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tteokdoroki · 3 years

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waves that hurt | k.bakugou + i.midoriya.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader x izuku midoriya.

♡ word count: 3.04K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, hurt, angst and comfort.

♡ summary: dark days mean dark waves that crash across your mind, intrusive and mean the waves pull you under— but they are the helping hands that pull you up and let you breathe.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy tw for depression, intrusive thoughts and self depreciation, self doubt and low self-worth. this fic is written mostly from personal experiences and may not be accurate to how everyone feels! mentions of therapy.

♡ author’s note(s): this is my contribution to @doinmybesthere ‘s mental health awareness collab, this is kinda personal to me and something i experienced recently!! i hope it can provide some comfort to anyone out there, please don’t forget to check out everyone else’s works and i hope you’re all safe ‘n well <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“kacchan, it’s much worse this time, i really think you should come home early tonight.”

deku whispers into the phone, his marred hands rub slow and soothing circles into your back from over the duvet— you can feel his warmth, light and airy through it but he feels and sounds much further away. a million miles across a dark ocean that trickles through your thoughts, intrusive and mean, keeping you under and away from clear air.

you wouldn’t want to pull him into this, bother him with the way you drown in dark thoughts— so you pull away from your boyfriend and tuck yourself away into the sheets.

izuku doesn’t retract his hand even as you pull away, listening to katsuki grunt orders down the phone— make sure yn’s eaten, make sure yn’s had water. basic things you should be able to do on your own but can’t, paralysed by the anxiety and depression that clamps down on you like a vice and refuses to let you up so you can just breathe. you want to breathe and not feel like the world is crashing down on you, to have a second to yourself where everything seems like it’s okay.

brushing fingers over the nape of your neck, toying with the coils of your baby hairs, your boyfriend speaks, only gently. “baby,” says quietly, his weight causing the bed to dip. “katsuki will be home soon, do you want to come with me to let him in?” you shrug, a sick feeling twisting in your gut. you see the black tendrils and waves in the back of your mind, bringing forth a new batch of ugly words that force you down. are you really that much of a burden these days that katsuki has to call it quits on work for you? “how are you feeling?”

you don’t know, you don’t know how to tell him that every thought you have hurts and there’s a pain in your chest with every breath you take. “i don’t know, it’s just...bad izu…” you want to explain how you feel deep inside, but the words are trapped like balls of tar in your throat— fear that if you say something he’ll walk away.

“you don’t have to say anything, don’t force yourself to…” he speaks with a soft voice, cotton to your ears in an attempt to soothe you. you can just about feel the clean air flowing through your lungs at the sound— it tells you he loves you, no matter what and you almost believe it before sinking back under. “let’s get you some water okay? wouldn’t want kacchan scolding us would we?”

the joke hangs in the murky and heavy air for a few seconds before you muster a small smile— your green haired boyfriend lets out a tiny sigh of relief and pressed a kiss into your hairline, the affection simmers under your skin and briefly brings light to your dark mind as izuku starts leading you to the kitchen.

you’re curled up in izuku’s lap when the front door pops open with a click— signifying your other boyfriend had arrived home. you flinch, hiding yourself in the blankets keeping you warm and locking away the dark thoughts from the eyes of your lovers.

part of you hated them seeing you this way, that’s why you forced yourself to keep everything away from them— but they knew, they always did and always came to your rescue. you didn’t want them to feel like they had to look after you when the days were bad and draining and your mind took hold of everything that you felt. you didn’t need the weight of your own problems on the shoulders of two pro heroes who had enough to deal with.

in the end, you would destroy them like you did with yourself.

you can hear katsuki shedding his gear by the door, feeling his intense and heated presence flood the room and barely penetrate the barrier you created for yourself even while you lay in izuku’s arms. for as long as you’d known the two— even from back in your U.A days, bakugou had hated self-pity, of course in recent years he’d cooled down a little and spoke less on the actions of others but even still, you weren’t sure if you could handle him looking down on you for looking down on yourself and for feeling this way.

the blanket is suddenly lifted from your head, momentarily blinding you with the overwhelming light that is your boyfriend, katsuki bakugou. a twinkle of concern lines his ruby eyes and you can see traces of his charcoal eyeliner that he usually smudges underneath his mask— he’s so beautiful but you’re afraid of the twitches of worry, afraid that he’s mad at you for being the way you are.

“hey honey,” bakugou hums, crouching to your level to cup your cheeks, stress bleeding from his body when you nuzzle into him.

izuku gives you a squeeze, an encouraging one and you nod. “hi,” is all you can muster, afraid of blurting the intrusive words that crackle across your brain.

katsuki sits back on his haunches, looking between you and his boyfriend before he attempts to kick off his shoes. the room is full of a thick, ugly quietness that you know you’re responsible for— they don’t have to say anything, you know that it’s you. because when you’re like this it’s hard for bakugou and midoriya to talk, afraid that they’ll say something to set you off and you afraid that they’ll leave if they knew how you really felt. how trapped and alone you felt inside, how the twisted darkness added tones to your vibes and dragged you down with every step that you took.

they don’t need to say it because it flows from your body like a rushing river and drowns them, fills their lungs and it’s your fault for infecting them with your own bitter taste of life.

“have you eaten?” the blonde of the two boys asks, looking you dead in the eye. you want to answer, but again the viscous back from earlier starts to flood through your body. you try to take care of yourself of these days where you feel it the hardest, but it’s difficult to move and to breathe— and the drive to complete even the simplest of tasks is barely ever there.

you move to speak, caught up in the thick smog of your own brain when izuku gives your body a squeeze and shakes his head, the forest of his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’ve had water, right?” izuku has no problem answering for you. “but nothing to eat,” he whispers, keeping his voice low as if to hide his worry from you— it’s light in his tone but tremors throughout the number one’s body. you feel sick for making him feel that way.

katsuki’s gaze shifts back from his boyfriend to you, his expression unreadable because he knows how you get if they worry too much about you. you’re thankful, partly for that at least, his blank face prevents your mind from reading too deep into things and blaming yourself for things out of your own control.

“‘m makin’ your favourite for dinner. you’ll eat it, no questions asked.” the explosive pro hero states firmly, rising from his place crouched down by your side, obviously not before thumbing over your cheeks to wipe away evidence of your dried tears. “gonna run you a bath too, damn nerd better get you upstairs and ready by the time it’s done.” deku’s chest rumbles with a light hearted chuckle beneath you, lifting the heavy weight of the air within the room— bakugou had always loved brashly, with a fiery intensity that hardly left room for the answer ‘no’, and while izuku was more tame, they balanced one another out in a way that felt more like a warm hug than a battle. they grounded you, in the best of ways.

true to his disgruntled words, your blonde headed boyfriend runs you a hot bath. you don’t miss the addition of lavender oil to the perfectly warm water, the baking soda which you’re sure he only knew to add because his mother had said it would remove the demon spawn toxins in his body. izuku is the one to help you strip, holds your hands as you kick off gross comfort clothes and folds them away, after pressing kisses to your groggy face and chin.

it’s almost funny to see the two biggest and beefiest pro heroes sit on your bathroom floor crossed legged and beside the tub— both of them taking up the majority of the room. you know for a fact that no one would believe the sight unless they saw it, but they’re there. both of them, izuku midoriya and bakugou katsuki are with you encompassed in the silence while you wash away the ugly words that plague your mind and fill the pores of your skin.

