occurrence that Sofía felt nervous to see the triplets, but she had worked on their presents for months, and although she knew they would all be incredibly kind and grateful, she desperately hoped they would like their gifts.

With a shiver, Sofía pulled herself together, trying to remember one particular phrase Julieta liked to say to cheer her up in times like these. “No time like the present.”

⧖⧗⧖

Even after all these years and countless visits to the Madrigal home, Casita still liked to lead Sofía to her destination with a wiggle of its beautiful tiles. There had been barely a day in the last fifteen years that Sofía had not visited, in fact, she had probably spent more nights here than in her actual home, and yet sometimes it still felt overwhelming to come here.

The sheer beauty of the home had only improved ever since she had first laid eyes upon it, and Sofía made sure to compliment the house whenever she got the chance. “You look stunning today, Casita,” she grinned as she made her way up the wide stairs, gently stroking her fingertips over the dark blue railing as she passed.

Despite the house’s attempts of urging her forwards, Sofía instead made her way to Bruno’s room, hovering by the glowing door for a moment. He wasn’t in there, she could feel that immediately.

In fact, it had gotten easier to feel his emotions from farther and farther away, especially if he let her. Bruno had caught onto how to conceal his feelings a little better, but Sofía never let him know just how much of an open book he continued to be to her.

Feeling somewhat nostalgic, she let her eyes wander over the picture frames that adorned the walls of the little corridor to his room. There were countless photographs of all four of them, practically any age you could imagine. There were a few of them standing by each other’s side during birthday celebrations, and a pair showing Pepa, Bruno and Sofía helping Julieta in the kitchen, starting out kind and neat in one, ending with all four of them covered in flour in the next. Many wonderful memories sprung to mind as Sofía’s eyes wandered over the pictures, something she did way too rarely, she realized now.

After a while, Sofía’s smile fell. There was no denying that when she followed the photographs that depicted Bruno in chronological order, his once wide grin that showed all of his brilliant white, crooked teeth continued to turn more and more into a frown the older he got. His posture changed too, from shy and bashful to genuinely uncomfortable, sometimes even fearful.

Unfortunately, over the years, Bruno had grown from being the family’s golden child to being its black sheep. Sofía never truly understood why nobody seemed to get along with him as well as she did. People came to see him often, not to seek his advice or opinion but to have him see their future, which was something he had absolutely no control over, and yet the general consensus among them was that Bruno Madrigal was both creepy and cruel.

The inhabitants of town regularly came to him with their most dire situations and fears, begging for something only he could do for them, and despite his knowledge about their opinion on him, he did them the favor every time, never denying a single visitor of a vision. And for what, for them to scorn him, to act like he slighted them on purpose and to start pointing fingers at him and avoiding him like the plague whenever they saw him in the streets?

They had to know that he could only see the future, not shape it in any way. They had to know, because Sofía had told them many times. She had been witness to many unfortunate incidents regarding Bruno’s visions as well as countless furious visitors, and every single time she did her best to calm them down and direct their contempt towards something else than the innocent Madrigal son, and every single time she failed.

In return, Bruno had started to hide himself away more and more, even as a young child when things had only just started turning into the dismal situation they were now. He regularly holed himself up in his room, heavy bags plaguing his dull eyes whenever Sofía saw him during dinners or outside.

Not only had the town dubbed Bruno weird, disturbing and just overall bad luck, which would have been bad enough, but his visions had also started taking a significant, tangible toll on him. Apart from the usual physical symptoms, his splitting headaches, burning eyes, and general exhaustion, things had gone very wrong a few times.

Once, a few years back, Bruno had given too many visions in a single day, and had ended up stumbling into Sofía’s room, his eyes dripping deep red blood. Both Sofía and his sisters had been tremendously scared for him, Pepa struggling to suppress the thunderstorm growing outside while Julieta ran to the kitchen to panic-cook him a meal to heal. All the while, Bruno had just sat there, completely quiet. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of Sofía’s entire life, to see him sit there with no emotions, almost lifeless; a mere shell of a man who barely even reacted as she carefully wiped away his bloody tears. Even though Sofía had forced herself not to feel his feelings, not wanting to breach his privacy in this already critical moment, the pure coldness emanating from him when she had brushed her hand along his cheek was uncharacteristic to say the least, highly concerning to be truthful.

It had taken Bruno days to snap out of it and return to his usual self, days he had spent locked away in his tower, with the already endless staircase seeming even longer than ever before. Sofía had learned the hard way that he did not want to see anybody, had devoted hours on end just sitting with him while he stared into nothingness, but after a while, Casita hadn’t even allowed her or anyone else into his room anymore.

Those few days without Bruno were the longest time Sofía had been without him ever since they had met, and she had spent them in constant worry over him, his health and his mental state.

Ever since then, things had been different. No one knew what had happened or what had really caused that episode in him, but something changed within him that month. Bruno started looking even more exhausted than usual, all the while his paranoia multiplied regularly, leaving him superstitious and anxious almost every single day of his life. He slowly began altering his routines to help him through his visions, which he still insisted on doing even though they were clearly causing him pain, and found himself creating a type of ritual to guide him, to aid him as a crutch to cope with whatever came his way.

More worryingly, the youngest Madrigal started to develop strange tics, mostly related to his recently arisen superstitiousness. Sofía had watched these habits develop from their very beginning, and she was certain they were born out of a need for stability and reassurance that nothing else could give him in that moment as well as a desperate wish to get rid of the bad energy he seemed to think was surrounding him at all times.

To achieve this, Bruno had started off by simply acting out what he had heard about warding off bad luck, doing things such as throwing salt over his shoulder at every occasion he felt nervous about something, sometimes even sugar, for good measure.

He had once read that in many cultures, people knocked their fist on wood to chase away evil spirits as well as express gratitude to friendly ones in hopes of good fortune. Ever since then, occasional soft taps against door frames turned into frequent raps of his fists against any wooden surface he could think of. Naturally, as with nearly every one of Bruno’s habits, the pattern remained the same, in this case the same rhythmical sequence of five knocks, then, after a short pause, another few as he muttered to himself so quietly that nobody could understand him.

Then there were other things, certain gestures only Bruno himself seemed privy to know the meaning behind, and his frequent muttering of rhymes and songs he had learned in his childhood from books or his mother, sometimes even some of Julieta’s verses.

Over time, as things got worse, these tics progressed from voluntary actions that clearly reassured him to unavoidably compulsive gestures that he could not do certain things without completing first.

There had been many cases in which Sofía had seen him crossing his fingers as he held his breath until his face was blazing red, knocking his fists on his surrounding surfaces until his knuckles were scraped and bleeding, as well as avoiding anything even remotely associated with bad luck as though his life depended on it.

That compulsive need that forced Bruno into doing things this way was more aggressive on some days than others, specifically when he seemed more troubled than usual.

Still, despite Bruno’s best efforts to conceal all of these feelings, struggles and problems, it affected Sofía immensely. She considered him her best friend, the most important person in her life, and it caused her endless pain to see him suffer like this.

Slowly, she let her fingertips ghost over a framed picture of the two of them standing just outside Casita when they had been barely ten years old, arms wrapped around each other tightly, wide grins on both of their faces. If only things could be like this again.

⧖⧗⧖

The door to Sofía’s room had moved ever since it had first appeared, and was now situated a little farther to the side of the house than Bruno’s. This meant it was also farther away from where people would gather during parties or other occasions, and it made it much easier for Sofía to have a place to relax without feeling overwhelmed by other people’s emotions.

As a matter of fact, it had originally taken weeks for Sofía to muster up the courage to open the door to her own room. There had been so much pressure and incredibly high expectations that came with her being such a special addition to the Madrigal family, and naturally, the fear that the room would be even remotely like Bruno’s had been lingering in the back of her head for the majority of the time she waited.

Her room had barely changed since then.

Its main theme was very clearly comfort. It was a cozy room, with lots of space to spread out and relax on a multitude of sofas, loveseats and a huge bed large enough for a whole crowd of people. A large window overlooked all of Encanto, and the sides of the room were lined with rows of large bookshelves filled to the brim with all kinds of literature, only interrupted by a few little alcoves where one could snuggle up and read.

If Sofía was feeling especially stressed out, Casita would simulate rain sounds to help her calm down, sometimes just to aid her in falling asleep. Also, when it was dark, stars faintly twinkled on the high ceiling, all in their actual, accurate constellations.

In all truth, the four of them probably spent the most time in her room - had been ever since the beginning. It had adapted, slowly but surely, adding a little nook for a study so they could all be in the same room while still getting work done whenever they wanted to. Julieta would work on recipe ideas in one corner while Pepa meditated by the giant window, artificial rain noises working wonders on calming down her raging pulse, and whereas Sofía used her free time to practice her sketching or embroidery, Bruno would merely read or write, or sometimes just sit and stare into nothingness or at the star-covered ceiling, rarely simply resting his arm across his eyes as he laid back and relaxed for once.

They all took comfort in each other’s presence, no matter what was happening around them. Sometimes, no words needed to be exchanged at all. Sofía considered it a privilege to be included in this phenomenon, one that usually seemed almost exclusively reserved for relationships between twins or triples. She was sure it was only because they had all grown up together, being close friends for such a long time, and yet she had always found it fascinating how they often understood each other entirely without words.

The moment Sofía opened her door, her train of thought was interrupted by Pepa who jumped up from the ground in front of her as soon as she laid eyes on her. “Finally! How kind of you to grace us with your presence!” Harsh words, but by now Sofía was used to Pepa’s brashness and ever-changing moods, and the younger Madrigal sister had spoken them with a wide smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, just before enveloping Sofía in a crushing hug. “Love you too, Pepa,” she laughed back in reply, setting her basket down as soon as Pepa let go and Julieta began hurrying towards her, imitating just what her sister had done.

A hug from Julieta was something to behold, just like Julieta herself. Her presence was always warm and welcoming, her attitude gentle and mothering, dripping with kindness and understanding as well as maturity and wisdom well beyond her years. Being both slow to anger and a resolute, comforting shoulder to cry on at all times combined with her patience being that of a goddess, Julieta was the one who truly kept the four of them grounded at all times.

“Sofía, I’m so glad you could make it! These two have been driving me insane for hours worrying over when or if you would get here.” With a quick gesture to her siblings beside her and a slightly mischievous grin the oldest triplet stepped back, just enough so that Sofía’s gaze fell on Bruno who stood just a few feet behind her.

She watched in dismay as his facade slipped into place seamlessly, replacing his previously empty expression with a broad grin and he rushed towards her, a faint blush still on his cheeks from Julieta’s words. After pushing his sister’s aside Bruno came to a stand just in front of Sofía, and for a moment he motioned as though he wanted to hug her himself as well, before he instead bent down to the basket she had placed by her feet.

“Aaaand what have you brought us here?” he asked with a sly grin contorting his features, his long curls obscuring his face as he picked it up with ease. “Ay, hands off, señorito!” It barely took seconds until Sofía had ripped her property from his grasp, and immediately, she could see his expression change. His kind smile turned wider so Sofía could almost see her reflection in his shiny teeth, had she not been distracted by the way he looked at her. “We have secrets now, do we?” Bruno’s voice was deeper now, more playful than before, and Sofía couldn’t stop the goosebumps that spread over her skin at his words. Oh no.

Playing catch had been a frequent occasion when they had all been younger, in fact, had become somewhat of a tradition. Pepa was incredibly ticklish, so she had always been the most fun to catch, but whereas Julieta was the fastest among them, Bruno was the most nimble. Climbing, jumping, running - name it, he was good at it. Still, it had been a while since Sofía had seen him look at her like this, and yet it only took her a moment to bolt away from him as quickly as she could, playful instinct kicking in just like it had when they had been children.

In turn, it barely took minutes until he caught her, effortlessly tripping her so she fell onto her bed as he stood behind her, panting like they had been running for hours. Both their faces were red as tomatoes, and Sofía could faintly hear the sisters cackle in the distance as she backed up onto the bed, holding the basket in her lap like she was protecting a child. “Bruno, this is for later.” He was unperturbed, stalking closer to her like a predator towards its prey, eyes fixed on the basket, completely unwavering. “Bruno! Do you wanna ruin the surprise?”

That got him. All of a sudden, his eyes lit up like the ones of a child, a demure smile playing around his facial features as he stepped back, giving her enough space to get up again. “Well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

⧖⧗⧖

The sun had gone down hours ago. The only things lighting up Sofía’s surroundings were the strong moonlight shining through the giant window on one side, and the mess of candles they had lit earlier, casting the whole room in a comforting, flickering orange light.

It was nice spending time together like this again, just the four of them. They had all been busy with their own projects and activities recently, but now that they were all reunited like this, it felt like no time had passed at all. Of course, the alcohol helped, too.

Julieta’s reaction to the strong liquor Sofía had brought was by far the most severe, her expression morphing from a look of pure disgust when the liquid hit her tongue into one of an epiphany only moments later. Sofía had no doubt the oldest triplet was expanding her palette, already thinking up recipes that would match or even improve the taste she was experiencing.

Pepa was different. She would sip at her drink greedily but cautiously, ready to stop at any point as if experimenting what it would do to her mood. They had all tasted alcohol before this, of course, but moderation was a word they had banned for tonight, so it was interesting to see how all of them reacted nonetheless. To all of their surprises, drinking didn’t affect Pepa negatively at all. Instead, she wore a wide smile on her face that brightened up the whole room, and her genuine laughter quickly increased both in pitch and intensity, which often baited the others into snickering along with her.

Bruno didn’t drink much; he never had. Sofía didn’t like to assume, but she had always suspected that he denied alcohol because it could affect his visions, or perhaps his control over when and how often he would have them.

Sofía had only ever seen him fully drunk once over a year ago, at her eighteenth birthday party. Her family had, of course, gone fully overboard with the festivities despite Sofía’s wish to keep it small and manageable, she suspected partially because they were hoping to set her up with one of the countless young men residing in Encanto, inspired by the recent marriage of one of her younger cousins. Anything but overjoyed, Sofía had still obliged their wishes and danced with a few eligible bachelors over the course of the evening, none of them particularly tickling her fancy whatsoever.

The most fun she had had that night had been dancing with the triplets, hooking their arms into each other to move in circles around the room in childish motions, twirling and lifting each other in ways that had made them all laugh hysterically. All to the dismay of Sofía’s family, of course, who had immediately paired her up with another stranger, whose impure intentions she had felt wavering off him even before he touched her hand to lead her back onto the dance floor.

It had happened when Sofía had fled outside to escape his company hours later, that he had followed her to wrap his arms around her firmly enough that any resistance had been futile. Without any hesitation, he had pulled her into a kiss, just when Julieta had stepped into her field of vision, making the stranger cease his actions and hurry off into the night instead.

Relief was barely enough of a word to describe what Sofía had felt in that moment. Of course, she could have pushed him away, sent him god-knows-where after giving him no signs of liking him all evening, but Julieta’s company had been enough to rout him. Immediately, she’d rushed to envelop Julieta in a tight embrace whilst thanking her profusely. “Don’t thank me,” she had whispered in response before pulling back slightly to look into Sofía’s confused eyes, “thank Bruno.”

Later, Sofía had found Bruno leaning against one of the wooden posts off to the side of her family’s property, struggling to stay upright as his gaze drifted over the clearly visible stars in the sky. She had felt how drunk he had been far before she reached his side, and yet it had surprised her just how far gone he’d been. With her arm looped through his, she had led him inside and to her room, making sure to lay him down so he would be as comfortable as possible before backing away. “He touched you…” Bruno had murmured, barely audible through his slurred pronunciation, and yet Sofía could feel the raw fury emanate from him at his words. “That goddamn bastard touched you.”

He had, of course, apologized profusely the next day and many days after that for just how drunk he had been, but in all truth he had never managed to recollect his memory of the evening - possibly for the best. Ever since then, Bruno had barely had a drop of alcohol.

Tonight, however, it was different. Not only was Bruno dismissive about drinking, merely tasting one of the older wines Sofía’s family had gifted them, he also seemed much more withdrawn than usual. He barely joined in on any of the fun or conversations, and, after a while, he vanished without a word.

Bruno’s sisters didn’t seem too perturbed about his absence, immediately making use of the situation by moving onto girltalk. Both Julieta and Pepa had their eyes on two boys from town, which had been a prominent conversation topic between them in recent times.

Julieta and her novio Agustín hadn’t exactly met by accident. Abiding by Alma's wishes, Julieta had started to run a little booth in town where she would give away freshly cooked food to anyone in need of healing. Agustín was a man of Julieta's age who had frequented Julieta’s stand over a long period of time, a different type of injury in tow at every single visit. By that, one could gather that he had either been incredibly clumsy and accident-prone, or genuinely interested in her. Whatever it had been, Julieta had soon developed more than a small crush on him. After having kissed a few times, an experience she had described to Pepa and Sofía in elaborate detail, she and Agustín had recently made the step to officially become a couple.

With Pepa, it had been different, like all things were. A few months back, Sofía’s family had invited the Madrigals over for supper, which had been where Pepa had properly met Sofía’s cousin Félix for the first time. They had been seated next to each other at the dinner table, and it had truly been love at first sight. Despite having fallen head over heels in love with each other after that first night of discussing anything and everything for hours on end, they had danced around each other for a long time until he’d properly asked her out. Recently they had started meeting up regularly, and whenever they did, Pepa would come home dazed, radiating an immense happiness that would make rainbows appear all around her for the next few days.

Against all odds, considering the town’s opinion on him, Bruno had joined his sisters in dating someone only a few weeks ago. He had been spending a lot of time with Martina, a girl from town that neither of the girls knew particularly well, but one that he seemed overjoyed to meet up with every single time. Sofía had only seen her a few times, but everytime she had felt her chest constricting like she was about to have a panic attack.

Martina was, for lack of a better word, perfect - the type of person who was just effortlessly beautiful. Her tapered waist was only part of her impeccably sculpted figure that visibly promised seduction, spools of her mercury-red hair framing her face, her saffron-tinted complexion as flawless as the one of a porcelain doll. Her dark, sweeping eyelashes made it look like she was wearing makeup at all times, and the sugary voice that poured out of her puffy, heart-shaped lips was just as mesmerizing as the rest of her. According to everyone who knew her, the cheerful personality and her bubbly outlook on life seemed to make Martina just an overall pleasure to be around.

All in all, she was beautiful in a way Sofía wasn’t, lighting up any room she entered, and she was floaty and angelic - so unlike Sofía in every way.

Sofía had spent hours of her time weeping over how it made her feel whenever she knew Bruno was meeting her, insistent on going alone even though his sisters inquired whether they could join him every single time. She loathed the jealousy that ricocheted through her, could feel it wavering just beneath the surface of her skin whenever Martina was mentioned, sizzling and blistering as though it was burning her from the inside out. Yet, nothing was worse than hearing Bruno talk about her, his head in the clouds as he gushed over something they had gotten up to the day before - it truly made Sofía feel as though she wanted to die.

Never in her life had she felt less attractive and desirable than now. It wasn’t like Sofía and Bruno had ever done anything unsavory; in fact, she was absolutely certain he was not interested in her in that way. What he felt had always been like an open book to her, and she knew his feelings towards her had barely changed ever since they had first met. Hers had, clearly.

Sofía liked Bruno Madrigal, everybody knew that. And yet, nobody knew how much she craved his closeness and affection, and just how much she wanted him. She wanted to call him her own, wanted to claim him and have him adore her just the way she adored him. This odd sense of possessiveness was not only uncalled for, it also made Sofía feel physically sick every time she dwelled on why she felt this way, and yet she couldn’t help but wish Bruno saw her the way she saw him.

A loud peal of laughter from the sisters brought Sofía back to reality, and she quickly shook her head to get rid of her thoughts before Pepa turned towards her, her words slightly slurred as she spoke. “See, Sofía? Now that Bruno has his novia, only you need to find someone, and then the whole family is happy!” Without hesitation, Julieta turned towards her sister, staring at her as though she had just insulted her. “Pepa!” Unimpressed, Pepa continued. “We could all get married together! Then comes the happily ever after, like a fairytale! I’ve always wanted to be in a fairytale…” Her voice quieted down as she trailed off, just when Julieta elbowed her in the ribs. Pepa threw her a confused glance in response before her eyes suddenly widened in silent realization, one that Sofía was not privy to the details of.

Instead, she bit down on her bottom lip to subdue the pang of pain that shot through her chest, feeling inexplicably close to tears after those few words, and spoke up herself. “Yeah, I don’t know. Some fairytales aren’t all that good, you know?” Sofía hoped they couldn’t hear the pain in her voice as she rose from the ground to inconspicuously stretch her limbs, hiding the frown that was undoubtedly distorting her face. “Anyways, I’m not really looking to… date anyone, I guess.”

The conversation stalled, and when Sofía still felt tears stinging in the corners of her eyes a minute into deafening silence, she excused herself to go to the bathroom, instinctively grabbing her basket on the way out without really knowing why.

She felt off; a bizarre mixture of sadness and heartache oscillating in her deep chest - a feeling she had grown to know very well over the past few weeks. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would help compose herself again.

⧖⧗⧖

It was more of an instinct than a proper thought process that led Sofía down to the river passing through the nearby forest. Granted, she knew that on the off-chance Bruno had not retired to his tower room, he would be there as well, but right now, Sofía would give anything to visit one of her comfort places if it finally helped her breathe again.

When Sofía reached the moonlit riverbank, she sat down beside the familiar cloaked figure without a word, faintly noticing just how dizzy she had grown from their earlier drinking. In turn, Bruno flinched for a moment, immediately relaxing as soon as he realized who she was. Sofía hadn’t noticed earlier when they had been inside, perhaps too overwhelmed with her nervousness and Pepa’s emotions which often had the power to overshadow all others around her, but now, she could feel distress radiating from Bruno like she hadn’t in a long time.

She wasn’t exactly sure how long the two of them sentenced themselves to complete silence, but instead of pressuring him into talking immediately, Sofía forced herself to slowly synchronize their breathing - an old habit that had always helped her calm down in the past. After a while, when she felt she could speak without her voice betraying her, she took a deep breath.

“We missed you in there.” That was simple enough, not forcing Bruno into responding if he didn’t feel like it, merely an observation. Out of the corner of her eyes Sofía could see him frown, the expression remaining on his face just long enough so she could clearly recognize it. A faint, barely noticeable shake of his head made it clear what he was thinking, even if she hadn’t felt it brush over her skin with the tender wind surrounding them: he didn’t believe her. “Yeah? Heh, that’s… nice of you to say.” Bruno’s voice was too loud, the words coming out of his mouth too fast to be considered natural, and he didn’t even turn his head to look at her, gaze stoically focussed on the river in front of them. “I mean it,” Sofía replied, her voice strong enough to imply just how serious she was about this, “It's not the same without you, Bruno.”

A deep shudder seemed to run through his body at that, coinciding with a cool breeze enveloping the two of them as they sat on the mossy forest floor, several feet apart from each other.

The conversation was over, and the silence between them stretched so far it almost became unsettling, considering how much they usually spoke. And yet, Sofía rather enjoyed it. His company alone was often enough for her to feel more relaxed than when she was alone, but this time - the time!

Trying not to look as frantic as she felt, Sofía rummaged through the fabric of her skirt until she found the small pocket by her waist, pulling out her father’s old silver pocket watch she always carried with her. Sofía watched in silence as the last few minutes passed, and when the clock struck midnight, she reached beside her for the basket she had incidentally brought with her.

When she pulled out the large piece of woolen fabric, Bruno’s eyes followed her movements curiously, his eyes never leaving her hands as she discreetly refolded the garment before turning towards him.

The hands holding the gift out to him were clearly visible in the strong moonlight, and yet it took Bruno a moment to understand her intentions.

With a strong wave of confusion he took it from her, and Sofía had to suppress the urge to read his emotions more thoroughly when his hands brushed over hers for just a moment. “What’s this?” What do you think it is? Instead of answering his question, Sofía merely shifted slightly so she was facing him, encouraging him to unfold it with a big smile. “Happy Birthday, Brunito.” In an instant, his eyes widened in disbelief, and despite her efforts to leave him to feel his feelings in private, there was no denying the deep sense of appreciation that settled in his core at her words. “For… for me?” This time, Sofía laughed, the sudden sound making Bruno flinch ever so slightly. “Of course it’s for you.” “But - “ “God, just open it, pendejo.” Bruno took his time, carefully unfolding the fine-grained fabric as if it would break if he moved too quickly, all until he could finally see it in all of its glory.

For years and years, Sofía had struggled to come up with gift ideas for all three of the triplets. It wasn’t that they weren’t incredibly grateful people who would be happy about anything as a present - for them, all that mattered were the thoughts and intentions behind it - it was that exact fact that made it so hard to find something they truly loved. Out of a mixture of resignation and the pure desire to make them something useful, Sofía had made use of her talents and sewn them something to wear. She knew the thought was boring and uninspired, especially considering it was her profession to sew and tailor clothes, but she had put a lot of time and effort into these gifts over the past few months and desperately hoped the triplets would genuinely enjoy them.

Pepa’s gift was an orange dress, the one Sofía had barely managed to finish just this morning. It’s gradated colors were mostly covered up by embroidery representing everything she associated with the turbulent, lovable girl: several different flowers and plants, a few vines of ivy along her back and, of course, a wide array of elements representing her control over the weather. The big, yellow sun that spread outwards from where Pepa’s heart would be was Sofía’s personal favorite, but she also adored the long lightning bolts lining the sides and back and the fluffy clouds around the waistline and along the bottom of the circle skirt. To finish it up, she had stitched a few raindrop shapes onto the flounces and ruffles along her neck and wrists, and it would have been a lie to say she wasn’t immensely pleased with the result.

Julieta’s gift was an apron. Again, it was unoriginal, but realistically the thing she would get the most use out of. Because of how often the oldest triplet would hopefully wear it, its main focus needed to be on durability rather than beauty, as Pepa’s had been. Sofía had chosen a forgiving fabric that could deal with frequent cleanings, and had reinforced all the seams and added pockets galore, for all of Julieta’s potential cooking needs. Along the stitching, which was barely noticeable to the untrained eye, were the delicate shapes of a wide variety of Julieta’s favorite herbs, the beautiful leaves of Basil curving around her waist whilst long stems of rosemary lined her pockets and neckline.

Bruno’s gift, which he was currently staring at intently, was a brand new ruana, not too unlike the one he constantly wore. It was made from a dark forest green fabric, elaborately embroidered all along its hem.

His posture showed just how taken aback he was, his mouth wide open, his arms frozen where they had first unfolded the garment. Sofía desperately hoped it was a good type of shock, but alas, she could not tell. Several moments passed until, in a desperate attempt to get him to speak, Sofía pointed at her embroidery.

“Let me explain it. Some cultures consider seven a lucky number, so I made sure that all the patterns were only arranged in repetitions or arrays of seven.” Bruno remained stock still, and Sofía could barely even see his chest rise and fall in shallow breaths. Quickly, she pointed at the row of circular motifs along the neckline.

“You’ve… you’ve probably seen an evil eye before. Don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous,” she grinned, “It’s supposed to guard its wearer against misfortune and protect them from evil spirits and bad luck, especially fitting in your case, I imagine.” Sofía chuckled to herself again, but received no response. Determined to at least finish her explanations before she let the reality of his reaction hit her, she decided to keep going. “And I made them Julieta’s color, since… you know. You all three belong together, and there is something symbolizing each of you hidden in the embroidery on all of your gifts.”

Bruno’s eyes were wandering over the garment in shock, snagging on the deep green leaves along the hemline that were highly reminiscent of the plates Alma had gifted them all a few years back, minus the mention of hourglasses, which Sofía considered yet another unnecessary reminder of Bruno’s burden of a gift. What he couldn’t see, was that the inside of the ruana held a few pockets, which Sofía had had the foresight to add for both his salt-carrying habits and his rat-friends he often walked around town with, the inside seams adorned with bright orange flowers that mirrored Pepa’s dress color exactly.

Bruno still wasn’t talking, hadn’t reacted in any way, and Sofía released an anxious chuckle, scratching the back of her head nervously. “I… actually went to the library and looked into this, you know? And I had a lot of fun doing it, too, so that was nice! Even if you don’t…” she trailed off when she finally realized there was no way he was listening to her anymore. Even if you don’t like it.

There came another long, potent pause, and Sofía was almost ready to just drop the topic entirely and move on when Bruno suddenly broke the silence without turning towards her, seemingly staring through the ruana he still held in his hands. “You… you made this? For me?” Oh! “Yes! Do you like it?” “It’s beautiful…” he muttered. Sofía felt her heart surge with pride and happiness, and could barely contain the urge to bring him towards her in a crushing hug. Instead, she reflected on his words for just a moment, until her mouth spoke without her permission. “Just like you, Brunito.” Alcohol had loosened her tongue, and the warmth that immediately rushed to her cheeks told her she was visibly blushing, probably even in the low moonlight. How embarrassing. To admit that without context, so out of the blue was almost shameful, yet even now, Sofía could tell Bruno didn’t believe her. Then again, maybe it was for the best that he didn’t know how she truly felt about him.

When Sofía turned to see the tears in his eyes shimmer in the dim moonlight, she could have sworn she felt her heart break in her chest.

She knew it had been hard for him. Despite his constant efforts to conceal his deeper, true feelings from her, he often underestimated just how much her gift allowed her to feel what he felt. Bruno Madrigal faked things - a lot. He faked his smiles and forced his laughter, and Sofía knew it was because he thought he had to so that nobody would worry, and so that his sisters would think he was okay, when he really wasn’t.

Itching to reach out to him and pull him closer to warmly reward that raw vulnerability that only served to increase his allure, she instead reserved to gently place a hand on his arm, instantly bringing her attention to her. “Bruno,” Sofía almost whispered, “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” In a gesture she put down as unintentional, he shook his head ever-so-slightly before wiping his eyes as casually as possible as though they had been merely itchy, not threatening to overflow with tears. “It’s… it’s nothing, really. Nothing to worry about.” Sure. “Ah, is that right?” Sofía’s question was dripping with irony, but she was sure he was barely even picking up on it. “Yeah, you know…” Bruno shrugged as he gently traced one of the embroidered leaves with his fingers. “You know…”

When Sofía was sure he wasn’t going to finish his sentence, she decided this was enough. She was going to tell him what she thought, straight-up, and she would hope he would take it the right way. “Bruno… Look, I know you had a tough year - a couple of tough years if we’re being candid here. I want, no, I need you to know that people still love you and are still here for you, even if the town thinks you’re ‘Bad Luck Bruno’ or whatever stupid name they come up with next. Who cares what others think when we’ve got each other, right?”

Suddenly, Bruno’s head whipped around and his eyes found Sofía’s, his expression intense and almost bone-chilling. Before she could say another word, his arms were around her to envelop her in a hug, slow and hesitant at first, then frantic and clawing. Without having to think, Sofía reciprocated it with the same intensity, pulling him into her as much as she could while she rested her chin on his shoulder.

