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bored-storyteller · 4 years

Note

How would the the dorm leaders react to a mc having a mental breakdown from stress? Please.🙇‍♀️💕

So, for convenience I divide this request into two parts (I will do it for all requests concerning all leaders), so this is the first part with the first three leaders! 🌸

Furthermore, as far as mental breakdown is concerned, in reality reactions and symptoms can be manifold, I remained on something light (if we mean the same thing). I hope you like it anyway! ❤️

13- Twisted Wonderland- Dorm Leaders x down!s/o pt. 1

Riddle Rosehearts

· Riddle is basically used to being under stress and is used to keeping people around him under stress, so he doesn't immediately notice the problem of s/o, or at least he doesn't connect to the fact that maybe they are too stressed.

· He perhaps notes that the body of s/o becomes thinner and at the same time tense. He wonders if s/o is following a proper diet and every now and then he might even scold them for not eating properly.

·It may be disadvantageous to have relationships with him in a similar situation. Just because he loves and appreciates s/o, Riddle could expect a lot from them, and between the study, the school responsibilities and also the orders and rules of the leader, life cannot be simple at all.

· In recent times, Riddle's heart may have become a little more worried when he sees s/o's eyes more dull than usual, and with heavy dark circles under their lower eyelids. But since it is the tests period he can imagine that it is because of the night study. Still, s/o should close the books at night.

All of Riddle's rigidity, however, collapses when he glimpses the figure of s/o in the library, curled up on itself, trembling and shaken by violent sobs that apparently cannot hold back. He hasn't figured out what's going on yet, but he rushes to them with concern.

"S/o, what happens?"

The question naturally comes from his lips, immediate, perhaps too hasty to show empathy, but still, he feels as if that tears were his fault even if he doesn't know the cause.

"I can’t."

The trembling voice of s/o responds as soon as it reaches them, and Riddle suddenly hears it the world collapsing on him. Even if they replied they don't seem to really realize that he is there, they seem destroyed.

"I can't do it anymore. I can't pass the tests, I can't meet all deadlines. They will reject me, they will hate me ..."

The crying does not end, and what worries Riddle the most is that they are on the book of their favorite subject! It is certain that they could not fail the test even if they wanted to! How much did they have to endure to break where the problem isn't there?

He is ashamed of himself. Has he never noticed this situation? What kind of leader is he? He doesn't really know what to do, but he knows he has to do something.

A little hesitant, he puts a reassuring hand on their shoulder, and he is amazed at how violent their tremor is.

"You will make it. You have always been strong ... here ... it is a difficult time for everyone."

He certainly can't be convincing, Trey would be much better than he is. But he can't let himself go with s/o, he doesn't want them to be ruined. So, he try to think of the words that would have made him feel better if he had found himself so alone, as it seems to be s/o.

"I am proud of you and I am proud even if you sometimes fail."

It's probably the most beautiful and profound thing Riddle can say to someone in need.

Carefully squeezes the shoulder of s/o. Slowly their eyes land on him, moist but somehow raised.

"Sorry ..." they murmur, sitting down on the chair again.

Riddle does not get too upset, but remains there with them until they have finished studying, leaning against the back of their chair, pretending to absently read a book that does not interest him at all.

Leona Kingscholar

· Ok the relaxation with which Leona seems (seems) to take everything that happens stresses practically everyone around him. He does not show that it has really big requests despite continuous orders, but the simple fact that he is present - even if he sleeps - requires that everything goes exactly as he wants.

· Well, there are people who know how to bear it, like Ruggie, but while s/o suffer the weight of the tests on their shoulders the simple presence of the prince (however much they may love him) becomes unbearable for them. But obviously they would never dare to tell him or deny him something

·The way out of that period seems increasingly distant, almost non-existent. Also a little problem becomes giant for s/o and more and more often they lack their breath for no reason, nor are they able to sleep without having nightmares. Some nightmares concern the Savanaclaw leader. Although they have never been reprimanded by Leona, the anxiety that came from his presence has now turned into fear.

· S/o cannot please Leona, they cannot pass the tests, they cannot perform the tasks of Professor Crewel or those of Professor Trein. They don't feel the strength to do all this, nor do they feel the skills. They feel as if every second someone is looking at them and judging them. Their muscles are always tense and they can't help being alert.

· Obviously Leona doesn't notice anything. S/o have always done everything alone, he doesn't really see the problem. In short, everyone is stressed during the tests.

S/o hope that the fresh solitary air of that point in the garden and the music in the ears can erase a possible failure from their mind, while the book of ancient curses lies open on their legs.

But as sweet and relaxing the music can be, it has the effect of isolating them even more from the world, a world that now scares them too much. When something touches their shoulder it is as if everything breaks: their mind and body are shattered.

S/o screams.

No, it's not a simple scream. This is a scream of pure terror, which makes them jump on their feet and then curls them on the ground. Not even Leona can predict a similar reaction to his touch. For a moment he thought his hand had burned them.

“Calm down, herbivore!” He exclaims reflexively. He didn't even understand that he was the cause. He remains there, still staring at the curled up figure of s/o with his heart beating fast in his chest and his ears flat against his head.

"I can't do it, ok ?!" The voice of s/o is high and distressed as they hold their hair in their hands "I can't do what you ask me! I can't pass this stupid test and I can't get out of this school ever again! Don't get angry! It doesn't matter how much I try, I will never be able to do all this ... "

Leona's ears barely move. Damn, why don't people talk from the start? He barely growls as he rubs his hand on the back of his neck.

"I'm not angry, stupid herbivore."

The words are not so kind, but his voice is softer than usual. It's not that he doesn't understand that feeling at all. He met it long ago.

"Listen to me, nobody ever died from failing a test, so please get your little head in order."

With those words he bends slightly to carefully take the arms of s/o, to help them get up. It's a gentle touch to be Leona's touch.

He gently drives s/o back lean against the tree trunk and then, as if he always does, sits next to them, leaning over the study book to see the topic addressed.

"What are your problems? It seems to me that you answer the questions well ..." he doesn't wait for the sobs of s/o to subside completely, he let them explain their problems to him with a broken voice, but he remains patient, even if he can't help yawning occasionally or nodding boredly.

But on the other hand, at the end of the day he heard over thirty pages of ancient curses repeated aloud, he is not to blame. In truth, his job is to take care of the puppies, isn't it?

"You will pass it for sure, and you will pass the rest too, so stop worrying."

With one last big yawn Leona gets up, and after having playfully stroked s/o's head he goes towards the school.

It is strange, even if the tests have not passed yet, s/o feel more calm, right?

They smile, and before Leona disappears from view they turn to him with a new charge of energy: "Tomorrow I will buy you lunch for you!"

Azul Ashengrotto

· S/o spend a lot of time at the Monster Lounge during the testing period. The tension they feel about this is such a lot that they do everything to try to relieve it a little.

· The local staff don't mind; they are a polite and kind person. Even if they spend a lot of time there, it's not a problem. In addition, they never forget to bring a good income to the club, whether they are there with friends or in solitude.

· But the closer the test time approaches, the more problems in the s/o's head begin to weigh and their insecurities surface. They feel a total nullity. They will never be able to overcome everything. Never. All the commitments accumulate in a single suffocating week that will never end. They hate it, they can never do it.

· S/o don't know, but their long visits have not left Octavinelle's dorm leader indifferent. He always has an eye for them, they are loyal customers after all.

· Although he will not admit it, but Azul also has a certain eye for certain attitudes. He knows the insecurity and perceives it in the gaze of s/o and in their tired body, of those who cannot rest well at night because of a thousand thoughts.

Is the day before the test most hated by s/o. They studied a lot, but their mind refused to learn. They have faced a thousand chores in the last few days, Grim more than once had put them in trouble, and now they no longer feel the strength. And everything has yet to begin.

There is no way that they can pass tomorrow's test, nor the others, nor that they can satisfy everyone and fulfill all their duties. How can one person do everything? They are nothing but a failure.

In the Monster Lounge s/o hoped to forget this fear that lurked in their stomach, but it was useless.

Even sitting at the table in front of a glass and two empty cups their lips continue to try to repeat what they need to know, and every time the words are missing panic increases dramatically.

At the last block s/o they can no longer bear themselves, and covering their faces with their hands they collapse into a silent cry. If they could, they would like to disappear from there.

"We're going to close." The voice of the founder of the place only worsens the situation.

Oh no, what are they up to? Raising their faces in terror, they realize that they are the only ones left in there.

They would like to apologize and rush out, but terror and tears prevent them.

The arms return to cover the face while they curl up on the table, unable to do anything else. They would like to scream, but they cannot, they are already pathetic like this.

"Oh dear, I can't let a customer react like this in my cafe." His voice is quiet, perhaps even a little amused as he sits next to the sad trembling figure.

His proximity makes s/o feel even more oppressed. Being under the eyes of others is the worst thing that could have happened at that time, yet the crying only becomes louder.

What will happen? He will propose them a kind of deal? Will he blackmail them? Or will he just laugh at them?

"Please don't say anything! Pretend I don't exist! I beg you ... I can't do it! I can't do it!"

The words from their lips come out like a prayer, but Azul smiles as if nothing had happened.

"Come on, why don't you explain to me what reduced you to such a pitiful state? I'm not bad at helping people."

He has already heard them, he knows what was whispering coming out of their lips. So even if they don't answer his question, he kindly hands them the handkerchief.

"Let's make a deal between us. I will help you study, so that at the end of this horrendous session you have passed all the written tests."

The eyes of s/o open in panic. No no no, they can't stand it. What will he ever ask? To work there? They could never! They are not capable enough.

But before s/o can open his mouth to refuse Azul laughs, simply messing up their hair. His face seems decidedly amused, even pleased.

"Don't make that scared face, you don't need it. I wouldn't mind if you just sat a little near the counter. You know, I'm sure you would bring more money than you already do."

Before s/o can even accept, the hated test subject book is already open on the table in front of them. Azul holds the sign with his finger.

"Obviously this if you pass the test, but believe me, you just need not to panic. I know you can do it."

#twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #leona kingscholar #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #twst azul #leona kingscholar x reader #twst x reader #twst leona #twst riddle #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #request

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petroltogo · 3 years

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full disclosure, this got complete out of control (you’ll see that below the cut) and for those who prefer to read longer texts elsewhere I also posted the full story on AO3. @hopeswriting I hope you like it!

So Hana takes a step back. She let the stress of being field-active, of having to cover for Sawada and keeping their squad upright run her down and never once took a moment to breathe and think. It worked, for a time, but it can’t work forever. Hana won’t be around forever to pick up Mochida’s slack when he’s hesitating, to push Sawada down when he gets ideas about helping, to shoot down Miura’s more crazed ideas that she makes sound horrifyingly reasonable.

In other words, she needs to start working on a solution instead of being the solution. Which means approach the problem in a new way.

Since Vongola Inc.’s bureaucracy is as nightmare-inducing as Hana expected it to be, getting another member assigned to their squad is a spectacular failure. [Hana cannot believe the bullheadedness of people who have never even seen a gun in real life but somehow think they can tell her what she does and doesn’t need in a fight.] Unsurprising but it was worth a try.

Which brings Hana to Plan B: Get Sawada off the squad. He’s spent the past two and a half months flapping around on the field like a fish who’s jumped out of an aquarium only to realize that he does, indeed, need water to survive. He’s panicked and cried and thrown up [in Sawada’s defense, they all have, but unlike Sawada they usually manage to control themselves until after the crisis is over] — in short, he’s had his fun.

It’s time to end this.

[continues under the cut]

Since the last time Hana tried to hammer a rational thought into Sawada’s brain, she’s payed attention and realized that Sawada won’t ever get off his ass and do something to improve his life if the only thing to be gained is more happiness and less lethal danger for himself. Which, frankly, is a thought that boggles her mind but alright.

If Sawada refuses to make decent life choices, Hana will make one for him. She doesn’t usually meddle like this, this is 100% Kyouko’s bad influence on her, but Hana has spent too many months keeping this idiot alive. He’s not gonna die on her now.

So Hana files the transfer papers for Sawada.

She does it properly too. Researches Sawada’s high school grades — which range from passable to terrible, how did he make it into the Vongola Inc. attack squad training in the first place? — and interests — of which there are barely any, seriously, does this guy not have a life? — and pays attention to Sawada in action. Most of the time that’s like watching an avalanche come down on top of you in slow motion, but there are parts of their work where Sawada doesn't hold them back. Even — dare she say it — makes himself useful. Like the whole talking to witnesses and calming survivors down part. Especially when there are children. Sawada is awkward and too sensitive and gets too restless around the adults, but with children he’s actually— Not bad.

Based on those same observations, Hana fills out the appropriate forms to get Sawada transferred to Human Resources. Sawada will be fine there. Maybe even do well. Not that he could do any worse than an attack squad but whatever.

The request is denied.