they’re still there.

even as sweet lavender water moves in soft waves over your bare body, while black ink moves in the same way across your brain— tattooing self-depreciating thoughts into every inch. you’re not worth their time, they say, you’re wasting it. because how could their precious time be put to good use if you’re taking it up, they could be saving people but instead your boyfriends are here, drowning in your own darkness.

they’re still fucking here.

when they could be out there saving the people who needed it, who were suffering out there in the world outside of your home.

and the suds against your body, the warm water sloshing over your thighs isn’t enough to get rid of the burning sensation of vile phrases printing themselves against your body and clouding every thought that you think. toxic, mean and nasty things you can’t scrub away— none of it is enough to make you feel like you deserve bakugou tenderly lathering you up with the rose scented soap his mother had sent you for christmas or the sips of cool water midoriya brings to your lips in order to prevent you from overheating in the steam of the bathroom.

deku catches the painful twist in your face, pausing his movements to study you. “whaddya need?” you need it to stop, to find something to replace the pain and doubts that fill you.

“water, hotter,” you croak quietly, tears building up in the base of your throat as katsuki catches on and flicks the tap for a stream of hot water to fill the tub. “please,”

they tell you to let them know when to stop if the heat gets too much, but the scalding water burns away any reminders of the self loathing you feel across every inch of your mind, your body and your soul. it stings at the darkness in a way that’s painfully soothing and maybe if you sink under— it could stop hurting completely. if you could slide deeper into the water, would the waves of darkness not crash so hard?

and then the damn breaks, like a tsunami the guilt and anguish you feel crashes over your body and takes control, leaving you fighting for oxygen in the form of your happiness.

everything that you’d been holding back flows freely in salty tears from tired eyes, scorching a path down the apples of your cheeks and mingling with the contents of the tub below. your boys, they don’t notice at first, how you cry and curl in on yourself until you think the world won’t notice you anymore but then just as they always do, they’re pulling you into their warmth and bubble of light— freeing you from black intrusive tendrils even if it means they have to crawl into the tub and wade their through the ocean you’ve made to set yourselves apart.

“don’t—!” you heave with an uneven voice, signs of you falling apart evident in every way. bakugou and deku pull away from you slowly, with dripping shirts and worry written across freckled faces and red eyes. they’re scared for you, hate seeing you force your feelings down and away from them. “please don’t touch me—you’ll—“

the water in the bathtub sloshes from where you retract from their touch, backing yourself up against the wall and away from your boys. “we’ll what?” izuku presses but only gently, keeping you afloat, stopping you from sinking and bakugou stays put in his place, letting the latter talk you down.

you shake your head, trying to think of the right words but it’s hard to, with the crashing waves heavy against your ears. how do you tell your lovers that everything hurts, to think and to feel, to live day by day. you don’t want to bother them with and an extra stress to their busy lives. but you can’t keep it in any longer, bursting at the seams. “you’ll drown. i-if i touch you, i’ll pull you under, you’ll drown with me and you won’t be able to breathe and all those horrible things that i think about will burn in your lungs until you give up fighting like me,” your tears and hiccups interrupt your words, but they listen. bakugou and deku, they listen and they stay.

“yn—“

“because if you do, then all that i feel will be a burden to you— i’ll break in ways that can’t be fixed and you’ll be forced to pick up the pieces and i’ll just be a burden,” you continue, not even pausing to take a breath while you continue to cry. “if you stay to pick up the pieces, you’ll be taken away from people who need you, who are worth saving, and can be helped and—“

you can’t recount how many nights, similar to this in which you wondered why and how two pro heroes could want and love you, why they dealt with your down days that sometimes outnumbered the ups— even if they’d shown you how much they cared, you couldn’t help but feel guilty as if your sadness took up their time to save someone else.

“you can be helped, yn. you don’t have to go what you’re going through alone, you’re worth the time and the effort of helping, no one deserves to suffer,” the green haired of your two boyfriends cuts through the tail ends of your words, still keeping distance until he knows it’s safe to touch you again. there is no look of condescending pity on his face, no sign to show you’ve pulled him into the dark of your mind. it’s just izuku, trying to help you pull through.

you look to katsuki hesitantly, he hasn’t said a word. “but i don’t want to be seen as...as weak, or to worry you because i can’t get out of my own head—“

“y’not fuckin’ weak, we’d never think that of you. we see you try to hide your pain, pretend things don’t get to you when they do. but fuckin’ handlin’ things on ya own can make y’stronger than any two heroes combined,” a look of anger flashes across his features, finer with age and tired with work. but bakugou isn’t angry with you, but with himself for leading you to believe that you were an extra weight on his shoulders. both of their shoulders. “yer not gonna get rid of us or scare us away, we love ya, we’re here for ya ‘n if it’s help that you need or think yer not worthy of, we’ll find some. it’s okay t’ask for help.”

maybe it’s hearing it from someone else, that your pain and your depression is valid, that you’re not an extra weight on the people you love that allows you to come up from a tar-like ocean for fresh air in your lungs, for the waves to calm and the storm raging in your mind to soothe. maybe it’s the two of your boyfriends being there for you despite the fear that you’d scare them away with not being okay that washes away some of the awful things you think.

you know that their support won’t make things go away over night, that it will take time for you to heal but for now you can keep your head above the water just long enough to breathe.

“can i touch you now? is it okay?” deku asks, feeling less distant from you than at the start of the day, but as your body shakes with the last of your tears all you manage is a nod before the number one hero is pulling you into his chest from the tub and the number two is wrapping a towel and his arms around you.

you sit sandwiched between the two, they keep you at the surface— holding you tight while you let out what you’ve been holding back. “we can get some help if y’want it, the doctors...therapy might be nerve wrackin’...scary even, but it can help and we’ll be there every single step of the fuckin’ way,” katsuki reasures you with pets to your head, rocking you back and forth on your bathroom floor, steam clinging to the air that you can finally breathe.

izuku nods along in agreement, pressing kisses to your wet hairline. “we’ll be here. you won’t be alone.”

the murkiness of the water in your mind starts to clear, but only just— their warmth starts to push through the clouds like sunshine brushing against your skin. a light to the dark that's plagued your every waking moment, the waves no longer crash and destroy but instead lap comfortingly at your painful thoughts and tame them just enough for you to have a moment of clarity.

you don’t have to be alone or millions of miles away, you deserve the hands of your loved ones that offer you help instead of pushing them away. the process of healing and things like therapy or meds will be hard sometimes, but katsuki and izuku will be here by your side, to help you manage days where darkness rolls in waves that hurt and help you breathe once again.

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nessinborderland · 3 years

Text

Ampallang

Pairing: Niragi x Reader

Genre: smut, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Your boyfriend has been distant. The real reason as to why might surprise you.

Warnings: Niragi has a dick piercing, you’re both dramatic af, miscommunication, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex

Notes: Anonymous asks: Can you write a steamy smut of Niragi and the reader, where Niragi got some new piercings to show off. (You can do any piercings but I would recommend dick or nipple piercings maybe both?) Here it is! So yeah, I had to make it somewhat realistic since piercings are a pain to heal and can infect so easily. Also, ampallang is the specific name of Niragi’s piercing :) <3 Enjoy!