There was no denying she loved his touch. Sofía’s general aversion to physical contact had only worsened since she had received her gift. She couldn’t stand most people’s touch, however casual it was. Every time, she had to force herself not to feel their emotions, or have them flow into her like she knew she could, but even this restraint was hard on her. Bruno’s touch however… it was different. It never made her skin itch, never made her want to wash the place he touched until it was raw and bleeding or retreat back into the safety of her room and never come back out. Instead, it made her feel all warm and fuzzy, as if the feel of his skin alone was enough to have a sense of fulfillment spread through her.

It had taken Sofía a long time to realize what those feelings meant, and now that she had, she desperately wished she never had.

Abruptly, her thoughts were disrupted by Bruno’s entire body shuddering against her, and on instinct, she immediately pulled him impossibly closer against herself, feeling his every breath as if it was her own. When he spoke, she felt the vibrations move through her chest, but his voice was broken and weak. “Thank you… You… you don’t know what this means to me.” Immediately, Sofía had to suppress the urge to pull back and pull him into a passionate kiss to show him just how much this all meant to her, too. She trembled at the thought, softly shaking her head before slowly drawing back from his hug, just enough for their lines of sight to cross.

Bruno’s eyes were unfocused and bleary, and Sofía soon raised her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb wiping away a single tear as it ran down his stubbled cheek. After a deep inhale of fresh air, she quickly offered him a genuine smile before she managed to speak. “You know I have always believed in you, Bruno. I truly wouldn’t be where I am without you and your family,” Sofía had to bite back her own tears now as she saw his brows furrow further at her words, “I told you all those years ago that I would be forever in your debt, and I am still working on that. Maybe we’ll be even one day, but I honestly doubt it.” Sofía’s smile gave way to a deep frown when Bruno’s body suddenly shook with a powerful sob, and instinctively she pulled him close again by wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him close for a long, long time until his tears subsided and his breathing returned to normal.

His nose brushed against her neck, the warm air tickling the skin with every one of his breaths, and it was almost enough to distract her from hearing his muffled voice. “You’re my favorite,” he mumbled, his lips brushing over her collarbone when he spoke. Sofía was sure this would be her demise with the way her heart skipped several beats, and she immediately pulled back in shock, her hands resting on his shoulders to hold him an arm’s length away from her. “What’d you just say?” There was no doubt she had misheard him. “I… uh, nothing! I said absolutely nothing.” Oh. With the blush that came over his entire face, flushing his tan skin right up to where it was covered up by his ruana around his neck, she could feel the embarrassment roll off of him in giant waves. He had really said it.

No longer able to contain herself, Sofía released a loud burst of laughter at how surreal this all felt. She could immediately tell Bruno thought she was making fun of him, but she could not help herself as she nudged his shoulder right as her giggles subsided. “Don’t worry, you’re my favorite too, Bruno.”

She reveled in their mutual adoration for just a while longer before they fully pulled back from each other, and it only felt natural for Sofía to plant a comforting kiss on his cheek just before they broke apart. It had happened before, rarely, but, momentarily taken aback by her own gesture, Sofía could feel herself blush yet again. Fighting her way through it, she turned back towards the gurgling river and cuddled up beside the Madrigal son, leaning her head on his shoulder.

The both of them seemed to enjoy the silence, only occasionally interrupted by birds or other forest animals screeching further in the thicket past the stream. It took a while until Sofía picked up on Bruno’s quiet mumbling, barely audible through the noises around them, but just when she readjusted herself to listen to him properly, he spoke up louder.

“Twenty, huh?” “Twenty! Isn’t that great? The Big Two-O!” She gently nudged his side again when he didn’t react. “Isn’t it exciting? Who knows what this year will bring!” Sofía could just about see his eyes glossing over in the corner of her vision, as if he was completely lost in thought. There was another long pause, then he mumbled again, more to himself than to her. “I never thought I’d make it this far…”

Oh. The tears that flooded Sofía’s eyes were instantaneous.

She wasn’t a naive little girl anymore, she knew Bruno had had trouble dealing with things, as had she, and yet she had never once put him down as suicidal.

Ripping her head away from its resting place on his shoulder, she turned away from him hectically just as the first whimper escaped her throat. “Hey, hey! What’s wrong?” Bruno’s hands landed on her back, smoothing them over her shoulders in a comforting motion, but Sofía shrugged him off immediately, turning back towards him with fury evident in both her expression and inflection. “Miérda! You - Bruno, you can’t just spring that on me! The fact that you… did you try? Try to…” His eyes widened as he realized what he had said aloud, and his jaw dropped as he seemed to desperately seek the right words to answer her frantic questioning. “I - No! I mean, I - yes, I’m - I wasn’t thinking! I’m so sorry, Sofía, I swear I didn’t mean to - “ She cut him off with her hand stretched out to hover over his mouth, and he stilled immediately.

Sofía’s thoughts were running rampant. He had tried to kill himself. When? Why? It wasn’t a real question, she knew exactly why. Bruno Madrigal had tried to end his life, because he had felt so miserable, so desperate and overwhelmed with everything that he tried to kill himself. She could have lost him… lost him forever.

Bruno turned away from her after a while, dejected, just about to get up and leave when she violently gripped his wrist and pulled him back down to the ground, startling him enough so he released a little shriek in the quiet night, immediately devolving into another string of apologies. “Just - god, stop it! This is not - I’m not… This is because…” Sofía forced herself to take a deep breath, insistent that a panic attack would help neither of them right now. “God, Bruno, I wouldn’t know what to do without you… If I lost you, too, I don’t know how…”

A long, empty silence followed as Sofía struggled to get her mind to cooperate with what she wanted to say, but Bruno merely stared at her, stunned, silent, unblinking. Then she spoke.

“You know I was never very close to my parents.” Bruno nodded hesitantly, and Sofía was hit with the realization that now, she had to tell him the whole story - now, she had to bare her soul and pour out her heart to him so he would understand. After a deep sigh, she continued. “But of course, when they died, I was devastated, as any four-year-old would be. I didn’t understand why this was happening, in general or to me, I didn’t understand why they were gone forever or why I had to go live with my abuelo all of a sudden. “Even though it had been far from perfect before, all I wanted was another day knowing they were home, not caring about their drug habits or their unpredictable manic mood swings. All I wanted was for my parents to be alive and to be there for me.”

Sofía’s eyes were strictly focussed on the babbling river, but she could clearly see Bruno’s brows furrow at the edge of her field of vision, his fingers clenching into fists on his knees. “It followed me for years, that feeling, and I don’t think I will ever really get over that. I know they weren’t good people, I know they definitely weren’t good parents, but I would give so, so much to spend just another day with them.” Struggling to keep her breathing even enough to keep talking, Sofía blinked away her tears and started fidgeting with her fingers, curling and uncurling around the chain of her father’s pocket watch attached to her skirt.

“When I… When I came here, I was overwhelmed. This town was beautiful, but so different from the city I was used to, and my family was warm and kind as opposed to my parents’ mostly cold behavior towards me. “I was devastated about their deaths, about the loss of what I thought was my world and support system, and I barely knew how to cope, I… I didn’t think I would survive for long. I thought my life should end with theirs. “After a while here, that all hadn’t changed. I thought I would never be happy again, I thought I didn’t deserve to live if they didn’t.” Bruno huffed out a breath beside her and moved slightly, she couldn’t tell if it was closer or farther away from her, but she didn’t have the courage to turn her head towards him before she managed to get to the point of her story.

“And then I met you - you guys.” It was a minor slipup, one Sofía hoped he didn’t notice. Yes, it had been mostly Bruno and his pure kindness that had helped her out of her depression, but she didn’t need to tell him so directly… Then again, what did it matter now?

“You were all so terribly kind, so endlessly supportive… You were a family nothing like the one I had, and even though the gift was overwhelming and a lot to handle - still is, might I add - it has given me so much in return since then. “Helping Pepa deal with her emotions over the years, helping Julieta with the pressure that was being put on her by your mother and then everything with you… It has all helped me so much more than you could possibly imagine. “You made me feel… It all made me feel like I had a purpose, a reason for being here. I - I guess I really have to feel needed. I mean, what else is there, really?”

In the brief stillness that followed her words, Sofía realized not only how much she had rambled and veered off-topic, but also just what she had just admitted out loud; things she had barely thought about, let alone admitted to herself in the past few years, and yet Bruno's distress had coerced them out of her like it had been nothing. She wanted to add something that would make it obvious that she was okay, she wasn’t worthy of his pity or empathy, she was okay and would always be okay; but she found there really wasn’t anything else left to say.

The quiet rustling of leaves around them filled the somewhat frightening silence as she waited for Bruno to react. There was a latent thought in the back of her head, almost a wish that she had just kept her mouth shut for once and hadn’t said any of that aloud, or that, at the very least, Bruno had been too preoccupied with himself to hear it.

After sitting in the pressing silence for so long, Bruno’s voice absolutely blindsided her as he suddenly spoke entirely unprompted, seamlessly breaking the stillness between them with the few syllables that left his lips.

“You are.” What? “Huh?” The way Bruno’s voice transferred so smoothly through the quiet almost unsettled her, but the words he spoke were far more ominous than that. Without thinking she turned herself towards him, noticing his eyes were cast downward, fingers slowly tracing her embroidery on the hem of his new ruana.

Bruno took a moment to respond, by then his voice wasn’t the nervous one of the boy Sofía had gotten to know almost fifteen years ago, this was the voice of someone who had something to prove, and he would do anything to do it. “Needed, Sofía, you are needed. We need you - I need you.” Sofía’s stomach churned as her thoughts ran haywire. There was no way he could mean it like she thought he did, there was no way he could mean it in the way she was hoping for. Without even allowing herself to overthink further, she attempted to throw him a wide smile to lighten the mood and distract from their current conversation topic. “Anyway Bruno, I - “ “I’m serious,” his tone was assertive and intense now, “I would not have made it this far without you, and I…”

He used the short break in his sentence to rip his gaze away from his present and turn towards her, that same intense expression back on his face. Sofía could not take her eyes off of him. It wasn’t until right this moment that she realized something had shifted between them. It hadn’t been a gradual change, this was a sudden, intense feedback loop that developed between the two of them, paired with the way his close proximity so easily set Sofía on edge, it only left a few thoughts soaring through her brain at lightning speed.

She wanted him. She loved him.

God, she loved him.

Sofía hadn’t realized she was frowning until Bruno finally finished his sentence, his voice quieter now as he sat closer to her. “I need you.” He paused for a moment before he whispered it again, suddenly so close to Sofía that she was sure they were sharing the same air. “I need you, Sofía…”

Without another second to doubt herself, Sofía leaned forward and closed the distance between them.

When Bruno’s lips met hers, Sofía felt like she lost her grip on reality - so long had she waited for this moment that she knew if she had been standing up, her legs would have given out beneath her just from this. It was a simple kiss, a press of her mouth to his held for only a few beats of her heart, and yet the electric shock that passed through her at the feeling of him was without doubt the most intense thing she had ever experienced.

It took barely a few seconds before the kiss was broken, its end punctuated with the barest of caresses of Bruno’s lips brushing over hers, tantalizingly light as their noses bumped softly, his faint stubble deliciously harsh against Sofía’s skin. She let out a barely audible sigh, unsure whether to settle on feeling shocked or ecstatic about what she had just done, an echo of the overwhelming feelings ringing through her, lingering in her brain as they pulled away.

In retrospect, there was no telling who initiated the next kiss, but just when they had brought some distance between the two of them, Bruno’s mouth crashed into hers once again. The way his lips sealed over hers stole her breath away, and yet this kiss was lacking the earlier innocence, its intentions far clearer this time.

Now, it was clumsy, all hunger and desperation, born out of passion, out of want and desire. Sofía flattened her palm against Bruno’s ribs as his arms encircled her, crushing her body right against his, and instinctively, her hands moved up his chest and around his neck, clawing at his clothing in the process.

She reached up to rake her fingers through his tangled curls, threading them into the hair at the nape of his neck to urge him impossibly closer to her, right as his arms stiffened around her, hands digging into the skin of her waist so tightly that she could feel his frenzied desperation like it was her own. Sofía felt thoughtless, mindless, weightless, as though her soul had finally left her body and was floating somewhere far above her, and Bruno’s mouth was hot and consuming as it continued to move against hers in a wet, demanding kiss that was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Shaking fingers tangled themselves into his hair, tilting his head to kiss him with everything she had as her fingernails softly grazed his scalp, resulting in a whimpering sound originating deep in his throat that made her heart do florid somersaults in her chest. When Bruno’s hand slowly slipped from Sofía’s neck upwards to cup her jaw, his soft and gentle touch was such a sharp contrast against the frantic nature of their kiss that she felt her mouth drop open in shock, and Bruno didn’t waste a second before his tongue moved between her stunned lips, kissing her as deeply as he could. Sofía responded by sliding her tongue against his in feverish strokes, determined to mirror his every move with matching enthusiasm, and she was rewarded by another deep rumbling sound emanating from right under where one of her hands still rested against his clothed chest.

She so desperately wanted to shift, pull Bruno even closer - impossibly closer - she wanted to slide her leg over his to straddle him, she wanted to roll her hips against him to feel him against her hard and ready…

Suddenly, Bruno pulled back. His hands remained on her, slowly, almost absentmindedly trailing his fingers over her neck and down to her exposed collarbone. If he was speaking, Sofía had no way of hearing him over the deafening sound of blood rushing through her ears, but all of a sudden it seemed like her vision was almost enhanced, and she couldn’t suppress a gasp of shock as her eyes landed on him.

Bruno Madrigal was a picture of a man. His pupils were dilated so much that barely anything of his beautiful, soft green eye color was visible, his hair was messed up beyond recognition, thick strands of his dark brown curls hanging in front of his face in a way Sofía knew he disliked immensely. Bruno’s lips were slick and bruised, and his chest hidden beneath his ruffled clothing was rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths as the two of them panted like they had just finished running around town for hours on end. Her fingers slowly descended from smoothing out his hair to settle along the gentle curve of his cheek, just like she had done earlier, her thumb brushing over the faintly freckled skin of his nose in the process, and his eyes widened slightly at the intimate gesture. Sofía could have sworn that had never seen him look quite as beautiful as he did in that moment.

There was barely any time to process what they had just done or to think about her own feelings after this unexpected turn of events, and there was an endless amount of emotions Sofía would have loved to read in Bruno’s eyes and feel emanating from him, falling off of him in waves like they usually did. What she hadn’t been expecting to pick up on was the disgusting sting of fear.

Immediately, Sofía flinched back, dropping her hands and pulling away from his grasp to crawl several feet backwards until there was a fair distance between them as she merely stared, confirming her suspicion. He was scared.

Oh no. She had… She had taken advantage of him. Shame burned brightly under her skin, blooming deep in her heart as regret made itself known in the forefront of her mind. Clearly, Sofía had misinterpreted his feelings and words - clearly, she had taken advantage of his vulnerable situation.

For god’s sake, he had just admitted that he had tried to commit suicide in the past; what kind of monster was she to have a reaction like this? What was she thinking, forcing herself onto him like that after such a confession? This wasn’t appropriate, this was disgusting and predatorial, this was purely non-consensual! She should have asked before she… God, what about Martina?

Not only had Sofía used Bruno’s momentary vulnerability to satiate her disgusting desires for a taken man, her oldest friend at that, she had also, in turn, made him betray the trust of his novia, had made him kiss her out of obligation, just because he had expressed a feeling of gratefulness towards her?

Sofía wanted to die, wanted to sink deep into the loose soil of the forest floor beneath her and never come back out; she wanted to revel in her shame, simmer in her self-hatred for the rest of eternity until the devil himself came to claim her as one of his own.

When Bruno broke the deafening silence he was still panting, his bleary eyes shining brightly in contrast with his flushed skin, yet his voice was croaky and broken. “You… you should probably thi-” “Yes! Yes, we shouldn’t,” Sofía paused to catch her breath and sit up straighter from her cowering position, the shock of what had just happened slowly but surely settling in her bones, “We shouldn’t, with your novia and all that.” At that, Bruno froze, his mouth dropping open in shock over something Sofía wasn’t quite privy to. “What? No, no! I don’t… Martina isn’t - “

“Ay, what are you two doin’ here, huh?” Pepa’s shrill voice broke through the otherwise serene quiet of the forest, and only left awkward silence in its wake. Both Bruno and Sofía whipped their heads around to their friends immediately, and it was clear Julieta was simultaneously supporting her sister and trying to hold her back from advancing further towards them with a firm arm wrapped around her waist. “Always hiding out here, the two of you! It’s our birthday, we gotta celebrate together!” The younger Madrigal sister slurred her words significantly, and Sofía felt the little smile overcome her expression before she could rationally think about what to say.

There was nothing she could do now, she realized. Nothing she could do or say would remedy what she had just done to Bruno, she could only hope he would grant her the courtesy of retreating silently and without much fuss, vanishing from the face of the earth never to return. Sofía would take a moment later to apologize for her actions and desperately hope he would forgive her - not that he should. There was no doubt in her mind that she had no right to use him like she just had - like an idiot, like a harlot without any control over herself, her feelings or her actions. No, she deserved whatever was coming her way, she deserved all of the humiliation, the shame and the mortification after what she had done tonight.

Dejectedly, Sofía blinked away the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes before jumping up from the ground to run towards the two sisters, enveloping them in a crushing hug she desperately hoped wouldn’t be their last. Julieta and Pepa reacted immediately, wrapping their arms around Sofía to hold her as tightly as they could as though they could feel her distress radiate from her like she usually could.

When Sofía pulled away, she noticed the concern on Julieta’s face before she even properly locked eyes with her, and with a sudden flash of genius pulled the two sisters towards the riverbank where she had left her wicker basket. “Now, who wants gifts?”

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here you go, i continued the story! let me know what you think!

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@ihavenoideawhatiamdoinghelp @sunflowerfive @khameo @vernon-dursley @svr2003 @rebel4fandom @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

ii | Harbingers of Change | Bruno Madrigal

Bruno Madrigal x Original AFAB Character [ masterlist ] | [ ← previous chapter ] [ next chapter → ] [ read it on ao3 ]

cw: panic attacks

word count: 7081 | rating: general audiences

⧖⧗⧖

It wasn't until Bruno held out his hand again and Sofía threaded her fingers through his that she found the strength to take a final step forwards to unveil her destiny.

At first, nothing happened. The wind didn’t pick up like it had during Bruno’s vision; the last few sunrays of the day didn’t mysteriously shine down on them brighter than before; nothing changed but the entrancing wavering pattern of the door in front of Sofía beckoning her closer just like the magical candle in Alma’s room had done mere minutes ago.

A strange tingling sensation overcame Sofía’s body, like thousands of little ants were crawling just under the surface of her skin and she had to suppress the tempting urge to dig her fingernails into the yielding flesh until the irritating itch subsided.

Then, everything stopped. There was a noticeable drop in temperature, but all of a sudden there were no more sounds of anything around her, no residual smells or tastes in her mouth, a true absence of anything perceivable - like Sofía was all alone in the world.

With an abruptness that made her flinch, something akin to a strong electric shock ran through her body from her feet upwards, lingering around her rib cage before it reached her head. It took a moment until Sofía registered the pain that had come with the bizarre experience, but it was only after she had managed to push the triplets away with the jolt that shook her body that it came crashing down on her all at once.

There was an agonizing, sharp pain in her chest, and in contrast to the complete emptiness Sofía had felt just a minute ago, suddenly there were endless waves of feelings flooding her brain. There was awe, there was curiosity and a hard crest of concern that seemed so strong to her that her head felt like it was going to explode.

Sofía only now noticed that she had turned her back to the door, wordlessly staring at the Madrigals like she had completely lost her mind, but when another surge of worry rushed over her, as if it meant to drown her within itself, she couldn’t bring herself to care. In an instinctual reaction, she backed away from the others as fast as she could until first her head and then her back hit the wooden door behind her with such a force that it felt like it knocked the air out of herself completely.

A sudden rumbling, like there was an earthquake taking place behind her, brought Sofía back to full consciousness, and she whirled around again just in time to see the magical door slowly reveal delicate grooves and indentations as if it was actively engraving itself. Within seconds, the art before her was finished.

Just like Bruno’s door, Sofía’s seemed to show an older version of herself, her shoulder length curls now long enough to reach her waist and partially cover her widely opened eyes in a frizzy fringe. She was kneeling on the floor, her arms crossed before her torso as both hands reached out to grasp barely visible strangers’ hands on either side of the wooden door’s edge. There were two unnerving masks flying above her head, one ecstatically laughing, the other one crying thick droplets of tears, both connected to each other with a thick ribbon that hovered behind them. Between her own likeness and the strange masks there were a couple of weird wavy lines, similar to the ones surrounding her own and the disembodied hands.

“I don’t understand,” Sofía heard herself say, her voice sounding nothing like her own, tainted with panic and confusion. Another wave of feelings threatened to overwhelm her, a queer concoction of anxiety and understanding, just when Alma crouched down beside her. “Breathe, cariña. You’re alright.” The mother’s voice was low and kind, the perfect tone for calming her down under usual circumstances.

However, as it was, Sofía felt like throwing up. Mirroring their earlier actions, Pepa and Julieta rushed to her side again, but as soon as Julieta’s hand touched Sofía’s clothed arm, it almost sent her catapulting away from the two of them, and she found herself with her back pressed against the glowing door once again. “What… what just happened….” Sofía could see Alma answering her out of the corner of her eye, but she could only hear her blood rushing to her head in her overwhelming panic.

There, just a couple of feet behind the frightened sisters, stood Bruno, his kind brown eyes almost entirely taken up by his pupils dilated in what looked like fear. “What’s wrong with me?” Sofía whispered, still unable to hear her own voice. The drowning sensation came back again, a deep pressure on her chest like she couldn’t breathe, and she could feel herself starting to hyperventilate as the sheer amount of feelings surrounding her became almost unbearable.

She had to leave. There was no time to think about pleasantries or about how rude it was to leave without another word to the kind family she had gotten to know today. Sofía felt like the house’s walls would close in and swallow her up whole and never let her go again, leaving her to exist in perpetual darkness for all of eternity.

When she felt the edges of her vision grow fuzzy and dark, she brushed past the concerned wall of Madrigals down the stairs she had come up, clutching onto the handrail as though her life depended on it.

It was only when she ran through the wide open front door of the house and made her way into the nearby forest that she faintly heard them all call after her in the distance.

⧖⧗⧖

It had taken a long time before her breathing had returned to normal again. The burbling of the river in front of her helped with drowning out most other sounds from the rapidly darkening forest around her, but she still felt the ebbing waves of feelings from her surroundings, slightly helping with quieting her own mind which was still racing with questions that made tears flow down her cheeks in thick rivulets.

Gradually, Sofía started to feel something else through the sea of emotions she felt herself drowning in: an unmistakable mixture of concern and compassion. “Sofía?” The softness of the voice did nothing to deter her reaction, jumping up from the grassy ground, ready to bring some distance between her and the person still hidden in the shadows.

She knew it was Bruno even before he stepped onto the moonlit clearing, but even despite that, she still couldn’t help but stumble a few steps backwards for every cautious one he took towards her. “I understand, I’ll keep my distance.” He stopped, fidgeting with his fingers as he stared at her. She could feel his sympathy, blended with the slightest hint of the pain of rejection. “How do you feel?”

What even was an acceptable answer to a question like that? She didn’t know the Madrigal boy well enough to spill out all of her deepest darkest feelings, and there was really nothing she could have said to describe her current emotional state without using the words painful or overwhelming, not to mention she didn’t think her throat would even allow her to speak.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. I’ll just…” There was a faint rustling sound as Bruno sat down a fair distance away from her by the riverbank, close enough to run his fingers through the cool water. “I’ll just be here.”

The silence between them stretched for a long time, but surprisingly, it never became uncomfortable. True to his word, Bruno sat still and quiet, content with just staring into the water in front of him as if he would find the answers to his earlier questions that way. Sofía had to admit she legitimately enjoyed his company, even in her current state of distress. He felt calming in a way nothing had ever felt calming to her before, and following his breathing pattern had helped tremendously. As she listened out for it in the minutes it took for her tears to subside, she swore she could feel his heartbeat more and more with every moment that passed, even though he sat so far away.

“I can feel you,” Sofía said after a while, barely loud enough for Bruno to hear. Taking her words as permission to look at her, he threw her a confused glance. “I can… I can feel what you feel,” she clarified, and immediately his face lit up in delight. “Really?” “You’re… you were so nervous in there, but out here you’re so calm. Worried, but calm.” It was still a struggle to interpret the surges of feelings correctly, but Sofía had no doubt about the fact that she was right in this case.

Bruno’s face split in a grin that was wider than Sofía had thought humanly possible. “Are you serious?” She would have been offended by him not believing her, with his magical house and magical candle and his own magical power of foresight, but she could tell he was completely in awe.

Slowly, as if waiting for her consent, he stood up and crept closer to her. Sofia gave him permission with a curt nod, yet his movements remained reluctant and cautious, as though he were approaching a wild animal. When he was close enough that Sofía swore she could feel his heartbeat yet again, he stopped to plop himself down on the ground, folding his legs beneath him in one smooth motion.

What had started out as a curious glance evolved into Bruno’s eyes noticeably boring through Sofía. “Stronger now?” he asked, his voice low and guarded, but audibly dripping with interest. Sofía merely offered him a weak nod, but managed to conjure up the confidence to fully look at him for the first time since they’d left Casita.

As their lines of sight crossed, Sofía could feel Bruno’s heart rate pick up in time with his nervousness that continued to fall off of him in waves - slow, harmless waves, nothing compared to the treacherous ones she had felt inside of the Madrigal home.

The corners of his lips twitched into a hesitant smile, instantly broken as he seemed to remember something important. Bruno dug his slightly jittery hands into the spacious pockets of his deep green ruana to withdraw a little cotton satchel filled to the brim with delicious-looking buñelos. He held the bulging bag out to Sofía, who grabbed it hesitantly, the heavenly snacks still emitting a pleasant warmth through the fabric they were stored in.

“Julieta was afraid you’d hurt yourself when you bumped into the door with your…” Bruno shyly gestured to the back of his head, and his awkwardness brought a genuine smile to Sofía’s face. “Thank you, Bruno.” This time she noticed his faint blush, which brought out a very similar reaction in herself coupled with a deep ache that settled in her chest in a way she had never felt before, like a warm, comforting sensation that also seemed strong enough to rip her apart at a moment’s notice.

The overpowering smell of the buñelos she still held in her hands brought Sofía back to reality, and she couldn’t deny the mouth-watering effects the food was having on her. Bruno beside her seemed to grow slightly restless all of a sudden, crossing and uncrossing his legs multiple times as he appeared to be searching for a comfortable position to sit in, until, without warning, Sofía’s world froze again when his elbow brushed against the warm skin of her forearm.

The same flash of electricity ran through her body from the point they connected, and the same overwhelming sensation not only rendered her momentarily speechless but also caused rows and rows of goosebumps to erupt on every square inch of her skin. The hairs on her body were standing on end, and as her vision blurred and her eyes slowly filled with tears, Julieta’s food lay forgotten on the mossy forest floor.

Feelings she had faintly been feeling before came rushing, practically flowing into her from where her skin still tingled with Bruno's touch - the uncertainty, the compassion, the desire to help her, all clear as day. Scarcely less affected by the whole ordeal than herself, Sofia could feel Bruno’s gaze burning holes into her as he rubbed his elbow absentmindedly.

“Did you just…” he muttered, and Sofía allowed herself to lock eyes with him when he spoke. His pupils were unusually dilated, so much so that she struggled to see any of his actual eye color as she stared back at him. “What just happened?” “I think I… I think I felt your feelings flow through me when you touched me.” The pure uncertainty in her voice was unmistakable, and yet Bruno took her word for gospel immediately, mouth dropping open in shock. “Really? What did it feel like?”

Sofía felt like she didn’t have the vocabulary to accurately describe what she had just experienced, but Bruno’s sheer childish enthusiasm made her feel almost giddy deep inside herself, so she tried. “It felt like you burned me, but - ” “Oh miérda, really? I’m so sorry!” She waved him off immediately, interrupting the oncoming tirade she knew he was ready to deliver at a moment’s notice, and talked over him until she stopped. “No, no, no, not like that, not in a bad way. It’s so hard to explain. It’s like a bee sting, but then the bee also has a magnet that pushes all of its feelings towards you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Bruno’s gaze flitted back to his elbow where they’d touched moments prior, eyes wide in disbelief. Nothing could have prepared Sofía for his next words. “I felt it too,” he whispered, and she could feel herself still immediately. “What?” “I felt it too. It’s like you somehow took that nervousness from me, kind of as if you calmed me down.”

Oh. “That’s insane, so I can feel others’ emotions and… soothe them?” Bruno nodded in silent agreement, his facial expression ecstatic with fascination. Sofía was excited too, to a certain extent, but irritation won over all the other feelings swirling through her head.

The triplet’s gifts were all so useful. Bruno’s was wondrous, a true miracle, insanely useful for each and every soul that decided to call upon his talents. Julieta’s was about as useful as it could possibly be, being able to heal all of Encanto after a single day spent in the kitchen. Pepa’s was bound to be incredibly useful too once she learned to control it properly, giving her the ability to provide the whole town with whatever weather was wanted or needed.

What on earth was her own “gift” good for?

Sofía shook her head, and she watched intently as Bruno’s happiness immediately seemed to falter with her own mood. “What… what am I supposed to do with that?” He seemed momentarily dumbfounded by her words, so she decided to keep going. “I understand it’s a gift and I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but all I worry about is my family’s wellbeing and this doesn’t help that at all and - what if this makes everything worse, what if I really can’t help, what if - “ “Sofía.” The utter calmness in Bruno’s voice surprised her, and that alone was enough to snap her out of her borderline incoherent babbling. “It’s okay, Sofía. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” There was no need to look at him or call upon her gift to know he was being entirely sincere. “You’re a part of our family now, and we take care of each other. We’ll do what we can for your family to get you through this, I’m sure of that.”

A part of their family? She had only met them all today, known them for such a short amount of time, and yet the thrill that jolted through her at his words was entirely irrefutable. “Thank you, Bruno,” she said, her voice once again sounding completely unlike it usually did, which she blamed on being close to tears this time. Bruno, however, seemed determined to give her that last little push to throw her over the precipice of weeping.

“De nada, really. I’m… I’m glad there’s someone else with a gift, if I’m being honest - someone as nice as you, too. It’s… just, thank you.” The two of them shared another long, kind smile, and with the amounts of kindness and compassion Sofia felt radiating off of the young boy, there seemed to be no need for further words.

With the gurgling of the rushing river as their backdrop, the two children sat in comfortable silence until darkness fully enveloped them.

⧖⧗⧖

Sneaking back into her house hadn’t been hard. Even from well outside of the family home, Sofía could tell that everyone was in bed, most of them dead asleep after the tainted excitement of the day.

Bruno had offered, nay, insisted on walking her home after repeating that it had been his fault they had spent such a long time by the river, and that a young girl like Sofía shouldn’t be walking home alone in the dark. She had tried to convince him that he was barely older than her, and that he should not be outside, let alone walking her home to the other side of town at this time, but he had just waved her off.