Transfer requests out of attack squads aren’t denied. No one wants a well-armed operative who doesn’t feel stable and confident that they can handle their job running around.

At this point Hana has repeated the phrase so often, the words have lost all meaning, but in the face of such a monumental, senseless idiocy it bears repeating: What the fuck, Vongola.

Practice doesn’t make perfect but it does make better.

A week passes and then another one. With every successful and unsuccessful mission that they survive together, they get better. Their teamwork improves, their instincts sharpen, they learn to play off each other. They learn to navigate around Sawada. And even Sawada does improve.

He doesn’t panic as much or as obviously anymore. He’s getting better at not getting in the way. He’s getting decent at hand-to-hand combat, even if he sucks at applying those same skills in an actual battle. Hana still isn’t happy to have him at her back, but she can trust him not to bowl her over from behind anymore. And besides they all do their best to keep him out of the actual fights whenever possible. It’s progress.

Not enough but it is what it is.

In the end. It’s not unexpected. It’s the opposite of unexpected and even that doesn’t seem a strong enough word for it. Because Hana is a planner at heart. She’s imagined this very outcome too often to be slowed down by shock or surprise now that it's actually happening.

[Numbers don’t lie. They can’t show the truth but they reflect trends and probabilities and just because every human being thinks they are the exception doesn’t make it true. Numbers don’t work that way and exceptions mean there’s a majority there whose story is told in those very same statistics.]

Hana knows what it means to walk into a battle with a squad member that can’t handle themselves by her side. She’s gone over the dangers too many times to count at this point, both inside her head and out loud. They all have. They’ve been doing this job for four months and by some miracle they’ve been managing, but beginner’s luck only holds out for so long.

It’s a bad mission.

Not their first one. They’ve already had close calls — too many of those — have gotten injured, hell, Sawada has even gotten himself kidnapped once. None of that knowledge helps prepare them for another once though. None of those past terrors make it any easier to remain calm and level-headed in the heat of the moment.

Most importantly none of it prepares Hana for a super who can control electricity. Whose powers apparently aren’t stopped by their uniforms, going by the charred body of what used to be one of her squad member that's lying crumbled on the other side of the room. [What does it say about her, about this squad that Hana’s first hysterical thought when she watched Nakamura go down screaming is 'At least it wasn’t Sawada’s fault.'?]

Communications are down, she’s cut off from possible reinforcements, trapped somewhere in the lower levels of the building. She doesn’t have any smoke bombs left, doesn't have a paralyzer, doesn’t have an exit and her only backup now that Nakamura is dead is Sawada. Sawada who is cowering in the corner furthest away from her and Nakamura's body, back pressed so hard against the wall he’ll have bruises if he survives this, wild, panicked eyes fixated on the crazed super who’s staring at him like Sawada is the fucking North star.

Or his next meal, going by Sawada’s luck.

Hana’s drawn her gun like Sawada should’ve because he’s armed, Hana knows he’s armed. She can see the gun from across the room. And Sawada isn’t fucking drawing it.

"Stay back!" she calls out towards the super who's glazed eyes remain fixed on Sawada. "Or I’ll shoot!"

Sawada still isn’t moving. The lightning guy is moving slowly, a demented grin on his lips, blood caking the left half of his face. And Sawada isn’t fucking moving. Not to defend himself. Not to run over and seek cover behind Hana, where she could fucking reach and protect him.

"Why are you so surprised?" Hana can almost hear Kyouko’s voice ask her, curiously puzzled. "You always knew he would be a liability."

Hana fires a warning bullet, half hoping the insane super will miraculously flinch back and let himself be arrested, half praying it will shake some sense into Sawada. Both is too much to ask and when lightening guy takes another step, Hana knows she’s out of time.

He’s too close to Sawada. All he needed to burn Nakamura alive was one touch. [The room is still echoing with his screams. Or is that only in her head?]

Hana doesn't kid herself: She's known how this story would end from the start.

She shoots.

[As the daughter of a lawyer and a librarian who fell in love over their shared passion for justice in a society that sorely lacked it, Hana didn’t grow up with the system-friendly propaganda her classmates were fed every day. She grew up with heated arguments over human rights over the dinner table, with long-winded discussions about the failures of the system and where and how to best address them.

Hana didn’t grow up glorifying supervillain deaths and she never, ever wanted to take a life. There is a reason why Hana planned to stay no longer than six months with her squad and it’s a simple one: Hana never wanted to become a killer.

But who does?]

Kurokawa Hana has been an active Vongola Inc. operative on an attack squad for four months, three weeks and six days when she kills René Moretti during a sanctioned mission with a clean headshot.

The official investigation is an open and shut case.

A month after the incident and three weeks into her mandatory therapy, Kurokawa Hana is cleared for the field once more.

Mandatory therapy is a joke. Hana isn’t going to let a therapist on Vongola Inc.’s payroll get into her head and brainwash her into believing killing isn’t a problem as long as it is for the organization’s gain, thank you very much.

[That’s not quite what the woman said but Hana can read between the lines and even if she couldn’t, she doesn’t trust Vongola. How could she, at this point?]

But Hana is smart and resourceful and has supportive parents who get in touch with some old friends and give her the contact of a psychologist that at least won’t have divided loyalties from the get go. So Hana goes and hopes it’ll help.

In the meantime, she pretends Sawada doesn’t exist.

[He doesn’t thank her. The one time he approaches her, he stutters out an apology of all things as though that would somehow erase the brain splatters Hana can still see behind her closed eyelids. She doesn’t snap and she doesn’t kick him out of a window because Hana is better than that.

She grits her teeth and turns on her heels and locks herself into the bathroom and smashes the mirror until her knuckles are bloody and there are glass shards sticking out of her skin and the screams inside her head finally shut up because Hana is a murderer and nothing anyone does will ever erase that.

The worst part of it is that she doesn’t feel guilty about the life she took. Only grieves for what she broke within herself.]

Here’s one truth Hana has to live with every day: She has taken a man’s life. [And it was easy.]

Here’s another one: If she’d been in that room with anyone on her squad other than Sawada, she wouldn’t have had to.

Sawada stays out of her way whenever possible and that’s the way Hana likes it. It doesn’t help and at some point she grows used to the bitterness that still twists her insides up into knots at irregular moments when she catches sight of him, but she can bear to look at him again, to give commands and order him to back up and cuss him out for breaking the coffee machine without actually murdering him.

Which she could do. She’s done it once already after all.

That first time is not the last time. Of course it isn’t. The longer she stays in the field, the more chances there are for something to go wrong and probability theory alone will tell you that sooner or later Hana will find herself in a similar situation, having to make the same choice.

Not every person Hana shoots is to protect Sawada. Some are to protect a civilian or even herself. Does that make it better?

Hana doubts it, but she realizes she doesn’t truly know.

[If there’s one thing she’s learned in the last month and a half, it’s that Hana is a good killer. Enough conscience not to turn a machine gun onto a crowd of civilians or throw a child off a building, but not enough to feel bad about snuffing a stranger’s life out of existence. Just the way Vongola likes its operatives.

Hana never pictured herself in this gritty, bloody world of field work, never wanted to be, but she makes herself at home all the same.]

One slow Wednesday morning while cleaning up the mess on her desk, Hana stumbles upon the transfer papers she never handed in. They’re filled out already, even the signature is already in place. Have been for — over a year now, that’s how long it’s been. Back when she first planned out every step of her career at Vongola Inc.

Staring down at her own handwriting that reads like a strangers, Hana considers. She could still hand them in, she supposes. Get transferred to the legal department just like she planned. What’s a delay of a few months?

There’s no reason to think that she couldn’t do the job. In fact, Hana is sure she’d be good. Great even. Certainly she’d make a better lawyer than a field operative.

"Kurokawa, you coming?" Mochida calls from the briefing room. The rising impatience indicates it’s not the first time he’s called her and a glance at the clock tells Hana their daily team meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago.

"Yeah, one moment."

She gets up. Takes one last glance at those papers. Throws them in the rubbish bin underneath her desk and doesn’t look back as she crosses the room in sharp, determined steps. There’s no point to it.

[What she wanted to protect when she made those plans is already lost. And Hana might be a better lawyer but she’s a decent operative. She’s keeping her squad members alive, keeping Sawada alive, which is an achievement all on its own.

She’s already taken lives for the sake of her team, for the sake of the mission even. What’s a few more?]

In a strange way it makes almost sense. [Out of the two of them, Kyouko is the villain. But it’s Hana who’s always flirted with the darkness looming at the edge of every super’s consciousness. It’s Hana who’s cut out to be a monster.]

"Why are you here?" Hana asks Sawada on a whim, roughly a year and a half after they were first assigned to the same squad. There’s no deep motivation or reason, not even any real curiosity.

Sawada blinks stupidly at her. "You said the first one to go home and leave you alone with this tower of paperwork would be dangling from the Vongola sign on top of this building by a rope made out of their own entrails."

Hana rolls her eyes. "I meant why did you join an attack squad." You idiot, she almost tacks on but leaves it unspoken in the end. It’s nothing Sawada hasn’t heard before. Damn she needs coffee if her tongue is getting away with her again. It’s not even two in the morning yet.

"Huh?"

Sawada looks honest to god confused. He’s lucky that punching him would require too much effort. Now that Hana thinks about it, so would getting worked up.

"I mean," she says very, very slowly, "that you are the least violent person I’ve ever met, Sawada. You’re a terrible field operative. So why haven’t you quit and applied for something else?"

Sawada stares at her with those illogically huge eyes that are supposedly cute — if Kyouko is to be believed — but that Hana finds off-putting. Possibly because they look at her like that all the time. "Oh." Sawada says as though none of what Hana has just said ever occurred to him. "I’m terrible at everything. And Vongola Inc. were the only ones who offered me a job. So." He shrugs.

Which. Hana isn’t even gonna touch that one. Nope.

"Just get the damn coffee, Sawada," she groans and hopes she’ll have forgotten this conversation in the morning.

[She doesn’t know what she’d hoped to find here, what kind of revelation she’d been waiting for but the worst self-esteem in the history of self-esteem hadn’t been it. If she thinks about the fact that this entire shit-show could’ve been avoided if someone had given Sawada a proper motivational speech as a child, she is gonna burn something.

Probably Vongola Inc.]

[On bad days, Hana cancels her coffee and cake time with Kyouko, doesn’t look at Sawada unless it is to glower and locks herself into an empty briefing room or her own apartment whenever possible. Her hands don’t shake when she holds a gun or a knife or a rope — they never do — but sometimes when she catches sight of her reflection she breaks it until it breaks her.

On bad days, catching sight of Sawada makes Hana feel every drop of blood drying on her hands, chunks of skin getting caught under her nails, gun powder sticking to her fingers. On bad days, she hates Sawada for what he’s made her become.]

By the time they’ve all been working together as an active squad for two years, every member of the team except Sawada has become a killer.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t acknowledge it.

[The shots one of them took so Sawada wouldn’t have to — because he wouldn’t have. They don’t even send him out with a gun anymore because what’s the point of handing someone a weapon they refuse to use? The shots they took to save him. The tasks Mochida assignes specifically so Sawada won't have to see some of the worst they’ve had to face, won't be forced to make choices he isn't prepared for and has too much heart to make. The missions he’s been put on desk duty for that no one else came out of unscratched. It's not even always about blood and death, is the funny thing. There’s so many things worse than murder.]

There’s nothing to talk about.

[On good days, Hana is grateful that it was her behind that trigger. Because even at her worst she’s never wanted Sawada dead.

And. Being a killer suits her, them. That's why they were chosen after all. That's why they qualified. That's why Sawada should've never passed his entrance exam. And perhaps one day Hana will make her peace with that knowledge. But the unvoiced issue remains: Sawada isn’t like them. Sawada cares in ways no one on the squad does, no one on any attack squad should, and— It’s not concern that compels Hana to shield him. It’s certainly not empathy. It’s self-preservation.]

Sawada doesn’t thank her for any of the lives she takes on his behalf. Hana doesn’t expect him to. She doesn’t think he understands what she’s protecting him from and a large part of her — a part that pulls the trigger without flinching, that has nightmares about Nakamura’s burned corpse, the smell of his flesh, but never about the man she killed — hopes he never will.

[It’s not the life Kurokawa Hana thought she would want, certainly not the life she planned, but most of her original squad is still alive, Sawada is still alive, even though Hana still doesn’t know who within Vongola is moving against him. And though Sawada is still useless, he’s calmed down a lot over the past two years. Could almost be classified as an asset on his rare good day.

And it’s not always great, not even always good, but. It is.]

aaand i think that concludes hana’s POV. if you have any further questions though (or if there’s other characters you’d like to see more of, don’t hesitate to let me know in a comment or an ask)!