Masterlist

“Okay, I can’t take this any longer, what’s going on?” you ask your boyfriend of six months, “We haven’t had sex in weeks and you barely let me touch you. Am I the problem? Are you... not attracted to me anymore?” you ask in a quavering tone. This question has been in your head for weeks, but you were always afraid to ask him. Unfortunately for him, after some beers, you’re more than ready to confront him, “Are you cheating on me?...”

“What?!” Niragi exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes, “No, baby, no it’s nothing like that. I would never do that to you!” he sounds offended but – more than that – he sounds genuine. You don’t know what to believe; why would he – a man that could barely keep his hands to himself while in your presence – be avoiding you all of a sudden?

“Oh my god…” your eyes fill with tears at the next possibility that goes through your mind, “Are you sick?” that’s it; he’s dying.

“Y/N, listen to me–”

“Am I sick?!” what if he knows something that you don’t? What if he has been avoiding touching you because he knows that you’re the one dying? “Please tell me that–”

“I got a dick piercing!” he blurts out aloud, hands on your shoulders as he shakes you slightly. There’s a moment where you just stay frozen, staring into each other’s eyes. That was it? He has been avoiding you, not touching you, canceling dates with you because he got a damn dick piercing?

Unbelievable.

Your first reaction is to laugh, tears streaming down your face as you cackle and almost fall down the sofa you’re in. You hear him mumble something you don’t understand, muffled by your hysterical laugh. All this time you thought he didn’t want you anymore, that there was something wrong with you, but he just went the extra mile to conceal the fact that he had a dick piercing?

You could actually kill him.

“You are such a drama queen!” you exclaim after your laughter subsided a bit. You look at him to see him red as a tomato, face half-hidden by his hand as he sends you a glare.

“You’re one to talk,” he mumbles, before shrugging and casting his eyes down, “I don’t know what’s so fucking funny, anyway...” Watching him so angry and embarrassed makes you stop laughing altogether.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, dummy, I was laughing at your dramatic ass,” you get closer to him, taking his hands in yours, “You could’ve just told me you did it and I would be okay with it. But hiding it from me and making me think the worst? Not cool, dude.”

“I wanted to surprise you…” he says, hiding his face against your neck.

“Well, consider me surprised,” you chuckle as you pass your fingers through his raven hair.

“To be honest, I wasn’t expecting this to take so long to heal,” he continues, relaxing under your touch, “Even getting hard hurts. That’s why I was avoiding being with you, I always get hard just by looking at your fine ass,” his hand lightly pinches your thigh near your bottom, making you giggle, “I should’ve told you, though. Sorry, kitten.”

“It’s alright.” you kiss his forehead and put your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. You stay like that for some time, until you can’t avoid the urge to ask; you got to know.

“So…” you start, “How bad was it? Did you cry?” he huffs against your neck at your words, shaking his head.

“No, but it hurt like a motherfucker,” he says. In other words, yes, he cried, “I regretted doing it as soon as it was done. It got worse, though. When I said I was with the flu last month, I was actually home making sure my dick didn’t fall off.”

You chuckle, shaking your head at this sequence of events. You could’ve been there for him and – most importantly – you wouldn’t be worrying yourself sick. But that’s in the past now.

“Hmm...can I see?” you ask. You’re really curious to see your boyfriend’s new piercing. You always found the ones in his face hot, but you don’t really know what to expect right now.

“I might actually explode if you do so much as look at my dick,” he says in a low tone, “I miss fucking this tight pussy of yours.”

You let out a surprised gasp when his hand cups your sex, hips bucking against his palm in response. You missed his touch so much. And that’s why you throw yourself on his lap, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He responds immediately, tongue pushing inside your mouth and teeth nibbling at your bottom lip like he wants to swallow you whole.

“Suguru, please…” you beg as he starts kissing down your neck, “Please fuck me, please-”

“Lay back, kitten,” you do as he says, reclining against the arm of the couch as he starts taking off your shorts and panties. You’re soon bare from the waist down, legs open as your boyfriend sets in between them, looking at your cunt like it’s the first time. It almost feels like it, after a month without doing anything but kissing.

“Fuck,” he growls, sending a shiver down your spine, “I’m gonna eat your pussy until your legs are shaking and you’re begging me to stop.”

You whimper as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking and licking it like a starved man. And he is, as much as you are. You moan freely, together with the sounds of Niragi eating you out, hands pulling his hair as you move your hips against his face. It feels so good, to finally have his hands on you.

He fucks you with his tongue and fingers until you're a moaning mess, legs shaking and dripping cunt clenching around nothing like he promised you. But you want more, much more. And so does he.

"Fuck…" he stops for a moment after you come the first time, grinding on the couch with a pained expression, "Fuck this," he says to himself, "Gonna fuck you with my cock anyway."

"Are you sure?" you ask in between panting breaths, watching him as he strips down completely. You notice something shining on his chest, and you smile, "Oh, that one is new too..."

"Yeah, do you like it?" his smile widens when you nod, still looking at his silver nipple piercing. When you finally see his member, though, that's when your smile falls and your mouth waters.

It looks so pretty.

He's hard as a rock, and the piercing on the head of his cock glints strongly in contrast with the color of his skin. Is hot as fuck, and you feel yourself growing wetter at the prospect of finally having him inside you like that.

“I did this one especially for you,” he says as he kisses you, “It’s supposed to make you feel good.”

"Put it inside me…" you beg as you open your legs wider for him. He almost trembles with excitement as he retrieves a condom from his pants on the floor, before carefully putting it on and lining himself up with your waiting cunt.

When he finally gets inside you, you swear you can feel the metal of his cock touching your velvety walls. It feels so good it makes you want to come right then.

"Fuck," he says as he starts slowly moving in and out of you, "You feel so fucking tight it hurts."

You kiss as he starts going faster, legs raised over his shoulders as the wet sounds of sex echo in the room. He always made you feel full, the head of his cock always hitting the right spot to make you come over and over with barely any clit stimulation, but this? This damn new piercing, grazing your walls at every firm thrust? Even better.

"Fuck, it hurts," he hisses as he sucks on a nipple, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive bud as you clench around him like you want to trap him inside you, "Fuck, shit, don't stop hugging my cock like that. Keep going, kitten."

You come at his words – whole body shaking as he keeps fucking you through your orgasm – and do as he says, too fucked out of your mind to do anything else but that.

He comes with a shudder and a guttural moan not long after, slowly getting out of you and discarding his condom, before laying on top of you, head in-between your breasts.

You stay like that while you regain your breath, finally satiated after such a long time without each other.

"So…" your boyfriend starts, "Did you like it?"

"Very much so," you say with a smirk that doesn't go unnoticed, "But I'm gonna need some more testing to be sure."

"You can do whatever you want with it, kitten," he kisses you, long and slow, "After it stops hurting like a bitch, though."

#alice in borderland #ima wa no kuni no alice #Niragi Suguru #niragi x reader #niragi smut #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #submission #anon

621 notes · View notes

redorich · 3 years

Note

(Hermit Canyon AU)

Eventually, the Hermit seems to get attached to Puffy. It makes sense- it's been trading gifts with her for months now, and has even shown itself to her a few times, albeit while invisible.