Sofía liked him. He was kind, in fact maybe the kindest person she had ever met, and she truly felt that he could become a great friend - not only because they now shared the Madrigal’s family miracle. She had bid Bruno farewell just past the halfway point between their homes, maintaining that she was completely fine to walk the rest of the way alone and that she would see him very soon. It was clear he had not been happy about that, but he conceded with a nod and a wave, before vanishing in the surrounding darkness.

Still, Sofía could have sworn she somehow felt his eyes on her the entire rest of the way back home, but it was only when she turned around after reaching her doorstep that she saw the flickering light in his tower on the other side of town.

A stuffy warmth greeted her when she silently closed the front door behind her, one that reminded her of her old home whenever her parents came home after payday and locked themselves away in their unventilated room for hours on end and their flat slowly filled with the odor of sweat and strange chemicals. Sofía could tell no one had aired the house or done the dishes after the fight had ensued earlier in the day, and even though she was momentarily tempted to amend that and clean everything she could, something pulled her up the stairs past the creaking steps, straight to Gabriéla’s door.

Again, the unfamiliar sensations of another person’s feelings crushed over her, and she could feel all of Gabriéla’s pure desperation and sadness. Without thinking, Sofía tapped her fingertips against the wooden door, loud enough so that Gabriéla could hear, but none of their other family members would be awoken by them, and entered the room.

Gabriéla sat on the wide red windowsill past her bed, only lit up by the pale moonlight outside, her face hidden in her hands as silent sobs shook her body.

Sofía pitied her. She could not imagine being in her shoes, but the sheer amount of guilt the older girl was emanating spoke volumes about her mental state.

Gabriéla audibly gasped when she noticed Sofía approaching in the corner of her vision, immediately averting her gaze to discreetly wipe the tears from her face. “Hey Fía, I think I’d rather be alone right now, okay?” The impact Gabriéla’s crying had had on her voice was undeniable, as was her sniffling after she’d finished speaking, and it was painfully obvious she was trying very hard to hold herself together in front of her younger cousin.

Sofía remained unfazed, simply wordlessly closing the distance between them to push herself onto the windowsill next to Gabríela before enveloping her in a crushing hug. Gabriéla stiffened in shock. Everyone knew Sofía didn’t usually gravitate towards physical touch, let alone a gesture as big as this, which was practically unheard of. Still, after a while she relaxed under her touch, and Sofía could feel her cousin’s shoulders tremble as tears freely rolled down her face once more.

When Sofia pulled away, she made sure to slowly run her hands down Gabriéla’s clothed arms until she reached her hands. With a deep breath, she let her fingers grasp her cousin’s, and immediately felt the surreal tingle of her emotions flowing over to herself, like a huge tsunami crashing down on her all at once. This time, however, she’d had time to brace herself for impact, which made the strange sensation significantly easier to endure, though still undeniably distressing.

She hoped Gabríela would interpret the tears in her eyes as a showing of empathy rather than the startling shock of pain that had run through her system just seconds ago, but even through all that, Sofía managed to let her fingers run over Gabriéla’s knuckles in a comforting motion before she spoke, mirroring Bruno’s calming words from earlier. “It’s gonna be okay, Gabriéla. I promise.” Her older cousin seemed stunned, but Sofía didn’t give her the time to think up a response. “You should get some sleep.”

It was only after a brief moment of eye contact and bewildered silence that Gabriéla’s expression morphed back from somewhat dazed to lucid and she managed to talk, merely echoing what Sofía had said. “I should get some sleep…” Her murmur was so quiet that Sofía had to strain to hear it, but it still brought a smile to her face as she led her cousin through her room to her own bed. The strangeness of the reversal of roles didn’t escape Sofía as stood by her bed and tucked her speechless older cousin in, and yet the warmth it brought to her heart when Gabriéla snuggled herself deeper into her thick blanket made up for it.

In one smooth motion, the young girl leaned down to press a soft kiss to her cousin’s forehead. “Good night, Gabriéla. I love you.”

The soft snore she got in response was the last thing she heard before she made her way to her own room, and released a soft gasp when a quick look out of her small window revealed the lights in Bruno’s room still burning brightly, as if he was watching over her until he was sure she was home safely.

⧖⧗⧖

The next morning, Sofía had barely spent any time at home for anything but a few restless hours of sleep. Skipping the family breakfast to avoid the awkwardness of the talk after the big fight as well as the early morning rush of people making their way through town to the marketplace, Sofía had left for Casa Madrigal directly at dawn.

It was only when she reached Casita, which looked just as magnificent as the day before, that she questioned whether it was even appropriate to show up back there so very soon. Really, Sofía just wanted to see Bruno again to talk everything through. She knew he would understand, because she imagined his own power to be much like hers - overwhelming in several different ways.

But then, slowly, as she kept lingering around the house and pacing up and down the deep gray stone tiles, doubt started to make its way into her head. Sofía couldn’t just walk back in and see them all again as if nothing had happened.

What would they expect? She knew Alma Madrigal was keen on using her family’s powers to help the town out as much as she possibly could, and knew that the triplets had to earn their miracle through hard work and commitment each and every day. How could Sofía help out anyone like this, when she didn’t even know how her powers worked, and when she didn’t even know if she could handle other people’s emotions being loaded upon her person, let alone regularly?

Granted, Alma didn’t seem like the type of person to force Sofía into helping out, but then again, Bruno’s powers seemed to take quite a significant toll on him, and yet his mother still made him give visions to practically whoever asked. She couldn’t imagine that was his choice, not when she’d seen how he had reacted when she had asked him for a vision herself: hesitant, almost scared. Like a poor, tortured soul at just five years of age.

Perhaps that was why Sofía related to him so much, why she felt such a strong connection to him after having known him for less than a day. They had both been through so much already, arguably too much for anyone of any age, much less actual children like them. He was suffering, that much was clear with how Sofía and Julieta had found him yesterday, standing by the gallery window with fresh tears streaming down his face. She wondered if Alma knew how his gift was affecting her son, though she supposed that she did not. He did not seem like the type of person to talk about what he was feeling.

But clearly, Bruno was still stronger than herself. Sofía could not imagine the type of impact his visions must leave him with every time, and she wasn’t even sure if all his visions were exclusively intentional. What if he had visions while sleeping? Or just while he was trying to relax, for once?

And yet, he did everything that was asked of him, which was something Sofía wasn’t sure she could do. If she had to help out half of Encanto with dealing with their issues and emotions every day like Julieta, she was surely going to go insane. The emotional overload Sofía had experienced just being around others had been overwhelming already, what would it be like if those people were total strangers? And what would it be like to have their emotions flow through her at every voluntary or involuntary touch?

A deep shudder shook Sofía’s body as she was overcome by a blind panic that made thick bile rise in her throat, and suddenly there was that pressure on her chest again, constricting her chest so her lungs stubbornly refused to let her inhale at all. She fell to her knees just as she heard the creaking of Casita’s front door, paired with the clanking sounds of stone tiles leading someone to her.

“Sofía?” Julieta’s confused tone immediately switched to pure worry when she rushed closer to try and help Sofía up again. “Sofía, are you alright? What happened?” Sofía tried to force her lungs into cooperating, only to trigger a wheezing cough that made stars dance in front of her vision. In a desperate measure, she pointed to her own throat and shook her head as hard as she could. “Can’t… can’t breathe…” Julieta nodded frantically and pushed the younger girl towards the welcoming house. “Mamá!” Her loud scream contrasted her mostly composed exterior, especially with the calming way she kept speaking to Sofía. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you. Here, come with me. I’ll get you something to eat, that’ll bring you right back up to speed. Mamá!”

What Sofía assumed to be the kitchen was right around the corner when Alma came rushing down the grand staircase in their courtyard - stairs Sofía could have sworn had not been there the day before. Then again, she could be entirely mistaken, delirious from lack of sleep and now oxygen. “What’s going on?” Alma’s voice mirrored Julieta’s anguish, but her face remained relaxed with the mere exception of her scrunched eyebrows. The oldest triplet answered her mother just as they reached the border of the beautiful kitchen, covered in stunning deep orange ceramic tiles that only gave way to a giant stove and a few wide windows, the window sills covered in endless amounts of different types of living and dried herbs. “She can’t breathe, I don’t know what to - “

“Sofía!” Bruno’s astounded voice momentarily brought Sofía back to reality, and it was only now she noticed him and Pepa standing by one of the counters, both holding enormous platters stacked with delicious looking breakfast foods. The crash of the delicate porcelain plates hitting the floor seemed to take just a little too long until Sofía properly registered it, which was only after Bruno had already rushed up to her and placed his hands on her arms. “What’s wrong, what happened?” His eyes met hers, the same kind eyes she remembered from the day before, but she was ripped apart from the sight when Alma interrupted loudly. “Julieta, get her something to eat!” The oldest girl obeyed immediately, dodging the shards on the ground to make her way over to where Pepa still stood, seemingly frozen in place.

“Sofía.” Bruno brought her attention back to him with a gentle pronunciation of her name. “Sofia, look at me.” Though her rapidly darkening vision barely allowed for it, Sofía managed to lock eyes with the boy once again. “That’s right. Okay, okay, give me your hands.” His hands slowly slid down her arms, and she could feel the warmth of his skin through her long-sleeved dress even before he properly touched her. “Bruno, what are you doing?” Alma’s voice was distressed now, but for once, Bruno didn’t pay her any mind, taking a deep breath before taking her hands in his.

An overwhelming sense of calm spread through Sofía within moments of his touch, a deep feeling of tranquility coupled with only the slightest hint of hunger, which would have made the young girl smile if she had been able to. “It’s okay, it’s okay, that’s good. Now breathe with me.”

It felt like hours passed until her breathing normalized again and she almost collapsed forwards into Bruno’s arms, only held upright by Pepa’s hands on her shoulders. “Sit down, Sofía, sit down. Eat.” Julieta’s motherly instincts should have felt strange, coming from a five-year-old girl barely older than herself, but Sofía couldn’t help but obey her patient, kind tone.

Dejectedly, Sofía let go of Bruno’s hands that were still emitting that wonderfully appeasing sense of peace and composure and moved to sit down, but her knees suddenly seemed much less stable than before, so instead she ended up stumbling backwards until her back hit the ground with a soft thud. Alma was the first to bend down to help her up, but immediately shrunk back when Pepa let out a loud shriek. “Don’t!” Her mother threw her a questioning look, so Pepa continued on after a moment. “Don’t touch her.”

Sofía forced herself to take a bite of the delicious-smelling tamales that Julieta had placed on the coffee table beside her just moments before. “It’s her gift,” Bruno explained haphazardly, his gaze still entirely fixed on Sofía.

That didn’t seem to be enough to satiate Alma’s curiosity, so when Sofía managed to take an actual deep breath again, she actively fought through the emotions whirling around her that still felt rather overwhelming to her, and raised her scratchy voice. “I can… I guess I can feel what others feel.” The mother’s eyes widened significantly, and a look of realization dawned on her when Bruno finished Sofía’s explanation for her. “And she can transfer it to herself by touch.”

Alma nodded slowly, and Sofía could have sworn she had seen a faint smile come over her lips for just a moment. Then, she let her gaze flicker over to the triplets, standing around her with a considerable distance between them, all their eyes filled with pure worry. “I’m so sorry, it’s still hard to handle. Thank you, god, thank you all for helping.” The older woman waved her off immediately. “No problem at all. I can understand that, Sofía. We’ll give you as much space as you need.” Immediately, she turned to her son. “Call us if you need anything.” And, with one last succinct nod to her daughters, Alma stepped back outside of the kitchen.

It was only when her footsteps slowly sounded farther and farther away that Sofía turned her head forward again, surprised to see Bruno crouching down in front of her, hands twitching like they had yesterday. “Are you okay?” “Yes!” Sofía’s answer came too fast and too loud, and she shuddered at her own insolence before continuing in the most normal tone she could muster. “Yes, sorry. I… Pepa, Julieta!”

The two sisters, who were swiftly on their way to follow their mother out of the room, stopped immediately to turn towards Sofía, who was only now managing to stand up again to follow them just past the threshold of the kitchen. “Julieta, thank you so much for everything. Leading me through here yesterday, then worrying about me with the food and today again - just, thank you so, so much.” The oldest triplet offered her a genuine smile, and Sofía acted entirely on instinct when she closed the distance between them to take Julieta’s hands in her own. She was so different from Bruno. Calm as well, but it didn’t feel like a temporary feeling, more like this was just her nature, how she felt most of the time.

A slight flash of something to her left captured Sofia’s attention, and she was surprised to see Pepa had a cloud hovering above her head that quietly thundered just a few seconds after its lightning. A faint rain drizzled down onto the four of them through the open roof of the courtyard, and suddenly, Sofía was struck with an idea. It only took a few seconds until she stood in front of Pepa who diligently took a step back so as to not get her completely wet as well, but Sofía made it clear she did not care about that at all. “Pepa, thank you, too. You’ve been so kind to me, yelling at your mother just to stop her from touching me even though you barely know me… It means a lot, truly.” Pepa offered her a hesitant smile, but when the rain didn’t relent, Sofía continued to speak her mind. “I have an idea. Can you trust me for just a moment?”

Pepa's eyes widened, as did her smile after a short moment of silent contemplation. “You’re a part of this family now, Sofía. Of course I trust you.” Sofía couldn’t deny the little jump her heart made at that statement, but she quickly busied herself with stepping into Pepa’s personal space yet again. “Give me your hands.” That immediately seemed to take the girl by surprise, and she shook her head fervently. “I can’t, you - “ “Trust me, Pepa.”

Pepa’s resolve gave way under Sofía’s scrutinizing gaze, and Sofía used the moment it took her to finally hold her hands out to the younger girl to steel her nerves like she had done for Gabriéla just last night, before she reached out and grasped Pepa’s hands in her own. Despite her methodical preparations, this was the worst one so far. Pepa’s emotions were like the sea, rough and dangerous, temperamental and powerful enough to pull her down with them like it was nothing. Still, after a few moments of inner turmoil, Sofía let the older girl’s hands drop as she herself tumbled backwards a few steps, only to be caught by Bruno, who gently sat her down on a nearby chair.

Julieta and Pepa, however, were in quiet awe. Not only had Sofía managed to calm Pepa down from one of her usually insanely emotional episodes, but she had also made the storm cloud above her head as well as the slight rain outside cease immediately. The tears in her own eyes were proof of the feelings still swirling around deep inside of her, but she could not deny herself the proud smile that overcame her features when she understood the magnitude of what she had just achieved.

Exhaustion began to overcome her again, just when Bruno came rushing back towards her from the kitchen with another plate filled to the brim with food to hand it to her, visibly eager for her to recover. With a single bite, everything became less tense again, and just when her last shuddering gasp gave way to a normal breathing pattern again, the sisters joined Bruno by Sofía’s side. “Thank you, that was insane! I had no idea - I've never felt like that before, like you could just calm me down with a single touch. You’re a gift, Sofía, a true gift!” Sofía could feel herself blushing at Pepa’s flattering words, but it was Bruno who seemed to notice Sofía's own shaky hands even before she herself did and stopped her with a gentle touch on her shoulder. “So, what happened out there?”

Oh. Should she talk about that? Her worries were definitely real and justified, but wasn’t it rude to speak so openly about the Madrigal’s expectations of her? Sofía had been taught to keep her emotions securely locked inside her at all times, even such confusion and worry as the one she was feeling now when thinking of what her future would bring with this new gift she had been blessed with. With a sigh, she lowered her gaze to the tiled floor to conjure up the courage to speak her mind.

“I came here to talk to you, Bruno, but then I panicked because I don’t know what you and your family expect from me with this whole gift thing and I just…” Sofía was struggling with her words, not least because of her ongoing battle with the feelings filling the room slowly but surely in small, but persevering drops. “I just can’t be ‘not enough’ again. It was that way with my parents, it’s the same with my family now and I can’t do that again - I don’t want to disappoint you all, too.” She shook her head to force the burn of oncoming tears to subside, but when she was sure she was losing that battle, Sofía merely cupped her face in her hands to hide it from view, speaking her last words through her fingers. “I guess I panicked so much that I couldn’t breathe. I’m so sorry if I scared any of you, I really didn’t mean to…”

A potent silence filled the room, and although Sofía was still forcing herself to not acknowledge any of the emotions swirling through the room around her, she could clearly feel Bruno’s hand that was still resting on her upper arm bunching up the fabric of her blouse in his fist. “Sofía…” he whispered, and when she finally dared to look up, Sofía was surprised to see her own tears mirrored in his eyes. Momentarily taken aback, the two of them seemed at a complete loss for words, but Pepa was quick to interrupt their moment of connection with words of her own.

“Sofía, I won’t pretend living with a gift has been easy so far, not for me at least. There is a lot of responsibility that comes with it, too much for children our age, that’s for sure.” The middle child slowly knelt down in front of Sofía, her orange dress draping in a halo around her body as she leaned forward. “I completely understand how you feel, we all do. It’s hard to deal with the expectations others have of us.” Julieta stopped her sister with a gentle hand on her shoulder, crouching down just beside her so she was face to face with Sofía as well.

“It is a lot to handle, that is true, but it can also be very rewarding. To be able to help people out like we can, and only we can, it’s one of the most gratifying experiences there are. But really, people won’t expect anything from you, I can - “ As if waiting for his cue, this time it was Bruno who cut off his older sister, his hand still emitting a strange burning sensation on Sofía’s shoulder. “I can promise you - We can promise you, mamá won’t force you into anything. You’re our guest, our friend. If anything, we’ll appreciate your help, in case you feel like it. You didn’t choose this, no one is blaming you for anything you do, Sofía.”

The triplet’s tones were all genuine, dripping with sincerity and kindness, but Sofía only felt slightly reassured. They didn't know her, didn't know her past or her family, how could they be so confident in her where she wasn't? How would they know she was worthy of this, how would they even know if she was strong enough to handle the burden of carrying this gift? As if he had read her mind, Bruno spoke up again, even more quietly this time.

“You’re good enough. Don’t worry about that.” Sofía’s arms were wrapped around his neck in a hug before she even registered it, and she could barely get herself to speak through her tears. “Thank you, you’re all… you’re helping me so much, I don’t know how I could ever thank you enough, I… Thank you for being there.”

It took a moment for Bruno to reciprocate her hug, momentarily frozen by what seemed to be a rare occurrence to him, but as soon as he did, Sofía could feel his sisters’ arms envelop the two of them in a giant group hug, swaying them back and forth rhythmically for as long as it took until Sofía’s teared ceased. Only then did Julieta and Pepa back off, but it took a noticeable amount longer until Bruno let go of Sofía, and she would have lied if she’d said she didn’t immediately miss the warmth and comfort the triplets had given her.

However, even long after Bruno had leaned back to let his eyes run over her again, still filled with devastating concern, and all three of them had led Sofía to another room to sit her down on a comfortable sofa until she could fully relax, she was still stunned by what Bruno had whispered in her ear just before he had pulled back, his voice as soft as butter. “I’ll always be there. I promise.”

⧖⧗⧖

thank you all for being so nice about the first part of this fanfic, here's a second one! also, would you guys be interested in me continuing this story, sort of follow them as they grow up together? let me know what you think!

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i promised to tag you, @ihavenoideawhatiamdoinghelp

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

i | Harbingers of Change | Bruno Madrigal

Bruno Madrigal x Original AFAB Character [ masterlist ] | [ next chapter → ] [ read it on ao3 ]

cw: sensory overload, panic attacks

word count: 7651 | rating: general audiences

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“¡Mierda! I can’t believe him!” Gabriéla stormed in through the big red archway of her family’s beautiful, traditional farmhouse, muttering and cursing to herself.  Her mother was the first one to rush over to her side, immediately grabbing Gabriéla by the arm to pull her closer as the rest of the family gathered around them.

“He - it’s impossible! That tonto, how dare he even suggest that I - “ “Gabriéla! Cálmate, what happened?”

With a curious expression, little Sofía stood up from her spot on the tiled floor where she had been drawing little symbols in the settled dust and rushed to the spectacle unfolding right by their front door.  Her entire extended family, including her cousins, tíos and tías had gathered around Sofía’s cousin Gabriéla, who was standing in the middle of the room, her brown skin flushed with anger.

A pang of worry shot through Sofía - she knew this meant no good.

Their little village, a charming place called Encanto, was unlike anything Sofía had ever seen before she’d been sent here after the tragic death of her parents - colorful, peaceful, full of cheerful people. Having spent the first few years of her life in a bigger town farther out in the country where everything was gray and everyone always seemed sad, this village had been a blessing for her dwindling mental health, especially after the tragedy that had befallen her.

Not only was this place granting her a welcome distraction with all of its nooks and crannies to explore, but it had provided her with a family. Granted, her abuelo Dario had not been terribly excited about the new addition to his household, already struggling to feed every mouth of the family with the meager earnings their farm provided them with, but he had still given her a roof over her head and plenty of work to do - perhaps a little too much for a little four-year-old girl.

Recently, times had been even tougher.        The founder of this town, a young mother called Alma, lived in a beautiful house at the edge of town with her kids - magical triplets.        A few months ago, on their fifth birthday, the three had received their gifts, otherworldly, surreal, mysterious gifts.

The eldest daughter, a girl called Julieta, had been blessed with the gift of being able to create foods that would heal others’ ailments, however bad they were.        The other daughter, a ginger girl called Pepa, had received the gift to control the weather with her mood - something the kid had evidently struggled to deal with as the town had been cursed with turbulent, unpredictable weather, mostly relentless rain and hail for the past few weeks - a true threat to Sofía’s family’s farm.       They had hoped it would relent as the girl got used to her gift and learned to control it, use it for good, but so far it had been dangerous, to say the least; a danger to the family, their crops, and their livelihoods.

The youngest child, a boy called Bruno, had received what many considered more of a curse than a blessing - the ability to see the future. Many called upon him to see their own and often cursed him for prophesying something they would have rather not known at all.

In the wake of the threat of financial ruin, Sofía’s abuelo had sent his granddaughter Gabriéla to see Bruno and beg him for a vision of their future, a way to know how to save their farm.

“He’s just a stupid little child! No miracle, just a liar and an idiot!”       “Language, Gabriéla.” Sofía's tío Matias intercepted, only to be brushed aside by his wife Adella, who forced herself even closer to her daughter to inquire further.       “What happened? What did he show you?” Gabriéla shook her head so her long curls bounced around her head in the way that always made Sofía smile, however today, she remained unfazed.       “Oh, you want to know what he showed me? Here!” With shaking hands, Gabriéla withdrew a rectangular greenish piece of glass from her bag and shoved it into her mother’s hands with another angry sigh.        Sofía had to suppress the urge to run downstairs and see for herself, too tense was the situation she saw unfolding before her. All the faces she could make out grew to reflect Gabriéla’s anger upon studying the piece of glass.       “Can you imagine that kid has the gall to suggest I’d marry Andres? That arrogant idiot, that imbecile…” Gabriéla trailed off, just enough for her mother Adella to interrupt in the most confused tone Sofía had ever heard her speak in.       “What? That you’ll marry…”        Abuelo Dario interrupted, grabbing the girl’s shoulder roughly to turn her towards him.       “What did you ask him to do?”        Suddenly, Gabriéla’s confidence visibly waned, and her gaze fell to the tiled floor.       “I… I don’t know, I had to know I…”       “Gabriéla! What did you ask him?!”       “I needed to see who I would marry, okay? I had to; I can’t deal with this uncertainty, I can’t deal with the pressure, I can’t…“

Oh no.       Sofía was young, but not too young to have noticed the incredible pressure her family put on their children, pressure to succeed in life, pressure to marry, pressure to have children as soon as possible.        It felt disgusting to her. Gabriéla was fifteen, barely around ten years older than Sofía herself, and definitely still a child, but to her parents, all that counted was marrying her off to the most opportune suitor.

“Our family is in danger, our livelihood is in danger, and you ask about your love life?” The rage in Abuelo's voice was evident, and Gabriéla took a few steps backwards until her back collided with the stone wall of their home.       “I could not care less about who you’re going to marry if our livelihood is at stake, if we don’t know if we’re going to survive this, Gabriéla, do you not understand that?”       “I do, but - “       “No but! Who knows if he’ll grant us another vision? Who knows if they’ll help us now! For all I know, you just wasted our last chance!”       “I’m sorry…” The tears that streamed down Gabriéla’s face seemed to go unnoticed by most of the other family members, too preoccupied with themselves to notice her heaving breaths and trembling frame.

“Go to your room.”       “But…”       “Go to your room! I do not want to see you here again until I call on you.” Gabriéla left without another word, silently passing by Sofía to vanish on the staircase behind her.

Sofía felt like crying with her.        Of course, Gabriéla would want to have some assurance of what the future would bring, especially in an area she was neither experienced nor particularly interested in that her parents kept pressuring her into. Of course she would use the only chance she got to see who she would end up with, to make it easier, no, more bearable for herself than the constant pressure Sofía was sure she found herself under - only to find out that she was supposed to end up marrying the town idiot, a boy neither Gabriéla nor Sofía could not stand with all of his boisterous laughter and his practically dripping arrogance. She could hardly understand what kind of toll that had to have taken on Gabriéla.

Then again, she had to agree the family had bigger problems.        If they didn’t find a way to save their crops, they would run out of money soon enough. That meant no food, it meant starvation; it meant poverty; it meant death in the long run.

Sofía withdrew to her room when the first tears started to fall.

⧖⧗⧖

“Skip the second and the fourth stair, then the second to last, those creak,” Sofía whispered to herself as she snuck through the narrow corridors of the family home.       After the fight had died down she had gone to her room, a little space in a back corner of the house that used to be a storage closet, just to lie on the ground and wait until her tears subsided.

When the afternoon had come, and the house was mostly quiet, she had made a decision.       Sofía would go see Bruno and ask him for another vision.

She knew he might refuse or he might ask something in return, so she’d dug up the little amount of money her parents had left her and rushed out of her room.       Her hands were clutching the little bag of coins as tightly as she could so it wouldn’t jingle as she crouched down to slink around the last corner separating her from the front door.

Sofía froze. Straight ahead, right by the dinner table, her tía Alejandra knelt on the ground, her face hidden in her hands as sobs shook her entire frame, her son Félix comforting her with a hand on her back.        “I just… I don’t know what we’re gonna do…”       “We’ll figure something out, mamá. We’ll find a way out of this.”

“I’ll get us out of this.” Sofía whispered to herself in a silent promise, then quietly made her way out of the front door and towards the Madrigal’s home.

⧖⧗⧖

Even though Sofía had never been close to it before, the Madrigal house wasn’t hard to find.        Most of the town sat in a lush valley between the mountains surrounding Encanto, just a little below the spot where the colorful house stood so it was visible from almost anywhere within town, towering over the other residents like a giant guardian angel.

If it had been impressive from further away, Sofía barely had words to describe what it looked like as she drew close enough to admire the beautiful greenery surrounding it, the exterior sprinkled with blooming vines and exotic flowers that thrived in Encanto’s humid climate, the ancient-looking trees and magnificent wax palms, the vibrant colors in the house’s facade and the stunning adornments on its every window.

Sofía could have spent hours studying the intricate details of the house’s exterior, memorizing it as best as she could to draw it in one of the last pages of her frayed old sketchbook later, but all of a sudden she was interrupted by the house’s emerald green door swinging open by itself.        “What…” she whispered to herself in confusion. There was no one else in sight, just the house and herself.

Maybe Sofía was just tired, maybe she was imagining things, maybe she wasn’t even truly here! Maybe she would wake up in mere moments, in her own bed at home, her parents sleeping just a room over.  Perhaps she should just go back to the family home and this had been a bad idea after all.

A sudden sense of dread filled Sofía, but as anxious as she was, she could feel something about the strange house pulling her in.

The inside was no less beautiful than the outside, vibrant and elegantly decorated. The main floor was made of gorgeous stone tiles laid out in a circular pattern, the walls a welcoming light orange color that contrasted wonderfully with the vast amount of green, blooming plants standing and hanging in every corner. A gallery ran along the upper edge of the main room, defined by a sky blue railing and support beams, doors on either side up- and downstairs, clearly leading to different areas of the home.

“¿Te puedo ayudar?” Sofía felt herself flinch as a voice spoke just to her left, and suddenly she found herself opposite a girl about her age in a wide, blue-ish skirt and a white shirt with dark brown curls that barely reached her chin. Her immediate discomfort was instantly alleviated when she locked her gaze with the other girl’s, somewhat confused but overwhelmingly kind.

“Perdon, I don’t mean to intrude but the door opened by itself and I - “ The corners of the other girl’s mouth turned upwards into a wide smile, and Sofía could almost feel all the tension falling off of her. “Oh, that’d be casita! If it trusts you, then I trust you!” It was the house that had led her in? The actual house? Truly, what else had Sofía expected from the home of a magical family? “My name is Julieta. It’s nice to meet you!”

Oh, of course, she was one of the gifted kids! Sofía reached out and shook Julieta’s hand, a gesture that felt somehow too mature for both of their ages. “I’m Sofía, I’m here for a vision, if that’s possible.” Julieta nodded enthusiastically. “You’re here to see Bruno! He’s my hermano, it’s okay.” Sofía remained silent, but as though she could sense her hesitation, Julieta squeezed her hand as she continued. “No need to be nervous, Sofía! I’m sure whatever it is you’re looking for, Brunito will help you find it.”

The fact that she called her brother Brunito alone calmed Sofía down considerably. With the way Gabriéla had spoken about the fortuneteller, his gift had sounded intimidating, almost a little scary, but although Sofía was still so nervous that her knees felt weak, Julieta helped her confidence a great deal. “Casita, can you show us where he is?” Julieta had barely even finished her question when the house creaked for a moment, just before a few of the flooring tiles lifted one after the other, directing them to one of the stairways leading up onto the gallery.

Sofía was just about to express her awe for a house like this when they turned another corner and the moving tiles abruptly stopped indicating the way. Confused, she took a look around, just before her eyes settled on a figure barely a few feet away from them.

Concealed by one of the many gigantic plants that had apparently found their place on the wide gallery of the casa Madrigal, there stood a boy. His short black hair was unruly like her own and Julieta’s, ruffled by the slight breeze of the open window he was staring out of, seemingly deep in thought. Following Julieta even closer, she could clearly see him flinch as his sister softly spoke his name. “Bruno?” His green ruana brushed over Sofía’s lower calf as he whirled around in a panicked turn. His eyes were puffy and glossed over, almost like he had been crying, and Sofía couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pain deep in her chest as Bruno’s distressed gaze settled on Julieta almost immediately. “Am I in the way? I’m sorry, I’ll go, no hay problema.”

The boy was gone faster than Sofía could even react. Only Julieta, who seemed to be used to his antics, was fast enough to catch him by the tail end of his ruana, pulling him to a stop in the middle of the corridor. Without words, she caught up with his side and laid her hand on his shoulder, an understanding look in their eye and there was a brief pause as the two of them seemed to communicate nonverbally and his posture relaxed a little. Only then did Julieta speak up. “Bruno, I want you to meet Sofía. She came to meet you for a vision.”