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thominho-incorrectquotes · 3 years

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Important

This is my entry for Thominho Week 2020, Day 3 “College AU” (alternative prompt)

Characters: Thomas x Minho

2396 words

Tags: College Au, Modern Au, Mention of child abuse, Angst with happy ending, Mutual pining, Oblivious Thomas, Jealous Minho

Summary: “You’ll have to talk to him one day soon” Teresa repeated for the umpteenth time. “And you’ll have to go back to your dorm, you cannot sleep on the floor of my room for the rest of the semester.” Thomas groaned. He knew it.Few months ago, Thomas realized that the feelings he had for his best friend weren’t just platonic. It had hit him, suddenly, without even giving him a moment to think about it. He was madly in love with Minho.

You can also read it on AO3 and ff.net

________________________

“You’ll have to talk to him one day soon” Teresa repeated for the umpteenth time. “And you’ll have to go back to your dorm, you cannot sleep on the floor of my room for the rest of the semester.”

Thomas groaned. He knew it.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to. But how could he make up with Minho? It felt impossible.

Few months ago, Thomas realized that the feelings he had for his best friend weren’t just platonic. It had hit him, suddenly, without even giving him a moment to think about it.

He was madly in love with Minho.

Ever since High School, where they met for the first time, the Korean has been his best friend. They were that inseparable pair that everyone envied. Their friendship was just that strong. They were always there for each other, even in the worst moments, which Thomas had a lot. But Minho always supported him.

They were now in their second year of University. They obviously shared a dorm room and both took part in the Track team as they both loved running. They spent even more time together because of this, sometimes staying up all night talking or watching movies on Minho’s computer, studying together in the library, showering together in the changing room, going to parties together… Seeing them alone was unusual. Their friends often joked that they sometimes looked like an old couple.

However, when Thomas realized he fancied his best friend in a way that wasn’t just friendly, he started felling nervous around Minho. He would flinch a bit when his friend put his arms around his shoulders, as he was used to, and would blush whenever he was around. Even just a small smile directed at him gave Thomas butterflies.

And soon enough, his heart started aching every time he looked at his best friend. Because he knew they will only be that: best friend. One day, Minho would find someone and Thomas would have to watch them be happily forever in love. It made him cry every time he thought about it.

But point is, after the realization that he was in love with the person that meant the most to him - really, he should have realized it sooner, thinking about it - , he just didn’t know how to act around Minho. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship, but he just couldn’t be next to his friend without feeling all sort of things.

He told Teresa about his all this. He couldn’t talk about it with Newt, the guy would just go tell Minho, laughing is ass off. So he went to Teresa. She became his friend in his first year in university even though the Asian never liked her.

Overtime, he spent more and more time with her. It was easier for him, just to be away a bit from his best friend for a bit, it gave his heart a break. However, Minho noticed the distance between them and confronted Thomas about it few days ago.

“You don’t even talk to me anymore!” Minho had yelled. They had been arguing for minutes now, ever since Thomas came back to their room after eating with Teresa. “You avoid me and act like we don’t even know each other!”

“You know that’s not true!” Thomas argued back “We’re like always together!”

“Not for the past weeks.” The Asian had left out a sigh of frustration, running his hand on his head, ruining the perfect dark hair. “If I did something that pissed you off, just tell me dude!”

“You did nothing!”

“Than what is it!?” Minho was getting more and more frustrated. Thomas of course knew about the hot temper of his best friend, but it had never been directed towards him. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He couldn’t tell Minho he was in love him.

“I-I..”

“See, you don’t even have an explanation! If you don’t like me anymore, please tell me!”

“No it’s not..”

“Or is it that your girlfriend Teresa takes so much of your time that you can’t even have time for me?” Minho interrupted him.

“She’s not…”

“I don’t wanna know Thomas” he cut him again, before sighing sadly. “I guess I’m not that important to you anymore.”

“Min it’s not- ”

“Don’t ‘Min’ me okay. I’m done. Go see your bitch or something, but leave. I don’t want to see you.”

“Teresa is not a bitch.” Now Thomas was angry too. Minho was acting like an asshole right now and didn’t even let him talk. He started packing his backpack with some clothes, desperate to leave the room as soon as possible. He didn’t want the Korean to see him crying. His heart was clenching in pain; his best friend was rejecting him.

“What are you doing?” Minho asked.

“Leaving, like you asked me to.”

“Tommy I wasn’t seri- “

“Slim it.”

That was the last thing Thomas said to his friend before leaving, tears rolling on his cheeks.

He had went to Teresa and cried in her arms the whole night. He was sure that Minho hated him now. He could have went to Alby and Newt’s room, but since they were also friend with the runner, it felt wrong. And part of him wanted to piss off Minho for being such an ass.

“You need to tell him how you feel Tom” Teresa told him again. “You’re destroying your friendship by keeping this to yourself.”

“I’ll ruin it anyway if I tell him.”

“You don’t know that.”

Thomas sighed. He really didn’t know what to do. His friendship with Minho was the most important thing for him. He couldn’t imagine a world without the other man in it. Telling his friend he wanted more… it could go so wrong. He didn’t know if he could do it.

“But anyway, you have to go back to your room” Teresa continued. “You have an exam tomorrow and it’s not on my floor that you’re going to have a good night’s sleep.”

“I could sleep with you” he proposed, even if he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, no chance.” Teresa sighed “I’m serious Tom, at least go sleep in your bed tonight and if the situation with Minho doesn’t get better I guess I’ll make you some place.”

“Ok” he accepted, defeated.

He reluctantly started packing his stuff, trying to prepare mentally to see Minho again. What was he going to say? What he going to ignore him? Thomas didn’t think he would survive a silent treatment from his best friend. Were they still even friend?

Once he was ready to leave, Teresa came to hug him.

“It’s gonna be fine Tom” she reassured him. “I’m sure of it. Now go, it’s getting late.”

Thomas gave her a small smile before leaving.

On his way back, his stress was just going up every second. His heart was aching to see Minho again, but at the same time he dreaded it. Sooner that he would have liked, he was in front of his room door. Sighing, he unlooked it, getting ready for what was about to come.

The moment he entered, he felt two eyes staring at him.

“Where were you?” Minho asked. His tone sounded annoyed. Maybe there was also a bit of concern into it.

But Thomas kept his lips shut, now knowing what to respond. He was in fact too shock to see the state his friend was in. Minho’s perfect hair was all messed up, he wore a baggy shirt – which never happened, he liked showing off his body too much – and his eyes were all red and puffy and even dark circles were showing up under them.

Well, Thomas couldn’t judge, his own appearance wasn’t really better.

“Teresa” The Asian answered for him. “I should have guess.”

Surprisingly, his tone wasn’t harsh or even accusing, as the brunet had expected. It sounded defeated. And sad. Thomas’s heart ached even more.

“Min..”

“No.”

The raven-haired man turned away and started getting ready to sleep, ignoring his friend still standing in the door frame.

Silent treatment it is.

Thomas sighed softly. It was late anyway, he didn’t have the energy to try convincing stubborn king Minho to talk to him. Maybe tomorrow.

He quickly prepared himself to go to bed, trying not to think too much of the other man already deep into his blankets. He was sure he was going to cry, again, if he did.

He still cried himself to sleep that night.

He woke up few hours later, because of another nightmare. He often had them, even if the last one was a month ago. He sat up in bed, trying to calm his breathing while fighting the images that were still invading his mind. It had been a particularly horrible one.

“Your dad again?”

Thomas jumped at the sudden voice. He turned to see Minho looking at him, sleepiness still visible on his face.

Of course. Ever since they started sharing a room together, the Asian developed this strange sixth sense which allowed him to wake up every time the brunet had a nightmare.

“Yeah, my dad…”

It wasn’t actually weird really, that Minho had this weird super power. He had been there when he and Thomas went to the police station to file a complaint against Janson Murphy, the boy’s father, back in High School. Janson was this abusive man who was always drunk and who took his anger on his only son, beating him almost every night. His mom could only watch in horror.

Minho had noticed the bruises on his best friend’s body. He convinced him to go seek help. He gave Thomas courage to stand up against his father. He had been there during the trial. He had been there when Janson was sent to prison. He had been there when the boy needed someone to rely on.

And he has always been there every night Thomas woke up because of yet another nightmare. And as Minho looked at him with concern eyes, he was reminded once again of the importance of his best friend in his life.

Said best friend who was getting out of his bed to slip into Thomas’s.

“What are you doing?”

“We both know you won’t be able to go back to sleep if I’m not there” the young man explained. Of course Thomas knew it. Whenever he had a nightmare, Minho would always sleep with him until morning. The buff arms and muscled chest were just that comforting. Furthermore, the other’s presence was something he craved in those moments, as if it was his younger self who once again need his best friend to help him against his dad.

“And you have an exam tomorrow, you need sleep” Minho added.

He remembered.

Why was Minho so considerate? Why was he so attentive? It was overwhelming.

As Thomas was drowning in different emotions, the other boy pulled him so his chest, laying him back down. The brunet began sobbing softly his best friend’s arms.

“I’m sorry” the Korean said. “I acted like an asshole.”

Thomas stayed silent, but nuzzled deeper into the warm body.

“I-I…”

Minho was nervous? Minho was never nervous. This was weird.

“I-I’m… I’m jealous” he admitted. At that, Thomas lifted his head and looked at his friend in shock.

“What?”

“I know, I… if you’re happy with Teresa, I guess I should be happy for you, but I can’t help feeling jealous…”

“Wait what? I’m not with Teresa, she’s just a friend” Thomas defended, surprised by Minho’s comment.

“What?” It was now also surprised. “But you’re spending more time with her then me now.”

“It’s because…” Should he say it? But then, something clicked. “Wait, you were jealous… because… you want to… be with me?”

“Yeah shank, I’m in love with you” Minho replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “All the flirting I did throughout all those years really went over your head?”

Oh. So all those compliments, all this touching, this closeness they had… Everything made sense now.

Happiness started spreading in his body and before he could stop himself, Thomas kissed his best friend. He immediately felt butterflies flying in his stomach and went to grab the raven hair, pressing the other man closer to him, already wanting more.

Minho quickly responded, capturing the brunet’s bottom lips between his own before diving into the kiss more, completely loosing himself into it. He had his arms wrapped tightly around Thomas and honestly? This was just the best feeling in the world, having the boy he loved all for himself. He could have stayed like this forever.

They deepened the kiss even more, moaning into it as their tongues danced with each other. They had wanted to do that for so long and now? They just never wanted to stop.

Breath was however becoming short and they had to separate their lips. Thomas had the happiest smile on his face and a tear was shining in the corner of his eye.

“I’m in love with you too’ he whispered, afraid of ruining the atmosphere they were in if he spoke to loud. “I realized it few months ago.”

“Only few months ago?” Minho replied softly, smirking, resulting in Thomas lightly slapping on the chest. “I’m joking. But is it why you’ve been acting weird?”

“Yeah, I just… didn’t know how to act around you anymore” the brunet explained, avoiding the Asian’s gaze in slight embarrassment. “I went to Teresa to talk about how I feel about you…”

“We’re really dumb shanks” Minho laughed.

“Yeah, we are.”

Thomas chuckled before he went to kiss his best friend again, but was stop before he could put their lips together by a finger on his mouth.

“As much as I would love spending the night making out with you, you need rest. We’ll have plenty of time of time after your exam tomorrow to do that.”

The brunet pouted, but he knew his friend was right.

“And I’m gonna take you on a date. How does that sound?”

“It sounds amazing” he smiled before snuggling in Minho’s warm chest, making himself comfortable. He soon felt asleep, Minho’s heartbeats as a soft melody.

He was woke up few hours later by light kisses on his noses, given by his boyfriend.

_______________________

I'm actualy pretty with this one, I think it's my favorite one yet.

Hope you enjoyed it!

#Thominho Week 2020 #tmwd3 #college au #alt #modern au #mention of child abuse #fanfiction #thominho fanfic #thomas #the maze runner #maze runner thomas #tmr thomas #thominho #minho #maze runner minho #thomas and minho #tmr minho #tmr fanfiction

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faithfulcat111 · 6 years

Text

Just Shapes - Chapter 11

Day 11 (Saturday)

RomanoTaco: hey pat, you ok? PattyCake: ya lo wsnt to mad RomanoTaco: did you tell him? PattyCake: most of it RomanoTaco: im gonna go w verg 2day PattyCake: ok

LBerry: Planets are to be pitied as they cannot know how big and cool they are.