The other SMPers don't think much of it at first. The more curious members ask Puffy questions about The Hermit sometimes, but she knows little, so they quickly give up. Occasionally someone will try to explore the ridiculously trapped town, but they give up once it's obvious they're not getting in.

The trades grow more and more valuable, and one day Puffy opens her barrel to find a beacon, and enough iron to fully power it. She's stunned, naturally. To think the Hermit is so capable it can kill a Wither just to give a beacon away- she can barely believe it.

(In actuality, they cheesed it on the Nether roof, but she doesn't know that)

She does try to hide it, but word gets around, and after another few failed raids on the town (and some rumours that the Hermit can teleport), things settle down again, as much as they can on the SMP.

Then someone steals Puffy's beacon. {You decide who, because I. don't actually watch DSMP, admittedly.}

Puffy, naturally, is devestated- she can't imagine the work the Hermit put into getting it for her in the first place (the most time-consuming thing was getting the Wither skulls, and it wasn't even that bad). But there's not really much she can do, so she carries on.

Except, the next day, the thief wakes up to find their house full of chickens, Puffy's beacon missing, and every single empty space in their chests filled with strategically renamed light grey stained glass panes.

They go outside to find the entire contents of a cave spider spawner on their front lawn. Alongside a ravager. With speed potions. Renamed Pamela's Revenge.

(Cue half the SMP trying to find out who Pamela is)

Puffy, meanwhile, wakes to find her beacon back in its rightful place, and a beautifully terraformed garden outside her house (Scar accidentally detonated a creeper and naturally had to fix the hole...and then went a little overboard. But it's fine.)

op i want you to know that i considered just posting your ask, because it’s already So Good and practically a fic on its own, but i really wanted even more content so i wrote it myself. ANYWAY here’s sapnap’s terrible horrible no good very bad day xD

It’s risky, doing anything on the wide open Nether roof where anyone can see. Hell, using a beacon at all is risky for the Hermits. Still, they’ve got all sorts of farms and copious amounts of materials at their fingertips. They’re past early game, stuck in mid-game while they wait for Etho to scope out more locations, while they build the second Upside Down (which Grian has named the Upside-ier Down), while they build their joint bases miles out from civilization.

Having a beacon would make the process faster, they reason to themselves. They certainly aren’t risking being discovered just because they’re bored and getting a beacon is an excuse to do something. And hell, Tango made that giant, super-efficient wither skeleton skull farm right next to his double blaze spawner farm, so they might as well mass-produce Nether stars by killing multiple Withers. It’s not that difficult.

On another note, it’s after they gift Puffy one of their many beacons, in addition to a kit of iron blocks for powering the beacon that the Hermits realize that while their gifts are increasing in expense, Puffy’s are... not. So, if Puffy’s around average in the Dream SMP economy, they’ve figured out where most players meet their limit. She hasn’t stopped dropping by, though, which is nice. Her gifts become increasingly handmade, in lieu of upping the ante on material wealth. The Hermits suppose that hand-crafted items have a value that extends past money. Each and every one of them has something that she’s made for them, whether it be a shawl, a blanket, a set of earrings, a bracelet, or a pair of socks.

Apparently the beacon is more of a Big Deal than the Hermits thought. After all, the rainbow castle has several. However, the Hermits realize that they’ve been shortsighted. While it is true that the rainbow castle has several beacons, the castle is the only place that they’ve seen any beacons.

Sapnap steals the beacon. He doesn’t particularly need it, but he wants it, and stealing is fun. Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll even start another minor war over it. He hasn’t fought Puffy very much. He wonders if she can put up a good fight.

Puffy’s-- not distraught, but she’s upset. That was a gift from the Hermit, a friend who she’s been pulling out of its shell. She doesn’t have much use for a beacon, but then again, neither does Sapnap; he’s just a dick. Just in case, Puffy leaves a note with the rest of the items she leaves in her barrel:

Dear Hermit,

I’m very sorry for losing the beacon you gave me. I made the mistake of keeping it in a normal chest instead of an Ender chest, so Sapnap stole it. I should have seen that coming. I’ll try to get it back, but if I don’t, please know that I didn’t throw it away.

Thank you,

Puffy.

Sapnap wakes up in the middle of a lake. His mattress is floating, and when he tries to paddle back to shore (once he’s done screaming), the mattress tips over and he receives an unpleasant fishy wakeup call. He trudges into his house for a shower, and finds that the showerhead, as well as all his faucets, have been stuffed with ramen noodle seasoning.

He looks in his chests for a bucket of water. The first chest he checks is not only full of light gray glass, but also trapped. When he opens it, pufferfish fall out of the ceiling and bounce around. He dies to their poison twice before they finally die. The next chest he opens also has light gray glass, no water buckets, and a trap. This one, though, only releases a metric fuckton of chickens into his house. It’s fine. This is fine.

As he looks through his chests, he realizes something. They’ve got glass in them, sure, and they’ve been raided of water buckets, but... the beacon is gone. None of his other items, like enchanted netherite tools or literal diamond blocks, have been stolen. Just Puffy’s beacon.

Whoever pranked him missed a bucket, so he promptly dumps it over his head in an effort to smell less like pond scum and spicy chicken noodles. It takes the whole day to get his base back in order: he’s got to clean out all the faucets, empty all the glass from his chests, throw out all the dead pufferfish, and slaughter chickens by the dozens.

He can’t sleep. Are you fucking kidding. He can’t sleep. A soft hiss catches his attention, only audible now that the quiet of night has fallen. Is there somehow an unlit cave under his base?

Nope. As he steps outside onto his front lawn, he sees a daylight detector near the door that he missed when he came inside this morning. The daylight detector seems to have released approximately fifteen bajillion cave spiders onto his lawn, and they’re all angry, so he shuts the front door in their faces and goes back inside. That’s a problem for tomorrow’s him.

Horns spear the wall right next to where Sapnap was standing five seconds ago. He yelps. What the fuck is a ravager doing on his front porch? And why the FUCK does it have speed potion particles?!

<Georgenotfound> who is pamela’s revenge

<Sapnap> ;RVAER

<Sapnap> HELP

<Sapnap> RAVEAGER

<Georgenotfound> good night sapnap :)

<Sapnap> GEORGE OYU BITCH HLEP ME

<Georgenotfound> zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

-------

Puffy sees a whole lot of nonsense in the chat when she wakes up in the morning, and promptly decides to ignore it. She goes about her morning as usual, heading out to her front porch to sip a cup of coffee in peace.

She... has a garden now. Hm. That wasn’t there before. And come to think of it, neither was the beacon she lost.

“Thanks, Hermit,” she says with a smile.

-------

Stress sips a cup of tea, having breakfast in Grian’s rustic sitting room with a few of her fellow Hermits.

“D’ya think we went overboard?” she says.

“...Nah,” Cub says.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #captain puffy #goodtimeswithscar #ethoslab #grian #tango tek #sapnap #georgenotfound #stressmonster #stressmonster101 #cubfan135 me.cpp #rayveewrites

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universalistotalis · 3 years

Text

Someday

Miya Osamu x Female Reader

Fluff fluff fluff to a little angst

Mention of Mommy Miya and Atsumu lol

2.9k words

Masterlist!!!