When Bruno turned around to face her, a certain type of unease noticeably creeped into his blanching expression, but when he spoke his tone didn’t reflect it, merely nervousness. “Me? Oh, yes, of course, me! A vision, why yes, coming right up!” Sofía had to suppress a smile at his rapid ramblings, intent on being as kind and polite as she could possibly be. “I can come back another time if it’s a bad time right now.” She could see it in the way his shoulders slumped in relief that he considered it, but just when lifted his head in a subtle nod and was about to speak, a loud crack of thunder sounded above them as another little girl came running up from behind them.

“Pepa! What happened?” Julieta laid her hand onto the ginger girl’s back, intently focussed on the streams of tears running down the younger girl’s face. “I… I was in the kitchen trying to help you out, but then I slipped and I cut my finger and it hurts…” She whimpered in between sniffles, and with a quick nod to Sofía and a soothing hand on Pepa’s back, Julieta started to guide her sister back downstairs, probably towards the kitchen. It was only when they were walking away that Sofía noticed the fluffy dark storm cloud hovering above Pepa’s head.

When the two sisters left her field of vision, Sofía turned back around to where Bruno had stood, only to see him walking away from her without a word. “Bruno!” She could hear how frantic her voice was as she scrambled after him, but she had to talk to him. She had to. “Bruno, I’m really sorry about this, but…” Even when she caught up with him and walked by his side, he didn’t look at her, head stoically facing forwards. “Your sister Pepa’s gift is making it really hard for my family. We’re farmers, that’s how we make our living, and with the constant rain and hail and the drops in temperature, we just… we need to know if this harvest will make it.” “My cousin Gabriéla was here today, she was supposed to ask about our future but she made it all about herself and who she was going to marry, just because her parents keep putting this insane pressure on her to marry rich and marry soon and give them lots of grandchildren, so she asked for that vision instead, which I can understand but now… Now we don’t know what is going to happen, and my family - they’re all crying and I’m so, so scared…”

It was only when the first sob escaped her that Bruno stopped, right at the foot of a small flight of stairs. He looked like she had struck him across the face, a mixture of pain and unease on his face as he turned towards her. “I can’t promise you’ll like what I see.” “I know.” “I can’t change what will happen either way.” “I know.” “It’s not my fault if I see something bad.” It sounded like Bruno said this more to himself than to Sofía. Then again, she’d heard how Gabriéla had spoken about him, like it was his fault what he had seen in her future. She nodded in response, but offered him a verbal response as well. “I know.” He sighed, then gestured towards the door before them. “Come with me.”

⧖⧗⧖

The ascent up the seemingly endless stairs was strenuous. Sofía’s chest was hurting and she could feel her lungs strain, almost rattle with every breath she took, not to mention the ache the rest of her body was enduring. Bruno appeared only barely less affected than her, panting heavily by the time they reached the top of the enormous stone tower that she assumed to be his “room”.

Sofía wanted to ask if he had to make this exhausting journey every time he entered and left his room, she wanted to ask if he had to take that tumble through the sandy waterfall every time; she wanted to ask where he slept, where he spent his time, but most of all, she wanted to ask if he was okay. She knew what it meant to be forced to grow up much earlier than kids their age should, what it was like to have great expectations thrust upon you, to have them looming over you every second of your life - something Sofía was sure their gifts must burden the family with as well. Alas, she was too shy to ask about any of it.

A rickety suspension bridge led them across the scope of a wide ravine between the top of the stone stairs and the other side where the room continued in a shallow walkway that eerily reminded her of ancient Egyptian tombs (a major interest of one of her older cousins). The walls depicted several iterations of an older man with piercing eyes, a big nose and shoulder length wavy hair, the same seemingly older version of Bruno himself Sofía had already caught a glimpse of on his magical door, illustrated with his hands spread out wide on either side of his body like an old-fashioned prophet - then again, she supposed that was entirely what Bruno was.

Ahead of them, a round door with etchings that were definitely reminiscent of the hourglass theme that seemed inescapable in anything that related to Bruno in this house made way to a wider round cave that looked, again, to be mostly carved from stone. The edges of the cave-like structure were guarded by tall stones probably twice her size, whilst the wall space between them was filled up with a wide band-like row of hourglasses, connected by a long line at top and bottom and a few dots in between, extending the entire inside of the room.

Bruno crossed the distance to the middle of the circular room quickly, plopping himself down near a round sand pit surrounded by peculiar dark triangular markings that spanned the entirety of the room’s floors. Thick dark lines surrounded the pit whilst others looked like they connected the borders of it to the outer walls of the room in a wavy pattern that reminded Sofía of a swirl reminiscent of the one she always achieved when she turned too quickly and her skirt whirled around her.

When she let her eyes wander further over the strangeness of the room she was in, she discovered those same markings mirrored up on the ceiling, like some abstract depiction of star constellations or complex geometrical patterns.

Bruno seemed content to wait for her to finish looking around, though a certain sense of dread in his gaze told her he was waiting on her judgment. Instead, she offered him a timid smile, one he only weakly returned. “You can sit down.”

Sofía followed his timid invitation, sitting down just across from him on the sandy ground before trying to lock eyes with him again. Bruno, however, averted his gaze to the floor beneath them before he managed to speak again. “I’m still pretty new to this, but I’ll do my best to help.” Sofía nodded enthusiastically as she crossed her legs beneath herself. “I really appreciate that.”

Her words visibly startled him as he abruptly raised his head to glance at her, as though he was completely taken aback by what she had said. “You… you do?” Bruno’s voice was quieter and more hesitant than ever before, almost as if he hadn’t meant to ask his question aloud. If he needed reassurance, Sofía was more than ready to give him just that. “I’m very grateful you’re even trying, Bruno, I really am. I’ll pay you all I have; it’s not much, but it’s all I can do - “ He interrupted her by frantically waving his hands, a clear panic in his eyes. “No no no no, I refuse, I won’t take any money from you. I mean, not just you - I never do, it feels wrong. Don’t worry about money, is what I’m trying to say.”

Sofía liked his nervous ramblings, and this time she couldn’t help but giggle to herself at his desperate expression before she answered him. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

Bruno let out a major sigh, letting the silence between them fester as he closed his eyes for a moment to take a couple of deep breaths. Then, as if commanded by something invisible to the naked eye, he suddenly snapped his eyes open, more determined than ever, holding his hands out to her. Sofía took them, perhaps a bit too eagerly, as he almost pulled back at her enthusiasm.

Another deep breath later, Bruno locked eyes with her again. “Don’t let go, no matter what happens, okay?” She gave him a nod in response. “Okay. I trust you.”

If she had been more focused on Bruno, Sofía would have noticed the faint blush that came over his cheeks at her words. However, as it was, she was far too preoccupied with wondering how this vision was going to work and worrying about what Bruno was going to see in her and her family’s future.

Barely a second passed after he closed his eyes before the sand around them started to shift, slowly at first, then, abruptly, all at once. It rose in the air, circling around them counterclockwise as if surrounding them in a bubble, seemingly shielding them from the rest of the world. Slowly but surely, threads of grains around them started to light up in a bright unnatural green, whirling around them at dazzling speeds. As their surroundings lit up more and more, gradually, the glowing grains started to form into vague shapes.

Immediately, Sofía gripped Bruno’s hands tighter than ever as she felt goosebumps spread over her skin, and her gaze focussed back on him just when he opened his eyes. Gone were the kind brown eyes she had grown accustomed to, replaced by irises glowing in the same strange shade of green as the surrounding sand. His dark curls were blowing in the wind that had picked up, his skin visibly paling as his eyes opened wider and looked through Sofía as if she wasn’t even there, unfocussed, unblinking - seeking.

Suddenly, the shapes around them started to get clearer, forming into images she could recognize. There was flowing water, a flood over the fields she could clearly recognize as their own, shriveling crops, empty plates on their big wooden dinner table. Then, the grains shifted entirely, and there were two figures, one holding their hands out to the other. As soon as their fingers touched, the entirety of the sand lit up a bright yellow, and the same images began to play again - only differently. Blooming crops on her family’s fields, overfilled plates, smiling faces she couldn’t quite recognize. Then, just as the sand began to settle, a last image. Two adults standing next to each other, gripping each other’s hands tightly before enveloping each other in a hug that made both of them smile widely.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was all over.

Silence fell upon them as Bruno’s eyes returned back to normal and he slowly set Sofía’s hands down to pick up a jade colored piece of glass, the same kind she recognized seeing in her cousin’s hands earlier this evening. It seemed to have caught a particular moment in the vision, one person holding out their hands to the other just before the blinding climax of glowing sand had whirled around them; only now, the faces were clearer. There was no doubt about it, one of the two was Sofía.

“Something is off. This hand thing, I can’t figure out. Something…” Bruno’s scratchy voice caught her off guard, and he looked as though he was entirely lost in thought, talking to himself more than to her. After a minute, Sofía forced herself to speak up. “What about… what about my family?” As though pulling him out of a trance, Bruno suddenly came back to himself, meeting her eyes only for a moment before he focussed off into the distance.

“The next few months will be tough. The weather will be unruly, unpredictable, not only thanks to my sister. There will be issues, many of them, and your family will have to rely on their other talents until it relents.” Sofía nodded, and she was fascinated seeing Bruno’s expression slowly grow vacant. “There is something… Something happens that will fix this. Something will change things, but I can’t see it. Something with the hands, something with you, but I…” He paused, and it almost looked as though he had completely stopped breathing in the way he froze, apparently to let his mind wander. With a shudder, he shook it off and threw her a gentle smile, still without looking at her. “When it gets better, it’s going to be wonderful. Food enough for everyone in all of Encanto, and enough money to take care of the whole family.” Sofía couldn’t suppress the tears of relief that rolled down her cheeks at Bruno’s words. He, however, looked more uncomfortable by the second, fidgeting with his fingers as his eyes met the ground between them, entirely unmoving. “It will all pass, but for now, your family will suffer.”

Sofía offered him another nod, but by now, he seemed completely unresponsive. Slowly, as to not startle him, she lifted her hand to reach out to him. Bruno flinched, eyes scrunched shut, his posture defensive, scared, as though he thought she might hit him. Stunned by his reaction, Sofía slowed her movements, but didn’t miss the shudder that shook Bruno’s body when she took his hands in hers again. He let out a breath, as if he had been holding it, and gradually, he visibly relaxed again.

She gave him a little while to calm down, merely holding his hands in hers as she waited for his breathing to slow again, only then did she muster the courage to speak. “Thank you, Bruno.” He stiffened again, and she could feel his questioning expression even before she could see it on his face. “But…” “You’ve helped me and my family a lot, I will never forget that. We owe you; I owe you.” She could tell Bruno knew she was sincere, but somehow that seemed to deter him even more. He shook his head as though to negate what she had said, as though he couldn’t believe her words. “But I… It wasn’t good, the vision.” “No, that’s true. For now, it wasn’t good news, but I know everything will be okay eventually. I came here for an honest look into the future and you delivered. I am forever in your debt for that.” Bruno nodded, about as lightly as he could, barely lifting his head at all, all the while staring at her with an expression of pure disbelief. Just when Sofía thought she could see him tearing up, he broke eye contact, focusing on their hands instead. “Thank you,” he mumbled quietly, and this time it was Sofía who responded in disbelief. “Me?” “Yes, thank you for… thank you for being so nice.” Oh. They shared a kind smile, one that reached his eyes this time. Sofía squeezed his hands one last time before she spoke. “Anytime, Bruno.”

⧖⧗⧖

The small flight of stairs that led from Bruno’s door back to the main floor of Casita was nothing compared to the tower Sofía had had to make her way down from again. How Bruno did it every day, she had no idea. She remembered the way they had come, but Casita seemed to take on the responsibility of showing her the way out, just like it had led her to Bruno earlier. With slight clunking sounds, one tile after the other lifted, guiding her back around the corner to the gallery. Now that the sun was setting, the whole place was doused in deep orange light, making the entirety of its interior look even more magical than it already did, not to speak of the four shining doors that ran along the north side of the walls.

Sofía had taken a moment to internalize the wonderful art of Bruno’s door as she had left, completely speechless at the way the golden light seemed to waver like lava beneath the carved wood. Similarly, she now meant to sneak glances at the other doors as she walked past them, but Casita seemed determined to move her straight past Julieta’s door, pushing her forward by moving the tiles beneath her feet to bring her to the door just behind that one. Without getting the chance to see whose it was or if it even was one of the magical doors, it opened and Casita pushed her inside without hesitation.

Protesting, Sofía tried to lean back to escape the house’s clutch on her, but she was too busy trying to keep her balance as the floor beneath her shifted to move her into the middle of the room.

It was a grownup’s room, for certain. Dark wooden beams ran along the low ceiling, the walls were painted in a warm shade of off-white, contrasting with the dark rosewood furniture along the walls. The dresser just ahead of her held an old stained glass lamp in blue tones, one that was very alike the one her mother had owned with its gentle slopes downward that reminded her of the vague shape of a mushroom. She could only imagine what it would look like when it was turned on, casting the entire room in a magical cerulean light, almost like it was underwater. Next to the lamp stood a framed picture of a young man, one that very vaguely resembled Bruno, so Sofía assumed it was the triplets’ deceased father. As though he were still alive, Sofía nodded at him apologetically for intruding, but was quickly distracted when Casita turned her towards her left.

There was a window overlooking the courtyard, its dark wooden shutters drawn inward to rest against the cream-colored walls. All confusion as to why she was here vanished when her eyes settled on a burning candle on the windowsill.

It was a large, white candle, its flame intensely captivating, almost pulsating, as if beckoning her to come closer. The gentle outlines of a butterfly looked to be engraved into its wax similarly to how Casita’s doors were engraved, emanating a soft glow from the inside. The flame radiated a pleasant glimmer, and it looked as though it emitted little sparks that moved so slowly that it almost resembled very slow fireflies that were circling around it.

Without thinking, Sofía followed the candle’s gravitational pull, letting herself get dragged closer to the window within mere moments. The closer she got, the more her body seemed to react to the candle’s proximity; her spine was tingling heavily and her hands were itching to reach out and run her fingers over the delicately engraved butterfly.

Something was wrong, Sofía could feel it deep inside her bones, but she couldn’t help follow the candle’s call when it felt so right, when it made her feel so powerful as her hand reached out almost by itself until her fingers hovered above the warm wax. When her fingertips brushed over the waxy surface of the outside of the candle, an intense feeling of energy rushed through her, almost enough to send her careening backwards, had the creak of the floor behind her not startled her almost as equally.

Sofía whirled around in shock and the embarrassment of the situation suddenly hit her when she saw Bruno standing in the doorway, his eyes just as wide open as his mouth. She was a guest in this house; she was merely tolerated here, and not only had she overstayed her welcome after exploiting the Madrigal son’s precious gift, but now she had also intruded one of their other rooms, invaded somebody’s bedroom without permission and touched their most precious possession. The crushing weight of her guilt brought immediate tears to Sofía’s eyes, and she had to fight the urge to scramble past Bruno to run away and never look back.

“Lo siento, I… This is going to sound so stupid but I got lost and then Casita led me here and - “ As if to back up her words, one of the window shutters interrupted her to wave enthusiastically and push Sofía just a little closer to the boy still stiffly stood in the doorway. That seemed to set Bruno straight, and he nodded at her quickly and motioned towards the door he stood in. “Oh, that’s okay, I’ll… I’ll show you out, no pasa nada. ” Relief flooded her senses as soon as they exited the room belonging to “Alma” as the door stated, endlessly grateful for Bruno’s understanding nature. Still, Sofía was keen on leaving as quickly as possible to avoid confrontation with the triplets’ mother, who was bound to react much more harshly to the fact that someone had invaded her private room - assuming it had been hers.

Rounding the corner to take one of the two staircases downstairs again, Sofía was suddenly overcome by another weird feeling, a strange tingling in her gut that made her freeze. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted another peculiar sparkling, just like the candle in Bruno’s mother’s room had, and instinctively snapped her head towards it. There, on the wall of the gallery just beside the corridor that had led to Bruno’s endless staircase of a room, a glowing wooden door seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if growing into existence out of thin air from the ground up. Similarly to the other doors she had seen, its luminosity was wavering, like a fire was burning just behind the door’s thin wooden planks. The fingers of her right hand where Sofía had touched the candle suddenly twitched, itching to touch the glowing door knob that abruptly sprouted out of nowhere.

By now, Bruno had noticed she wasn’t walking alongside him anymore, and turned back towards her, following her line of sight to what she was focussed on - and his face fell.

“Everything alright?” As if in slow motion, the boy crept closer to the peculiar door, completely ignoring Sofía’s question. It was only when she followed suit that she could hear him muttering to himself in confused whispers. “This… this is impossible, this can’t be…” “Are you okay?” As if her touch had awoken him from some kind of hypnotic state, he suddenly stared at her, his pupils blown wide with confusion. “Stay here, I… I need to go, I need to get mamá.” Without another word, Bruno pushed past her back to the stairs, his breathing and movements erratic. “Bruno! What’s going on?” Sofía was aware it was none of her business, but the boy’s look of sheer and utter terror had moved her to follow him without hesitation, stumbling towards the staircase just behind him. He looked back at her only once, and promptly stumbled and careened past the first stair, immediately falling forwards. It was pure luck Sofía’s hand was close enough to grab him by the tail end of his ruana similarly to how Julieta had done it earlier in the evening, barely preventing him from tumbling to the bottom of the stairs. “¡Mierda!” he choked out as the neck of his clothes restricted his airflow just for the moment it took to catch himself on the blue banister beside him.

“Bruno!” The female voice that answered from the bottom of the stairs seemed scolding at first, but when Sofía caught sight of the young woman rushing towards them, Julieta and Pepa in tow, she could tell there was more worry in her tone than sincere anger. When Bruno reached her side, his voice was strained as though someone had tried to strangle him, and he was holding his throat with one hand while the other wildly gestured around himself. “Mamá! I had a vision, but when we came back - the door…” Slowly, Julieta took a step forward to rest a hand on her brother's outstretched arm. “Cálmate Brunito, breathe.”

Bruno struggled for a moment, but after a deep breath, he focussed on his mother again. “There’s a door upstairs, mamá, a new door.” “What?!” This time, all three women reacted with the same sense of bewilderment on their faces, and it became clear even to Sofía that this was highly unusual. “It appeared when we were walking past it, just at the top of the stairs. I don’t know what happened - “ “Show me.”

He flinched only slightly at his mother’s interruption, otherwise unfazed as he led them back up the stairs, both girls hiding behind their mother as Bruno pointed towards the glowing door with shaking hands.

Sofía stood off to the side, hoping and praying to fuse with the walls of Casita if it meant to get out of this situation as soon as possible, but as the woman slowly turned around to her with wide eyes, she knew she was in trouble. “You… Who are you?” Once again, Sofía had to fight the urge to turn and run down the stairs straight out the front door. As though it knew, Casita pulled up some of the tiles beneath her, pushing her to close some of the distance between herself and the triplet’s mother. She seemed to soften at the sight of the scared child in front of her, and Sofía felt some of her anxiety vanish when the older woman knelt down before her to continue speaking. “Don’t be scared, you did nothing wrong, mijita. This house is magical, and we have seen it do incredible things for us and this town, but something like this has never happened before.” Her voice was kind and understanding, the patient tone of a mother. “My children were blessed with their gifts when they turned 5 years old barely a few months ago. We were not expecting anything like this to be bestowed upon anyone else in this community.” Be bestowed? Sofía’s breath caught in her throat as the reality of the situation sunk in. Surely, she couldn’t be insinuating… And yet, a nagging thought in the back of her head gave her confidence this wasn’t a misplaced joke, the same thought that she had been trying to suppress all day. “It’s my birthday today…” The woman’s face softened yet again, and she nodded understandingly. “Your fifth?” Sofía only managed a haphazard nod before she spoke again. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” “It’s okay, cariña, it’s okay, I promise. Come here.”

Sofía felt as though her feet were bolted to the floor, that’s how little control she had over moving her body. Desperation filled her, and she couldn’t help but snap her eyes towards Bruno, who was still standing several feet behind his mother. His nervousness hadn’t faded, but he seemed less panicked than before, and while his expression was certainly confused, he immediately offered her a kind smile when their lines of sight crossed. Had Sofía been able to pay closer attention, she also would have noticed his hands twitching as though he was itching to reach out and comfort her.

When she managed to step closer to the young mother, she couldn’t help but be calmed slightly by the kind eyes boring into her own. The triplets’ mother took a deep breath, inspiring Sofía to do the same before they talked further. “What’s your name, querida ?” “I’m Sofía.” The woman nodded, continuing in her kind, understanding tone. “It’s so nice to meet you, Sofía. My name is Alma.” Alma shot her a compassionate smile and motioned behind herself. “Casita seems to have decided to grant you a gift as well.” Sofía could practically feel the blood draining from her face. “Me?” “This is your door, Sofía.” Alma gestured to the golden doorknob that displayed a large “S”. “But… I mean, my door?” Alma’s soft chuckle reverberated through the open room they were in, and she brought a hand down to softly rest on Sofía’s shoulder. “Yes, your door to your room. If Casita has chosen you, you are always welcome in our home, mijita.”

Without warning, Pepa jumped beside the two of them, a wide, happy grin on her face. “She’ll be like one of us, mamí ?” “Sí, it seems she’ll get a gift of her own, just like the three of you.”

A gift? A gift of her own? Despite the family’s sincere words, Sofía couldn’t help but doubt this wasn’t some elaborate joke, a hyperrealistic dream or simply her going completely insane; there was no way she was special enough to be chosen to receive a gift as meaningful as this. There must have been some type of misunderstanding, maybe the house had mistaken her for someone else falsely offered her this opportunity, or maybe - “Just go stand in front of the door when you’re ready, Sofía.”

Sofía was decidedly not ready. She had no idea what to expect, and she was scared to the bone, but there was no denying the thrill of excitement she felt as she slowly made her way towards the glowing wooden door. Still, when she stopped only a couple feet away from it, she couldn’t help but look around helplessly, eyes latching onto Bruno who was standing just beside her, staring back at her with a distinct look of pity in his deep brown eyes. She could feel her hands shaking when she evaded his gaze to look down at the tiled floor as her eyes started to tear up. How embarrassing.

Granted, her overwhelmedness was most certainly justified, and yet there was an intense amount of shame boiling up within her at her own timidity and reserve, but then again - Suddenly, there was a soft touch on her shoulder. When Sofía looked up towards her right it was already gone, Bruno’s hand awkwardly hovering in the air between them for a moment as though she’d caught him off-guard before he pulled it back to rest along his side. As if inspired by his forwardness, Pepa promptly jumped behind Sofía to rest her hands on her back while Julieta looped her arm through Sofía’s in a highly comforting motion.

It dawned on Sofía now - they had to have felt the same when they had received their gifts. They knew the feeling, knew how scared and nervous she was, and it was beyond any doubt that their sympathy helped; and yet, it wasn’t until Bruno held out his hand again and Sofía threaded her fingers through his that she found the strength to take a final step forwards to unveil her destiny.

⧖⧗⧖

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

- Loving Vincent

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

i | Dead or Alive | Beetlejuice

Beetlejuice x Original Female Character  | [masterlist] 

֎

      There was no debate about it - the general consensus in the small, quaint town of Winter River, Connecticut was: the large white house that sat atop the hill was cursed.

      Not only did the big victorian-style house loom above the rest of the village in a highly unsettling fashion, its round windows almost like dark eyes watching over the little hamlet day in and day out, but everyone knew about the history of its former residents’  bloodcurdling deaths.

      It wasn’t just the house; the plot of land itself seemed to bring misfortune to whoever chose to step upon it, although, ever since the white house had been built, the unluckiness of its inhabitants appeared to have increased indefinitely.

      In recent years there had been a young couple, the Maitlands, who’d died in a car crash in town, then there had been a small family, the Deetz’s, that had moved in shortly after completely remodelling the house. They’d moved out a few years later, after three of their guests had been heavily injured in an unexplained accident on the property, and the house had stood empty for a couple of years - until the old lady had moved in.

      Agnes Fletcher, a successful businesswoman and a connoisseur of old, unique residences, had bought the house in ‘93, mostly returning it to its original, cosy ex- and interior in the following years. After travelling the world to take up other exciting projects and business opportunities for about another decade, she’d eventually returned to settle down in Winter River. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten to live in the house for long after her return - just about half a year before she’d decided to use the unfamiliar concept of free time to visit family down south, dying in a fatal plane crash on the way.       Her will stated her granddaughter Aubrey Fletcher as not only her primary beneficiary, but her only beneficiary, effectively making her the unexpectant passive owner of a highly successful real estate business and several houses all around the globe, including her grandmother’s favourite: the big white house in Winter River.       Aubrey felt like she’d heard stories about the house for all of her life, but it could have been only truly after her and her mother had moved from London to Florida shortly after Agnes had bought the house that she truly had. Even after Aubrey’s father’s unexpected passing due to a sudden heart attack when she’d been only four, her mother had never quite warmed up to her mother-in-law Agnes. Granted, they had always been very different, almost opposites, really. Aubrey’s mother had been an average but hard-working single mother mainly focused on her own self and her immediate family; Agnes, however, had been a convention-breaking pioneer of her business and an avid philanthropist, caring not only about an extended circle of family and friends, but also working with many charities and doing her best to make the world a kinder and better place.       From a very young age, Aubrey had been obsessed with Agnes. Growing up in a very protected environment, she had never been exposed to someone quite as different and unique as her, and, much to her mother’s dismay, being different from the rest had fascinated her so much she had taken her grandmother on as her highest-ranked role model for decades to come.

      Her mum’s old Saab shook violently as Aubrey sped across the uneven tar roads, forcing her to slow down, though she could feel the giddiness rushing all through her body.       The house. She was finally going to see the house .       She had waited for so long, she could wait a little longer now if it meant her car could survive the rough drive through rural Connecticut. Cities and Towns had gotten smaller and spaced farther apart the closer she got to her destination over the past few hours, the late autumn sun gradually dropping down further and further in the grey cloudless sky.       Her grandmother’s death had come as a gruesome surprise to Aubrey. Of course, nobody usually thought about the inevitability of death more than they had to, but when it happened, it always felt way too soon, especially when it happened in such a horrendous way as Agnes’ death. The Fletcher family had always been what some might call unfortunate when it came to their causes of death, often dying at a fairly young age through generally cruel accidents, like Aubrey’s younger brother Nick had, or later in life from rare diseases or unusual afflictions. There had also been her aunt and uncle’s tragic deaths in a house fire, her father’s sudden heart attack, her mother’s short but horrible fight with cancer and, of course, her grandmother’s recent unlucky involvement in a plane crash.

      Aubrey herself had almost died as a 4-year-old after a particularly nasty allergic reaction to peanuts, which nobody had known she was allergic to. The single spoon of peanut butter hadn’t only landed her a trip to the emergency room with her throat completely swollen shut, but also a peanut detection dog named Wesley, a young but impeccably trained Australian Shepherd always up and ready to keep her safe from traces of peanuts, since, according to what the doctor had told them,  1/500th of peanut could most definitely kill her. Wesley had stuck around for 14 years, a loyal and loving companion to her before he’d passed. They’d buried him in the yard, next to Nick’s pet rats that had died only a few months prior, and Aubrey had never owned a pet since.

      The dense wall of trees around the winding road slowly cleared, and then, all of a sudden, she could see it in the distance: the small village of Winter River. There, behind the thin wall of fog was the church she’d heard so much about, the houses which, from this vantage point, looked almost as small as on the pictures of the model-village up in the house's attic that her grandma had often shown her.       Aubrey almost slammed on the brakes as the remaining trees cleared, and she had her first-ever unobstructed view of it - the white house.

֎

      He was angry.

      Not only had he been horribly humiliated and brutally backstabbed by a 14-year-old snooty goth girl that he hadn’t even liked more than as a means to an end - the end being him finally getting his powers back.       Not only had died yet again and had been forced to wait for what had felt like millennia in a dirty, crammed waiting room, but when it had finally been his turn, they hadn’t even done what he’d expected. Why had he expected to be understood, maybe even treated with kindness? He didn’t know, though he should have. The Netherworld was hopeless, had always been, but he’d been around humans for too long and it had made him soft.       They hadn’t helped him restore his powers or even his corporal form, nor had they granted him free roam in the Netherworld like they’d used to.       No, they’d banned him to spend eternity in the same plot of land he’d died on twice now, unable to talk, to leave, to touch, to do anything unless he was summoned. Not that there would have been anybody to talk to - or touch , he thought with a sad grin as he let his legs dangle down from the dusty bed.       When he’d come back from the land-of-the-dead, much more time had passed than he had thought. The Deetz’s had left, as had the Maitlands - he’d neither known nor cared why, when or how. The house had been deserted, the ugly sculptures finally gone and replaced by a mixture of somewhat boring, old-fashioned and more unique, eccentric designs all over the house.       Still, he wouldn’t have been intrigued at all if it hadn’t been for the old lady.

      He’d tried to scare her at first, possessing random objects around her to make her flinch, picking up his speed as she hadn’t reacted, until one night, when it had all changed.

      He remembered as if it had been yesterday.

֎

      The old woman stood in the kitchen cooking up dinner, while he was lingering close-by, as usual, when the thought occurred to him:       Maybe if he killed her and got her to say his name almost immediately while she’s on the brink of death and sensitive to the supernatural - would she still count as alive? Was that a viable strategy, a loophole to get him out of this misery of eternal invisibility?       With that haphazard thought, he eyed her biggest kitchen knife, letting it float towards him in slow and calculated motions, his mind buzzing in anticipation.       Yes, this was gonna be so much fun, He was gonna take his sweet ass time and enjoy this, and then he’d savour the look on her face when she - then she suddenly turned around to him, looked him dead in the eye and said:       “If you’re gonna kill me, just do it. Your little games are seriously starting to bore me.”

      Needless to say, he was floored.       “Lady, hey, ho, hey, I didn’t notice you, ehh, could see me, totally didn’t mean to kill ya.” The knife slipped out of his invisible grip but evaporated into nothingness before it could clatter to the ground, while he immediately took a quick step towards her, his movements now almost erratic. As if this was the most casual conversation ever, she’d already turned back towards her cutting board, busying herself with chopping up some carrots.

      “Listen, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve talked to anybody, if you could help a guy out, you know, just say my name a couple times would really just about make my life not a living hell anymore.”       Her eyes found him again, and her voice was calm and soft, but with a certain edge to it that he couldn’t help but notice.       “Listen, bud, I know who you are. I’ll tolerate you around this house as long as you behave, but if you won’t, I’ll have my ways to get rid of you.” The glint in her eyes assured him she wasn’t lying, and he suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Yes, Agnes Fletcher had officially managed to make Betelgeuse himself speechless.

      “Got it?” She turned away again, as if suddenly disinterested, and he propped himself up on the kitchen counter as he struggled to stammer his reply.       “Got it, I mean, G-Gotcha, lady, but - “ As if she just remembered something, she dropped her knife back on the counter spilling little bits of carrots all over the kitchen floor and within the blink of an eye, she was standing right in front of him.       “Shh. You listen to me. Can you focus for a moment?” Who was this lady, his fucking mother?       “How dare you speak to me like that, I’m a fucking - ow!” Just as he was starting his angry tirade, her hand grabbed him by the ear, pulling him down from the counter.       How could she touch him, he wasn’t even in his corporal form? How was she not afraid of him? How could she even SEE him? What THE FUCK was happening?