Roman managed to slip out of the house with minimal berating from his mom about getting in so late, which he chalked up to a miracle in and of itself. He couldn’t find Elliott or Dr Picani during his late afternoon wanderings, but he did find Talyn back up on the roofs and the two quickly started making there way to the tracks with some more tin soldiers for Talyn to destroy. As they arrived and got into position, Talyn looked over at him and said, “You look horrible. Like you have been through way too many wash cycles, Killer.” Roman rolled his eyes, pulling up his legs and waiting for the train to pass before responding, “Look, it’s been a long week.” “Yeah, how much sleep did ya get last night?” Talyn challenged. Roman furrowed his brow as he tried to remember when exactly he went to bed, “I think it was 14 hours. So, less than usual.” Talyn gave some sort of indistinguishable sound of surprise and Roman looked over at them in confusion. “14 hours is less than usual?” Talyn gasped. “Dude, I’m lucky if I hit five.” Roman turned his head away before answering, “Look, I don’t rest well when I sleep. I feel more rested the more I get because of my nightmares.” Talyn hummed in agreement, “Now, nightmares I can understand. But you really shouldn’t be sleeping for 14 or however many hours you do sleep.” Roman didn’t answer, choosing to just lay there as the train passed by. Once it did, he chose to change the subject, “You know what Possum Springs is lacking?” “Wifi? Cell service? Any technology post-1980’s? A public pool?” “All of those, yes. But I was thinking that what Possum Springs is really lacking is-” Roman paused for dramatic effect, “-a serial killer!” Talyn raised a carefully coloured eyebrow at him, “Dude, don’t you count?” Roman huffed, “No, not me! A real bonafide killer who, you know, wants to kill people.” “Well, you did try to kill someone,” Talyn tried to point out. “No, I didn’t,” Roman turned his head away. “People think you did.” “I wasn’t trying to kill him. It was just a thing that happened,” Roman snapped, his voice trailing off as another train came by. Once it passed, Roman stood up and started to walk away. “Wait, where are you going?” Talyn called after him. “Don’t you want to see the monsters?” Roman turned back to them with a sad smile, “No thanks. I’m gonna go find my own.” Talyn’s whole face melted into one of confusion and horror. “Be safe, Talyn. Please,” Roman turned and walked away, not entirely surprised when Talyn didn’t come running after him. After all, he had given them no reason to.

Roman found Virgil at the Ole’ Pickaxe, giving about a hundred different warnings to his employee, Corbin, about what he would do if he came back and found even one part of the store out of place. Roman was impressed that Corbin’s face managed to stay fairly impassive through the whole exchange, only the slightest inkling of worry etching on his brow. As soon as Roman and Virgil finally left, Virgil lit up a cigarette and said, blowing the smoke into the air, “I hope I didn’t terrify him too bad. He’s a good employee.” Roman frowned, “He didn’t look hardly scared to me.” Virgil smirked as he unlocked the car, “Oh, he was freaking terrified. Corbin’s just really good at hiding it. Now buckle up, it’s a long drive.” “How long?” Roman asked as he shut his door. “90 minutes give or take, depending on how many people are out on the road,” Virgil said, snuffing out his cigarette before climbing in himself. Virgil was right, it was a long drive. Roman was extremely tired still, so he dozed on and off while Virgil blared loud music from the stereo. It was only when they pulled into a small town that Virgil turned the music down and Roman started to pay attention to the town. “I’ve never been to Gainesville before?” Virgil took another puff of the cigarette he was smoking, “Yeah, it is kinda small compared to wherever you went to school, but it has a university. Nice college town. Maybe you should have come here, then you wouldn’t have been so far away.” Roman grunted, “Yeah, maybe. Who do you even know here though?” “Old friend from high school, you probably don’t know her,” Virgil said as he started to pull into an open spot on the side of the street. “Really?” Roman questioned. When Virgil didn’t respond, Roman huffed and turned to look back out the window. He noticed the sign of one of the storefronts, “Hey, look! They have a scouts program here! Remember when we were in that.” Virgil hummed as he stepped out of the car, “Yeah, that’s where we met.” “Why did you even pick me out of all people to hang out with there?” Roman asked, closing his door behind him. “I started hanging with you cause I was new and you seemed smart and fun,” Virgil explained. Roman turned to him, “Well, what am I now?” “Fun,” Virgil deadpanned. “I hate how you keep saying I’m not smart,” Roman huffed, following Virgil who had started walking down the street. “Sorry,” Virgil said with a smirk. “I’m mostly kidding.” “Mostly?” Roman questioned but didn’t get a chance to continue as Virgil quickly snuffed out his cigarette, returned the other half to his case, and started down a set of stairs. Roman quickly scrambled after him, following him into what seemed to be a basement bar. A girl with short brown hair was standing at the bottom of the stairs, peering up with a glass bottle in her hands. As soon as she recognized Virgil, she exclaimed, “Verge! Where have you been? I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it!” Roman peered around Virgil as he said, “Yeah, sorry about that.” The girl laughed, “Dude, it’s no issue. But I have a few possible prospects and I didn’t want to let that go to waste. Boy, you reek of cigarette smoke!” “This whole place does,” Virgil snarked, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Yeah, but it is wafting off of you. I thought you said you were gonna cut back and try to- who is this?” the girl had finally noticed Roman and was now glaring at him. Roman tried for a nice smile, holding out a hand, “Hi, I’m Ro-” “Everyone knows who you are, Roman Sanders,” the girl crossed her arms, one long fingernail against her bottle. “Oh, um,” Roman pulled his hand back as he struggled to find some way to respond to that. “Valerie,” Virgil cautioned. “I brought him. Now, what is the plan?” Valerie narrowed her eyes before turning to Virgil, “Dancing first. When the guys I have my eye on come back, then we move in.” “Are you sure?” Virgil asked, his voice dropping more and more into his deadpan. “Now, Verge, have I ever let you down before?” “Well, there was that one debacle with the-” “Other than that incident we never speak of,” Valerie cut him off. Virgil sighed then shook his head. “Good, let’s go.” “Man, she is intense,” Roman whispered to Virgil as they followed her out to the dance floor. “Yeah, well, she is just looking out for me. She was my only friend in high school,” Virgil said. Roman stopped as the reminder hit him, letting Virgil go slightly out in front of him before following once again. They weren’t out on the dance floor for very long before Valerie stopped them and pointed back towards the entrance. “I see them. Let’s go,” she grabbed Virgil’s hand and made to pull him towards whomever she had her targets set on, but Virgil dug in his heels quickly. He looked back at Roman, “You’ll be okay, right?” “Yeah, I’ll come find you when I’m done dancing,” Roman nodded. “Okay, no alcohol, remember.” And with that, Virgil was gone, following Valerie through the crowd. Roman continued to dance for a while but was beginning to think that he should get a drink when he spotted someone leaning against the wall. He slowly walked over greeting them with a loud hi. The mysterious person looked over at him, their piercing blue eyes staring directly at him from under their fluffy blue bangs, “Hey.” “Um, do I know you?” Roman asked, vaguely noticing a hint of black ink peeking out from under the person’s scarf. “Nope,” the person said, a smile on their face. “What’s your name?” “Roman. Roman Sanders,” he introduced himself with a slight bow. “Roman,” they repeated. “I like it. Sounds like it could be royalty if your last name was King or Prince.” Roman laughed, “Nope. But I could be a witch for all you know. Maybe I have hexed you with my name.” The undeniably cute person laughed in response, a dimple appearing in their right cheek, “Well, Roman Sanders. What’s your story?” Roman thought for a long moment. He could lie, but this cute girl, boy? Whatever they were, he just didn’t feel like lying to them. “I’m a recent college dropout,” he explained. “I am chasing a ghost or it is chasing me, I’m not really sure. I’ve had these dreams that I’m not sure were dreams, more like jumbled bits of history. I think I met god, but who’s to say. But I’m pretty sure the ghost kidnapped someone. I’m like 90% sure I didn’t imagine that, but my friends aren’t buying it. I came home in order to feel normal again, but that isn’t really working out. But then I came here and I saw you and…” Roman trailed off, looking up at those gorgeous eyes again. Upon realizing they looked extremely worried, he laughed nervously, scratching at the back of his neck, “I just realized I’ve never listed that all out at once before.” “Wow,” they breathed out. “I stole your life story.” Roman chuckled, ‘Yeah, I guess.” “Hey,” the person reached out to grab Roman’s hand. “Watch this,” they placed their own hand on top of Roman’s and then traced a pattern over top with a blue-painted finger. Roman instantly felt about ten times calmer. “Wow,” he breathed. “Pretty cool, huh?” they smiled, still holding onto Roman’s hand. Roman looked back up at those eyes, “Wow.” They chuckled and then they both just stood there for a long moment. Roman finally said, “Um, I’m gonna go let my friend know I’m over here. I told him I would let him know when I was done dancing.” “Okay,” they leaned in a little closer. “You do that.” They dropped Roman’s hand, leaning back against the wall. Roman took a step back, finding moving very difficult. “I-I’ll be right back,” he managed. “I’ll be here.” Roman took another two steps back before finally turning and ducking through the crowd, trying to find Virgil and/or Valerie and let them know he was going to be over there talking to that bombshell of a person. He found both of them talking to a couple of more guys. “Hey Verge!” he called out as he walked over to stand next to his friend, eyeing the glass bottle of bright green liquid in his hands. “Hey Roman. This is Nate,” Virgil said, waving at one of the guys who merely hummed, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “And I’m Sloane,” the other guy said, a smile on his face. “Your friend is pretty cool.” “Yeah,” Roman looked up at Virgil, noting how rigid he was standing. “Yeah, he’s pretty alright. Did he tell you I saw a ghost the other day?” Roman raised an eyebrow in confusion as Virgil giggled, but Sloane just asked, “Like Memento Mori?” “Yeah, yeah, sick transit glorya nerd,” Roman scoffed. When Virgil giggled again, he turned more towards him, “You’re laughing a lot.” “So,” Nate spoke up, apparently not having heard Roman’s comment. “Virgil, that’s an old name. Like something you hear in a book.” “A book you like?” Virgil suggested. Roman looked up at his friend in confusion. This was very weird. Did Virgil always act this way around others when Roman wasn’t around? That couldn’t be right. “I used to read a lot,” he spoke up, trying to redirect the conversation with the first thing that popped into his mind. “My grandad read to me when I was younger. Before he got dementia and died.” There was silence for a moment before Nate spoke again, “Sorry about your grandad, dude.” “It’s okay, it was years ago,” Roman shrugged. “Virgil’s mom is dead too.” Virgil let out another nervous giggle, hissing between his teeth, “Roman, stop.” “It’s okay,” Roman turned back towards the boys, purposely avoiding Valerie’s darkening glare. “I’m sure everyone here knows someone who has died.” There was silence for a long moment and Roman was starting to worry when Sloane spoke up, “My dog died last spring when my house exploded. There was a gas leak from when my dad hit the line trying to dig up the dog we had before that because we were going to move and my dad said he had to come with us.” There was silence for another long moment as everyone stared this time at Sloane. “Wow,” Valerie finally said, breaking everyone’s stares. “So, Nate, what are you majoring in?” Virgil asked, trying to get the conversation back to where it was before. “Political science,” Nate said, taking a sip from his own bottle, the liquid a murky brown. “Oh, that’s cool. Are there a lot of jobs in that?” Virgil asked. “Oh, I don’t know,” Nate shrugged. “I just find it really interesting. I think you have to be pretty materialistic to go to college just to get a job afterwards.” “That’s interesting because-” “Whoa, stop!” Roman cut off Virgil, his voice low. “Check out rich kid over here. Gonna pay zillions of dollars to go to school just cause something ‘is interesting.’ Verge, check this guy out. You ever worked a day in your life, prep?” Nate took a step back, frowning, “I interned at my uncle’s law firm, yes.” “Well, I bagged groceries,” Roman growled back. Virgil laughed lowly before saying, “That is so interesting. Roman, do you want to go dance some more?” Roman looked up at him, but before he could answer, Virgil gave him a subtle push, “You should go dance.” “Yeah, my parents own their own business, so,” Nate spoke again and Roman chose to stick around while Virgil was distracted again. “Oh, tell me about it,” Virgil asked with genuine interest. “I know a thing or two about running a small business.” Nate smiled, “Wanna go across the street and get a pizza?” “I could eat,” Virgil said. “And it’s a small business!” “You speak their language,” Nate laughed. “You can get us free slices.” Roman growled. He was sick and tired of this guy. “Verge doesn’t like spoiled rich kids, Maggie.” Valerie cut in, “I would like to go with you guys if you don’t mind.” “Sure,” Virgil said with a smile. “The more the merrier.” Roman was done with this whole situation. Why was Virgil acting so weird? He was obviously still super tense, but wanting to hang with these spoiled brats more. The lights of the bar were starting to blend together in Roman’s peripheral vision, but he had his sights set in on a certain guy who still stood out clearly from the crowd. “Hey Michael, let me tell you something about Virgil Alighieri. He is super on top of things, super smart, and super responsible. He runs like the biggest store in Possum Springs.” “Roman, no,” Virgil whispered. Sloane spoke louder, confusion on his face, “What the heck is Possum Springs?” “It’s west, in the mountains,” Nate explained. Roman just kept going, his eyes flashing, making the red more obvious, “While rich kid over here is studying politicians or whatever, Virgil’s out in the real world. Not like you college kids.” “Roman!” Valerie gasped, her hand clenched so tight that if her bottle was plastic, she surely would have crushed it. “What?” Nate looked over at Virgil in confusion, while Virgil just stared down at the ground, nervously giggling to himself. “I’m kinda over the whole college thing myself. Virgil and I basically run Possum Springs except there’s like a ghost or something,” Roman continued. “You two live in Possum Springs?” Sloane questioned. “Yeah, got a problem with that?” Roman snapped back. “Wow,” Nate whistled. “You drove all the way here from Deep Hollow County? Isn’t that like two hours away?” “No, I…” Virgil trailed off, trying to hide the shaking of his hands. Nate barked out a laugh, elbowing a confused-looking Sloane, “These two drove all the way from Deep Hollow! That’s rich!” “But, aren’t you like a student?” Sloane asked, confused. “Yeah, well, you see, I’m,” Virgil stammered. Suddenly his bottle fell out of his hand, crashing to the floor, spreading sticky soda everywhere. He put one hand up to his mouth and turned and ran, disappearing up the nearby stairs. “Wait! Virgil!” Valerie quickly took off after him. “What was that about?” Roman heard Sloane ask behind him. “I don’t think he’s a student here,” Nate sighed and a sloosh followed. “So?” Sloane still sounded utterly lost. Roman turned to give them a warning growl before running after Virgil. At the top of the stairs, he found Valerie across the street, calling for Virgil. Valerie spotted Roman running across the street and ran to meet him, her eyes dangerously dark. “What the hell was that?” she screamed. “I was going to ask the same thing!” Roman yelled back. “How in the world did you mess that up! He needs this! And now he’s who knows where! I swear, if anything has happened to him, I will personally end you,” she snapped. “Okay, geez!” Roman held up his hands in surrender. “Okay,” Valerie took a deep breath. “I’m going to go up the street, you go down to the docks. We find him, make sure he is safe, and meet back here. Got it?” “Got it,” Roman agreed and the two split, intent on finding their mutual friend. Roman ran down the side of the street, scanning everyone around him through the mist, trying to just spot his friend. Finally, he spies the docks up ahead with a silhouetted figure sitting at the end of one. He makes almost completely there before finally collapsing a few feet away. The figure turned around, Virgil’s dark brown eyes looking at him with contempt. Roman just gasped for air, “Sorry, I just ran all the way here. And it wasn’t even that far. I’m just really out of shape.” Virgil huffed and turned back to the river. He didn’t speak until Roman finally could breathe again and asked, “What happened back there?” “What happened?” Virgil snapped. “You ruined that chance I had! A chance at feeling normal for once in my shitty life! I don’t know if you could even realize how bad it is. My entire life ended the day my mom died. Now I have to take care of what is left of my family and every single day what little chance of a future outside of Possum Springs I have left slips away. You gave up the very thing I want so bad and I can’t help but hate you for it!” Virgil’s voice cracked finally as he lowered his head into his shaking hands. Roman pushed himself back up into a sitting position staring down at his own hands, eyes on a scar running along his left thumb. He muttered, “You don’t know anything about it.” Virgil’s head snapped back towards him, his face faintly flushed red under his foundation, “What is there to know?” Roman growled back, “You judge me, but did you ever ask why I left?” “Yeah. Your first day back.” “Oh,” Roman deflated, the little bit of righteous anger left leaving as his whole body sagged. “Right.” There was silence for a moment, as Virgil looked back out at the river. “So,” Virgil finally asked. “Why did you leave?” Roman blinked, staring at the strangely shaped boats across the river, “I… I don’t know. My head is in pieces right now. Any answer would sound nuts.” “Oh, well that’s illuminating,” Virgil deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. At this point, only his hands still shaking betrayed that he wasn’t totally emotionless. “Shut up,” Roman growled. “All this stuff going on all week? Ghosts and shit? I met this god thing for crying out loud. And look, we’re both trapped. But we’re trapped together. And I’m sorry.” Virgil looked back at him in surprise, “I don’t think you’ve ever apologized to me for anything.” “Well,” Roman shrugged. “I guess I’m full of surprises.” After another long moment, he asked, “Would we be friends if he weren’t stuck together?” Virgil sighed before admitting, “I don’t know.” After another long moment, Virgil groaned again before lowering his head back into his hands, “My life is so embarrassing. Why did I even come here? I almost didn’t. If you hadn’t said yes, I would have cancelled on Valerie.” “Hey,” Roman scooted closer so he was sitting next to his friend. “You are genuinely one of the strongest people I know. It takes a lot of bravery to try and change the entire course of one’s life.” Virgil snorted, his smile more genuine then any other he had given that night, “And I guess you aren’t as big of an idiot as I say. And you’re a genuinely good person.” Roman smiled, turning to look back over at the misty river, “I’ll take it. And tonight was a complete loss. I met a cute… someone.” “Really?” Virgil looked over at Roman with a cocked eyebrow. “What’s their name?” Roman opened his mouth to answer, but stopped, his eyes wide, “I-I don’t know. I didn’t even get their contact information. Virgil, we have to come back sometime!” He reached over, grabbing Virgil’s sleeve and shaking it with wide eyes while Virgil just laughed. “Okay, okay, we’ll come back,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet, holding out one still-shaking hand to help Roman to his feet as well. “We should make good time going home, it is such a clear night.” Roman looked back at the misty night behind them in confusion, before turning and chasing after Virgil.