You wiped the sleep from your eyes as you were woken up by one of your family members who sat beside you on the bus. People queued in line to exit the vehicle that’s stopped in front of the airport and you can hear the soft chattering of the passengers as they lined up the aisle.

It feels sad really. To be leaving a country that you’ve explored for days on end, enjoying the culture, the view, the food, and all the little details in between. You wrapped the jacket more to your figure as the cold and the sadness crept into you. You welcomed the feelings though, because it meant that you had such a wonderful time that you didn’t want to let go.

Blinding lights made your eyes squint as all of you entered the gigantic airport. ‘Here we are’, you said to yourself. The busy goers walked and jogged past you here and there, some were loading heavy bags trolleys, some were panicking while looking at the schedule, and some were just chilling at the aligned chairs, sipping a cup of coffee.

“So, we’ll go check- in on our flight and we’ll go to the duty- free shop for souvenirs. All right?” You just nodded at their plan because they’ve been repeating that ever since you went out the hotel room where you stayed.

As you had hoped, the duty free shop was so full of things that you wanted. Just packed with all the goodies like the country's famous snacks, the foreign cosmetics that you adored, and even the cool relief patches that you tried and were so amazed at. Good thing you were given enough money to purge on what you wanted so you filled an entire basket! After all, you never know when you can come back to this country again.

“Excuse me.” Someone from behind you cleared his throat.

You were busy looking at the label of one of the beauty products from the shelf that you didn’t notice that you were blocking the narrow column.

“Oh sorry.” You apologized and scooted a little so that the person could pass. You turned to see the man and your whole body froze for a millisecond at the sight. The air felt electric all of the sudden as your gazes fixed on each other. He was the first one to look away and go on his way normally, as if not feeling the surge of adrenaline that you just felt.

“Damn, he’s beautiful.” You whispered. You swore you have never seen someone that beautiful in your entire life... EVER! And it wasn’t helping that his body was so built and tall and that his hair had this ombre gray color going on. No one’s supposed to look good with that hair color but why did he pull it off?! How?!

“Samu! I found your favorite cookies from yesterday!” An loud, excited voice made you jump from behind and you turned around in reflex. You saw the beautiful man earlier, standing at the end of the aisle and examining the pack in his hands while nodding. “I told you we could find it here! C’mon, let’s get more!” A tall blonde man next to him said while dragging him away.

You blinked, trying to process what you saw. Wow.

That’s it! Some people are just god’s favorites, aren’t they? You thought you were having issues with your vision but it was clear that there is not only one beautiful man. But TWO! He has a twin and good god, they were both so fit!

‘Does this store have a sale on these guys because I would like to purchase, please!’ You just chuckled at your crazy, thirsty thoughts and proceeded to checking out the things you bought.

They never left your mind. There were still five hours to spare before your flight but not once did they, especially he, stop running in your head! You scolded yourself one too many times this past hour because of the scenarios flooding in. There were date nights, traveling to different countries, petty fight scenes, cute nicknames, and all the sappy shit that couples do and say. You’re just hurting yourself really, and you had to stop!

The gods just wanted you to have a good one minute of your life and that’s it. You’ll never see him again!

You sighed and excused yourself to get a beverage that’ll quench your thirst from so much daydreaming. The nearest vending machine that you saw was at the other waiting area so you had to walk a little bit further. Your eyes were already set on the juice drink once you neared the machine.

“Hey, y/n!” You looked up questioningly as you saw your family waving and approaching you. “Let’s stay here a bit. People are beginning to flock there and I don’t like it. Besides, we can see if they’re already boarding from here.”

“Alright.” You agreed. “You want anything from the vendo?”

“Anything that you’ll have please.”

You sealed the top cap of the bottle mindlessly while staring blankly at the the vending machine. Your fingers were a little numb from the cold drink but you didn’t mind. You allowed yourself to be overly emotional at the thought of ending the vacation and of not having the boy you swore would be perfect for you. How could a single meeting that lasted for seconds affect you so much?! A small, sad chuckle left your lips because you knew you were so damn whipped but that didn’t really matter now.

“You’re so damn whipped, man! What, you’ve known her for like five seconds and now you think you’re in love with her?” Atsumu hissed, looking at his brother like he had grown two heads.

“Shut yer trap, Tsumu.” Osamu snapped out of his daydream once his brother’s voice penetrated the peaceful area.

“Then stop staring!” Atsumu laughed and shook his head. He took a glimpse of the person behind him to check the girl out and he had to admit, you were pretty even in your simple clothes.

“Hey.” Osamu called, a hint of warning laced in his deep voice.

“What, I wasn’t looking!" Atsumu dramatically puts his hand up in the air. "Stop being possessive of your five- second girlfriend, sheesh!” He teased more as he was met by the scowling face of his twin.

“I’m not in love with her.” Osamu scowled and folded his hands together like a toddler.

Atsumu was trying so hard not to laugh at his state and denial. “Look, Samu. We practically came from the same cell, you don’t have to lie to me. If it makes you feel better, we’ll reduce it to a crush. Now, how does that sound?”

Osamu rolled his eyes but he knew Tsumu was right. When he saw your eyes from the store, he felt a prickling sensation in his whole body that it shocked him a little. He swore all the hairs on his skin stood up at the encounter and that was the first time he ever felt that way! And what are the odds that you came to sit on their waiting area, giving him such a good view?

“Honestly, bro. You’re being creepy.” Osamu massaged the bridge of his nose in despair as his twin clicked his tongue in judgment.

“And you’re being annoying.” He countered.

“Cool down! Why don’t you go get us a drink then?” Atsumu smirked and challenged.

“Get your own damn dr—“

“That would be great, honey! Can you please get me water too? I’m getting a little thirsty from waiting.” They both whipped their heads at their mother who was smiling so sweetly and both melted at the sight.

“Okay.” They said in unison and got to their feet in a flash.

“‘Kay, here’s the plan.” Atsumu announced while acting like he’s warming up for a game.

“What plan? We’re just getting drinks?!” Osamu regarded him questioningly.

“We are just getting drinks but the vendo’s in front of your girlfriend, dummy!”

“Shit!” Osamu's eyes widened as he cursed. He hated that Atsumu was making sense. They do need a plan!

“It’s so hard to be the smart brother. I gotta do all the work!” Atsumu sighed dramatically earning himself another eye roll. “So, the plan is…” He paused for a while, trying to get his brother’s attention.

“What?! What do we do?” Osamu's patience was on thin ice and his frustrating brother is not helping one bit!

“Wow, you’re really trusting me on this, huh?” Atsumu stared at him in wonder. “Damn, what did that girl do to you?”

“God fuckin’ dammit, Tsumu, you’re wasting time!” Osamu strangled and shook him lightly. The other just laughed his ass off while trying to break free.

“Boys.” The warning tone and stoic gaze from their mother were enough to make their way to you. To the vending machine, that is…

“I’ll stay here, lover boy.” Atsumu patted Osamu’s back as they neared the destination which was just meters away from their seat.