      Her other hand grabbed his scruffy face, turning it towards her in one swift motion, effectively focusing his attention back on her.       “Listen. To. Me.” Her short, well-manicured fingernails scraped along his ear uncomfortably, and, although he felt her warm body temperature quickly heating up his cold, long-dead skin and was almost tempted to lean into her touch, he kept his focus on her. “I’ll die in a few weeks, and I could use your help.”

      As if a weight had been lifted off of him, Betelgeuse immediately relaxed.       He’d won the upper hand again, as usual. This breather needed his help, as most others did, so she wasn’t so very special after all.       “Ahhh, now I’m gettin’ ya. What do you want me to do: prevent your death, kill someone for ya, nuke the town, nuke the whole planet? I’ll do anything if you get me out of here in return.” The old lady hadn’t moved an inch away from him, but now she slowly folded her hands on top of her stomach as she took a deep breath.       “I know you would, but I don’t mean that kind of help. My death is predestined, and I’m in no way looking for a way to avert it.”       What?       “Wha - then what do you want?”       “I need another kind of service from you.”       Instantly, he felt his face curve into a sly smile as his confidence came surging back. Within moments, he closed the small distance between them and let his hand slink around her waist suavely.       “Oh, wouldn’ta taken you for the type with a ghost fetish, lady, haven’t done it in a couple centuries so I might be a little rusty, but I’ll be sure to give ya a good time, ya look like ya need it - ” When leaning down to bury his face in her neck, she suddenly pushed him away hard so that his back crashed into the edge of the counter so painfully that it had knocked the breath out of him - figuratively speaking.

      “Not that kinda service you pig.” Her expression was distinctly disgusted while she quickly dusted herself off with her hands.       “Could you just listen? My granddaughter is gonna move in here after I pass, I don’t know exactly when, but I need you to be decent - nice, even, if you know what that means.”       The southern drawl rolled from her lips so smoothly that he found himself listening intently, despite softly rubbing his still throbbing spine.       “I can play nice, lady, especially when a pretty girl’s involved.”       “You keep your filthy hands off of her!” As if whispering to herself, she quietly added: “’Cept she doesn’t want you to, but let’s hope for the best.”

      His interest was piqued, and he found himself once more wondering what the fuck was going on.       “What do you mean, why do you know all this stuff, lady? You a medium?” She smiled, the kind of smile you give a child when it asks questions they wouldn’t yet understand the answers to and shook her head softly.       “Close enough. Listen, she’ll need peace and quiet, she’s been through a lot, and I can’t have you annoyin’ her for the rest of time. But if you play nice, I can promise you something good.”       “That I’ll get laid? Won’t have ta be all nice for that, you know.” Her smile turned into an expression of offended disgust within moments and he noticed that she’d seemingly subconsciously taken another step away from him.       “Jesus, can you just not think about sex for a minute?”       “That’s a hard thing to do for a dead guy like me. Ya wanna know what else is hard, thinkin' about your pretty little girl?” He moved his hands in a vague gesture towards his crotch and she quickly averted her eyes and clenched her fists.       “Okay, no, no, no.” There was a distinct change within her as she muttered those words. Her posture suddenly changed for the better, her eyes were now positively glowing as she surged back towards him, swiftly raising her hand upwards towards his face. Just when he was certain she was going to slap him full-force, her hand stopped right before his mouth, and with a quick flick of her wrist, she manifested a zipper around his lips and, with one sudden movement, fastened his lips together, completely silencing him.       What. The. Fuck. What the FUCK was happening, she wasn’t dead, was she? She couldn’t be - what - how could she control reality this way, how could she - what?!

      With her pointer finger loosely pressed against the center of his lips in a parody of a shushing motion, he found himself meeting her dominant gaze once more.       “If you play nice, and I mean nice , she’ll free you. Not immediately, you have to be patient, but she’ll free ya and you’ll be able to…  do whatever you want.”       He broke out of his frozen state with little struggle and quickly wiped the weird zipper away to voice his surprise.       “You mean she’ll marry me… willingly?”       The lady squinted her eyes as if trying to see something far away without her glasses, though she was clearly wearing hers, and slowly nodded her head.       “I can’t quite see it, but I know you’ll be free, no restrictions, no boundaries, if you do it right. If you fuck up, she’ll leave and you’ll likely be stuck here forever.”       “Good prospects, lady.”       “Indeed.”

      A girl would marry him - him! - willingly? And all he’d have to do was behave like a somewhat decent guy? The old lady seemed to read him like an open book, and he felt deeply unsettled. This had never ever happened before. Not giving him time to think, Agnes kept going.       “You’re a fuck-up, boy. You’ve made terrible mistakes, and now you’re lonely, you’re desperate, you’re - “       “Horny, geez, don’t have to tell me, I already know.”       Now, there was a long pause in which he let his mind roam free, his unanswered questions filling his brain with confusion as his first feeling of hope in centuries began warmly pooling around his solar plexus; the girl was gonna marry him…       “So you’ll do it?”       “To be free?” He paused for just a moment, his eyes now intently focused on her. “I’d do anything.”

֎

      The cold wind hit her like a slap in the face as she exited the small house of the realtor. The blonde middle-aged woman who’d disturbingly worn nothing but a rather eccentric shade of pink, including a polkadot bow on top of her tightly permed hair had assured her to go ahead and drive up the pathway to the house, she would meet her there in about 10 minutes.

       As she walked down the shallow steps back towards her car, Aubrey took a moment to focus on her breathing as she took in her surroundings. The layer of frost on the surrounding grass had started to dissipate, slowly melting in the warm light of the setting sun, the tall, old church was now throwing a deep, long shadow upon the few remaining flowers wilting beside the pavement and two young kids that were playing in the yard, but now somewhat hesitantly started running up to her.       As they came closer, she identified them as an older raven-haired boy of maybe eleven and a younger girl, possibly his sister, of maybe about five years of age whose dark, curly bangs were thrust back into her eyes at every minor gust of wind. Their hands were linked in a comforting grasp, and the smaller girl seemed to be trying to hold the boy back from approaching Aubrey. Still, with age came strength, and he pulled her after him as if she wasn’t even there.

      “Are you moving into the house on the hill?” He asked with a high, inquisitive tone, his eyebrows raised in question. Aubrey nodded softly and smiled at the two kids.       “Yes, I am. I’m Aubrey.” Much to the apparent dismay of his sister, the boy took another few steps towards her to shake her hand, until he stood so close to her she could hear his half-whispered question:       “I’m Michael. Are… Are you a witch, too?” Aubrey couldn’t suppress a little smile, but she noted the fear taking over the girls facial expression. Was she… scared of her?       “Mike, come on, can we just go back inside?”       “No, come on, Lisa, just wait a minute. Are you?”       “I’m not, no.” The little girl whose name was apparently Lisa avoided eye-contact entirely now, but Aubrey could clearly see her eyes slowly welling up with tears as her brother continued.       “It’s haunted, you know? We see it all the time, the lights come on at night and then there’s shadows dancing around, even though no one’s there! The only one who could deal with it was the nice old lady who used to live there years ago. She was a witch, you know? When she was there, there were no shadows and no weird thunderstorms.” The nice old lady. Good to know Agnes had managed to make herself a name here.       “Well, it’s nice of you to warn me but I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of that. You know, sometimes teens like to break into empty places to have fun or wreak havoc, that could very well be what you saw.” A good explanation. Right?       As much as she wanted to believe herself, the little seedling of doubt that had been planted in her mind long ago started to sprout, slowly but surely. What if there was someone - something - up there?

      The little boy shook his head with conviction, his eyes suddenly big and scared.      “The thing that lives up there, it’s not human. I’m not sure it ever was. Bobby from school says it’s a demon, and it’ll kill all of us in our sleep if we look at the house for too long.”

      Fuck. Bobby from school. What was she thinking, letting doubt settle in her mind at the naïve words of a little kid? They were just having fun, telling horror stories around the campfire, as kids did. With a little shudder, she let go of her doubts once more. She was sane, and there was no such thing as ghosts. There couldn’t be.       “Don’t listen to Bobby from school, alright? I’m sure there’s nothing weird living up there, and if there is, I’ll make sure it never comes down here to hurt any of you, okay?”       He gave her a small smile, obviously still unsure.       “I best get going. Don’t you worry about the house anymore, okay? If you see any shadows moving around late at night, rest assured it’s just me. I’m a writer, and I often work at night, so it’ll just be me, okay?”       His eyebrows still furrowed, he forced another smile and strengthened his hold on Lisa’s hand.       “Okay. Try to be safe?”       “I will, don’t you worry, Michael. Lisa.” On a whim, she extended her hand to fluff through his hair playfully, at which he giggled before his sister finally managed to get his attention again. Aubrey, however, had already re-entered her Saab and quickly sped away towards the house, unaware of the two siblings standing at the end of their driveway, staring after her with worried expressions.

      Back in the car, Aubrey smiled absently as her mind drifted back to more pleasant thoughts of her grandmother.       Agnes had always had a reason to talk, tell stories and make everyone around her laugh, but her favourite topic had always been the house.

      She had always been a little… off. Not just in her way of dressing or speaking, but in her way of perceiving the world around her.       As a child, Aubrey had soaked up every conversation she’d had with her like a sponge, noting every topic, idiom and even her accent which she, as an impressionable, thoroughly British girl, had very embarrassingly and unsuccessfully tried to copy for a little while.       And yet, it hadn’t just been all of those things - Grandma Agnes had often talked about the spiritual, the veil, and the world beyond. She’d talked about ghosts as if they were the most natural occurrence, had told Aubrey about the ghosts in her own house, the ones in new houses she’d visited or even bought, and then, many years later, about the ghosts in the white house in Winter River.       The red Saab cut through the peaceful snow-dusted streets like a clear intruder, slowly making its way through the oh-so-unfamiliar streets of the small village, carefully approaching the dirt road that led up the hill. Come back again soon! was written on a small white sign, and Aubrey shuddered at the sight of the small red-covered bridge.

      Adam and Barbara Maitland were the ghosts whose story she could recall most clearly, the young couple who’d died in a car accident many years ago on the very bridge she was gingerly making her way across now. Her grandmother had talked about them a whole lot, so much and in such personal ways that Aubrey’s mother had started suggesting that Aubrey distance herself from Agnes, because she suspected her grandmother was ‘losing it’.

      Agnes had assured Aubrey that there was no reason to be afraid of ghosts, especially when it came to the peaceful calibre of Adam and Barbara Maitland, who, even in their afterlife, seemed to have been the loveliest couple known to mankind. She also seemed to remember her grandmother telling her about helping them move on after a while, though it had been very hard - “Bureaucracy...”, Agnes had haphazardly explained - to help them out of their predicament.       However, according to Agnes, not everything was as harmless and peachy in the world of ghosts as the Maitlands. Aubrey seemed to be able to recall mentionings of demons, evil spirits, incubi and a certain poltergeist-like character who had actively bothered them for a while, but it had only been in accidental digressions Agnes had liked to take occasionally; whenever Aubrey asked, the topic was always dismissed immediately.

      “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” had always been Agnes’ response when Aubrey enquired about ghosts or what her grandma had always referred to as the Netherworld, but even as she grew to be an older kid, a teenager and then an adult, her grandmother’s stance never shifted. “I’ll tell you someday, Aubs. Not now, ‘kay?”

      She’d never told her - of course, she hadn’t. Maybe her mother had been right, and all of this stuff had only been Agnes’ imagination, or maybe she’d made it up just to be able to tell her stories as a child. But a small part of Aubrey knew that her grandmother hadn’t intentionally invented all of these stories. They came from a place of truth, though the question still remained whether that truth was grounded in actual reality, or a place in Agnes’ mind.       Aubrey’s mind, on the other hand, started to overflow with thoughts and questions. What if Agnes had truly been sane, and there had been ghosts in the house? What if they were still there, as the kids had suggested? What if Agnes herself had come back as one? What if demons resided there, waiting to kill her?

      Her thoughts died away as she crossed the threshold of the ridge, reached the top of the hill and finally saw the house up close. The grass around the path she’d taken up here was frozen, everything covered in a thin, white layer of frost, and it made the peaceful white house blend right into its surroundings.       It seemed like an amalgamation of several different houses, the main house obviously a refurbished victorian building while the small porch with the red door almost reminded Aubrey of an old western saloon, but the tower on the left side caught her full attention and, almost immediately, let goosebumps rise on her skin.

      This was so unique, so special, so wonderful, just like she’d imagined - this was perfect.

֎

      The old lady had been right. He’d been desperate and lonely (horny, too), so he’d clung to her for weeks after their first talk, not only to monitor her well-being to know when her time would come but also, as he’d quickly started to notice, for general human contact. Having been stuck in a grave for hundreds of years before being let out, only to be killed again and damned to wander the halls of a singular unoccupied building for the rest of eternity hadn’t done a lot for his social life, nor had his obviously obtrusive personality helped him form any social contacts in the past 600 years, so yes - he still was all of those things. Very. Much. So.

      Agnes Fletcher had also been right about one other thing: She’d died. Not a particularly horrible death, comparatively - she’d been unconscious before the small plane had even come close to hitting the ground - but still a death he could have certainly averted if she’d asked him to. She was somewhat of a mystery to him, her way of knowing what would transpire in the future, her powers of altering reality in silencing him with just the most casual flick of her wrist, him, a demon that would make the devil himself shit his pants in the ecstasy of fright - at least that’s what he liked to think.

      The house had been quiet for a while again. Shortly after Beetlejuice had felt her death, maybe a few weeks after, a neighbour had come over to empty out the fridge and trash cans, turning up his nose at the rotting vegetables and dusty furniture, but he’d left before the self-proclaimed bio-exorcist had been able to make him run for his life.

      Was he gonna do what she'd told him? The outlook of the lifting of his curse was a good one for sure, but being nice? He tightened his hand around his jaw, his messy stubble scratching the inside of his palm as he stared through the dusty air into nothingness.       If the girl was gonna be like that other brat he’d tried to marry all those years ago, he was not - absolutely, definitely not - going to be able to be nice. He’d tried, and he was painfully aware of where it had landed him.       The pictures of that godforsaken waiting room made him shudder, and he jumped up, now pacing up and down the small bedroom.       Why should he do what a random old lady told him to? He was his own person, goddammit, and he’d never listened to what others had told him - a fact that Juno especially could attest to - he was going to fucking do what he felt was the right way of going about this, not what she had thought.       Who even assured him that the girl was coming? Or that there even was a girl at all? If she was, was she even gonna be able to see him? And how would Agnes have known that she was eventually gonna marry him? Absolute fucking bullshit .       He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for the words of a crazy woman. What had happened to him? Soft and gullible. His face morphed into a disgusted expression before he sat back down on the dirty, wrinkled bed.       If the girl would actually show up, he was going to do this his way. He’d scare her into submission, and he’d make her say his name, whatever it took, and he would make it so she’d have no choice but to marry him. If she was particularly annoying, he would, of course, kill her as well. Maybe even if she wasn’t - he really had no reason not to.       After that, he could leave, go and do whatever he wanted wherever he wanted, and live out his second chance at life as he’d longed to for forever.

   He wasn’t keeping track of time anymore; the concept itself became somewhat insignificant after so many years in this house, not to mention afterlife itself, but he assumed it must have been around a year or two before he was awoken from his constant doze: by the noise of a key in the front door’s lock.

      This was gonna be fun.

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

Beetlejuice

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

iii | Just You and Me | Arthur Fleck

Arthur Fleck x Original Female Character  | Joker AU [masterlist] |  [ ← previous chapter] ⁕

      The heavy front door slammed shut behind her, and Wanda let herself fall forward immediately, only barely landing on her soft leather couch. What a fucked up day.       It hadn’t been working on a Saturday that ruined her day, nor had it been the underlying sense of stress she’d been feeling recently; her bad mood solely derived from the incompetence and selfishness of the people around her, the people she was forced to work with every day, the nurses and doctors that didn’t give a shit about others, let alone the feelings and lives of the young kids they worked with. Nobody cares anymore.

      Wanda let her hand drop to the hardwood floor and heard her rings jingle together. How can people be so… so self-absorbed, so falsely confident in their actions, how -       She stopped herself and sat up promptly to look at the quietly ticking clock above her TV. 5:12 pm.       Her heart skipped a beat, and she leaned back against the back-rest of her sofa. She’d be seeing Arthur for dinner again at 8. 

      About a week had passed since they’d met and spent the evening in that cutesy little diner, and she’d only managed to go three days with the receipt with his number on it constantly burning a hole in her pocket before she’d called him.       He’d been somewhat surprised to hear from her, but certainly not opposed to meeting her for dinner on Wednesday, two days later, which had been amazing.       Sure, Arthur was, for lack of a better word, weird. He was awkward, his sense of humour was twisted and dark and his sporadic fits of laughter had the potential to make her feel fairly uncomfortable, mostly because of the people around them, but he was also extremely honest and genuine, extraordinarily caring and loving, especially when talking about his mother, and just an overall delightful human being. 

      However, regardless of his charming ways of talking, she felt his inner sadness and suffering. He didn’t talk about it much, not even really when she brought such themes up, but Wanda could feel how broken he was and how desperately he needed somebody to talk to - not unlike her.

      As much as she yearned to see him again, after this terrible day she felt like she wanted to do nothing but cuddle up in bed with a steaming cup of tea and cry herself to sleep. Maybe she could convince him to do something else, but go for dinner? Maybe just…

      She had grabbed the phone’s receiver already, her fingers dialling the number slowly, as if savouring every digit, but her heart was pounding as she finished to hear the dial tone. What if he’s not home? What if he is, and he’s mad that you can’t make it? What if -       "Hello?" The voice that interrupted her nervous spiralling wasn’t Arthurs, but the raspy, weak tone of an older woman. His mum, of course.       "Hi, u-um, hi, is Arthur there by any chance?" The woman on the other end inhaled sharply, and her voice seemed a little stronger than before, now mostly charged with confusion.       "Oh, yes, but… who’s there?"       "Wanda, m-my name is Wanda, I’m a friend of his. Could I p-possibly speak to him?" The woman paused, as if taken aback by her words, then caught herself and continued with an audible smile on her face.       "Yes, yes, of course, hold on just a second." Wanda could practically hear the haphazard motion that was made to cover up the phone’s microphone, the sound muffled for just a moment, before she could hear everything clearly again.

      "Happy!" She really calls him that.       "Yes, mom?" Arthur’s voice called back sounding distant, like a call from far away or a different room.       "There’s someone on the phone for you, her name’s Wanda?"       "Oh, sh - !" His reaction came immediately as her name was spoken, a loud clattering, then suddenly a smashing sound, before a squeaking door opened in a rush.       "Goodness, put some clothes on, Happy, you can’t walk around in a towel, you’ll catch a cold!"       "I will, mom, I will in a minute, give me the phone, okay?"       "Who’s Wanda? Is this your girlfriend?" Wanda giggled, and promptly covered her mouth, hoping neither of them had heard her. 

      His girlfriend.       They had talked for hours over dinner, the food almost completely forgotten on the table between them as they chatted about anything and everything. She’d told him about her job, her flat, her everyday problems, and he’d told her about his work as a clown, his coworkers that he seemed to, at least, somewhat enjoy the company of, even though she’d felt an immediate dislike towards most of them, and his mother, whom she'd thought about increasingly lovingly from the way he’d described her.       It had been only when the last sunlight ceased to light up the dreary streets outside that they’d stepped out into the crisp evening air.

      He’d offered to walk her home, again, but she’d declined politely, not wanting to be a nuisance, so he’d dropped her off at another bus stop. 

      As easy and natural as their evening of conversation had been going, as awkward had been saying goodbye. They’d stood close for a few moments, unsure of their actions, until she’d wrapped her arms around his slim frame and hugged him.       Her body had been surging with electricity, her heart beating out of her chest while she’d pressed her face against his shoulder and collarbone, drinking in the closeness and warmth of his body. He’d taken a few moments to reciprocate the hug, and Wanda had found herself surprised by how much she’d wanted him to kiss her as she'd pulled away, even disappointed as he'd merely risen his hand again in a curt wave, turned around and hurried off into the darkness before her bus had even come to a full stop beside them.

      "No, mom, not my girlfriend, just - I’ll tell you later okay, just give me the - hello?" There he was, as clear as if he were standing right next to her, and she felt her heart surge as an immediate reaction to him.       "Am I interrupting something?" Wanda snickered as she spoke, but Arthur promptly cut her off with his answer.       "No, no, I was just taking a shower, it’s all good. Is everything okay?"       Just say yes, don’t be a fucking wuss, Wanda.       "That’s why I’m calling, I - actually I’m n-not feeling very well."       "Oh…" There was obvious empathy in his voice, but also a big hint of disappointment.       "I’m sorry to hear that, can I - "       "But I still - I s-still want to see you." The shyness was dominating her voice as she spoke, and she hoped it wouldn’t sound quite as desperate as she thought it did. She genuinely just wanted to see him.       "Oh?"

      "I was thinking maybe we can just… go for a walk? I’m sorry, really, if you don’t w-want to, you don’t have to - "       "No, I’d love to. Do you want me to come pick you up?" His immediate acceptance surprised her as much as she felt flattered, and she struggled not to jump up and down with happiness.       "You don’t have to, let’s maybe just meet at the park?"       "Now?" She hadn’t thought about a time, frankly not expecting him to agree anyways.       "I-i-if you want to, yes, I could be there in about 20 minutes?"       "Yeah, I’ll meet you at the benches out front by the park towers?"       "Okay, I’ll s-see you then."       "Be careful on the way."

⁕

      She was late. Wanda’s eager and naïve estimate of 20 minutes had been easily overtaken by the delayed bus she’d had to wait for about half an hour alone, leaving her in the middle of rush hour on her way to their meeting point.

      Exiting the bus at the park entrance, she could already see Arthur from afar sitting on one of the benches, his leg bouncing up and down in a quick rhythm, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, directed towards the ground.       The light was draining away already, the low-standing sun hidden behind a solid layer of clouds and she could feel that pressure suddenly, that familiar feeling of something crawling from the pit of her stomach upwards through her throat and nose into her burning eyes and felt her eyebrows furrow by themselves as she walked towards him. Don’t cry, Wanda, come on, don’t cry.       There was barely even enough light to cast a shadow onto the uneven asphalt flooring before her, and he didn’t see her as she walked past, his eyes clamped shut under his furrowed brows, all hidden behind a curtain of dark, shoulder-length hair.

      Wanda sat down next to him quietly, her bottom lip quivering so uncontrollably that she had to bite down onto it hard. She folded her hands together and laid them in her lap with the pressure in her chest and stomach increasing steadily, her eyes now feeling like there was a blazing fire burning right behind them.       She took in a soothing but shuddering breath, and then couldn’t keep herself quiet any longer.       "It’s all going to fucking shits."       "Wanda!" Arthur jolted up, his eyes wide open as he took her in, his shock immediately replaced by worry. The lights around them turned into wavering streaks as she blinked, and she could feel the first tears spilling over the corners of her eyes, slowly running down her cheeks.

      Arthur next to her sat up straighter and turned his whole body towards her, his hands unsteadily extended towards her, as if wanting to comfort her, but not quite knowing how. Wanda clamped her eyes shut and tried to speak, to explain herself or apologise, but something was blocking her, didn’t let her speak, only let her struggle with her unsteady breathing.

      He seemed to have moved closer as Wanda opened her eyes again, she could feel the warmth radiating off of him as the tears kept coming. She raised a hand to her face, wiping them away carelessly, but as she lowered it again, he intercepted, his long fingers closing around her freezing hand. A jolt of electricity moved through her instantly, making her look up at his anxious face.       "T-this whole fucking town, just one big blob of c-conceited assholes."       "What happened?"

      She told him. They got up and walked, slowly, through the adjacent park as she spoke. She told him all about Will and his disease, about the questionable methods of treatment they were using on him, about the rapid downfall of his health and the kids from the other stations, about the other nurses and doctors and the recent enormous cuts in funding - about how nobody cared.       He walked alongside her, her hand still loosely grasped in his and nodded understandingly every now and again, sometimes offering quick interjections and anecdotes, even a joke that had made her chuckle through her still-teary eyes.

      "All of them only care about themselves, not a single thought wasted on others, such fucking n-narcissists." They’d sat down on another bench, this time overlooking a narrow part of the Gotham River where filthy seagulls were circling over seemingly nothing in the rolling grey stream.       "I wouldn’t say it like that." Arthur smiled sadly, and a thought came to her mind.       "You don’t swear, do you?" His smile ceased, and he averted his eyes.       "Sometimes… Just not in front of my mom."       "S-she doesn’t like it, huh?" He shook his head, and she thought back to his mother’s pleasant voice she’d heard on the telephone earlier. "She sounds very sweet."       "She worries too much." Who doesn’t? She folded her hands together, trying to warm them up, while his eyes focussed on something far away.       "T-there is a lot to worry about these days." He nodded slowly, almost absentmindedly, and she was overcome by the urge to hold his hand again to offer some sort of comfort.       "I guess."       "Sorry to pull you away from her like this, a-after today I just didn’t really feel like going for dinner - "       "No, no, I get it! I’m… I’m glad you still wanted to meet up." He turned back towards her, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and she couldn’t hold back anymore. Her fingers slid over his arm, savouring the feel of the soft fabric of his ochre jacket, and almost instinctively, she interlocked her fingers with his, slowly, but purposefully. He was trembling slightly under her touch, she could feel it, but for her that was only to be taken as a compliment, especially as he readjusted his grip and squeezed her hand softly.       "I’m glad you could m-make it."

⁕

      Arthur insisted on walking Wanda home this time, reiterating that the streets of Gotham were truly dangerous these days and he wasn’t comfortable letting her walk home by herself, especially as her injured ankle had started to act up again.       Her hands were buried deep within the pockets of her thick winter coat as they embarked on the journey in moderately comfortable silence. She could hear him breathing weirdly beside her, as if struggling to decide whether or not to say something, eventually breaking the quiet.       "I have a question." His voice was serious, all of a sudden.       "Yeah?"       "And you don’t have to answer it, if you don’t want to." Wanda turned her head to find him regarding her with a somewhat curious, somewhat careful expression, as if he were observing an animal in the wild. She chuckled nervously as they finished crossing a street and stepped back onto the pavement.       "Now you’re s-scaring me, Arthur."       "No, don’t be - I don’t… Why were you in that alley?" Her feet stopped moving her forward almost instinctively, and she stopped in her tracks.       "What?" He turned around and hurried towards her, obviously worried he’d said something wrong.       "I meant - I just meant the alley, where we met. I told you why I was there, but you never… you never mentioned why you were."       "Oh." Oh, indeed. Her head was racing with lies and excuses, like she’d always tried to find when it came to her and Nathan’s relationship. Oh, the bruises? It’s nothing, I fell. The black eye? Just an accident. - You don’t have to tell them the truth.

      She shook her head and walked past him, picking up her speed to their former tempo, afraid, just for a moment, that her mouth wasn’t going to let her speak again, but it did.       "I w-was… running from s-someone. My ex, he’s… n-not a very friendly guy." Arthur was next to her at the blink of an eye as he heard her voice, all ears for everything she was saying.       "What… what did he do?"

      Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, don’tsayit.       "He was - he… have you ever heard about that weird f-fact, that women tend to fall for men like their fathers?" He shook his head slowly, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Life works in m-mysterious ways, he… well, he was just like my dad." She turned her head to the side and observed the buildings they were passing as a distraction, so she could talk more clearly and freely.       "He was… my dad, he wasn’t a great father, I think I t-told you about him the day we met, he… he hit my mum often, sometimes me. I - I don’t know why I’m telling you this, g-god, I should just - " Her fingers were covering her eyes as she stopped again and turned away from him in sudden embarrassment.       "Hey, no, no, please!" She was surprised by his short, but exceptionally easily suppressed chuckle and his warm but hesitant hands on her back and forearm. "I’m not gonna force you to tell me more, but I’ll… if you want to, I’ll listen - I’ll listen to anything you want to talk about." His smile was loving and encouraging, and they continued walking as she explained.

      "My dad was abusive throughout my whole childhood, and after my parents f-finally split up about five years ago, he m-moved back here. My mother passed away a c-couple of years ago, not long after that, and about two y-years ago I got the news that my dad’s health had started to det-deteriorate as well, and he was in need of help, so I came here - to help."       Arthur nodded understandingly, his hands plunged black into the pockets of his oversized slacks, his eyes not leaving hers for even a second.

      "I got him into a fairly n-nice clinic, out of the shithole he was living in, n-n-not that he was thankful for anything I was doing, but now he was at least somewhat c-cared for. I started working here full time again to p-pay the bills and visited him every day, and he seemed to be getting better and b-better. I mean, sometimes he was even n-nice to me for once," her face was overcome by an absent smile for a second, "and then the city cut their budgets and the clinic closed."       He took in a sharp breath, and she concentrated on looking forward and walking the familiar way towards home.       "I c-couldn’t afford to get him into any of the other clinics, and Arkham State r-refused to take him in because he didn’t have, and I quote, any obvious issues. W-what a load of fucking idiots they are." They turned a corner, and she could see the memories almost like a movie playing in front of her inner eye.       "Well, I had to take him into my flat and try to c-care for him there, but it didn’t work. He had mental issues, which, I think, is o-obvious by now, and one day, when I c-came home from work, he was just gone. Had taken all of the money I had left from mum and some I’d managed to s-save up and left. I found out a couple of w-weeks later, completely by ch-chance, that he’d passed away."

      Wanda took a shuddering breath, and she felt Arthur move closer, so his arm was now pressing against hers as they advanced through the dingy street.       "I was just w-walking to work, you know, and there he was, on the p-pavement, and there was an ambulance and these fucking asshole paramedics were standing by his side talking shit and - l-long story short, he died of hypothermia out in the open s-streets."       "Oh my god - " Arthur had stopped this time, his eyes wide open in horror, his face even paler than usual.       "Don’t be sorry for me, I s-suppose it was better that way, both for him and for me."       "I don’t - I - First of all, I’m incredibly sorry, but I… I was there…"       "What?" He suddenly pulled out the journal she’d seen him scribble in sometimes from his back pocket and opened his notes, quickly turning the pages until he seemingly landed on the one he was looking for, about half-way through the notebook.       "I was on my way home and there was an ambulance and I got curious and I saw him, I saw… I’m so sorry, Wanda."       She stepped closer to him, her eyes roaming over the messy pages up to where his fingers were pointing.

      I noticed that there was an ambulance and the paramedics were standing over the homeless man. I walked over because I was interested in what happened to him as I got near them I heard them say “what a way to go on the side walk.” what?? can you imagine that??? dead on the sidewalk with people stepping over you. Maybe he’s happier.