#sanders sides #roman sandrs #virgil sanders #my writing #faith writes

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wikemheelers · 6 years

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love me like i’m brand new

summary: in which el and max have a sleepover the summer before their senior year, and el has some flashbacks to her life with mike (so far). based off of call it what you want by taylor swift!

rating: t (there is like . one scene where they kiss when theyre both 17!! just wanted to tag it as t just in case!!)

a/n: this is my FIRST!!! mileven/stranger things fic! please let me know what you think :) i also posted it on ao3 if you would rather read it there. enjoy!!

Eleven Hopper was a little embarrassed by how long it took her to warm up to Max Mayfield. Her and Max had made so many amazing memories, from listening to Madonna in El’s room, to gossiping about Mike and Lucas, to just figuring out girlhood together, she couldn’t imagine life without her. El really thought she would lose her mind if it weren’t for their weekly sleepovers, sans boys. They were able to be themselves around each other without the pressure of fitting in around the boys or the rest of Hawkins. El could be a little slower at social cues, and Max could be more vulnerable and honest than she could be anywhere else. Now, in the summer before their senior year, they still were balancing each other out and giving each other the space to be themselves they needed. Even if that space was filled with chatters and giggles about their boyfriends most of the time.

“Wait, what happened?” El laughed as her friend blushed violently across from her.

“You heard me the first time, don’t make me repeat myself!” Max shoved El as she laughed herself.

“I just refuse to believe that Lucas farted while you guys were making out. That is too much for me to handle.”

Max busted out laughing hearing the situation described back to her, “He was so embarrassed I thought he was going to cry! I felt so bad and I promised not tell anyone so you better keep your mouth shut to Wheeler! He will never let Lucas live that down.”

“Are you kidding me? I will never let Lucas live that down! That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I’m serious, El!” Max laughed as she threw a pillow at her best friend.

“Ok fine, fine I promise not to bring it up to him-”

“Thank you!”

“However! I cannot possibly not tell Mike about that! It’s so funny he would do that really cute laugh where he snorts. How dare you try to deny me of that.”

Max smiled at El and sighed, “You’re disgustingly in love with that loser, you know that?”

El smiled back at Max, matching her sigh, “I know, but do you blame me? He’s perfect.”

“I mean, beauty is in the eye of the beholder I guess,” Max knew that she had opened up the floodgates of Mike and Eleven and that there was nothing to do to stop El until she word vomitted all of her emotions out. El had the biggest capacity to love than anyone that Max had ever known, and she loved that about her best friend, but there are only so many different ways you can describe Mike’s eyes.

“I know it’s crazy because I’ve never really known anyone else but he’s everything, you know? I hope you feel that way about Lucas. It’s the best feeling,” El was doing her dreamy eyes and she fell on her back dramatically against the bed.

“I think I do,” Max whispered as she matched the drama.

The two girls laid on their back, staring at the ceiling with too big grins on their faces until they looked to each other broke into side hurting laughter.

“It sounds so dumb, me thinking I found the love of my life at age 12. Who do I think I am?” El continued to giggle.

“Well I mean you did have extenuating circumstances to say the least,” Max’s laughter died down slightly, “I mean, he did save you.”

El smiled fondly at the memories. Her somehow managing to hide in his basement, him coming home to her with the biggest smile on his face, all of the hushed giggles and the unfamiliar feeling of home.

“He really did save me.”

1983

It wasn’t fair, how good he was. Eleven’s first taste at good people came from the nice man in the diner, and his kindness scared her. Not because he was scary, but because she had never known someone to care for her safety. When he was brutally murdered by the same people after her, she didn’t think she would ever find that again. That kind of person that could open their arms so willingly for someone so monstrous. That’s why it wasn’t fair for Mike to be so good. She could feel it in her bones in a way Papa never made her feel, or even the nice diner man, or any of the other boys. She knew he was different, and she knew they would destroy him. It wasn’t fair.

In order to protect him, this sweet, good boy with dots on his cheeks and the best eyes she had ever seen, she had to leave. The hurt coursed through her, and even though she was just learning between right and wrong and fair and inequality, she knew that her taking from him was unfair and wrong. She was just about to get away with it too, before Mike came down the steps and stopped her heartbeat.

“El?” He asked sleepily, and oh so sweetly, as he rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

El turned to his sleepy figure and felt her heart tear away towards him. She said nothing.

“El?” He seemed more awake now as he came towards her. “El? What’s going on?”

She looked away from him, her resolve crumbling, “Leave.”

His eyes somehow got even bigger than normal as he realized what she meant, “What? You’re leaving? El, you can’t do that!” Mike reached for her hand and tried to lead her to the couch so they could talk about it, but she would not move. “El, please. Can we, can we talk about this? Why are you leaving? Where are you going?” He was clearly getting upset, which made this harder for El.

“Unfair.” She said, trying to remain firm in her convictions. She knew right from wrong, Mike taught her, and know she knew that she wasn’t being right and she had to fix it.

“What’s unfair? Am I being unfair?” His heart and voice broke as he dropped his hand from hers, “We can fix something if you want to. You can sleep on the couch if you don’t like the floor and I can put something different on the shopping list if you’re getting bored of eggos-”

“Mike.”

He looked to her with a sense of softness she could feel warming her up, “Yeah?” He was hopeful. She knew that feeling.

“Me. Unfair. You, good.”

His whole body shrunk as she said this. How could she think such a thing? “El, you are not unfair. You are good. Not just good, you’re the best. Why do you think you’re unfair?”

El’s eyes started to water, which was a very unexpected occurrence and she shakily replied, “The bad men will hurt you, and it will be my fault. Good people should not be hurt because of me.”

As she spoke, her tears started to fall and Mike wiped them off delicately. He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. As if he wouldn’t get hurt a thousand times for her.

“They won’t hurt me. And if they do, better me than you,” Mike looked into her eyes and whispered, “I don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already have.”

When she didn’t respond, he continued.

“For the past three nights, I’ve come down here to check on you in the middle of the night, which I now realize sounds creepy, but I swear it was nothing weird. Whatever, anyway, I would come down here because I would get nightmares about someone coming and taking you away, so I just had to make sure you were still safe. That’s why I’m down here right now, I was worried about you. You’re just so, so,” he wracked his brain to find a word that wouldn’t be totally embarrassing to somehow describe how much she meant to him, “Cool and I care about you and I just don’t want you getting hurt. I’m not sure where you came from, but I do know that they were unfair to you. You would only be being unfair if I didn’t want you here, El, but I really, really want you here.”

So she stayed. She stayed and Mike insisted they remake the fort to be more comfortable, but really they just stayed up for an extra hour giggling and holding hands. Eventually, Mike had to back up to his room so he wouldn’t fall asleep down there and his mom would have to come find him and, subsequently El. He ignored how cold and empty his hand felt without hers in it.

“Mike?” She whispered as he got up to head to the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re cool too. Promise.”

Mike was thankful for the darkness, so she couldn’t see him blush. “Goodnight, El.”

She thinks I’m cool? Wow.

After a couple of hours of watching their guilty pleasure, The Golden Girls, the girls were all covered up and half asleep when suddenly Max whispered to El, shaking her from her half asleep daze. “El?”

“Yeah, Max?” she whispered back.

“When Mike looks at you, like in the hall or a crowded classroom or something, does it like, I don’t know, nevermind.”

“No go ahead, does it what?”

Max sighed and continued, even quieter, “Does it...does it make you feel like you’re the only girl in the whole universe? Like the Earth just stopped spinning and the only people left standing are the two of you?”