“Wait, what? No—"

“Don’t be scared, you dummy. You can do it!” Blonde hair swayed in front of Osamu’s face as Atsumu danced a little cheering dance for him. “I’ll have cola, by the way. Now, go!”

Osamu tripped a little as his back was pushed but he didn’t seem to care as he was nearing your crouching form. You were just so damned focused on that phone that you didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Okay, we're just going to go through this like a normal person, Samu. No big deal." He whispered to himself.

“Y/n.” One of the persons beside you called. “I want the juice again pleaaaase.”

He saw your head perk up and was stunned when you laughed at their plea. “Alright, alright! Same flavor?”

Osamu didn’t realize that he was nearing the vending machine the same time as you were as he was so distracted by your charm. So your name was y/n and you had such a cute voice. And definitely a cute smile. Somehow, that was enough to make his imagination run wild!

It all happened so fast and you became aware of his presence a little too late. All you knew was that there was suddenly a looming figure on your left and you jumped in surprise, not meaning to.

“S-sorry.” He stuttered, a little surprised at your reaction too.

“No, no, it’s okay.” You smiled and bowed your head politely at him, praying to all the gods that he doesn’t see you blushing nor hear the heartbeat from your chest. “You go first.”

He blinked and looked down at you questioningly but he declined gently. “No, no. I can wait. Ladies first.” He gestured and stepped aside.

“Alright.” You smiled again.

Your mind was going a hundred miles per hour! You never thought that going to vending machine would be the hardest endeavor of your life! With hands shaking slightly, you inserted the coins until they reached the exact amount of the drink that you wanted and you pressed on the button that suddenly lit up.

A sense of dread flooded your being because that was it. After you press the button, you’re going to go back to your normal life. You were going to turn around and leave and never see that face again.

But as you stood there, you wondered why there wasn’t that familiar sound of the bottle dropping for you to claim?

“That’s weird.” You whispered and crinkled your nose. Your finger pressed the button again... and again, hoping that it result to something but to no avail.

“Is it broken?” His voice echoed the question in your head.

“I don’t think so.” You pouted a little. “I was able to get the same drink a while ago.”

Both of you just stared at it for it moment.

“Kick it.” He suggested, while putting his hands in both of his pockets and cooly transferring his weight on the right side.

“What?” You asked, horrified.

You were flashed with his laughing grin and crinkling eyes. “No harm in trying. C’mon!” He encouraged.

“If I get in trouble, you’re going down with me.” You warned but then you took him up on his challenge and kicked the bottom of the huge metal.

And truthfully so, the bottle dropped.

He crouched down and fetched the cold drink in his hand while still grinning like a fox. “Okay, I didn’t think you’d actually do it but here you go.” His voice was so heavenly to hear especially when it was still alight with humor. His eyes looked at you so sweetly that you were effectively just stuck there, under his spell.

“Thanks.” You chuckled and took what he was holding out. At the touch of your skin, the both of you jumped at the sudden and strong electricity that coursed through your veins. It was the same thing you both felt at the store but this time, it was stronger!

“Woah.” He said in awe. “I—"

You rubbed the back of your hand as if it stung and gazed up at him to take a good look. He had kind, brown eyes below his bushy eyebrows and thick, plump lips below his pointed nose. His cheeks were dusted pink which was cute. But his jawline contrasted as it was ready to cut your heart open. His gray hair was tousled too which matched his cool look and outfit of dark blue jeans, white shirt, and a leather jacket.

“T-thanks for this, again.” You stuttered. “I gotta go now.”

“N-no, wait.” He stuttered as well while instinctively pulling your sleeve by the hem. Another surge of lightning shot through you but you managed to smile back at him.

“Yeah?”

“W-what if it doesn’t work on me?” He said, sheepishly. “I need your kicks.”

For the first time since you met him, you started to relax so you let out a hearty laugh. “Okay, I’ll be right here.”

Osamu smiled gratefully at you before turning back and loading his coins. His ears rang at your words, ‘I’ll be right here’. He hoped you would be for a long time but that’s just wishful thinking.

One… Two… Three… Four…

“Wow, how many would you take?” Your amused voice made him grin again.

“It’s for the whole family.” He shrugged and crouched for the fourth time to get the drink. “This would be the last.”

“Good thing it didn’t break!” You said and again you were met by the awkward silence and him just staring. “Uhmm…”

“I’m Osamu, by the way.” He blurted out suddenly. “Miya Osamu.”

He tried his best to hold all the four drinks in one arm and extended one out to you.

“Oh… uhm…” Fuck.

“Uhm?” He laughed, still waiting for your introduction… desperate for it, really.

“Y/n L/n.” Warmth spread from your hands to your body as you held his and squeezed lightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Osamu.”

“Nice to meet you too.” He continued to shake your hand, not breaking eye contact. “Really nice.”

You laugh at the awkwardness but it seems like both of you don’t mind. You just want to prolong this interaction of yours and without you knowing, he was doing the same.

“Thank you for waiting. Flight QR 1008 is now accepting passengers on board.”

Osamu’s world crashed as the announcement continued. That was his cue to leave. He didn’t want to let your hand go so he tightened his grip more.

“That’s our flight.” He whispered and smiled sadly at you.

You nodded as your heart shattered in pieces. “Have a safe flight, Osamu. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Same here.” He replied, slowly letting go of your hand. “You take care and try not to break vending machines next time.”

A laugh bubbled inside your chest as he stepped back in agonizing slowness. “I’ll try.”

“Bye, y/n.” He waved and walked back to his brother who you saw patted him on the back.

“Do you know the guy?” You were asked when you went back to the seats.

“No, I just met him.” How you wish you knew him more.

“Well, he’s such a hunk, isn’t he?” They teased but you just laughed and shrugged it off.

You’re going to suffer this heartache for a while.

On the other end, Osamu carried his backpack over his shoulder, looking like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Hey.” Atsumu wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “You alright?”

“It’s gonna take a while.” He grumbled.

Atsumu nodded in understanding and tightened his grip on his brother for support. “It’ll be fine, Samu.”

And before they could enter the boarding gate leading to the plane, a surge of courage ran through Osamu’s body. All he knew was that he just had to do it or regret it forever. It's worth the risk!

“Hey y/n!” He shouted, jogging his way to you when they neared the entrance doors.

You were stunned at the mere mention of your name from a baritone voice. The grip of two hands followed and they were heavy on your shoulders.

“Let’s meet again, yeah?” Osamu asked you, full of hope in his eyes. “Someday.”

You nodded your head and smiled. You love that idea. “Someday.”

With that, he waved his final good bye, bowed at your family, and left.

All was well but you never saw each other again.

---

Masterlist!!! Read more here hehehe

I actually enjoyed writing this so much hahaha I'm in love with the twin's tandem and their constant witty comebacks and bickering! I also miss going to airports and travelling and spotting eye candies outside... TAKE ME OUT OF THIS HOUSE PLEASE!

Anw, Hope you're all doing great. Stay safe!

Reblogs are appreciated! <3

105 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (15)

word count; 13,807

summary; a tough kill and an injured firefighter bring you and thomas closer than ever, but something else might get in the way..

notes; y’all are gonna love me and hate me.

warnings; injury description, blood mention, infection mention, reference to explosions.