      Her eyes welled up with tears again, and she quickly turned her head away from him, swallowing them up silently.       "It’s fine, really, just sorry you had to s-see that."       "No I’m… I’m the one who’s sorry, really. But then…" His voice was back to the careful, caring guy as he quickly closed the diary and caught back up with her. "What happened with your… your… the guy you were talking about?"       "Oh, yes, he… I met him after I m-moved here, and as dad got worse and worse, he was really the only p-person I had - the only one that was… there for me, I guess."       Arthur nodded, and she thought she could see just a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. He also only had his mum.       "I thought he was nice and a g-good guy, I didn’t see how he started to manipulate me; how he made me do things I didn’t want by making me feel g-guilty, or how he was constantly lying, I didn’t see any of that - not until he started to get aggressive and v-v-violent with me." She could see Arthur turning away discretely out of the corner of her eye, his eyebrows furrowed, casting a deep shadow over his usually bright eyes.

      "After my dad had passed, I was crushed. Not necessarily b-because of his death, I told you, I knew it was probably f-for the best, but I suddenly couldn’t see any meaning in what I was doing a-anymore. My parents were dead, I didn’t really have any f-friends, my colleagues hated me almost as much as I d-despised them so all I had left was Nathan, and I knew that s-something was… off in our relationship."       They turned a corner to another street, and Wanda could see the multi-story apartment building she was living in in the far right end of her field of vision.       "Then, one day, he went too far. He’d started to ‘punish’ me every n-now and again for irrelevant things he ge-genuinely saw as mistakes and flaws of mine, and that day he… he locked me in the b-bathroom to teach me a l-lesson with no way of getting out and just… left, for days. He told the neighbours that he was going to have a party, and that they shouldn’t listen to any n-noises they might hear." S he stopped after they’d crossed the streets towards the white, grimy building, only a couple of metres from the front entrance and shrugged as if it was the most natural reaction.       "Well, thankfully somebody did listen, and it’s a l-long story, but I got away. Hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks until that day you and I met, when he s-saw me in the city by chance and t-t-tried to…" She choked on her breath, the feeling of his breath on her ear and his hand on her throat all too real all of a sudden. "Well, I ran, and that’s that!"

      Wanda rubbed her eyes, which were tearing up, as casually as possible, but she could feel him tense up even further beside her.       "I - I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, that’s just - that’s really… how could anyone - "       Her hand darted forward to his arm in a meagre attempt at stopping his apologetic stuttering and closed around the fabric instinctively.       "It’s alright, I’m fine now. R-Remember, you asked."       Wanda observed his worried expression transform into nervousness as she suddenly realised how close together they were standing. Her back was leaning against the wall and he was towering over her, his facial contour lit up dramatically by the street light just behind him.       All words escaped her as she felt his warm breath fan over her face, and she could feel her heart beating so fast that it was actively threatening to burst out of her chest. His face was closer than it had ever been, the contours and premature wrinkles all too visible on his pale skin, but his closeness was making her hands tremble and her eyes flicker down to his lips.       He moved closer, slowly but surely, and just as he was millimetres away from her and she was absolutely certain that he was leaning in to finally kiss her, he took a step back, mumbling a quick goodbye and was gone before she could even turn her head to look after him.       When she awoke from her trance and turned to open her front door, she could still hear his faint nervous cackle in the distance.

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

ii | Just You and Me | Arthur Fleck

Arthur Fleck x Original Female Character  | Joker AU [masterlist] |  [ ← previous chapter] ] [next chapter → ]

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      The diner turned out to be a quirky, colourful little space, tucked away between two of the many hulking skyscrapers Gotham had to offer. It was one of the first family-run businesses Wanda had seen in a long time, since the city was largely dominated by corporate-owned restaurant chains nowadays.       They were greeted upon entering by the glow of blue-ish fluorescent lights on the ceiling, that were an especially comfortable change to the dark alleyway, and a friendly older woman, who was wiping down one of the square tables near the entrance.

      Arthur sat down to her left after they decided to take up a corner booth right next to a large window overlooking the busy evening streets, his eyes diverted downwards to the white wooden table. They had both started meagre attempts at small-talk on the way, and he’d made her laugh once or twice with some borderline morbid jokes, which she’d found surprisingly funny, but the atmosphere between them still felt very awkward.       A young waitress, that Wanda believed to be the daughter of the older woman, came to deliver them their coffees and a warm smile. Arthur nodded at the lady politely, before his hands came to rest around his steaming cup and he turned his attention back to Wanda.

      "So… you’re not from here, are you?" His hesitance made her smile, and she could feel her heartbeat quicken as she looked up into his eyes, noticing their colour for the first time.

      They were green, the kind of bright green that fought through heaps of melting snow to remind you that spring was coming, sparkling in the neon lights like fresh dew on the grass in the morning.

      Wanda found herself staring for just a moment too long, and the blush seared through her cheeks so fast she could’ve sworn her face was on fire.       "Oh, t-the accent? Surprised, you didn’t ask earlier. I’m from s-southern England, originally." She fiddled with the sugar packet and could see him out of the corner of her eye tilting his head slightly after she finished, like a curious dog.       "Then what brought you here?" To this shitshow of a city? Arthur gestured to the window behind him, and she followed his indication.

      The darkness was falling over the city like a dark veil, the light grey sky slowly but surely transforming it into an ocean of velvety blackness, only broken up by the warmly lit-up windows lining the sky-high buildings. People were passing the grimy window of the diner, some rushing past, some sauntering along and some just calmly wandering the streets.       "I…" Wanda struggled a bit, the topic of her family being something that she was still fairly uncomfortable talking about. "I… My d-d-dad was American, he was actually b-born in Gotham." She took a shuddering breath and tried to concentrate on individual faces passing by, distractions usual helping her stutter, which, for some reason, was worse today than it had been in a long time.

      "My parents met while he was over in England on a b-business trip, and they had me shortly after. They split up eventually a c-couple of years ago, and he moved back here."       A group of businessmen walked past, the oncoming darkness making it seem like their expensive black suits were blending right into the Gotham-typical mountains of shiny trashbags behind them, and Wanda had to smile for a moment, realising the irony of her thought. We’re the trash, not them.       "And you went with him?"       "No, I stayed in England. W-well, originally, I did. But then he got sick and needed help, and I came here."       The men had left, and she now observed a young couple standing by the bus stop just outside, his arm draped loosely across her bare shoulders as they waited in the cold. Their breaths were rising in visible puffs through the crisp air above them, blending in with the neverending cigarette smoke drifting through the city.       "He wasn’t a good dad, hit us and all that, but he was still my dad…"

      The jarring sound of a fork clattering onto the black and white tile floor of the diner brought Wanda back to reality, and she realised what she’d just said out loud.       "Fuck, I-I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that." She straightened up instinctively as if she was getting ready to leave, and lifted her fingers up to loosely cover her mouth in embarrassment. "I have a tendency to o-overshare and I have problems with s-s-stuttering when I’m n-nervous and then I notice that I’m t-t-talking too much and my stutter gets even worse and I can’t stop and I just w-wish that I hadn’t talked at all, and - "       "It’s okay, I like listening to you." His voice was warm and genuine, and she relaxed almost immediately as he spoke.        "The stuttering doesn’t bother me, trust me, I know what it’s like when you have no control over… yourself." He pointed at himself with a bitter smile and she could feel her heart burn with compassion.

      "This condition of yours, h-have you always had that?" Her mouth had, once more, blurted out her thoughts without her consent, and she was immediately filled with regret. So inappropriate.       "I…" Arthur paused, and she interrupted him immediately.       "Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, that was so intrusive - "       "I’ve had it for as long as I can think, really." His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, his mouth curved in a slight frown and he seemed to look through her as if lost in thought.       "Must’ve been terrible as a child," Wanda thought out loud. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to suffer from a condition like his, much less to grow up with such a burden. Adults were often condescending and rude, but kids could be brutal with their words and actions, especially when they were directed at others who were different in any way, regardless of whether the problem was under their control or not.       "It still is." Arthur murmured, and she felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. Fuck.       "O-of course, I - o-of course, it is!" Now she sounded like the most ignorant person on the planet. As a child. A condition like his wasn’t just a small impediment like her stutter, it could probably impact pretty much every single aspect of his life negatively; how can you say something like that so carelessly?

      "I-I just meant, when I was a child I had t-terrible problems with stuttering, much worse than now, and everybody m-made fun of me. I mean, even my t-teachers laughed at me all the time, and if that isn’t the most case-in-point example of our failing educational system, I don’t know what is." Wanda saw images flashing before her eyes, her old teacher Mrs Wortham whom she’d despised more than anybody else she’d ever known. Her arrogant way of talking, her exaggerated, fabricated smiles, and her constant malicious words against her, all of it filling Wanda with a wave of anger against the general system that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

      "It got to a point where I just s-stopped talking altogether, because not being able to say anything was still better than constantly being l-laughed at, and it was horrible. That’s why I imagine that it must have been terrible growing up with your condition, just b-b-because, well, I mean, I don’t want to bring any of that up, but - all I’m trying to say is: I’m s-sorry, it must’ve been very hard."

      To her surprise, he smiled at her genuinely, then looked down into his half-empty cup of coffee.       "I appreciate that, thank you. I… I didn’t really go to a public school. I did for a while, but it just didn’t work out, so my mom… my mom taught me everything I needed to know." Arthur avoided eye contact, and Wanda felt like he was really embarrassed about it. She knew about the recent debates, about the people who claimed it was criminal to withhold children from public education, but she couldn’t have cared less; as long as they taught their child the basics and made sure their moral compass wasn’t severely screwed up, what did it matter in which environment the children learned?       "That’s so interesting, it must’ve been a lot of fun to be taught things by someone that’s so close to you and actually cares about you."       "It was. I mean, I love my mom, but it was hard… it was hard growing up without any other friends." The sadness that he spoke with made her heart grow heavy in her chest, and her sympathy for him increased indefinitely.       "I know… I - I mean, I can imagine. But at least you had her, right?"       "I did, yeah. She’s the most important person in my life." His eyes met hers again, and she could see that he spoke the truth, his expression full of warmth and love and Wanda felt a little pang of jealousy hit her. She’d never had the best relationship with her mother, not after everything that had happened, but she’d always longed to have something like this, someone, that would be there in this way at all times.       "I’m glad, she sounds amazing." Afraid, that her expression might seem somewhat sour, Wanda intuitively covered her mouth as she smiled.

      "Do you wanna know what her nickname for me is?"       "What is it?"       "Happy." Happy. That was the cutest thing she’d ever heard.       "That is so adorable. I have to meet her someday and see, what kind of name she’d come up with for me."       Something in his eyes changed as she said that, something that apparently gave him a little more confidence, considering he suddenly sat up straighter, his arms laid out on the table in an open gesture, and smiled at her brightly.       "You know, she only calls me that, because I really like jokes - always have."       "I can tell, and you’re good at telling them, too!"

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      "It���s fine, I’ll be fine. You want to go?" His posture still exuded uncertainty, but as they finally left the dark alleyway, his demeanour seemed to better naturally.       Her head instinctively snapped to both sides as they reached the open streets, her eyes scanning the crowds for the slick blond hair she’d run from earlier, but he really seemed to have gone.       Walking was okay, sometimes a little difficult to place her foot in the right angle as to not feel any pain or injure herself further, but Wanda was way too shy to ask Arthur for help.

      They walked about a block, only exchanging small talk and fleeting glances before she spied the diner in question in the corner of her vision. They were crossing the street when it happened: she stepped back up onto the pavement a little too enthusiastically, and immediately felt the now-familiar ache shoot up through her leg again, making her hiss in pain. Her hand grabbed Arthur’s arm for balance, and she felt her face scrunch up in discomfort.       There was a short pause as he took in some air before he spoke, his voice dripping with concern.       "I really feel like I should get you to a hospital or something." Wanda let her face relax again as the pain subsided slowly, and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.       "Thanks, really, but I know I’ll be fine." He chuckled, and she could see his face light up ever so slightly all of a sudden.       "You wanna know the quickest way of getting to the hospital?" She let go of his arm as he lifted it and pointed behind her.       "Just stand in the road and wait."

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      Her heartfelt chuckle still rang in her ears as she remembered his previous joke and his pure, pleased facial expression as he’d looked back at her.       "Thank you, I’m - well, I’m trying to pursue a career in stand up comedy."       Oh. That, Wanda had not expected. She’d enjoyed the jokes he’d told her over the course of the night immensely, but she felt like his sense of humour was very much specialised, so much that the general public would probably not be a very receptive audience to his type of comedy.       However, she was.

      "Really? I’d love to come to one of your shows some time." He raised his eyebrows as if questioning her enthusiastic response, and seemed to struggle with giving a casual response.       "I-I’ll tell you when I’ve got one coming up."       "So, what do you do for a living right now?" The embarrassment in his eyes returned immediately, and he lowered his gaze back towards his coffee.

      "I work for the… I work as a clown." Of course, that explained the remainders of white makeup on the side of his face she’d been wondering about, but something about that seemed… off. Arthur, while he appeared to her like a friendly and interesting person, frankly didn’t seem to be the type to work as a clown. He seemed very sad and almost sickly, and Wanda couldn’t help but wonder how he came to work in an industry that was so very largely based on entertainment and laughter.

      "I’ve never met a clown before, I’ve always thought it sounds like so much fun."       "Well, it depends."       "What do you mean?" He was still avoiding eye contact as he spoke, his hands fiddling with the sleeves of his dotted white button-up shirt.       "Well, I work for an agency, they’re actually called ‘the ha-ha agency’," he rolled his eyes warily, "they rent out clowns for a variety of things - good and bad. I get to go to the children’s hospital sometimes, that’s the best." He looked back up at her unexpectedly, and his eyes were almost glowing with passion.       "There is this one kid who’s got cancer, I think, and he’s always the happiest, always reacts with the most genuine laughter you’ll ever hear. He’s the cutest kid I’ve ever met, and it’s the most gratifying experience to - "       "Will…"       "Yes, Will. Do you know him?" Wanda had interrupted him unwillingly, but her mind had not allowed her to remain silent as she recognised who he was talking about.       "I do, I - I work there."       "You do?" She did. William, the boy he was talking about, was on her station, a little orphan boy who had fortunately been lucky enough to receive treatment for his rare case of bone cancer, largely because they didn’t know a lot about his disease yet, so he was perfect for testing out unusual new methods. She shuddered and forced herself to smile at Arthur’s curious look.

      "I’m a nurse there. We’re living in rough times, the children are getting sicker and sicker every day, and Will…" Wanda looked him in the eyes and stopped herself from elaborating.       "I’m sorry, you finish first. What’s the bad part?" He hesitated before he continued, maybe wanting to ask her more about her job, but he seemed to catch the fact that she didn’t have any real interest in continuing to talk about it at the moment, so he took another deep breath and kept going.       "Well, sometimes it’s the most demeaning things you have to do as a clown. I don’t have a problem with that per sé, I don’t…" He paused, but Wanda knew what he meant. He didn’t think of himself very highly, and as long as he got paid for what he did, he didn’t care what others thought of him.       "But the people here are just…"       "The worst."       "Yeah." Arthur gave her a sour smile, then turned away towards the window. "Got jumped the other day, by some teens." Fuck. Her gaze fell back onto the materializing bruises along his jawline and neck, the outsides a pale red with the middles resembling the purple of plums all the way to the dark mauve of blackberries.

      "Was my fault, really. They stole something from me and I shouldn’t have gone after them."       "Sorry about that…" Wanda followed his gaze once more, the darker streets outside now largely empty, only lit up by the yellowish glow of the many street lights lining the pavement, and she lost herself staring at the passing cars. Deep in thought, without looking at him, she mumbled, partly directed at him, partly directed at herself: "What’s become of this world, Arthur?"

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      "You sure you don’t want me to walk you home? The streets here are dangerous, especially at night." Arthur’s words warmed Wanda’s heart as the harsh coldness crept through her jacket, and she shook her head with a smile.       "I’ll be fine, you really don’t have to. I live on the other side of t-town and I know you’ve got work tomorrow, besides, it’s really just this b-bus I have to take and then I’m basically already home."       "Okay…" He nodded to himself, head now turned towards the ground as he readjusted his pale ochre jacket before thrusting his hands into his pockets dejectedly.

      "Listen, I… I really enjoyed t-this, you know?" His gaze met hers immediately as she stammered, eyes wide open in surprise. "I mean, m-maybe we could do something like this a-again sometime?" Wanda forced herself to smile, and he blinked a couple of times, then rubbed his eyes firmly before refocussing on her. She almost expected him to reject her offer after all this, but he proved her wrong.

      "Y-yeah, sure!" His stutter made her laugh, and even though she’d tried to swallow it as much as she could, she knew he’d noticed. "I’ll… um… I’ll give you my number?" His head was cocked to the side as he suggested the idea, once again reminding her of a cute, curious dog, and she quickly pulled out a pen from her purse, handing it to him.

      Wanda could see her bus approaching out of the corner of her eye and quickly took the few steps towards the road to signal for the bus driver to stop. Turning around, she was startled to find Arthur standing right behind her, his hand extended holding her pen and a receipt that had something scribbled on its back in very messy handwriting.       She grabbed it immediately, as the bus slowed down to a stop and nodded at Arthur, not quite knowing under which boundaries to say goodbye.       "I-I-I’ll call you, if I can r-read this." She grinned, and he chuckled in response as she rose her hand to a cordial wave, the paper grasped tightly between her fingers.       "Be careful." He added, and she saluted him as she boarded the bus.       "I will."

      With her hand and the piece of paper pressed closely to her chest, the bus closed its doors and started moving almost immediately, and Wanda couldn’t help but feel a tight, pressing feeling in her chest as she studied Arthur slowly moving out of her field of vision.       His hands were pushed back into his jacket pockets, his eyes following the bus as the corners of his mouth curved slightly upwards into a hint of a smile, and then they had turned a corner and he was out of sight.

      Wanda sighed and pressed the paper tighter against her chest. She felt like there was so much more to him, so much more mystery to unfold, to learn and know, and she couldn’t help but eagerly await the next time they’d meet.

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

i | Just You and Me | Arthur Fleck

Arthur Fleck x Original Female Character  | Joker AU  [masterlist] |  [next chapter → ]  ⁕ 

      He’s going to see me. He’s going to get me. He’s going to hurt me.

      Wanda’s breath felt like sharp daggers in her lungs, her legs sore from running through the wide, bustling streets of Gotham trying to get away from him.

      She had tried to excuse his behaviour for months and months, his violent actions towards her, his abusive slaps and punches and - worst of all - his hurtful words. She had tried to be understanding, kind and forgiving, to be there for him, that’s what people in a relationship did, after all, wasn’t it?       It had only gotten worse. The more she’d tried to help him, the more he’d started acting out on her, had touched her without her consent, had locked her in their apartment for days without food as a ‘punishment’ if she didn’t do exactly what he wanted her to, all until she’d miraculously managed to escape a couple of weeks ago.

      It had taken all of her willpower not to call the police on him, knowing full well he would’ve ended up in jail or another facility, not only because of what he’d done to her but his numerous other criminal actions she had witnessed in the time she had spent with him, not even mentioning his constant drug abuse. She’d wanted to be nice.

      Wanda hadn’t called the police, had just left him a note telling him to keep his distance, and if he ever did try to come near her again, she would turn him in immediately.

      "Dirty fucking bitch!" he had called her only minutes ago as he’d stumbled upon her randomly in the dirty streets of Gotham before he’d grabbed her dark hair from behind, pulling her back flush against him. The passersby around them apparently hadn’t noticed, if they had, they hadn’t reacted to her precarious situation in any way, not even glancing at her as she struggled against his strong grip. His other hand had wrapped around her throat and pulled her neck back onto his shoulder, so he could talk right into her ear.       "I’ll give you what you fucking deserve for running away from me, for even daring - " His snarling voice and his grip on her curls had ceased immediately after Wanda had angled her knee and kicked her foot backwards in the general direction of his crotch.       "Ugh!" he’d cried out and she’d felt him falling to his knees behind her. She hadn’t turned around to see, she hadn’t had the urge to actually see his face, she’d just started running as fast as she could, jumping through multiple groups of people as she frantically ran and ran as fast as she could, letting the fear and panic envelop her and spur her on.

      Now, as Wanda ran, she knew he was following her, and she knew that, if he caught her, he would kill her. She knew him well enough to know she’d crossed that line he’d talked about so often, and that, in his eyes, she now deserved the ultimate punishment.

      The heavy rain that had been pouring down the whole day had stopped, but the pavements were still slick with a thin coat of water. As she darted around a corner, her foot slid through a puddle into a shallow pothole and lodged itself into the crevice, her ankle suddenly bent dangerously far into the wrong direction, and Wanda cried out in pain as she felt the unnatural stretching sensation.       She wasn’t going to be able to run from him, not with whatever she had just managed to do to herself, and she looked around in panic. There was the option of running into the big crowd of people in the public square across the street to her right, maybe getting away with the anonymity of the crowd and fleeing via the subway, or she could take her chances and just try to keep on running as far as she could. Then her eyes fell on the narrow alleyway to her left, which, she knew, he would never expect her to hide in.

      Her decision was made, and, within seconds, she was crouched behind a shallow garbage container in the semi-dark alley, watching the street through the gap between container and dirty brick-wall. It took only about 10 seconds until she saw him run past, his usual gelled blond hair messily falling into his face, and then he had passed out of her field of vision.

      Wanda waited for at least 5 minutes, crouched behind the container until the water on the ground had soaked through her shoes and socks and her heart had stopped its relentless, torturous rhythm before she finally got up. Her knees were hurting, and her ankle was throbbing painfully, but she was fine, she was alive, and he was gone.       Then she heard the loud crash behind her. 

⁕

      Wanda whirled around instinctively, now facing the dark alleyway, and saw the silhouette of a man only a couple of metres away from her. He was tall, his shoulder-length-hair flailing around his thin frame as he held onto the container beside him whilst viciously stomping on a couple of trash bags on the ground in front of him, grunting loudly as he went on and on.       He continued his venting for about a minute while she stood in the shadows indecisively, his curly hair damp with sweat as he ultimately stopped to lean his hands on his knees while trying to catch his breath.

      The flash of fear she had felt from being startled by the noise had quickly turned into concern for the man in front of her. Sure, it was none of her business, and she could’ve just swallowed her concerns and quietly left the alley, probably without him even noticing, but something about him drew her in, something that made her curious and cautious at once. And what’s the worst that could happen?

      "A-are you okay, sir?" Her voice had spoken for her without her meaning for it to, just after her legs had taken her a careful couple of steps closer, wary of putting pressure onto her already-swollen ankle.      The figure before her flinched, and straightened up immediately, still visibly exhausted from his fit and turned his face towards her for the first time.

      He wore a white shirt and dark slacks that both looked a little too big on his slender figure, and while he had a kind face dominated by strong features, he looked awfully tired, his eyes sunken in and underlined by dark circles and a drained expression apparent on his face.

      "Yeah, sure." His voice was mildly dismissive, probably certain she was just asking him because of moral etiquette, and not out of actual worry. He was walking towards her now, trying to pass by her with a considerable, polite distance between them, heading towards the exit of the alley she had come from purposefully fast.

      "Are you sure?" Wanda asked again as he was just about to pass her, and he stopped in his tracks to turn towards her again. His gaze burned through her, studying her for a long couple of seconds while his hand found its way up to his hair, slicking the wet strands backwards onto his shoulders. She forced herself to an encouraging smile.       "Just a bad day." His voice was pleasant, deep and relaxing, and his kind smile was audible in his words.       "Aren’t they all bad these days?" Wanda remarked, and he chuckled lightly. Just as he opened his mouth to answer her, she witnessed a sudden drop of blood flowing out of his nose and trail down over his lips, the dark liquid a stark contrast against his pale complexion. "Oh, your nose, hold on."       She reached for her back pocket and pulled out her clean, white handkerchief, quickly closing the distance between them with limping steps to offer it to him.       He made a rejecting motion and moved to grab his own handkerchief from his shirt pocket only to find it empty, then reluctantly taking hers out of her hand with an appreciative smile.       "Thanks." he mumbled as he pressed the cloth over his mouth and his nose, and she could see the blood soaking through the white fabric onto his hands.

      She stood closer to him now, close enough to observe what the dark alleyway had hidden before: a tall, decently attractive man, pale with dark brown hair, strong brows, and striking, bright eyes that seemed to look right into her soul. Wanda could spot the visible residue of white paint around his temples, crusted blood on his scalp and there were fresh, purple bruises on the side of his neck and jaw, that were just beginning to darken as if he’d only been in a fight very recently. 

      Her heart sank, and she spoke without thinking again.       "Sorry for w-whatever h-h-happened to you." She mentally slapped herself to stop her unrelenting nervous stutter and gestured to his neck. "This city’s a dump, honestly."       His gaze on her seemed somewhat confused now, and he answered after another long chuckle.      “It really is, isn’t it?” He wiped his nose with the handkerchief and she could see that it appeared to have stopped bleeding.       "My name’s Wanda, by the w-way." She couldn’t stop herself from saying it and offered him her hand in a friendly handshake. His skin was cold and rough and his reaction weirdly hesitant as he shook her hand as if he hadn’t expected her to… be nice?

      "Arthur, Arthur Fleck." That’s a nice name, she thought and gave him another bright smile.       "It’s nice to meet you, Arthur."

      He smiled back at her, a genuine, interested smile, and suddenly, out of nowhere, he burst into hysterical laughter that echoed loudly through the narrow street. Wanda instinctively took a step back as he slapped his hand across his mouth and managed to stop for a short moment, then broke out in even more uncontrollable spurts. Arthur lifted his arm and pressed his face into the crook of his elbow, as his other hand was furiously trying to grab something from his inner jacket pocket.

      Great. Wanda immediately regretted having initiated the conversation with this stranger in the dark alley, now convinced that he was absolutely going to pull out a gun or a knife and probably kill her right here, right now. Might’ve as well let Nathan get to me out on the street.       Her ankle was throbbing and her lungs still hurt with the aftershocks of her recent escape. She knew this guy could do anything to her right now, she had no chance in a fight and running was beyond all question.

      To her genuine surprise, he didn’t pull out a weapon at all, but a small credit-card sized laminated piece of paper with some text on it and handed it to her with his shaking hand, his body still writing with laughter. She turned the worn out, slightly wrinkled card so she could read it in the sparse light.

Forgive my laughter. I have a condition. (more on back)

      Her fingers quickly turned over the card to reveal more information in smaller print.

It’s a medical condition causing sudden, frequent, uncontrollable laughter that doesn’t match how you feel. It can happen to people with brain injuries or certain neurological conditions. Thanks! (Please return the card)

      Her heart was beating out of her chest, and as she looked up again, Arthur had fallen back against the brick wall, one of his hands clamped across his mouth, desperately trying to muffle his voice, the other roughly choking himself, turning his loud laughter into a wheezy cough that sounded horribly painful.       "S-so-sorr-ha-ha-ha!"

      Wanda was by his side in the blink of an eye, her arm around his upper waist, stabilizing his shaking body against the wall, her voice slow and calm.       "Shhh, it’s okay, you have to relax, Arthur, can you do that for me?" She slid her hand across the one on his neck. He resisted at first, but then gave in, letting her take it softly into hers, away from his throat, leaving behind large white marks on the reddened skin.       "Try and breathe slowly, in and out, okay? Do it with me." His eyes were on hers, and she could see the tears threatening to spill over being blinked away as he focussed on her, his breathing roughly matching hers, only occasionally disrupted by short chuckles, his convulsing chest now calmly rising and falling.

      Wanda’s heart was burning with pity to see him like this. She’d met many people in her life so far, especially since working as a nurse in Gotham, had witnessed many different conditions and disorders, both physical and mental, but this was one of the weirdest ones she had seen so far. Poor Arthur.

      He’d closed his eyes, her steadying arm no longer around his waist as he leaned fully against the wall now, his head thrown back against the cold bricks as he caught his breath fully.       Her left hand was still holding his, absentmindedly rubbing calming circles into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.       "Sorry, I’m so sorry," he whispered quietly, his voice rough and wheezy as if it hurt him to speak at all.       "No need to apologise. Are you feeling better?"       He leaned forward abruptly as though he’d just remembered she was there or had expected her to have gone, his sudden movement pulling his own hand out of hers.       His gaze was once more focussed on her, and he smiled at her apologetically as she handed him his card back.       "Sorry, really, I - "       "Hey, stop it, alright? W-we all could use some more laughter, especially n-nowadays."

      The stutter was back now, the nervousness surging through her as he, seemingly taken aback by her words, looked at her with a certain twinkle in his eyes before a smile spread over his face again. He’s cute.       "I mean that." Wanda hesitated as her mind started to wander. He’d leave now, and then she would, too, leaving this alley and this meeting behind them. She’d go back to her flat, back to the same old routine, and she’d likely never see him again. She wanted to, however, because something about him intrigued her and piqued her interest. Her lips moved before she knew it.       "Hey, l - listen, can I do anything n-n-nice for you? Maybe invite you to a c-coffee or something?" What are you doing, Wanda?

      "You want to - " He snorted with laughter but had himself under control almost immediately. “You want to go for coffee with me?” He looked at her, studying her like she was some sort of alien specimen, and she was immediately filled with regret. Stop being so fucking weird, Wanda. You’re just a stranger to him.

      "Yeah, only if you want to o-of course, didn’t want to make you feel uh-un-uncomfortable." Her gaze escaped his, quickly turning her head towards the ground as she felt the embarrassment hit her.       "No, no, you didn’t, no." He’d taken a small step towards her as he gestured towards the main road anxiously. "There’s… there’s one around the corner, a diner I mean, if you really want to go."       His demeanour and the way he spoke were dominated by uncertainty, and she couldn’t help but smile again.       "What, you think I’m just saying that?" 

      "No, it’s just…" Arthur paused, averting his eyes, and she could see that words had escaped him entirely. He let out a soft chuckle that was a bit louder than appropriate, took a deep breath and looked back up at her. "You’re pretty," he blurted out and seemed momentarily shocked by the words he had spoken.       Now it was Wanda’s turn to laugh at his timid tone and the faint blush that had spread across his cheeks.       "No, you’re pretty!" She retorted, and his blush grew a deeper shade of red, confusion still apparent in his expression. He is pretty.

      "I’m sorry, I didn’t... I…" He laughed once more with his hand clamped across his mouth, but just a moment later he was fine, his face still flushed, but his voice back under his control. Wanda couldn’t suppress a chuckle of her own, simultaneously trying to mask how weird she felt about this whole interaction and how she’d felt herself turn red as well after his inept compliment.       "Come on, let’s go."

      The sharp pain that shot through Wanda’s leg as she moved to lead the way out of the side street came as a not-so-gentle reminder of her earlier slip-up, and she nearly collapsed with the shock that came with it. She’d completely forgotten about it while talking to Arthur. 

      "Fuck..." she hissed under her breath as she caught her weight with one hand against the dirty brick wall and straightened up again.

      "You okay?" He stood just next to her, his hands extended in a helping gesture, but not quite touching her.

      "Yeah, I just… rolled my ankle earlier and I guess it’s worse than I thought." She let go of the wall, accepting his offered hand in hers. It was still cold, just as much as hers, but she felt warmth rolling all the way through her body from where their fingers touched, and felt positively taken aback by the effect he seemed to have on her just through his mere presence.