El turned to face her friend, who was staring up at the ceiling, and smiled “Every day,” she paused, “Is that how Lucas makes you feel?”

“Shut up,” Max whined as she threw her arm over her face.

“You love sick mouth breather,” El giggled to herself.

“Says Mrs. ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with Mike Wheeler’!” Max giggled back.

Now it was El’s turn to be embarrassed, “So what! I can’t help myself. He’s too good.”

“At what exactly?” Max teased, earning a playful shove from El.

“He’s a good person! God you really are a mouth breather!”

The laughter died down after a few minutes and then there was silence, until El broke it, “And in all of the ways, just to get the record straight.”

“Gross!”

1987

The first time Mike kissed El hard enough for her to feel it in her toes, it was New Year's Eve of 1987. They were sixteen and about to enter the second half of their junior year of high school and it was their first time attending a party that wasn’t hosted by the lovely Joyce Byers. The whole party went, but the boys broke off throughout the night when some of the other guys in their grade stole them away. It didn’t really bother El and Max, they just kind of sat on the couch and people watched, marveling in how weird teenagers really are. It wasn’t until the clock was at 11:58 that El started getting antsy.

Sure, her and Mike had kissed before. But they were just sweet goodbye kisses or the occasional I missed you kiss. Nothing from Karen’s Wheeler’s library, that’s for sure. She wasn’t complaining of course, never would she ever. Mike Wheeler was the best boy on the face of the Earth and just holding his hand alone sent shivers down her spine, she was just wondering when he would make a move already.

El decided to take matters into her own hands, setting off to find Mike, leaving Max to people watch as their peers struggled to find a partner for midnight.

She looked around slightly frantically for her boyfriend, which shouldn’t have been hard since he seemed to have shot up a foot and a half over the past year, but El was really having a hard time. Then people started shouting their ten second countdown and she really started to panic, having no sign of Mike yet.

It was only when the countdown hit “3” that she felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see her Mike, all curly hair and freckles. The smile on her face when he found her must have been able to be picked up from the moon, she was so happy to see him.

“Mike!” El leaped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“2”

“Hey babe,” he sighed into her hair.

“Where have-”

“1”

“Hold that thought,” Mike interrupted.

“ZERO!”

Right as the crowd began to go wild, Mike leaned down and kissed her with more passion than he had ever kissed her before. His hands were on her hips, holding her between him and the wall. El was flying.

She kissed him back with just as much fervor, tangling her fingers in the hair toward the bottom of his neck, pulling him down to her more as he moaned against her lips with every tug of his hair. Eleven Hopper had never heard such a wonderful noise in her life and did everything possible to get him to keep making that sound.

Heaven only knows how they got so carried away, but they didn’t break up until El realized she literally could not breathe. She broke away abruptly, coughing and trying to catch her breath.

“Shit, are you ok?” Mike panicked as he rubbed her back.

El just started laughing as she stood up straighter to look at him. “Mike Wheeler, I’m far better than ok,” she sighed as she placed her hands on either side of his face.

One hand still on her waist, he rubbed the back of his neck with the other as he blushed, “Sorry uh about that, I’m not really sure what got into me, are you sure you’re ok?”

In response she stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear, “I don’t know what just got into you either, but it is more than welcome to come back anytime.”

He just groaned in response, pressing harder on her hips. “You’re going to be the death of me, Hopper.”

El smiled and kissed him hard briefly and then broke away, ignoring his slight whine at the loss of contact, “Not so fast, babe. You can’t die yet. We’re just getting started.”

The next morning came, Hopper already at work, so the girls had the house to themselves. They, of course, made eggos as they blasted Madonna throughout the house, dancing in their pajamas and using random kitchen utensils as microphones. It was free and fun and they did it almost every weekend but it never got old. They were having the time of their lives to Like a Virgin when a knock on the door came and El’s heart stopped. She still got the chills when an unexpected visitor came, it brought her back to being twelve and afraid. Max knew this of course so she went and answered the door, leaving El out of sight of the front entry way.

Max returned approximately thirty seconds later with a sly smile, “It’s for you.”

Mike followed suit and El immediately ran into his arms and he lifted her up, spinning her around.

“What are you doing here?” El laughed as he set her down.

“I knew you’d be here and Hopper wouldn’t be so I just dropped in,” he smiled down at her, “And I brought you this.” Mike pulled a long, black velvet box out of his pocket and El immediately gasped and looked up at her boyfriend.

“What is this?” She asked, trying to not let her excitement be too obvious. Mike was always getting her random presents, like food or records or books, but never something like this. Nothing in a long velvet box that surely had something sparkly in it.

“Well, as you know, our two year anniversary is coming up, and I wanted to surprise you with something nice. An extra surprise is that it’s a month early!” Her boyfriend was getting so giggly and smiley, it was infectious. “Go on, open it!”

El did not need any more convincing as she took the box and opened it slowly, nervous but all too excited to see what was on the inside. Mike was practically vibrating in front of her, anxiously awaiting her reaction to what was inside of the box

When the box finally was opened all the way, El’s hand immediately went to her mouth as she saw the present Mike picked for her. It was a simple silver chain with a delicate pendant with the letter “M” engraved on it.

“Do you like it?” He whispered softly as she stared.

El looked to her boyfriend, her sweet boyfriend with a heart too big for his body, with eyes that spark up the darkest of her eyes, and smiled so big she thought she was about to burst at the seams.

“Of course I love it. Will you put it on me?” She spun around and pushed the little hair she had on the back of her neck as he fastened the necklace. It laid perfectly on her, like it was always meant to be there.

Turning back to look at Mike, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with his hair at the base of his neck, “How did I get so lucky?” Here was this boy, the best boy, that just so willingly fell into her and her crazy life, no second thoughts. Not only that, but he fell in love with her despite all of the thousands of red flags not to. It was as if her life began when Mike found her. His love made her brand new.

“I think it should be me asking that question, not the other way around,” He laughed as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

El blushed and giggled at her boyfriend, he was so unaware of how crazy their whole situation actually was. He just saw her and that was it. Interdimensional monsters be damned.

“You really do wonders for my self esteem, Mike Wheeler,” she teased as she moved her face closer to his.

“Imagine how I feel when I see you walk down the halls? All of these guys, big, strong guys, mind you, ogling you like cavemen and you just keep on walking to me. I feel like a fucking God,” he finished with a laugh as he rested his forehead on hers.

She moved back and looked at him in humorous disbelief, “Are you kidding me? Of course I keep walking to you. It’s you. It’s always been you with your cheek dots - I mean freckles - and your eyes and all eight thousand feet of you, not to mention the whole saving my life thing,” she saw him starting to blush and moved closer to him again, “They’ve got nothing on you, babe,” she whispered against his lips as she leaned in for a kiss.

However, they seemed to have forgotten that Max was still there, but no worries, she had no problem reminding them with a loud cough. They immediately broke apart and Mike retreated to rubbing the back of his neck and switching from the balls of his feet to his heels.

“Hey Max,” Mike coughed awkwardly.

Max just rolled her eyes and adjusted her overnight bag on her shoulder, “I’m gonna go, El. You two are clearly busy,” Max winked as she let herself out the front door.

El was a blushing mess as she turned back to look at her boyfriend, a matching blushing mess. They looked to each other and busted into a fit of giggles, not being able to help themselves.

“Poor Max, just an innocent bystander to our gross love sickness,” El laughed as she moved back to Mike, arms returning to their rightful place around his neck.

Mike rolled his eyes, “She’ll get over it. I have to listen to Lucas talk about her constantly, she can deal with us almost making out in your kitchen.”

El laughed and then remembered what Max had told her the night before about Lucas, which only caused her to laugh harder, “That...reminds me! I...have...to tell you...something about...Lucas,” she struggled through her laughter.

She, somehow managed to get the story out and, to her delight, Mike laughed so hard he snorted, just like she loved it.

#claire writes #mileven fic #mileven #mileven fanfiction #mike wheeler #eleven #eleven hopper #jane hopper #PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK AND IF U WANT MORE??#im always taking requests #also the max x el friendship in this? it's what we deserve

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headlessendeavors · 3 years

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“ this small town life it has its virtue, has potential to divert you from the life you knew back home. . . ”

––– the mirrors surrounding you did as they were meant to, reflecting back a spitting image of ANDY MIENTUS - but it’s clear something is wrong from the moment that a vision of REALIZING YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND’S HUSBAND WHILE HE PRATTLES ON ABOUT FOOTBALL strikes you. perhaps it was a passing daydream in the frenzy of the funhouse. you reassure yourself - you’re ICHABOD CRANE, a TWENTY EIGHT YEAR OLD LOUNGE SINGER whose virtue lies in your + CREATIVITY & + ENTHUSIASM, although you’ve been told that you tend to be quite - ANXIOUS & - JUMPY, and you’re associated with WHITE CABLE KNIT SWEATERS, THE CRUNCH OF CRISP AUTUMN LEAVES, & THE LILT OF A PIANO PLAYING A ROOM AWAY by those around you. suddenly, however, you’ve found A THREE MONTH SOBRIETY CHIP on your person - was that always there? from the moment you leave the funhouse, memories from your life in TARRYTOWN have begun to return - leaving whoever you had been before in the mirror’s reflection behind you. you can almost hear WILDFLOWERS by ANDY MIENTUS following in your wake.

( ichabod’s canon life includes tws for drug abuse/drug mentions, talk of being high & withdrawal !! v v brief mention of the headless horseman near the end,, ))

CANON LIFE

–––Ichabod Crane moved to New York City for a better life. The glitz and glamor of it all! And it helped that he didn’t hate his job. He quickly fell in love with the lights and the bustle and the nightlife –– what’s not to love? Unfortunately, Ichabod quickly noticed that his lack of acquaintances wasn’t doing him any favors. He wasn’t very outgoing, either, and he was pretty sure that the fellas from work wouldn’t be interested in frequenting the places he did. Office suits didn’t tend to list Gay Bars among their favorite night spots.

So, Ichabod did what any reasonable young man in his position would do: he got smashed and hoped for the best. When a very handsome fellow asked if he’d like to go home with him, he agreed enthusiastically. Which is how he found himself back at said fellow’s house doing lines. It felt incredible, getting high like that. His nervousness faded away in the haze and he didn’t have to worry about stumbling over his words, they just came to him. His tongue knew what he wanted to say before he did.

He wished he could say it was only the one time, but alas. The elated feeling of not having to worry about socialization? Letting the drugs take care of it for him? It was all far too tempting. One night of drug-induced fun turned into two and three and “just a few more”s. It got to the point where he didn’t care what he took as long as he took something to keep the ache in his temples and the shake in his fingers from catching up with him. Just one more hit. Just one more line. Just one more pill. No matter how many one mores he took, he always felt significantly worse in the morning and one too many times calling out from work cost him his job.

Which seemed fine to him at first. Less time worrying about his supervisor bitching at him and more time to fool around as he pleased. The countless nights of blacked out memories and mornings waking up on grimy floors or in strange men’s beds should really have been the wake up call Ichabod needed. Unfortunately, it took getting evicted for everything to crash down on him. Where was he going to stay?

Ichabod decided then that he had to leave the city - it wasn’t doing him any good staying where he’d been tempted multiple times in the past. He needed to get out of the city and he needed to get clean. He started to go to NA meetings and spent days he was feeling less like shit working odd jobs to save up for a one way ticket out of there. After some debate, Ichabod settled on Tarrytown as his goal location, it was a small quiet town not too far from the city and there was a music teacher position available at the high school. If everything went well (and they didn’t ask for his credentials) Ichabod figured he could find an apartment there and be away from all of the temptations the city brought with it.

Ichabod was thrilled - more than thrilled! - when he got an interview and then a call telling him that the Tarrytown High School wanted him for their music teacher position. This was it. This was his chance for a new life and a new home and friends. He kept up with NA meetings while living there and exploring the town kept him busy until school started a week later.

On his first day, he met Katrina who quickly became Ichabod’s best friend. She was bubbly and sweet and talkative. Vibrant. She made Ichabod feel welcome and she invited him to dinner the day they met. Having nothing to lose, Ichabod accepted. It was nice to have someone who wanted him around, even if they hadn’t known each other very long at all. And that night he met Katrina’s husband, Brom. He wasn’t expecting Brom - Katrina hadn’t mentioned that she was married - but the man was a pleasant surprise and awfully easy on the eyes.

It was very easy to see the relationship between Katrina and Brom was Strained, even just hanging around for ten minutes. It was a lovely evening nonetheless and Ichabod suggested they do it again sometime. All good things come to an end sometime, though, from Ichabod’s personal experience, and this was no exception. Katrina left Brom and moved in with Ichabod and. Ichabod felt partially responsible, really. He didn’t tell her to leave Brom but he didn’t dissuade her from the idea, either.