Stripping off a single glove, you wiped a hand over your forehead, sweat built up there cleared away by your palm. Your legs were aching, your lungs were burning from smoke inhalation, and every bone in your body felt like it was turning to jelly. There were sore patches along your skin where you’d come a little too close to raw flames or brushed against hot exposed metal framework, and you were sure that you were covered in bumps and scrapes from falling over broken debris in your rush.

Your eyes were stinging from how you’d been rubbing at them during your time in the collapsed building and your throat felt torn raw from the gritty and smokey air you had spent the last several hours inhaling. Bracing your hands on your knees, you heard the scuffling of Newt’s boots behind your own, stumbling out in the heavy gear of fire equipment you’d been hooked up with before ever going in, the lull between city planners and demolishers getting the correct blueprints giving you enough time to suit up before you’d been sent into the rubble.

He coughed, following much the same position as you as he hunched over, head between his legs as he crouched, heaving breaths, and you forced yourself to stand up, rubbing gently at his back. The heatproof jacket he wore was warm to the touch as you did, still letting heat escape onto your sweaty palm, and when he stood tall again, you stripped off your other glove, both held in your hand, and you cupped a hand over your eyes to block the sun, and actually taking in the state of the building.

The flames that had been curling out into the fresh air were extinguished, you’d known that much from the water that had been dripping through in streams to where you’d been working for hours, the internal flames unable to be dealt with until you, Newt, and the other paramedics had all cleared the trapped victims.

You’d never seen anything like it. A demolition of old industrial buildings that had been due to be cleared since before you’d ever even moved to the state, finally put in action, buildings that were created in the early twentieth century, and the crew had been provided with outdated blueprints of the layouts of the buildings.

The space where one of the buildings had once been was entirely gone, the smell of gas from the pipes that had failed to be shut down was finally beginning to clear from the air, the explosions it had caused being able to dull down at last, as all traces were evaporated or was burned from the air by high-rising fires.

The building had crumbled, old foundations crumbling the way they should and worse when the gas in the mains that had been incorrectly shut down had all but turned to powder, trapped crew inside on floors that never should have been touched were caught in the crossfire, sections of the building that hadn't even been due to be demolished had gone up in flames, and there was several other houses dotted around, using up the supply of water in their trucks as all fire hydrants were miles back on the roads, and never came this close.

The sun was now sitting low in the sky where it had been high up in the middle and directly overhead the last time you’d seen it before crawling into the building to provide first aid. With a register done and a fireman called ‘Mikey’ in your ear for hours over the radio checking off every construction worker that came out until the building was clear, like an Easter Egg hunt for injured builders, but instead of chocolate in the garden, you got blood and partially severed limbs in the burning wreckage.

You’d seen more blood and bone today than you had for the last month, maybe two, all together and the feeling of jolting bones being snapped back into place was still running in shock waves along your spine, making you shiver every so often. Clouds of smoke from extinguished flames were blocking the sun a little, your throat dry and scratchy each time you tried to swallow down on it. Newt simply chuckled, patting your shoulder before slinging that arm further across, and clearing the lump from his own with a cough.

“Let’s go and get a drink, yeah? I’ve been fantasising about the cold water bottles in the ambo’ for three hours now.”

“A cold water sounds better than sex right now. God, the condensation on the bottle is like porn.” You mumbled, Newt laughing loudly, despite the rasp that lined his voice as he struggled to make such a sound without breaking into a coughing fit, squeezing you a little tighter in acknowledgement of your joke.

Wandering over together, you were already peeling your jacket down your arms as soon as you had the chance to. Newt unhooked the back of the ambo, all others having cleared from the scene with the more brutally injured builders. Stretchers full and passengers benches loaded up too, the rest of the firetrucks all lingering, but there was little left that any of them could do when the rubble was so unstable, the fire just had to burn itself out now that it was clear of civilian casualties.

As soon as both doors were open, you were shucking your fire jacket from your arms and dropping it down to the floor, barely scooping it up to lay in the back of the ambulance behind you as Newt followed suit. Reaching to your left, you scooted up a little closer to him to be able to open the fridge, and he was leaning with his eyes closed and head balanced on the leg of one of the stretchers, cheek pressed to the cold metal.

Plucking two bottles from inside, you presented one to Newt, nudging him with your elbow, and he groaned as he forced his eyes open again, taking it from you, hands shaking a little as he untwisted the cap, he brought the edge to his lips. You held onto it for a moment longer, pressing the edge of the cool against your flushed skin, and revelling in the chill that swept over every nerve. None of the burns were serious, they’d be gone within the hour, it was simply skin that got a little too close to a source of heat that was a little too warm, but you’d been through worse.

You felt better now you didn’t have the heavy protective coat on, not like you were going to overheat anytime soon, and your head wasn’t spinning as much, the thudding pressure of a headache building behind your eyes starting to recede. Taking a sip of your drink, that rapidly became a swig, which in turn became half of the bottle, unable to stop yourself now that you were cooling down and getting relief on a sore throat, icy cold water soothing the stinging sensation you were burdened with.

Your body felt weak, hauling rubble out of the way and off of builders had taken its toll, and you were just glad you’d been wearing gloves, because your hands would have been torn to shred and burned to a crisp without them. The metallic smell of blood was still present in your nose as a phantom memory each time you inhaled deeply, and so your lips parted, opting to breathe through your mouth instead, as your eyes fluttered shut.

Leaning back and into the coat you’d left on the floor, you lay down, legs dangling out of the truck and swinging lightly in the air with every cool current that passed by, letting you take several deep breaths in a bid to steady a still racing heart and calm the effects of the adrenaline surging through you. Newt followed suit, his arm pressed to yours as he lay down, letting out a long and slightly exaggerated groan as he did, before his body was turning to jelly and mush much like yours.

You jumped when a hand landed on your knee, squeezing a little, before sliding slightly further up, and you huffed out a response to the intruder.

“You got a visitor,” Newt muttered, and your lips twisted into a smile at the edges, one hand thrown up over your eyes to block out extra light.

“Maybe he’s here for you.”

You knew it was false, Thomas chuckling a little as well as his fingers inched down over your calf, squeezing lightly as stiff muscles twitched under his touch. He pulled your leg up, balancing it against his thigh, before his touch was pulling away, and a second later, he was tugging on your laces to get them undone. Giving in, you dropped your arm, propping yourself up on your elbows instead to be able to look at him, and he offered you a dazzling grin upon fixing eye contact.

He was covered with a little soot, dirt on his skin that made his stubble stand out a little more, smeared with sweat and tracks made in it where his gloves had wiped across, but he looked just as good as ever. His skin was still shining slightly, his hair messy from under his helmet, and patches of sweat were forming along his t-shirt now that he’d stripped down his jacket, suspenders hanging by his waist as he’d pushed them from his shoulders.

“You’re eye-fucking me.” Thomas beamed, pulling one boot from your foot and dropping it to the ground, letting you flex your socked-toes in the air as he switched to the other one.

“I am not eye-fucking you, don’t be so crass.” You grouched, sitting up a little further, and Newt gagged loudly, the sound cut off when you smacked him in the stomach. “I was just seeing if you looked as rough as me and Newt, and I’m proud to report, we look worse for wear. Get on our level, Tommy.”