      He turned out to be stronger than she’d thought (judging by his lanky appearance), supporting her easily as she put her entire weight onto him, testing the limits of her injured ankle.

      "You really shouldn’t walk with that." He asserted with sympathy as she took her first tentative steps, but Wanda soon found a way of walking that didn’t require help or make her gasp whenever the surprisingly painful repercussions of her twisted ankle made themselves noticeable.

      "It’s fine, I’ll be fine. You want to go?" She lifted her head to nod at him and found herself once more intrigued her attraction to this strange man she’d met in a dark alleyway of all places.

      What’s his deal?

⁕

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

iv | The Fallen And The Falling | Good Omens

Aziraphale x Crowley | Good Omens AU [masterlist] | [ ← previous chapter]

1989

      Angels were, by definition, a calm, loving race. They were created to love each and every one of God’s creations unconditionally, even if they didn’t particularly want to.       Aziraphale had always fit into this definition perfectly. The angel had never so much as slightly disliked someone, always seeing the best in all the people around him. That had led him to believe, this natural state of his was the only and best version of himself he could ever be, content and loving, gentle and kind. That was, until Gabriel had sent him on the mission.

      Crowley had started sensing a different kind of energy in Aziraphale over the past weeks, but hadn’t openly questioned him about it; he had those phases sometimes. The angel seemed distant and disconnected most of the time, and, when they were actually engaged in conversation he appeared nervous, almost agitated.       He had invited Aziraphale to dinner in the hopes of taking the angel’s mind off of whatever was bothering him, and it seemed to have worked until, hours later, they sat on the large, comfortable sofa in the back corner of the bookshop, wine glasses in hand, and the waves of concern emanating from the angel started washing over Crowley again. 

      His eyes were locked on Aziraphale, hidden behind his dark shades, observing how he nervously swished the wine around in his glass, the gold ring on his pinky clinking against the thin material over and over. His bowtie was crooked, his jacket long discarded on the armrest of another sofa, and his eyebrows were knitted together in obvious worry, his eyes distant and deep in thought.

      "Angel." There was no reaction, not even the slightest movement of acknowledgement other than his chest slowly rising and falling with every shallow breath that he took.       "Aziraphale." He spoke a bit louder now, which made the blond jump slightly, locking his eyes on him immediately.       "Oh dear, I apologise. What were you saying?"       I’m worried about you, he wanted to say, how can I make you feel better? The angel’s gaze was troubled but inquisitive, and Crowley noticed he was clearly trying to mask his distraught condition from him.       "What’s wrong?"       "Wh-what? Nothing is wrong, darling, everything is completely and utterly alright. Do you want some more?" His shaking hand grabbed the open bottle of vintage wine from the round antique table in front of them, offering it to the demon. He shook his head softly, having to suppress a smile at the angel’s natural use of the word: darling.        "I’ve known you for quite some time now, angel, I can tell, when you’re lying. Tell me, what’s going on?"

      The blond put the dusty bottle and his half-full glass of wine down on the table and sat up straighter, his eyes firmly focused on his hands that were neatly folded in his lap now. His face was slightly flushed, Crowley couldn’t tell if it was from alcohol or tension, but he could feel the faint but quick vibrations of the angel’s heartbeat over the soft fabric of the sofa as he sighed deeply. 

      "I-I have to ask a favour of you, Crowley."       "Oh?" The demon rose his head in surprise.       "And you know, I don’t like doing this." Crowley nodded, unable to hide the small self-assured grin that spread over his lips at the thought of Aziraphale needing his help.       "What’s it to be, angel?"

      "I - They… Well…" Crowley’s smile fell at the angel’s hesitation, his brows even more furrowed now while he still wouldn’t look up from his fidgety hands. "I…" He paused again and Crowley let go of the armrest he had been leaning onto, straightening up from his relaxed position.       "Are you in trouble?" The angel flinched slightly at his inquiry, only very shortly glancing up at him.       "No, no, I’m not, I don’t - I don’t think? Maybe… Maybe I am." Crowley’s skin flooded with goosebumps, and the anxiety was clear in his following words.       "What’s going on?" He felt his own heart beating faster now, not able to handle the thought of the angel in such danger that it would make him act as anxiously as this.       "They sent me on a mission that I don’t think I can handle - at least not on my own." Crowley nodded understandingly, wordlessly urging him on to continue talking.       "There is this man, a human. He’s been under the watchful eye of Gabriel for a couple of years now, but something has changed recently. He - apparently he’s figured out how to use occult power for his own benefit."       "What?" That couldn’t be right. A human using occult powers, how was that even possible?       "Yes, and I’m not the first angel they’re sending there to try and stop him… We’ve apparently lost 4 of our best." After this statement, there was only silence filled with utter confusion in which Crowley tried to convey his best bewildered expression. The angel understood his silent question.       "Hellfire. He conjures it like it’s nothing." The shock threatened to overwhelm the demon, and he could only think and speak one thing.

      "You can’t go there." 

      He heard Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath and reached up to pull his own sunglasses off his face to look him straight in the eyes. His expression was apologetic and helpless, his eyes full of fear as he spoke dejectedly.       "W-Well, I have to, it’s not like I have much of a choice."        "You are going to die if you go. Permanently! Not some silly small discorporation, this is it. You will die!"       "And I’ll fall if I don’t. I need your help."

      Falling isn’t that bad, he wanted to say, I’ll catch you, but he knew he would do absolutely anything in his power to keep the angel from meeting the same fate he himself had met so many millennia ago. Anything.

      "Okay, I’m in."

⁂

      They had tracked the man down to a quiet little town in northern Scotland, and, upon doing so, had immediately gotten on the first train that sped through the murky afternoon towards Inverness.

      Crowley tried to relax as he let his eyes follow the beautiful landscapes that were quickly passing by the foggy window: serene lakes surrounded by old, enchanted forests that looked like they were taken straight out of a fairytale, high, well-formed mountains in the distance, some high enough so their peaks would just about vanish in the white of the lower-hanging early winter clouds and ruins of long-forgotten castles spread all through the countryside, abandoned and overgrown, some even completely reclaimed by nature.

      It was all such a contrast to the busy city they spent most of their time in, the grey bustling atmosphere, the narrow streets, the small parks full of people and the feeling of eyes on you everywhere you went, even, or maybe especially, when you were a demon (or when your way of walking resembled a more flamboyant early 80s Mick Jagger performance).

      The demon’s eyes wandered away from the window, over to Aziraphale, who sat opposite him. Would he want to stay in London forever? Crowley could barely imagine what it would be like for Aziraphale to live out here in the countryside, maybe for them both to live together. A small house with a big library for the angel, a cosy living room where they could spend their time together and maybe a bedroom, where they could -       Crowley shook his head as he felt his cheeks blush slightly. Get your mind out of the gutter.       He let his gaze drop down to Aziraphale’s hands. They were jittery, his knuckles pure white from gripping the thin old leatherbound book he had brought as hard as he could.       The angel looked nervous, his eyes glowing in, what some might assume to be excitement, but the demon knew it was genuine fear.

      "Hey." Crowley spoke in the softest voice he could muster, and the angel’s head snapped to him immediately, his stunning eyes practically dripping with uncertainty.       "Don’t worry too much, okay? We’ll be alright." The blond’s eyebrows furrowed in a flash.       "Oh, I don’t - "       "I know you do." His previously exhausted expression shifted, and he gave Crowley a small smile, before turning his attention back to the outside.

      "I just had a thought." Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale gave him a questioning look, his head slightly cocked to the side.        "We can’t just show up there like this." He gestured between them, and the angel’s expression morphed back into utter confusion.       "Like what?"       "Well, we don’t exactly blend in, you and I." He looked almost offended now as he straightened his bowtie and his posture at the same time.       "Oh don’t look at me that way, you know you’re still stuck in the 19th century."       "Nobody ever suspected me of anything!"       "That’s because you’re an angel, you exude that innocent energy. He’s familiar with the occult and etherial, though, he’ll either be completely immune to your energy or, even worse, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb. We can’t allow ourselves to attract attention through our clothes as well." The angel's eyes were understanding as he nodded slowly, and looked through him for a moment.       "Oh dear. So, what do we do?"       "I have an idea." Might as well have some fun with it.

⁂

      "I know you enjoy fashion, Crowley…" The angel hesitantly stuttered as he examined the ridiculous outfit Crowley had miracled onto him, and Crowley couldn’t prevent a burst of stifled laughter from escaping his mouth. He had put Aziraphale in a normal, well-tailored contemporary suit, that was, completely incidentally of course, entirely made out of different coloured neon fabrics that shone luminously against the angel’s pale skin and made him look more uncomfortable than the demon had ever seen him.

      "I know you like to go with the trends, you go fast, that’s what you do," Crowley shuddered at the unintentional word choice, but the angel kept going, "but this is truly horrendous. I would rather wear nothing than any of these clothes!" The demon grinned as he felt a wave of warmth shoot through his entire body.       "I’m sure that can be arranged."       "Crowley!" The angel blushed deeply and protectively rose a hand over his own chest.       "I’m just joking, give me a second."

      He snapped his fingers again, and, as the angel emerged from the fading bright light that had surrounded both of them for a moment, Crowley’s throat went dry. He had, of course, chosen the outfit he saw before him, had actually thought it up right then and there, but to actually see the angel in it...

      "How ‘bout that?" His own voice sounded audibly strained, but he hoped Aziraphale hadn’t noticed, too busy looking down on himself in awe. Crowley knew he was one to prefer bright clothes and pastel colours, especially a good creme or beige - earth tones, generally, something that made him feel connected to Her every second of his existence.       What he wore now was quite similar to the things he usually did, just a little more updated to the current fashion trends: the creme three-piece-suit a different fabric, a little tighter, more well-tailored, the pastel blue shirt underneath approximately six buttons less buttoned than usual, showing off just that perfect amount of light blond chest hair on the angel’s pale skin that made Crowley ache with want to reach out and run his fingers through it. 

      "Oh, this is - this is nice! Thank you. You think is more inconspicuous?" His fingers made quick work on buttoning up the shirt almost completely, leaving only the very top button undone.       "Certainly." Crowley straightened the cuffs of his new, almost-all-black suit he had miracled onto himself and pushed a strand of his hair out of his face into a slightly more gelled back style. Once the angel laid eyes on him as he answered, he only stared, and the demon wondered whether he had overdone it with the look before the angel spoke hesitantly.       "You look… good." He sounded so nice and genuine that Crowley felt himself blushing slightly, quickly turning away as casually as possible so it wasn’t obvious to the angel.       "Shut up."

⁂

      It hadn’t taken them long to get there. Their train had miraculously skipped certain stops and, unbeknownst to Aziraphale, generally moved with a much higher tempo than trains usually did, thanks to Crowley.       The driver of the cab they had taken upon arriving in Inverness had given them an ominous look before he sped away, leaving them behind at their destination: an old, worn down, abandoned factory. 

      "This isn’t what I expected."

      The seemingly once bright exterior was now completely covered in bright orange rust that shone even in the murky light of the cloudy day, and plants were overgrowing everything they could reach, from the ivy that wound its way up the high walls to the other wild plants pouring out of the broken windows and even through some parts where the roof had apparently given in.

      "It’s so cliché, something’s definitely wrong here." Crowley mumbled, and he noticed Aziraphale forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.       "Well, it’s where my contact told me he was hiding." They shrugged and started moving forward.

      Getting inside proved difficult, and only after a while did they find an entryway through a large, collapsed gate Crowley held open for Aziraphale to slip through. Managing to push himself through the narrow gap, he immediately bumped into the angel, who had stopped cold right behind.       "Crowley, stop." A hand suddenly brushed against Crowley’s chest as Aziraphale blocked him from advancing past himself through the dimly lit corridor. He looked taken aback as he seemed to listen out for any kind of sound. Crowley interrupted him.       "What, are you scared of a little darkness?" Swatting his hand away, he took another step forward before Aziraphale pulled him back again, and he was forced to come to a halt once more.       "Crowley, I’m serious." His warm fingers closed around the thin fabric of the demon’s shirt right over his chest, the other arm pushed before him almost protectively, holding him in place. Crowley stopped for a moment, feeling his heart speed up at their closeness, but when the blond showed no intention of moving, he brushed him off and walked past him nonchalantly, turning around only to throw a smirk back at the frightened angel before he turned a corner while talking.       "I am too! Let’s find this idiot and put this behind us."

      Crowley heard Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath, but only for a moment before his loud footsteps drowned out any other sounds around him.       "Look at this!" Before him, the corridor split into two different directions, creating a small gap in the wall in front of him, which held a medium size stone statue of some kind of winged creature, that sent him delving into memories.

      "Hey, come look at this, it looks just like the statue from that church where I saved you, remember? Blasted Nazis." He smiled at the fond memories of his triumph, especially knowing that said statue had not only survived the heavy bombings of the Second World War, but now stood, safe and sound, in a corner of his flat.

      Crowley liked to keep mementos, little souvenirs of important moments, just to make them even more memorable.       He’d kept things all the way from the beginning, had, for instance, raised a tree from seeds he’d kept from Eden (in fact, many generations of said tree over the millennia, and currently had a very young one of them sitting on the windowsill of his bedroom, which was doing amazingly), or had kept his first up until his most recent attempts at fashionable sunglasses to hide his peculiar eyes from inquisitive humans - they always made them somewhat suspicious, and he didn’t exactly want to be mistaken for a witch again.

      Being a big fan of art, he’d acquired paintings far beyond his favourite, the sketch of the Mona Lisa; he’d met many talented artists back in the day, had even gotten a portrait done of himself once, that he never felt narcissistic enough to actually display anywhere, not that it’d flatter his minimalist interior design.       He’d kept letters, not all of them of course, but many from his earlier correspondence with Aziraphale, some from other old or new friends he’d made over the years, even some of his own he’d never been courageous enough to send, but, most importantly of all, he’d kept his one true love, his precious, treasured 1926 Bentley, and in perfect condition to.       One true love, huh?

      It was only when he ripped his gaze from the withered statue in front of him that he realised Aziraphale had not yet caught up with him.        "Come on, hurry up, angel." He called out into the darkness and listened for a response. Nothing.       Not a shuffle, not a resonating step of shoes on the plain concrete flooring, just silence.       "Angel?" Suddenly concerned, Crowley charged back around the corner into a, now, completely vacant corridor. No angel.       "Aziraphale!"

      There were only two ways he could have gone, either he had advanced past the corridor Crowley had taken, or turned back entirely. The demon favoured the latter and sprinted back outside as fast as he could.       The dark clouds had opened up, and the harsh, cold raindrops hit his face immediately as he stepped outside, but he couldn’t spot his friend anywhere. Why would he have gone past him without saying anything? Why had he not heard him? Something must have happened, Crowley was sure of it.

      He turned back to the corridor, advancing quickly but silently now, aware, that danger might be lurking much closer than he had previously thought.

⁂

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

iii | The Fallen And The Falling | Good Omens

Aziraphale x Crowley | Good Omens AU [masterlist] | [ ← previous chapter]  [next chapter → ]

1862

      When an angel is forced to lose its memory, there is close to nothing that can actually bring those memories back.       The demon knew, but It’s not like he hadn’t tried to remind the angel; for centuries, Crowley, as he called himself now, had dropped subtle hints about his life before he fell or asked casual questions about Aziraphale’s existence before he was sent to Eden, but to no avail.       He would either not remember anything, or, seldom, feel like he had forgotten something, as if it floated there in the back of his mind, but he could never quite grasp it. 

      As much as he missed the loving interactions they had shared in heaven, he was eternally grateful for the fact that, over the millennia, they had become friends again. Of course, Aziraphale had been hesitant befriending a demon, but they had met countless times over the years, both instructed by their respective head offices to stay down on earth and look out for each other’s actions while performing various duties, and, after a while, the angel had even started instigating their meetings, especially after the establishment of The Arrangement™.       It had brought them closer together, which was all Crowley really cared about, but he also knew Hell would absolutely destroy him if they found out about any of it. He wasn’t afraid of Satan, or about what they would do to him - he was, however, scared of what they might try to do to the angel.

      Indubitably, he knew heaven would not be generous or forgiving either if they found out, but against them, he could fight; he had hellfire and the rest of his demonic powers, but he had nothing on hell, nothing to defend himself with, nothing…

      Until he had an idea. 

⁂

1967

      "You go too fast for me, Crowley."

      It had come as a surprise to him, Aziraphale’s presence in his car as he closed the door behind him, but not nearly as much as the angel’s following actions. 

      Crowley had known that he was playing with fire as he’d planned the heist from the church, but he’d known his cause was good - he needed the holy water to defend himself, more importantly, defend his angel.       The plan had been done, thoroughly tested and thought through, the participants had all been clearly instructed and paid, and he would soon have had a way to fend off hell, should he ever have to (which, he had accepted, was just a matter of time).       What he had not expected was the angel to intervene, at least not in this way.

      His long, slender fingers closed around the tartan thermos, feeling the dangerous weight within.       You go too fast for me.       What did that even mean? Did he mean his driving, his racing tendencies whenever he rushed the Bentley through the crowded streets of London, or did he really mean what he thought he did?       The gas pedal of the old car was pressed down to the floor as he flew across the busy crossroads, barely avoiding the busses that were passing in front of him.       You go too fast for me.       He couldn’t possibly be talking about them, could he? It had been thousands of years since the angel had first met him as a demon, thousands and thousands of years, how could he possibly go any slower?

      Crowley wasn’t an angry being, not by default. He hadn’t turned into the vile, vengeful creature his fellow fallen angels had turned into, his mind had stayed in a similar place as it had always been in.       Crowley could, however, get very angry when he was frustrated, and the thing that frustrated him most was his overly complicated relationship with Aziraphale. 

      The handle of the door to his apartment smashed into the wall behind it as the demon practically kicked it open, snapping his fingers to let it fall closed, leaving behind a massive hole in the wall.

      "I know you said you were gonna test me! I know you did," he shouted, his head angled upwards as his arms flailed uselessly next to him, "but this, this can’t be it! I can’t do this. He’s - it’s too much." His closed eyes flashed with images of Aziraphale, his coy smiles, his fidgety hands, his blushing cheeks whenever he said something even slightly out of place, and his beautiful, glowing eyes...

      "Test them, test me, give me war, give me difficult people, even angels to deal with, heaven, give me anybody else, not him, not -," he paused for a moment whilst his sweaty fingers closed around the bridge of his nose tightly, "not these… feelings."       He sank down on his throne, defeated and dejected as he leaned his head in his hands.

      The silence in his apartment was overwhelming, no answer, no sign, there was nothing but almost painfully overbearing silence.       Did he mean it? Was he going too fast?       He mentally slapped himself. How could he have assumed, even after all these years, that an angel could seriously develop any kind of feelings towards a demon? He was surely just passing the time, happy to have at least some immortal company, even a demon would do for that. Just for that. 

      The only light source in the room suddenly flickered and caught Crowley’s attention, an antique silver desk lamp, a piece that had never really fit into the aesthetic of his dark, clean flat, with its playful swerving curves and elaborate adornments that would fit much better into a Rococo ballroom in 18th century France than in the demon’s gloomy apartment, but, of course, Aziraphale had given it to him as a gift, so he’d kept it around. 

      He rose his voice again, this time dripping with frustration: "What am I supposed to do here, huh? Give me a clue, because I’m bloody desperate."

      He flinched as the lightbulb exploded, tiny pieces of glass raining down onto the wooden table, his office now only lit up by the faint moonlight that crept through the big windows. His eyes snapped to the lit-up windowsill, the only thing the moonlight met directly, surrounding it with a mysterious glow.       The dainty little plant he had kept there for the past couple of years, which had done wondrous things under Crowley’s special care, that had just a moment ago looked luscious and beautiful had now started wilting all of a sudden, quickly turning into a droopy dry mess.

      Things like this happened more often than the demon would have liked to admit. Any time his emotions, mostly anger or sadness, threatened to overcome him, he noticed things happening around him that were vastly out of his control. It was mostly a case of objects vanishing, breaking, or, in this case, one of his favourite plants wilting away under his fingertips.

      The demon’s eyes focused on the tartan thermos on the armrest in front of him. But he had helped him, nonetheless. The angel had given him something that would surely get him into big trouble if head office ever knew, he had disobeyed them to help Crowley. That had to mean something, right?

      He jumped up, his head once more raised towards the high ceilings, as he spoke with determination: "I promise, if he ever says anything along those lines again, I’m gone. Off somewhere, where neither heaven nor hell can find me, without him."

      As he felt the tears form in his eyes, he sank back down on his throne, his face entirely hidden in his hands before he let the tears run freely.

      "I promise."

⁂

1978

      If you’ve ever had a best friend, which, hopefully, you did, you know how difficult it is when certain situations force you not to talk to each other. It might be something as mundane as taking a test in school where the teacher forces you to be quiet, or it might be a serious argument you had, after which there’s just awkward silence between you and you both wish, the fight hadn’t happened.

      Crowley had spent eleven years away from Aziraphale, keeping himself busy with any job hell could offer him, travelling as far away as he could from London, since every minute spent in the English capital alone was pure agony for him.

      The flat he had moved into for the short times he did stay in London was a good one, one that he had now altered to look exactly like he wanted it to and very similar to his former one, but it certainly wasn’t the looks of it he wasn’t enjoying. It was the company (or lack thereof).

      He knew the bookshop wasn’t too far away (one of the reasons he had left his previous flat), he knew he could just take a cab, take his Bentley or even walk over there, if the temptation ever got too much, but, as often as he struggled during sleepless nights in the dark apartment, he never gave in.

      He probably didn’t even want to see him.

      Over the millennia that Crowley had spent on earth, he had, much like Aziraphale had learned to indulge in food, slowly found the human practice of sleep more and more enticing, until he had almost made it into daily (or nightly) practice. It helped him structure his busy schedule, and actually relieved him immensely after the often long and rough days he had.

      It was one of these typical late nights that he carefully parked the Bentley before wearily forcing himself up the four slides of stairs to burst into the dark but welcoming flat that awaited him. He hadn’t had the chance to process the fact that he had finally arrived home after about a month spent abroad, when he noticed a noise from his office, the recording of his own voice noisily resounding through the flat.       " - do it with style."

      He had owned the answering machine for a while, one of the earliest models of the invention, not ready to commit to the more modern machinery out there, but he hadn’t gotten a call in a long time now. Or had he? He wouldn’t have known, always gone, far away from home and, consequently, far away from his phone.

      "Cr-Crowley? Good evening, this is Aziraphale. I suppose this will be another one of these blasted one-sided phone calls, but I really can’t stop calling you, I - I worry about… about you." The angel’s voice was rough and troubled, and Crowley felt his heartbeat quicken instantly as he rushed into his office. Did he say he worried about him? 

      "As usual, I’ll start by saying: I hope you’re alright, and, if you are even getting these messages, I wish to tell you that I hope you’re good, you’re healthy and happy, wherever you are." Crowley’s skin flooded with goosebumps as the angel spoke with such love and kindness, and he slowly took a few steps closer to the dusty black machine that stood on his even dustier wooden desk.

      "Um… like every Saturday, I will be having my tea at the usual shop over by the theatre, and I’d love to invite you if you’re free…" There was a long pause and Crowley could practically hear the angel think. His hand was now hovering over the phone, so very close to picking up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not, while his breath was so obviously caught in his throat and he felt like he could burst into tears at any moment.

      "Maybe not there, I know you’re not too big on their pancakes. I’ll go wherever you want, I’ll pay, just… just call me back, please. I haven’t seen you in years, Crowley, I miss… Just call me back." And with that, the line was dead. 

      Crowley let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, stumbling a few steps back into his bedroom.       I miss… Had he missed him? The demon felt his face heat up in a blush as he let himself fall backwards into the pool of black silk that welcomed him lovingly. 

      He had missed him.       Aziraphale had missed him.       And Crowley would go and see him tomorrow.

⁂

      It had been a very restless night for the demon, because, even though Crowley had been awfully tired from his long and exhausting trip, he hadn’t been this excited in a long time.       He would see Aziraphale today.       He had missed him.

      His heart was racing as much as his mind as he strode down the familiar road. The people around him were in a rush, hurrying past him through the bleak morning mist, thick woollen collars folded up high against the cold. Crowley, however, did not feel the cold as he meandered through the crowds, though his reptilian skin usually shivered at the tiniest decrease of temperature, today was different; even if he had felt the cold creep through his thin, black jacket today, he wouldn’t have paid any attention to it, too caught up in his own thoughts.

      He’d have to play it cool; behave, like this was totally casual, and in no way affected him as much as it actually did. He was a demon; he didn’t care. 

      He froze his face in a permanent, neutral expression, and, as he pushed his fairly new pair of sunglasses back up his nose and crossed the corner to the street, where his destination lay.

      The little cafe had always stood out, that was why Aziraphale had fallen in love with it in the first place, its exterior a bright, sun-yellow against the street’s general austere appearance, its interior dark and cosy, much like the angel’s bookshop. The red leather benches were old and worn out, the dark wooden tables scuffed and scratched, but it gave the place the kind of gentle, comfortable atmosphere you would crave on a misty morning like this one. Golden lights shone from the high ceiling down onto the tables below as Crowley reached the large window and stopped, his eyes hurriedly scanning the shop until they landed on the angel. 

      He was dressed just like he always was, in bright, neutral colours, his light blue button-down slightly contrasting against his yellowish bowtie, topped off with his usual light brown vest and jacket. His blond hair was the same, maybe a tad longer than he had last seen it, as it curled down the angel’s temple.

      Aziraphale was focussed on the celestial newspaper he was holding, the cup of tea in front of him steaming hot before he extended a skilled hand over it, effectively cooling the drink down to an enjoyable temperature and took a sip, a content smile spreading over his face as he returned to reading.

      Crowley’s eyes changed focus, now meeting his own reflection in the polished glass. He looked absolutely miserable. His shoulder-length auburn hair was messy, his pale skin dull and dry, and his thin lips were curled downwards into a bitter frown.       He didn’t deserve this.       Aziraphale looked great, happy, even, in this new life without him. Who was he to come barging back into a life of perfection, just to ruin everything again with his demonic presence? Just to go too fast yet again?

      This was a terrible idea, he thought as he turned his head to leave, his eyes stumbling across a small potted plant on the windowsill just behind the glass: a pretty plant with large luscious leaves and a big white blossom on its top. As his thoughts drowned him in the shattering truth that, after now, he would never see the angel again, the plant’s leaves suddenly drooped down, its blossom wilting instantaneously and unnaturally fast down into a brown, flaccid mess. 

      Not again. He groaned internally, his mind clouded with frustration when suddenly, the car alarm behind him went off in a roaring siren, making him flinch in surprise and then curse silently, as he shut it back down with a quick gesture. This happened way too often these days. 

      He turned himself around once more, as he realised his foolish mistake; a sudden loud car alarm in the peaceful silence of a calm street with few cafes?

      Hoping, the guest he was trying to avoid hadn’t heard him or the noise he had caused, he slowly raised his head back up, immediately meeting the eyes of the blond angel inside. 

      His eyes were wide open, as was his mouth, and within mere moments he had dropped his newspaper on the table, knocked over his teacup that shattered loudly on the wooden floor (for once not apologized profusely), and merely bolted through the heavy door onto the street.

      The demon had been paralyzed from the moment their eyes had met, only following the angel’s movements behind his dark glasses, until he stood before him.

      "Crowley…" Aziraphale walked towards him in slow, hesitant steps, as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening, as if he expected him to disappear within the blink of an eye. He was only about a step away from him when he stopped.

      "Crowley, my dear… I - I haven’t seen you in so long, are you alright?" The angel’s eyes were glossy and his cheeks blushed unmistakably as his warm hands found Crowley's arm under his long sleeves and clung onto him.       The demon found his voice only moments after, focussing hard on maintaining a stable exterior when all he wanted to do is throw his arms around the angel and hold him close.

      "I’m good, angel, I’m good. Are you? You look… tired." Aziraphale never let his eyes leave Crowley, absolutely fixated on him, his smooth lips now curved into a bright smile.

      "I’m marvellous, darling, especially now that I know you’re not - you know, I was beginning to think you had… " The angel’s eyes looked through him for a second as his smile vanished, replaced by a distant expression and the hand that still grabbed onto Crowley’s arm trembled briefly before he regained his composure and his expression morphed into a coy smile once more.       "Nevermind that. Can I persuade you to a nice cup of coffee? It’s on me, whatever you’d like!"

      Aziraphale didn’t give him time to answer as he slid his arm through Crowley’s and led him inside. The warmth enraptured him immediately, from the outside as well as from the inside, and Aziraphale showed him to the table he had just been sitting at before leaving him to get them something to drink.

      The demon felt his heartbeat slow down a bit as he forced himself to calm down, strenuously focussing on the outside of the shop as he waited. He watched the people walking past the glass, businessmen and women rushing through the cold beginnings of winter, hoping to find warm refuge somewhere close-by, and he began lazily miracling feeding pigeons out of the way of recklessly fast drivers. A twinge shot through his heart.       Too fast. 

      "So, eleven years..." The angel’s voice brought him back to reality, and he felt the heat of the cup of coffee in front of him before he even saw it. Bringing his skinny fingers around the porcelain, he felt himself calm down even more, now able to properly give his attention to the talking angel.

      "What have you been up to?"       "You wouldn't want to know," he muttered, as his inner eye showed him glimpses of well-done demonic work.       "Oh. So you've been busy."       "So you could say." The angel’s smile turned a little colder, and Crowley felt as if someone grabbed his heart tightly and was threatening to rip it out of his chest if he didn’t make the angel smile again.

      "I’m sorry I never called you back, I never really spent much time around here, and…" The words refused to come out of his mouth correctly, and he jumped on. "What have you been doing? Is the bookshop still standing?"       "Oh, yes!" Aziraphale’s face lit up instantly. "It’s simply splendid, although, the other day, one crude woman actually insisted on buying a book! Can you believe that?" The angel took a sip of his hot tea, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile.       "You know, usually, bookshops do those kinds of things, angel."       "I know, I know, but me?"       "I know."

      Crowley’s heart picked up the pace again as his hand reached into the astral plane, pulling out the gift he had brought and placed it on the table between them.       "For you…" he mumbled as he observed the angels pupils dilate at the look of the elegantly packaged present. His hand moved over it instinctively, his fingers brushing delicately over the thin paper.

      "I know you collect these, found this on a recent trip and thought you’d like it."       Crowley took an overly casual sip of coffee as the angel picked up the book to unwrap it slowly, a small blush already visible on his cheeks.       "You...thank you, that’s really very nice of you."

      Bit by bit, he carefully removed the wrapping paper, as if ripping it would hurt it, and slowly uncovered the beautiful old clothbound book.       "Wilde, this is Oscar Wilde!" The angel looked at Crowley in shock as he discarded the wrapping paper absentmindedly and a big blush spread over his face. Crowley smiled again, his heart suddenly warm.       "You have to tell me more about him some time, I know you spent some time with him."       "Oh, I will… A First Edition, this is marvellous." Aziraphale flashed him a loving smile, sending butterflies surging through Crowley’s stomach. The book laid on the table as the angel carefully let his hands run over the spine, his fingertips delicately running over the old pages.