Brom wasn’t happy when he found out that Ichabod had talked with Katrina about leaving and Ichabod, distressed over possibly losing his only other friend, tried convincing Brom that it was ultimately Katrina’s decision and he didn’t encourage her leaving him. It seemed to do the trick because Brom asked to stay friends, asked for Ichabod to come over to watch football sometime to which Ichabod ecstatically agreed. The time he didn’t spend on classes or at NA meetings, he spent with Katrina or Brom. the latter of the two seemed far more warm and welcoming and tactile now.

Brom asked about Katrina every now and then but mostly it was lighthearted joking and, if Ichabod wasn’t reading the situation wrong, some lighthearted flirting as well. which made his dumb gay heart pitter pat in the confines of his chest. He wondered, perhaps, if the attraction he felt was mutual. If perhaps Brom presented straight because it was all he’d ever known and perhaps he was suppressing himself because he was afraid. Ichabod knew that feeling all too well. And on Halloween night, after carving pumpkins with Katrina, Ichabod made a fool of himself and in the closeness of it all, in a lull in conversation, with a tipsy tongue, blurted that he loved Brom to the man himself. “Even I can’t get over the shock that I love you– Brom, I love you. I’m in love.” And kissed him.

Brom was quiet for a handful of ticks and Ichabod could hear his heart beating in his ears. He was half sure Brom might deck him and honestly he was pretty sure he deserved it for being so stupid. Until Brom told him that to go any further with him, he’d need to be high. He told Ichabod to take whatever drug was in the plastic baggie he’d shoved into his hands and meet him on the bridge in the old cemetery. Ichabod’s heart leapt and he agreed.

It was cold in the cemetery, October be damned. And it probably wasn’t the best idea for a skittish fellow like Ichabod to be high alone in a place drenched in bloody history. He kept repeating to himself that Brom Was Meeting Him There, He’d Be There Soon And He’d Kiss Him And Everything Would Be Okay. and that A Little Paranoia Is Normal, You’ve Been High Before. It’s Okay. But whether it was his imagination or the drugs causing hallucinations along with his paranoia - or maybe a mean-spirited Brom, attempting to scare Ichabod into leaving Tarrytown behind - but he swore he heard hooves and saw a black steed with a headless rider atop its back and––– that was the last anyone heard of him.

LIFE IN ALUCARD

ichabod is a city boy at heart. he loves the bustle of it all, the music of the city - buzzing chatter and shrill car horns, clicking heels against the sidewalk and jingling charms on the bags of passersby. it’s all so Comforting.

he lived in new york city for a stint before moving to alucard - needing a change of pace in his day to day life.

he’s very passionate about music and he’s just So Sure he’d make an incredible music teacher. he’d make the lessons so fun! the kids would love it! he just doesn’t have the money or drive right now to attend the classes to make it possible.

he’s very friendly but he can be awkward as hell despite his best efforts - especially around guys he finds attractive.

even though teaching doesn’t seem to be in the cards for him just yet, he’s very happy to make his living off of singing. his voice is sweet.

ichabod has a cat - a russian blue named Gunpowder.

he plays the piano, violin, guitar, and ukulele!!

he wants to teach himself to play the flute bc he thinks it seems like a fun instrument but he hasn’t had the time for it.

he has nervous tics - scratching at his inner arm or fidgeting with his hair/the hem of his shirt.

he’s skittish. a self-proclaimed scaredy cat! he hates that he is but he really Really is.

do not try to scare him pls he will have nightmares for literal days after his heart cannot handle a good scare!!

#;; still hoping that it never goes away | ichabod #(( god the canon life section is so long im so sorry ))#(( nobody cares abt the dirty deets of tarrytown but here i am tossin em out there for yall ))#drug tw #drug abuse tw #mentions of being high #mentions of withdrawal #duality.intro

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the--amber--weave · 7 years

Text

Crisis: Please send love and support.

As many of you may be aware, @the-wiccans-glossary is under large amounts of stress lately. He has many chronic illnesses that cause pain, that are exacerbated by stress. His parents have come out to the family about getting a divorce, and it is not going well due to details that cannot be discussed in depth, but I will provide a (hopefully clear) rundown of the situation at hand.

In short, there is extreme financial duress, due to deception; a huge scandal (which is still under investigation), and other personal habits that cause extreme stress in the family as a whole, and not just for financial reasons. There have been copious amounts of lying among members of the family in attempts to keep things together, and hidden, by “the guilty party” (who will be referred to as such for the remainder of this post) in particular. Needless to say, such things have only caused more undue stress.

As previously mentioned, high stress equates to more physical pain and suffering for Charlie, and has resulted in long nights of unfit sleep, peppered with nightmares, and mornings of misery, and extra hours laying in bed, waiting for the pain to subside long enough for him to be physically able to get up, and address the pain with medication. And I’ll repeat this for those who may be shocked: despite the amount of homeopathic, medicinal knowledge he has, the pain has been so great, that he is reliant upon medication to ease his pain and suffering, because his usual means of pain management are no longer enough.

That all being said, he will have a more slight presence online. He will be active, though passively, slow in responses to asks and what few private threads (PM’s) he’s active in, and so on. There is a lot going on, and a lot of confusion, and your understanding, support, prayers, and well wishing are all very greatly, very deeply appreciated.

I would also like to add that although moral support is always VERY nice, and often does more good than most people would have you believe, financial support is always accepted as well. He has a store. Tips are also accepted, and I wish, with all my heart, that this was some sort of minor financial inconvenience, but we are talking $12,000 USD (possibly more) in money that has been “lost” (under investigation), within the short span of 3 months. This is missing basic, human necessities. This is missing food, toiletries, medications, etc. Missed bills, missing medical payments, missing appointments for various doctors and therapy, pain management, (needed) speech therapy, pet care and vet visits, missing gas money and car payments, missing mortgage payments, and so on. And this hasn’t been just for Charlie. This isn’t just covering him, gentle readers. This extends far past his own needs, impacting also his younger sister who was forced into a position of needing a job while still in high school, and her needs, his father and his needs, the guilty party’s own needs, the needs of pets… This is a crisis, really, and has left him, and his family in financial shambles, emotional shambles, and it is not a hyperbole to say that all of his income has gone to making sure that he can continue running the store (to have any amount of income) and paying bills, in place of the guilty party.

To put this into perspective, this has resulted in self-care taking the back seat. This has resulted in not eating, and relapses into unhealthy coping mechanisms in an attempt to survive the stress of the situation, neglecting physical health by avoiding going to the doctors when necessary, because it is now not affordable, by any stretch of the imagination, and is forcing Charlie into even more dangerous and painful territory as more unfolds. So please, if you can, feel free to help support him, and his family as a whole, through this very hard and trying time.

Many of these details were only brought to light this evening, so this post is a bit late going up, but this is the state of affairs of my beloved. Please send love, and support.

Thank you,

-Ms. G

Support buy purchasing Support by donating (The name will come up “Galaxy Milk”)

#twg #the-wiccans-glossary #the wiccans glossary #thewiccansglossary #important #psa #crisis #help #emergency #support

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sapphyrelily · 6 years

Text

Chapter Two - Learning, and Cohabitation

Read this on AO3

He comes to at the sound of a voice – a familiar voice, his voice – and the image of a curious lady in a comfy chair across him.

Them. It’s them now, because he is no longer alone in his mind.

Shirabu. Shirabu.

What is it?

(His voice sounds like an echo from far off, disjointed and tinny.)

Oh, good, you’re up. Semi sounds relieved. I've been calling you for a while.

His memories are still fuzzy, and he can’t feel his body, he feels like a spectator in his own mind. Oh. How long was I out?

A week or so? We've been released from hospital, but this is therapy-slash-check-up-one.

A week. He lost a week.

Oh. What are we supposed to do?

I’ll ask.

Their eyes are fixed more firmly on the lady now, and he hears Semi say, “I’ve got him.”

Funny, how voices in your head always sound weird and different from what's actually said. Semi's voice is deeper in his head, but his manner of speech is as pleasant as he remembers.

The lady smiles. “That’s a good sign. Shirabu-kun, how are you today?”

Peachy, he grumbles, and hears Semi laugh. He’s almost surprised – Semi never would have done that before.

That’s only because you’re not as politely aggressive as you normally would be, he teases. Come on now, what do I actually tell her?

Tell her I’m fine or something. Tired.

Semi repeats his words, but they are stilted, delivered in a way that he himself doesn’t understand.

Hey. Don’t go back to sleep again.

I’m…not. He’s trying, he really is, but he’s falling, sideways and through a wall, and everything seems like it’s coming from behind a glass panel.

It feels like a dream, and he has no energy to right himself, so he lets it sweep him up in its flow.

-----

Shirabu? Shirabu?

Silence greets him, though he’s aware of his presence in the back of his mind. Semi huffs under his breath, turning to the therapist with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve lost him again.”

“That’s alright, it’s to be expected.” She smiles and makes a note on her clipboard. “Can you tell me if he’s still there? Or does it feel like he’s gone back to sleep?”

“He’s still there,” he answers honestly, though he doesn’t feel the other presence in his mind stir. “But he’s quiet.”

“Could you explain that to me?”

“It’s like…” He wreaks his brain for an analogy, trying to ignore the throbbing behind his right eye. “It’s like seeing someone is online in a group chat, but they’re not talking at all. Kind of hovering, not trying to talk.”

“Ah.” The lady – Mizoguchi, he thinks – makes another note, then smiles reassuringly at him. “That’s expected as well. He’s still getting used to being in a body that’s not his, and that he has no control over. I expect it’s disorientating.”

“I can imagine.”

(Except that he can, because sometimes he catches glimpses and mutters from the secluded corner of his brain, and it’s always about panic over the loss of control.)

Mizoguchi smiles again, and hands him a piece of paper. “Try to keep track of when he’s awake, and how coherent he is. If he can stay awake for a whole day, make another appointment, and we’ll see how he can adapt to learning to use a body again.”

He takes the sheet and thanks her, exiting quietly.

He can still feel the presence in the back of his mind, watching, but not speaking.

I wonder if you heard all that. Let’s get you up as soon as possible.

He thinks he feels a tinge of surprise, but says nothing more, heading home.

-----

The world floats by in snippets, wisps of a dream half realised. He isn’t completely sure what’s real and what’s a part of his imagination, what’s a waking dream or the reality that he can reach out and touch.

Not that he can. Reach out and touch something, that is.

What feels like a straining, an active expression of intention – they turn out to be nothing at all.

He is confined, stuck in his prison, with no way out and no way to express himself.

He is paralysed in a coffin of his own choosing, and the nightmare is becoming ever more real.

-----

He wakes to the sound of singing, to something off-pitch and straining before it dips into something more acceptable.

He grumbles to himself, mildly surprised and irritated when the singing stops. He was just beginning to enjoy it too.

I guess I’m not surprised that you can insult and compliment me in the same sentence.

Maybe he said something, but Semi snorts. Yes, I can hear you.

He doesn’t understand.

I don’t recall you being this talkative in high school.

But he isn’t talking. He doesn’t feel like he is.

Maybe you haven’t learnt to separate your thoughts and what you want to say yet.

That makes sense, he thinks.

Can I continue without you insulting me?

He thinks he rolls his eyes, and from the tinge of annoyance he feels, perhaps he succeeded.

-----

He wakes and is able to speak somewhat this time – if arguing counts as speaking.

But it’s a form of communication that he’s intimately familiar with, and he feels a sort of relief at the huffy silence that stretches between them after.

Perhaps he’s regaining a little control, after all.

This is so weird.

Shut up. I’m not talking to you.

You’re in my head, even if you’re not talking to me, you’re talking to me.

Actually, there is a difference.

Oh?

Yeah. He is quiet for a while, thinking, and watches Semi toy with his phone mindlessly while waiting for him to speak.

Only when I speak out loud am I talking to you, and when I’m just thinking to myself, you don’t hear it? That’s sort of what it feels like.

How do you tell the difference, though?

…I’m working on it.

Semi snorts. Good luck with that.

Stay out of my head while I think.

…I hope you know how weird and contradictory that is.

Shhh, I’m thinking.

He falls silent, and Semi listens for a while longer before shrugging and picking up the record sheet.

He makes a note on the sheet of paper – Day 5, 15 mins of talking – and winces at the sudden shrieking in his brain.

I thought I told you to stay out of my head!

This sheet isn’t about what’s in your head, it’s about progress!

Yes, you’re very good at keeping track, Shirabu comments sarcastically. And I heard that.

I said nothing.

‘…what’s in your head, or lack thereof’?

It’s true.

Where do you get this sudden sass from?

You do realise you’re in my head, right.

My thoughts don’t leak over into yours!

Hmm.

Ugh.

Times like this, he wonders why he thought sharing a body was a good idea.

-----

Control is a fine focus knob, and just a little bit too much or too little can make a huge difference.