      "You didn’t read this, did you?" There was a sudden hint of apprehension and fear in his voice that Crowley couldn’t quite interpret as he shook his head.       "You know I don’t read, angel."       "Oh, well then." He returned his attention to the book, his eyes again full of glee. Crowley made a mental note to come back to this topic sometime.

      "I’ve wanted this edition since it came out, but it was never available here, how did you…?"       "I was there and I saw it." The demon didn’t even think to mention the awful lot of trouble he’d had to get into to acquire the book.       "No further questions. Thank you, Crowley, that is incredibly thoughtful. I’ll make sure it gets a splendid place in the collection." Crowley chuckled darkly.       "The shop, you mean?" The angel looked back at him like he’d gotten caught with his hands in the cookie jar.       "Yes, of course."

      The demon put down his now empty cup, placed his hands on the table and took in the moment.       It was a practice he had adapted several millennia ago, a way of taking mental pictures to remember certain moments for posterity. Even though he would have never wanted to admit it, Crowley was a sappy person; he liked to wallow in memories often, enjoy the good times he’d had the pleasure of sharing with the angel.

      Hugging the book to his chest with one arm, the angel’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes in pure enjoyment. Aziraphale seemed lost in thought as he brought his other hand downwards to rest on the table, his fingers softly brushing over the knuckles of the demon’s own hand on the table. 

      And his touch lingered for a second.

      And Crowley felt happier than he had in a very long time.

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

ii | The Fallen And The Falling | Good Omens

Aziraphale x Crowley | Good Omens AU [masterlist] | [ ← previous chapter] [next chapter → ]

      Lucifer had changed. He was no longer the curious, broken being, that the fallen angel had come to sympathise with in heaven; he was angry, vengeful, evil, and so were all the others.        A third of the angels had fallen with him, a third of God’s creatures banned from heaven to serve eternity in ‘hell’, a new, dark place very deep down.

      It hadn’t been a shock to the nameless demon when Lucifer had called for him, just for the others to aggressively drag him through the dark and filthy corridors to find him in a big, dim room, sitting upon a makeshift throne. He looked different now, larger, his big, leathery wings spread over the dark throne behind him, the previously perfect, pale skin now dyed a dark red by the blood of the fallen.

      "Satan, we’ve brought him, as you requested," croaked the demon who still had an iron grip on the nameless one’s aching shoulder. The fallen angel raised his eyebrows in amusement.       "Satan? Well, that’s one hell of a name choice."       Satan raised his arm, gesturing to his men dismissively. They immediately let go of the black-winged creature, stumbling back in fear as he fell forwards, down to the ground onto his scuffed up arms, raising his head slightly to playfully bow at the being before him.

      "My old friend, how have you been?" Lucifer’s voice was no longer the smooth one of an angel, it was deep, and intimidating, like a combined roar of a dozen people shouting at once - a sound chilling down to the bone.       "I’m good, really. No complaints here." The nameless demon’s voice was smug and dripping with sarcasm as he stood up, brushing the dust and dirt from the black piece of cloth he was wearing.

      Satan waved his arms towards the other present demons once more, all of them rushing out of the room obediently.

      The dark, red eyes bore into his, and the red-winged creature slowly leaned forward on the throne, an intimidating grin on its face.

      "I have a task for you, an important one. I know you’ll like it, even though you hate me for what I’ve done."       "I don’t - "       "I know, what you think. I know, what you feel. I know you."       The nameless demon swallowed in fear before he realised: He had never been scared of Lucifer, nor was he now, when he had absolutely nothing to lose anymore. He would certainly prefer death, even a slow and painful over spending eternity down here with them, with Him.       Not afraid to show him his mindset, he opened his mouth to throw some mocking sass at him, when Satan cut him off.       "I want you to go back up there and make some trouble. I want you in Her oh-so-perfect world, and I want you to ruin it - for them and for Her."

      The fallen angel didn’t hear Satan’s maniacal laughter that followed his words, too caught up in his own thoughts. He could go back? Back to earth, back to the garden, he could go see his angel again, even if he wouldn’t remember him, could maybe even talk to him?

      His overwhelming emotions left him sobbing internally, struggling to keep his cool exterior in front of the devil.

      "Certainly. I will, Master," he muttered obediently, and Satan nodded, a grin still plastered on his face as he rose an arm towards him.       "Oh, and another thing: You’ll need a body, a corporal one. Something inconspicuous." He snapped his long, bony fingers that were extended towards the nameless demon, and without warning, he could feel himself discorporating, changing and reforming. It wasn’t painful, not the process at least, not until he suddenly solidified on the ground, in a new, smaller body and opened his eyes.       His vision was different, much brighter but less clear, and he flinched as he saw a forked tongue flicker out before his eyes. His tongue, a snake’s tongue. 

      "What should I call you, my friend?"       "I already had a name," he resented, his voice deeper and almost hissing as he spoke.       "I know you did. It’s not yours to claim anymore, neither now nor ever again. Now, you’re just a pathetic, crawly being, that is finally going to corrupt Her greatest creation. Crawley, ha!" Satan slapped the stone armrest of his throne, the sharp claws of his right hand scraping off parts of rock as his ear-splitting laughter made the snake shiver in its newly formed body.       "Well, Crawley, I trust you won’t disappoint me. It’s us against Her now. Do your worst."

⁂

      Crawley was an ethereal being reduced down to its basics, damned to serve Satan and hell for all eternity in doing whatever they asked of him. In his new form, he had to learn everything anew, how to move, how to talk; everything seemed different now. He was able to change his snake-like body back into something that very remotely resembled what he used to look like, at least looking vaguely humanoid with his scrawny build, bony face and fire-red hair.       What he was never able to change, were the eyes, that were now his. Large, greenish-yellow irises, only split by the vertical slits of pupils that always stared back at him creepily from the broken mirror in his quarter (he had broken it in a fit of anger when he had first seen himself in his new form and never bothered to fix it).

      The demon had learned very early on in his demonic existence that, even though he could suffer, and that to great lengths, he could not die (even if he wanted to), at least not through something in his control. It was an epiphany, really. He’d thought having fallen from God’s grace had been the end, but it had rather been the start of something entirely new. This wasn’t necessarily something great or even remotely good, but certainly something new that gave him a purpose, even though he detested it with every fibre of his being.

      He hadn’t had a choice, really, when Satan sent him upwards from hell, burrowing through the holy ground as a dark, miserable snake until he eventually broke through the crusty surface of the garden.       The earth opened above him with an audible crack, and the pleasantly warm soil slid across his scales with ease as the fresh air hit him like a hard slap in the face.       He was back.       He shook off the remains of dirt on his thin body, the once cosy grass burning against his soft underbelly as he crawled towards the woman. The sun heated up his scaly skin in seconds, and he let out a hiss of delight before he started whispering in Eve’s ear. 

⁂

      Tempting them really hadn’t been hard. Just suggesting the mere idea had intrigued her so much, that he didn’t even have to do anything more than watch the events unfold.

      He was observing the two humans climbing through the small hole in the walls of the garden when he suddenly felt Aziraphale’s presence close-by, could sense his inner turmoil and nervousness.       Instinctively, he started crawling up the rough, uneven walls of the garden until he found himself breathless as he reached the ledge right behind the angel’s white wings that rustled in the wind of an upcoming storm. A long feather of the tail ends of his wings brushed over the fallen one’s body as he slithered past him, turning his soul into a shivering mess.

      It had been one of the hardest things Crawley had ever had to do, pretending he didn’t know the beautiful angel stood upon the gates of Eden, gazing into the seemingly endless desert before him. 

      He felt Aziraphale’s lingering stare on him as he assumed his new humanoid form, eyeing him up and down until his head snapped forwards quickly as soon as he laid eyes on the deep black wings the demon unfolded behind himself.       He gave his best to not look at Aziraphale but could see him out of the corner of his eye: a divine image of an angel, white wings and soft fabric fluttering around him. He couldn’t help but notice him anxiously clutching the golden ring on his little finger (which Crawley had gifted him early on in their friendship during his angelic existence), in fact, clutching it so hard that his knuckles were pure white from the pressure. 

      Crawley stretched his wings out comfortably in the upcoming breeze, felt the cold, refreshing wind brush through his long, red curls and stared out into the desert. There was nothing there but light brown dunes for as far as the eye could see, only contrasted by the silhouettes of two humans fearfully striding through the new lands.

      The demon took a deep breath, forcing himself to look forward, as he finally broke the silence.       "Well, that went down like a lead balloon."

      He felt the angel’s gaze back on him as he spoke, his following nervous chuckle sending sharp daggers through his heart as he struggled to casually look in the other direction.

      "Sorry, what was that?" 

      Turning his head towards the angel, he felt his heart speed up immediately, Aziraphale's hesitant gaze on him nervous and confused until their eyes met. For Crawley, it felt like fireworks exploding beneath his skin, a sort of happiness spreading through him he had thought he could never feel again after the fall.        The angel still looked the same, and yet somehow different. His hair was the same, light shade of blond, but more messy and ruffled, his eyes still the same shade he had never seen anywhere else before, a divine combination of green and blue with golden specs scattered throughout, and yet, they looked different. 

      Crawley would only a long time later realise, that this had not to do with Aziraphale's exterior at all, but it was the way he was looking at him in obliviousness that felt so strangely unfamiliar; he hadn’t recognised him.

      As their eyes met and all these thoughts shot through Crawley's head at light speed, he saw the angel flinch slightly, his expression almost shocked for a fraction of a second.       His eyes.        Of course, he had expected this. Many times before had he stared at his own reflection, oftentimes in horror and disgust, but to see his angel so shocked by them somehow hurt even more.

      He felt embarrassed, and it became increasingly hard to keep up his cool exterior.       "I said: Well, that went down like a lead balloon."       "Yes, yes. It did, rather." Aziraphale nodded, looking back and forth between him and Adam and Eve slowly advancing through the sand.       "Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me." Crawley turned slightly towards the angel as he spoke, the corners of his lips curling upwards slightly as he took in his confused, almost offended facial expression.

      "First offence and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway." The blond was now seemingly almost at a loss for words, only pulling himself together a few moments later, puffing up his chest slightly.       "Well, it must be bad," he muttered, his eyes now closed as if trying to remember a name he once knew and had now forgotten, as if feeling it just on the tip of his tongue. He really didn’t remember him.

      "Crawley." The demon interrupted, thanked with a court nod.       "Crawley..." He gave him a brief smile, keeping his eyes on him. "Otherwise," he murmured, pausing again for a deep intake of breath, his voice now a little softer as he raised his chin proudly, "you wouldn’t have tempted them into it."       He was fidgeting with his ring again, and his wings twitched slightly as he spoke. 

      "Oh, they just said, 'Get up there and make some trouble'."       "Well, obviously. You’re a demon," Aziraphale replied softly, "it’s what you do." The angel's eyes drifted back to the demon’s black wings, then to the small snake tattoo on his temple. Crawley was overwhelmed once more, for different reasons now. 

      An angel talking to a demon was something, he had expected to be different. He had expected a general kind of condescending attitude, not necessarily arrogant but certainly somewhat biased.       This was not that; the way the angel was treating him was the definition of kindness, with no implied judgement whatsoever. It was almost like he was saying: "It’s what you do, and what you have to do, no judgement here; I know you have to, and you’re doing a marvellous job at it."

      Another long pause seemed to make Aziraphale uncomfortable as he started shifting his weight from one foot to another, however, now more confident in his words and actions, Crawley kept going.       "Not very subtle of the Almighty, though." The angel’s attention was back on him. "Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a 'Don’t Touch' sign. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?"       The angel's eyes widened at his words, nervously flickering towards the light blue sky above, then the dark clouds in the distance.        "Makes you wonder what God’s really planning," Crawley added bluntly, so the angel focused back on him entirely.

      "Best not to speculate," he responded, his eyebrows furrowed as he nodded at the demon, wordlessly nudging him to stop.       "It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s ineffable." Crawley’s lips quivered with unspoken words, his eyebrows now raised in question.       "The Great Plan’s ineffable?" he questioned, the angel’s eyes now lighting up as he stood a little straighter.       "Exactly." 

      Crawley took in the Aziraphale’s posture, his eyes gliding over his body, landing at his hands once more, this time in bewilderment.        "It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words," the angel continued proudly, as Crawley’s gaze lingered on his hands where fidgety fingers were still turning and twisting the golden ring.       Something was different, something was missing, something - oh.       "Didn’t you have a flaming sword?"

      The angel looked incredibly nervous all of a sudden, his eyes flickering back and forth, settling down on his feet, avoiding eye contact altogether.       "Uh…"       "You did! It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?" The demon kept digging as his gaze left the blond’s hands, sliding back to his highly uncomfortable facial expression.       "Uh…" he stuttered again, his voice quieter and avoiding as he shook his head slightly.       Or had it been taken away after the fall? Maybe talking about it would remind him that there had been something before this, something between them…

      "Lost it already, have you?" Crawley grinned, the situation reminding him of the teasing conversations they had had back in the day about the angel’s clumsiness.       Aziraphale’s head was still pointed to the ground as he blushed heavily, turning his head the other way, his voice almost inaudible as he answered.        "Gave it away." 

      "You what?!" Crawley raised his eyebrows in surprise, his heart skipping a beat as the angel met his gaze with a tormented expression.        "I gave it away..." His eyes were full of worry and concern, and Crawley couldn’t help but smile as the angel kept talking. "There are vicious animals. It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already. And I said, 'Here you go. Flaming sword. Don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.'" Aziraphale inhaled deeply, pausing as if giving Crawley time to interject, but the demon was at a loss for words.

      The angel had directly disobeyed God. He had been so worried about the two outcasts and their future, that he had promptly, and without asking for permission, given away the only material thing She had ever given him.

      "I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing," Aziraphale uttered, staring upon the humans once more. Crawley was still lost in thought. He hadn’t wanted them to be defenceless and suffer needlessly, so he’d just given it away. How could a single creature be so unalterably kind? He recomposed himself.

      "Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing." Their eyes were glued to each other as they spoke, Aziraphale’s face suddenly overcome by an even bigger blush, his eyes full of relief as a hesitant smile played around his features.       "Oh, oh thank - oh, thank you. Oh, it’s been bothering me." His lips curled upwards in a genuine smile that sent butterflies surging through Crawley’s stomach, interrupted by a lion’s roar. 

      Another one of the garden’s inhabitants had made it outside of Eden’s guarding walls and was now viciously attacking Adam, who had shoved Eve behind him protectively.

      "I’ve been worrying, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole 'eat the apple' business?" Crawly admitted, just as Adam swung the angel’s flaming sword towards the lion.       "A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing." His eyes swung back to Aziraphale’s coy smile that suddenly fell as Adam dealt a fatal blow on the lion.       The change of his expression went straight to his heart, and he felt overcome by the sudden desire to make him smile again, just somehow...       "It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one." 

      He forced himself into his best little smile and a gravelly chuckle as the angel’s expression morphed into a confused smile, and a small chuckle escaped his lips as well, before he broke eye contact and the smile fell instantly.       "No!" His face was now visibly offended. "It wouldn’t be funny at all!"       The angel’s blunt change of tone almost sobered Crawley up, putting him back into his place. An angel and a demon, nothing more.       He still couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice as he answered: "Well…"

      The dark curtains of clouds had almost reached their peak over them, when, suddenly, thick droplets of crystal-clear water began falling from the sky, running down Crawley's nose as streaks of pure white broke through the stormy blanket of grey before them, bright, forked bolts of lightning soaring through the graphite sky just before the roaring crash of thunder that followed.       Taking an instinctive step sideways towards the angel, he heard a faint rustle next to him, suddenly not feeling any more drops hitting him. Noticing the edges of light feathers dangle almost out of his field of vision, he quickly realised Aziraphale had shielded him from the rain with his wing, and he could have cried out loud in simultaneous love and frustration.

      Crawley knew, if he hadn’t already been in love with the angel that stood next to him, this would have been the exact moment he would have fallen in love. The angels hands tightly folded before him, a small content smile on his lips as his beautiful eyes followed the rainclouds, his bright hair slowly sticking to his pale skin, yet he only thought of shielding the demon from the previously unknown phenomenon of rain.

      How could a single being be so loving and compassionate, even towards a demon, his hereditary enemy? How could Aziraphale be like this to him, even now, not knowing him?

      Crawley sobbed internally and took a deep, shuddering breath that he hoped the angel hadn’t noticed.

      He might have forgotten all about him, but he could certainly get to know him all over again and there was always a chance that he would remember.       One day. 

      And Crawley smiled again

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

[trueenemyorfalsefriend]

i | The Fallen And The Falling | Good Omens

Aziraphale x Crowley | Good Omens AU [masterlist] | [next chapter → ]     

      Angels were, from the very beginning of their existence, predestined to be the most loving thing God would ever come to create. They naturally loved everything, every single one of God’s creations, every moment they could spend in the company of their people, they loved life and each other.

      Knowing all this, it should have been no surprise for the archangel Raphael to feel love for Aziraphale, one of the newer acquaintances he had made here in heaven. What did surprise him, however, was that this time, it felt different than ever before: more intense, almost intimate.       He felt nervous around the other angel, absolutely electrified whenever he could make him smile or laugh, and he unintentionally froze every time they touched, even if it was just a quick accidental brush of their hands or Aziraphale absentmindedly plucking a loose feather from Raphael’s perfect, white wings.

      He hadn't intended to tell Lucifer, but he spent so much time around him that he couldn't exactly keep it a secret forever. 

      "You like him, huh?" The dark-haired angel froze in his movements, snapping his head towards his friend, who stood next to him.       "What?"        "Aziraphale. You like him."        "Of course, he's a very nice, compassionate angel." Lucifer nodded, a small smirk now visible on his angelic features, as he retained eye contact.       "He's very handsome too, isn't he?" Raphael could feel himself blushing heavily, quickly turning his gaze towards the ground as he felt his heart speed up to a rapid rhythm.       "I'm not sure this is appropriate," he mumbled, brushing his fingers through his long, wavy hair, trying to focus on anything but the image of the beloved angel in his mind.       "I think he's very cute. You two fit well together." Raphael took a step back instinctively, his face red in shock over the words of his friend.        "I - I don't know what you're talking about," he stuttered, his hands suddenly shaking as he felt his face heat up. The angel beside him laughed out loud at his reaction.       "Of course, you don't, Raphael."

      Lucifer was, like him, an archangel, but that was not the sole cause for Raphael's fondness of him. He was, after all, the angel of healing, working to heal the body and mind of those, who needed him, and he had known from the first time they had met that Lucifer needed him, almost desperately so. 

      He was different from the other angels, full of curiosity and doubt, and he didn't shy away from openly questioning Her motives whenever he felt like it. He was always honest and open about what he was thinking, which the archangel found impressive, but as honest as he was about his thoughts, as secretive was he about his feelings. 

      Raphael could sense them, however, sense his friend’s longing for a change, for explanation and validation, could feel him getting more and more desperate day after day.        It was what had originally pulled him towards the troubled angel, what had inspired him to try and help his agitated spirit be content once more, and he had been hopeful, for a long time, even. 

      It wasn't until the earth was created when everything went downhill. They all sang and praised God in the six days of its creation, and even Lucifer seemed positively intrigued by this sudden change, all until Adam was born. Lucifer despised him and Eve and the simple, obeying relationship they seemed to have with God, because, or this was at least what Raphael suspected, he craved something just like that. He wanted people to follow his advice, look up to him instead of Her, and, after a while, he seemed convinced he was more worthy of their love and fellowship than God was. 

      Raphael tried his best to ignore his friend's dangerous tendencies, but he was almost forced into spending more time with the plagued angel when Aziraphale was sent down to earth to guard the eastern gate of Eden, the garden, that God had created for Adam and Eve. 

      He was crushed at the sudden disappearance of his favourite associate and, with his best friend now gone and his other friend seemingly turning mad, felt incredibly lonely in heaven. So much so, that he started finding himself agreeing with Lucifer's demented statements more and more often, occasionally meeting up with him and others who seemed to feel the same displeasure about the overall situation. 

      Heaven, as it existed around this time, was a place of love and comfort, or at least this was what it was created for and what it felt like to most angels. Raphael, however, had lost all interest in his surroundings after Aziraphale’s sudden departure, perceiving heaven only as a cold place where he spent his existence patiently waiting for him to return.

      Finding Lucifer's constant companionship increasingly toxic for his own mind and behaviour over the decades and his need to see his friend once more built up to an almost painful degree, he decided to visit Aziraphale down in Eden. 

⁂

      After leaving the cold, white, unforgiving halls of heaven, he was well-nigh overwhelmed as he took in the colourful, diverse beauty of the dense, lush garden around him. His mind was absolutely enraptured by the magnificent flowers and fruits around him, the life and love that the place radiated, and he felt a wave of instant relief wash over him, all of his troubles melting away into nonexistence as he gazed upon the beautiful garden surrounding him.       He was somewhat hypnotized by the beauty all around him, all caught up in a trance of pure awe until he laid eyes on Aziraphale. 

      The angel stood between the lush green of two giant trees, his white wings stretched out comfortably behind him, lightly moving in the soft breeze as he gently stroked his fingers over the delicate blossoms of a thin, wilting branch. The plant lightened up under his touch, almost leaning into it as it bloomed back up, promptly back to its previous glorious form, and he observed a content smile spread over the angel’s face.

      The gentle rustling of grass against his bare feet gave Raphael away, so Aziraphale turned around, his mouth already opened for a cordial greeting (probably expecting one of the other inhabitants of the garden), freezing in place when his eyes met the ones of his old friend.

      The dark-haired angel’s heart stopped when his gaze captured Aziraphale’s, all of his feelings coming crashing down on him in a matter of seconds. He realised how much he had missed his best friend, his companionship, his compassionate, loving nature; he realised, how different he felt about him than about anyone else, and finally, how much and how deeply he loved the angel that stood before him. 

      His breath caught in his throat as the other angel took a few hesitant steps towards him, his blue eyes glassy, cheeks slightly blushed, contrasting against his light blond hair. Aziraphale’s voice was soft but slightly raspy as he cocked his head to the side and addressed his visitor lovingly. 

      "Raphael, my dear, is that you? I haven’t seen you in at least a hundred years, darling, how - "       He couldn’t stop himself, not now, not after not having seen him for so long. Raphael closed the distance between them with two long strides, his slender fingers now suddenly cupped around the reddened cheeks of the blond angel and his own, chapped lips pressed against his.       It wasn’t a gentle, angelic gesture, as you would perhaps imagine two angels kissing; it was a kiss full of emotion, love and desire, but, as much as Raphael had expected his friend to push him away in disgust or even horror, he had melted into his touch instantly, his soft lips moving against his own in a similar frenzy as he burrowed his hands in the thick strands of Raphael’s hair.

      They broke apart, gasping for air, but still desperate for each other’s touch as they leaned their foreheads against each other. Raphael couldn’t think a single straight thought, his fingers still tangled in the short blond hairs at the side of the angel's neck, softly brushing his other thumb over the smooth skin of his cheekbone and temples.

      "I’ve missed you so much, Aziraphale… I’ve missed you so much."       He hadn’t realised that he was crying until he felt the angel brush the warm tears from his cheeks and press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.        "I’ve missed you too, my love." 

      Raphael’s vision was blurry, his eyes still filled to the brim with tears as he forced himself to look Aziraphale in the eye again and gently take the other angel’s hands into his, lightly brushing a thumb over his knuckles.       "I have to tell you something, and I probably should have said this much earlier… Angel, I - "

      "So, this is it, huh?" Lucifer’s voice was cold and impersonal as it cut through the serene sounds of the garden. "This is Eden."       The two angels flinched, immediately letting go of each other as they almost jumped metres apart. Lucifer erupted into a burst of bitter laughter.        "Oh, come on, don’t stop on my behalf. I’m just here to take a look at all this." He gestured around himself with a weird smile on his face. Raphael shuddered at his expression, quickly rushing towards his friend as he brushed the remaining tears from his face.        "Lucifer, I don’t think this is a good idea."        "Oh, you don’t think? Why should I not be allowed down here, you are, right? He is, too, and we’re leagues above him."       Raphael felt his angel’s sharp intake of breath behind him at the rude comment and took another, bigger step towards Lucifer. 

      "I think we should go, Lucifer. Will you join me?" He extended a hand towards him, gently urging him to take it. He felt his glare on him, taking in his posture, his expression, only then meeting his eyes.        His hand instantly dropped back down to his side at the sight of the red, angry eyes that bore into his. These weren’t the eyes of his friend, nor were they the eyes of an angel, this was something else, something… evil.

      "Lucifer, please…"        "No! I don’t want to go back there, not like this, I will not, I refuse! I refuse to be put down every day, I refuse to stand under Her, letting her reign over everything when it’s not right!" 

      Raphael raised his arms in a defensive gesture, tucking in his wings behind his back before he started talking in the smoothest, most calming voice he could muster.       "I know, I know it’s not easy, I - "       "Not easy?! Not fair, that’s what this is. I deserve a chance, I deserve to rule humanity! I want to walk with them in the garden, I want them to listen to nobody but me! I will ascend into the high heavens! I will take over the seat of the Highest! I will, I will, I will!" His screaming was now frantic, his voice rough and deep as he shouted upwards, his arms flailing in anger before he disappeared within the blink of an eye.

      Raphael did not lose time to turn around to Aziraphale, who stood there in shock, his eyes locked on the ground where the angel had just stood, and cupped his face with his shaking hands once more.        "Angel, listen to me. You have to listen to me, okay? Stay here, stay down here and protect them."        "But - "        "Promise me, that you’ll stay down here, alright? I have to help, but I have to be sure you’ll do as I say, I can’t have you risking your life up there. The world still needs you, they need you." He nodded towards where he imagined the two humans to be, and Aziraphale quickly nodded back at him, his light blue eyes now filled with tears of distress.       "Okay, I promise, I promise."        Raphael didn’t let him talk more than that, quickly pressing his lips to the blond angel’s one more time, almost drowning in the intoxicating dance of their lips before snapping his fingers and ascending back up into heaven, leaving Aziraphale down in Eden with a panicked expression on his flushed face.

⁂

      "I will raise my throne above the stars of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of the sacred mountain. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High!" 

      Heaven was in chaos. Raphael could hear Lucifer’s voice loud and clear through the masses of angels surrounding him, and he could see the others on the opposite side, could see Michael and Gabriel standing strong in front of their army, ready to defend heaven with all their might. 

      The angels around Lucifer cheered boorishly, suddenly turning from an absorbed crowd into a bloodthirsty unit of mad angels as they angled themselves towards the opposition.       "You will not win this, Lucifer,’ declared Gabriel, his voice calm and collected as his tunic blew in the wind.       "I will win whatever I want to, you dull creature. Angels, I command - "

      "Lucifer!"        Raphael had heard his own voice break through the uproar before he had realised he was doing so, making the rebelling angel stop in the middle of his sentence. He approached him swiftly, striding through the masses of angels that parted for him, stopping only metres in front of his Lucifer. He looked cold, hurt and broken, his pupils glowing bright red as they stared at each other. 

      "Lucifer, stop this, this is absolute madness…"       "This isn’t madness, this is justice! I deserve this, Raphael, you know I do, I can do this all better, I can manage this all better than Her!" A small outcry went through the crowd of faithful angels, but Raphael wouldn’t budge.        "You deserve the world, Lucifer, but this isn’t right, this can’t be the right way."

      For a split second, when Raphael locked eyes with Lucifer, he saw his friend again, nothing but the sad, desperate eyes of a broken soul, but then they were back to the red, hardened eyes of determination.

      "There is no other way." 

      With a furious scream and a flap of his wings, he jumped up and pointed his army towards the other angels as he lingered above them, and suddenly, with another roar, he almost exploded into a ball of fire. A hellfire, that floated above the ravaging angels, grew quickly, then formed itself into the form of an enormous, haunting dragon. 

      Everything was happening so fast; Raphael could see the dragon attacking Michael, could see Gabriel struggling with four angels cornering him, could see everybody fighting valiantly - and yet he couldn’t bring himself to join the battle. 

      He loved the archangels, even though he had never had the best relationship with any of them, but he knew that they were trustworthy people.       He loved Lucifer like one would love a young, naive child or perhaps someone, who just needed help and guidance, but he could not justify his violent actions against the other angels. Still, he was his friend.       And yet, who was he to choose a side, choose one friend over the other?

      His radiant, green eyes filled with tears of torment once more, his mind back with Aziraphale, his angel. His angel. The feeling that shot through his body from just thinking about him gave him every answer he had asked for, and, as he was conjuring up a sword and leaned forward to run into battle against the rebelling angels, it came.

      Light. Nothing but light. Just an overbearing, blinding, white light on all of them, a light which filled him with shame for hesitating, even though he knew he had ultimately chosen the right side. 

      "You." God’s voice was loud, deafening and it stopped everyone in their actions.

      As time seemed to stand still, Raphael turned around, his eyes scanning the crowds for the other archangels until suddenly, his gaze was caught by the blond angel standing only several metres from him. Aziraphale.       "You have disappointed me,"  her voice declared as Raphael extended a loving hand towards his angel in worry, taking a step towards his warm expression and open arms.       He was another bit closer, so close to Aziraphale that their hands almost touched, when suddenly, as he took the last step forward, his feet didn’t find any solid ground under them, and he fell.

⁂

      There is a saying humans commonly use in situations of coquetry, mainly when trying to effectively entrance another being, that goes: "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"       This complementary question obviously implies that the person being talked to has the appearance or demeanour of an ethereal being, and it is meant as a polite form of flattery.

      For Raphael, however, it had hurt. Of course, it had hurt, to figuratively and literally fall from heaven, landing in a pool of boiling sulphur down in hell. Of course, it had hurt when his name had been taken from him, as were his looks, his likeness, his wings, his abilities. But nothing had hurt as much as knowing what had happened in heaven after he had fallen. 

      He hadn’t just imagined Aziraphale’s presence in the room before he fell, he hadn’t hallucinated or wished him there; the angel had actually shown up in worry over him, even though he had promised him not to, just in time to see him being cast out from heaven for eternity.

      The blond angel had consequently snapped, attacked the other angels around him with his sword of flames, all while screaming about how they dared to cast out one of their best who probably had been their most competent man, about how Raphael didn’t deserve this, that this couldn’t be right and part of the Great Plan, that there had to have been some mistake. When they’d managed to calm the angel down, the others had tried to explain the situation, telling Aziraphale what Raphael had gotten himself into - being on the side of the rebellion, apparently - but this had just made Aziraphale rabid once more, and eventually, collectively, the angels decided to make him forget about the entire thing and send him back down to Eden. 

      He’d forgotten all about him. About them. About everything.

      The nameless fallen angel let his fingers roam over the sulphur-soaked, now jet black feathers of his wings, sighing out loud. He had no reason to exist anymore. None at all. If his angel, the love of his life wouldn’t remember him, what was there to live for?

      And with that thought, he threw himself back into the boiling sulphur. 

⁂