He doesn’t know how to control it.

Shouting might be heard or ignored – whispering as well. What he wants heard may not be spoken, and his private thoughts may be voiced aloud. It sparks many arguments, this miscommunication, especially because he cannot convey his apologies properly.

He can’t even punch a wall, because he doesn’t have the control to do so.

-----

But with every sleep and wake cycle, he grows a little surer of himself. A little more able to convey what he wants, and how he wants it. He doesn’t always manage to stay awake – it’s too easy to fall asleep when you don’t have to consciously do anything – and sometimes, being awake doesn’t guarantee that he can speak.

It’s like a wall of soundproof glass; he can see but not comment, and pounding on the barrier only results in endless frustration. He is enclosed in a bubble, a fish tank of one-way glass. Those days, all he can do is watch.

-----

Watching is only good for one thing – to keep him sane.

He notices little details he might have missed before, because every moment that he can consciously do something is a breakthrough; every other second a waiting game. He watches, and makes his observations. Sometimes, his musings are heard; sometimes, they are bounced back to him in his bubble. But every day passes with the membrane between them growing ever more permeable, and it is sometimes enough for a chat.

Some of these good days are worse than others – they argue about everything and nothing, with no breaks in between. Some of those days are mercifully quiet, and they indulge in peaceful moments together, reading a book or the like. Some days, he is locked back in the bubble – but he can hear more clearly now, and can feel how disorienting it is to Semi.

“I know it hasn’t been that long,” he tells Mizoguchi, while prodding at the corner of his brain that he affectionately dubbed Shirabu’s room. (Shirabu feels mildly amused and honoured by this.) “But it feels weird when he isn’t yelling at me for doing anything in general. Or just lurking in the back of my mind.”

“How long does he stay awake on average?” She asks, making a note.

“It’s been getting longer. About an hour, these days.” Semi stops to think, before adding, “He talks to me for about an hour, but I think he might be awake for longer. I can’t tell that well.”

(An hour? Only an hour?)

(No wonder he’s going crazy, cooped up with no way of communication.)

“That’s excellent progress.” Mizoguchi smiles and scribbles something else, then hands him another sheet. “You can try getting him to move, if he feels up to it, and record his progress. We’ll meet again soon.”

He nods and thanks her, exiting the room.

(In the back of his mind, he feels what can only be described as petulant sulking. He wants to say something, but nothing seems right, so he settles for a You can do it.)

(He thinks he feels a smile in a return. Or if nothing else, the lifting of feelings.)

-----

It does get easier, despite their doubts.

The barrier between them is practically gone; thoughts traded back and forth easily.

One morning, a tightening of fingers on the toothbrush, an adjustment of grip.

Another time, a jerking of a knee when they are sitting, reading quietly.

The flicking of eyes to opposing stimuli, Semi looking to something before his gaze is directed elsewhere, definitely not by his own will.

It’s kind of disconcerting.

Could you maybe, you know, tell me before you do something?

If I could control it, maybe, yeah.

What are you trying to do?

I’m just trying to move, in general. Shirabu sounds so frustrated, it’s a tiny bit difficult to stay angry with him. But I can’t control it.

Semi is quiet, thinking. So what’s different on those times that you manage to make a movement?

Shirabu snorts. I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t thinking too much about it and just moved?

Then try it right now.

What, you think I haven’t been trying?

Just try.

A tightening of fingers, nails biting into his skin. I am trying.

Semi looks at his hand pointedly, a smug smile coming over his face. Evidently.

I AM trying, what are you talking about–

I certainly don’t dig my nails into my palm.

His hand relaxes, and he can feel the open-mouthed shock from the corner of his brain.

Semi directs his smuggest thoughts towards Shirabu as he reaches for the progress sheet.

-----

Progress isn’t easy all the time, Shirabu finds, when he knocks Semi’s phone off the nightstand while reaching to turn the alarm off.

Stupid long arms.

“Shut up,” Semi grumbles aloud, bending over the side of the bed to locate the shrieking phone.

Are you talking to me or the phone?

“Both of you,” Semi yawns, switching the alarm off and burrowing under the covers. “We get to sleep in, why is the alarm even on?”

Who knows.

Ah, shut up.

Shirabu tugs the covers a bit higher over their nose instead of replying, and settles in for a nap.

He doesn’t notice the tinge of irritation as Semi pushes the blanket back down so he can breathe.

-----

Progress seems to come faster on days that they are late.

Run faster, damnit.

Then you move us faster, smartass. Whose fault is it that we’re late anyway?

Hey, I held that glass for long enough. Why would you let me pick up a fragile item if you knew I might drop it, huh?

Maybe because I had a little bit of faith in you?

Oh, how touching.

Shut up, you ass.

Run faster.

You do it, then!

A spike of frustration from Shirabu, and he feels his legs grow numb as they move into a dead sprint. He’s so shocked he nearly stops running, but an angry snap from his brain-mate keeps him going.

“Do you think it’s the adrenaline that makes the control easier?” He asks Mizoguchi later.

She taps her pen against her clipboard, contemplative. “Perhaps. There are a lot of factors involved, and no one has fully documented the process yet, so we can’t be sure.”

Shirabu snorts. “Yeah, that’s why we’re the guinea pigs.”

“That is a rather coarse way of putting it, but yes,” Mizoguchi agrees.

Semi’s too stunned to tell her that it wasn’t him who said that.

(Apparently, Shirabu is too, because he stays silent for the rest of their meeting.)

-----

But progress is apparent, and it’s difficult to find a day now where they haven’t progressed in some way.

(It’s always a tiny action that sparks the sudden growth, though neither of them know how well or long he can maintain it.)

(Not that it really matters, when he willingly gives control over most times.)

Your hair looks ridiculous.

“Hey, it’s not as bad as when I was still bald,” Semi complains, running a comb through the short strands.

Yes, that was a trip.

“Well, I’m sorry I let them cut my head open to put you in.”

You couldn’t have kept any of it?

“It was cleaner and more effective to just shave it all off.” Semi stares at his reflection, a raising an eyebrow. “Why? Do you miss my hair?”

You wish.

“Stop lying to yourself.”

It just looks weird, okay?

“Because it’s short or because it’s my natural colour?”

Both. Are you ever going to dye it back?

“So you do miss the colour.”

I said it looks weird!

“It’s my natural colour, get used to it.”

Whatever. Shirabu hurriedly jumps onto a new topic. Why do you comb your hair if it’s so short anyway?

“Habit? And because it feels weird to have it sticking up all over the place.”

It’s so short that it’s not really sticking up anywhere.

“No, it’s getting messier as it grows back. Was your hair never messy?”

Never. Shirabu denies, but Semi catches a glimpse of a flat-iron and endless frustration.

A smirk crawls over his face, and he doesn’t even pretend to hide it. “I knew your hair couldn’t naturally be that perfectly straight.”

Rubbish. Shirabu tries to act outraged, but Semi knows him too well by now to let the falsehood slide. Lies and slander.

Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.

I will, thanks.

-----

If they’re not arguing about inane things in some way, they’re fighting over who has control over certain things.

It’s your turn to wash dishes.

Nope nope nope–

GET BACK HERE.

…usually they fight over who’s in control, not over who’s shirking his duties.

But it’s fun and funny and weird even at the best of times, and they grow used to sharing where before they had absolute control.

(Even if they still mess up sometimes.)

What do you want for dinner?

Dunno.

Instant ramen?

Too unhealthy.

Steamed corn, then.

Too boring.

There’s some meat in the fridge, isn’t there? Fry that with corn.

What is it with you and corn?

That’s the only thing in the freezer?

I hate that you’re right.

We need to go for groceries tomorrow.

You can go, while I sleep in.

…you know that’s not allowed.

You’re almost completely fine at controlling my body anyway.

I beg to differ.

If you can cook dinner, you can go for groceries.

…you know how close I come to nearly cutting off your fingers every time I hold a knife?

On purpose?

By accident.

I’m surprised you’re so thoughtful.

You realise this is now my body as well?

Oh wow, I hadn’t noticed.

There’s nothing but huffy silence from Shirabu, and Semi cracks a smile at that, stretching leisurely.

Fine, I’ll make dinner.

Don’t forget the onions.

Shush.

Don’t forget the salt.

You say that, as if I can ever forget the salt with you here.

EXCUSE YOU.

But Shirabu really has come a long way, and even if he still knocks things off the table by accident or picks too small clothes to wear sometimes, it’s undeniable that he is competent enough.

“I think the two of you are clear,” Mizoguchi comments at the end of their next session. She smiles at them, writing something and tearing off a slip from her clipboard. “Pass this to the receptionist when you leave. It’ll clear you, and you can go back to work next week.”

Semi stares at the slip for too long, so Shirabu shoulders him out of the way, reaching for the paper. He manages to stop himself before he reaches too far, mentally congratulating himself for being halfway competent.

You are competent, Semi comments, gently pushing him aside, taking back control. You’re pretty good.

Thank you.

Semi doesn’t think that sounds sarcastic, for once.

“Oh, Semi-kun, Shirabu-kun, one more thing.”

They lift their head to look at Mizoguchi, watching as she signs the paper she’s holding, handing it to them with a flourish.

“Go down to the Ministry of Registry sometime this week and get a new identification card with both your names on it. Congratulations, you’ve made it through the pilot study.”

Semi reaches for the slip this time, as Shirabu stares on in shock.

A nudge, a teasing remark, and they thank Mizoguchi, finally leaving to settle matters with the receptionist.

It’s not until they are halfway back to the house that Shirabu manages to speak.

A new… ID?

Semi snorts. Yeah. They told me that before, when I signed up. Didn’t they tell you?

Maybe. I don’t remember. I never thought that far.

You thought it wouldn’t work. Semi's voice is soft.

I didn’t have high hopes, no.

Well, Semi draws out, What do you think now?

I…

He takes a moment to ponder.

I guess I’m glad to be alive.

Semi smiles, and Shirabu can feel the way his expression softens. Then this will be the next big step. Coming back into society.

(It’s a nice thought, Shirabu thinks.)

Does this count as coming back from the dead?

He can feel Semi’s surprise, the shaking that comes with suppressed laughter.

I guess so. I don’t think they destroyed your records though.

Hmm.

(Coming back from the dead. He made it.)

(He survived, he didn’t die.)

(It’s kind of amazing.)

And as he marvels, there’s another thought, a spreading awareness. A blip of curiosity.

You never told me where you work.

Semi jerks a little in realisation. Oh, yeah.

That’s not an answer.

I work at a vet clinic.

Receptionist?

No, I’m the nurse. Two seconds later, the teasing tone of the other’s voice registers. Wait.

You’re competent enough to be more than a receptionist, I know.

The cacophony of snickers in the back of his head makes him roll his eyes, but it’s heartwarming to know that he has such faith in him.

Why a vet clinic?

Shirabu thinks he feels a tendril of sheepishness from him. I wanted to work with animals but I don’t really want to do the surgery.

Why not? Surgery is cool.

You’ll change your mind, Semi tells him confidently. Too much blood makes anyone squeamish after a while.

Hmm. We’ll see.

A few beats of silence, and Semi puts the matter out of mind, pointedly not thinking about blood and spilled guts.

Semi-san.

Hmm?

Aren’t you going to go for further studies, if you want to work with animals?

I don’t see a need to, he tells him. What I’m doing now is enough.

I sense a ‘but' in there.

A heavy sigh. But the work wears on you. I might not stay in this field for long.

Would you go for higher education then?

I’m not really interested in studying more.

I could help you.

No, that’s alright. I want to do this on my own merit.

Shirabu is silent then, but something tells Semi that he’s not done. Spit it out if you have something to say.

…I want to study.

What subject?

I don’t know. Science. Something. He sounds tired, resigned. I never had to think about it before, because I wasn’t going to live that long.

It hits Semi then, that he doesn’t know.

Is that why you asked to be part of the pilot study?

I figured I had nothing left to lose.

His tone is weary, and carries a note of finality. Semi wants to know more, but he figures that he’d tell him, if he wanted to.

(Maybe sometime.)

I have a proposition.

What?

You watch me work, and decide what you want to study. If I have enough money saved by the time I decide to quit, you can choose the university and course and we’ll go study that.

You would do that? Shirabu sounds shocked, and really, Semi can’t blame him.

It’s not like I have anything in mind after this job.

He says nothing, but feels the tiny thrill of excitement from the other. Thank you.

We share a body. We ought to compromise more often.

That reminds me.

What?

Where did you learn such big words?

Semi has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from spluttering aloud. I read!

Who would’ve thought?

Why you…

Shirabu laughs at his fuming, and while he’s still mad, Semi has to admit that it’s the first time he’s heard him laugh since they started sharing a body.

Next chapter

#semishira #semi eita #shirabu kenjirou #haikyuu!!#my writing #science fiction #shared body au #overlay

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