“Oh, she’s got attitude, now? Is that the fireman’s jacket, made you feel real power?” He teased, and Newt kicked out a foot, aiming in the vague directions of Thomas’ voice, but missing as the man jumped back, taking the second boot with him.

“‘Real power’, shut the fuck up. Any fool could take a hose and put out a fire, I’d like to see you snap a builder’s broken leg back into place as half of his guts hang out in your hands.” Thomas wretched, a disgusted look flashing over his face and Newt’s gory description, and you only laughed at the pair.

“Okay, well, I’m sorry that the idea of holding someone’s insides in my hands now they’re on the outside repulses me. Not all of us are psychos, Newt.”

“Hey! That’s me you’re talking about, too! You frowned, sitting up a little further, and taking one of your sneakers from the two pairs that had appeared, seemingly with Thomas as he must have brought them over from the truck where they’d been left.

“Well, I already know you’re a little bit crazy.” Thomas mused, and you scowled at him, the expression fading when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling your face up a little, until he could brush the tip of his nose against your own, smiling widely. “But I like your brand of crazy. I really like it.”

“Yeah, well, I should hope so.” You mumbled back, twisting your head up a little to peck the tip of his nose, and you resisted the urge to coo at the way his nose scrunched up when he pulled back, a blush settling over already pink cheeks.

Once you had one shoe back on and laced up, you moved to the other, letting out a little sigh. Newt was rotating his ankle, his leg tensing and un-tensing quietly, but the moment never stopped, and he was stretching out as best he could. It was no surprise it would be sire, after the unceasing stress put on both of you, all you could really do was admire that he was still on his feet at all.

Finishing up the second shoe, you hopped down from the van, Thomas only taking a step back, and smirking a little as your movements made you almost flush up against him. He licked over his lips, staring down at your coyly, and you rolled your eyes. “Oh, cut it out. Time for that later, but for one, why don’t you help me hand out water bottles to the rest of the team so that everyone gets a drink?”

You nodded your head to Newt, hoping he got the message that you wanted to do as much as you could to keep Newt off of his feet, and he nodded. Stepping back a little to let you pull out the rest of the plastic packaging from the mini-fridge, you handed it to Thomas, before another unopened packet was following, and he held both of them in his arms.

He was happy to simply follow you, letting you find each firefighter from your teams as you walked along. Almost all of the Truck crew were huddled together around their van, making it easier for you to hand them out to them all, their faces lighting up at the offer of cold drinks and relief from the heat you felt. The Squad team were all scattered around in various locations, some leaning against the vans, and some sitting down on the edges of the chaos, muscles too weak to hold themselves up.

Despite the previous joking, everyone looked a little worse for wear, and you knew they’d been just as busy out here as you had been under the jagged concrete surface, trying to uncover rubble and shift unstable patches to make sure it didn’t collapse in, as well as putting out fires, and working on freeing up the trapped civilians closer to the surface.

“Where’s Gally?” You looked around, not having seen the tallest lieutenant as you’d been handing out drinks, and Thomas was swigging from his bottle, finally leaning against the edge of one of the trucks to take a moment's respite himself.

“Doing a final sweep with Fry, they should be out any minute.”

You nodded, leaning up to wipe a stray drop from his lip without really thinking about it, and your cheeks flushed when you realised what you’d done, but Thomas only smiled a little wider.

“How are you feelin’?”

You shrugged, a yawn seeming to answer it all, and he only grinned, watching as you rolled your head from side to side, one hand reaching up and over your shoulder to rub at sore muscles. You were sure there was a crick forming in your neck from the way you’d spent the entire day staring down at injuries and keeping your head ducked and body crouched low to weave through tunnels left between crumbled chunks of building. “I’ve felt better.”

“You’ve looked better.” You raised a brow at him, his eyes widening for a second after he realised what he’d said, shaking his head and lifting a hand to settle over your neck, thumb brushing against your jaw. “I just mean that you’re all dirty and you look exhausted.”

“Nice save.” You whispered, his head ducking a little bit, and he only nodded, his eyes dropping down to your lips. His hand slipped a little higher up, rounding to rest on the back of your neck, daring to pull you a little closer, until he was smiling, and letting himself sink down far enough that his forehead was pressing to your own.

“I was worried about you today. Running into a burning pile of debris that I couldn’t help you with.”

“I like it that you worry about me.” You mumbled, tipping your head up until your nose was bumping with his own, lips brushing together, and he let out a rumbling sound of agreement.

“Yeah, well, you make it a hobby to make me do so. You’re a little bit reckless.”

“I prefer to call it adrenaline chasing. You have to take a few risks in life, keep it exciting.” He let out a soft breath, amusement you assumed, at your joke. Smoothing a hand up along his chest, your hand settled over his heart. “You gonna’ go ahead and take a risk right now, Tommy?”

He pulled back, just a fraction, raw dropping slightly, and you heard his other hand reach to put down his water bottle on the edge of the truck you were leaning on, his hand coming up to grip your hips tightly. You gasped, watching the cheeky look that flickered over his features as you did. “A risk implies that it might go bad, are you saying you wouldn't kiss me back? I’m not so sure I want to try now.”

He took another step back, lifting his hands away from you entirely, held up in a surrender motion, and you rolled your eyes at him fondly, despite the beaming smile that was forming on your cheeks. The hand on his chest tightened to a fist, a handful of his ‘House ‘21’ tee scrunched between your fingers, before you pulled him back into you and he was stumbling over his own feet, bracing a hand on the edge of the van as you turned your back to it and tugged him into you.

“Y’know that was kinda’ hot.” He teased, a hand coming up over your own to undo your fingers, pressing your hand flat against his chest again as his own rested over the top, heat flushing your cheeks, before there was a throat clearing loudly, and a feminine cheering to follow.

Minho looked appalled, his arms crossed over his chest and an empty water bottle in one hand, Brenda’s still open as she stared at the two of you with wide eyes, taking a sip of her water after the cheering ended.

“Kinda’? It was totally hot.”

Thomas groaned, turning to glance over his shoulder at the pair of them and you couldn't help the laugh that you let out as Brenda winked dramatically, your giggles only increasing, and the hand on your hip flexed. “Will you two fuck off?”

“We’re here for the show! We’ve all been waiting for you two morons to stop dancing around one another for months now, the sexual tension is suffocating.” Minho taunted the pair of you, and you lifted a hand from where it had been placed on Thomas’ shoulder to flip them both off, and the pair wandered away, cackling and staring back at the two of you as they did.

Thomas sighed, eyes flicking over your face, and he reached up to tuck a strand of stray hair back out of your face, his thumb smoothing along your cheek and down your jaw to your chin as he did. The radio on his shoulder crackled, your eyes flicking to it for a second, and Thomas paused, knowing that while none of you was still needed for assistance, he should still listen in.

“Okay, looks like we’re all clear in here, there’s nothing else really at risk. It’s all a bit crumbly, but it’ll burn itself out, there’s no more gas or fuel.”

It was Gally, his voice a little distorted over the radio waves, and you could hear Fry in the background with him, making jokes about the dust and the grit in the air that he was inhaling. You chuckled at the pair of them, standing up a little straighter from where you had slumped down, and Thomas’ hand loosened on your waist, leaning back slightly and letting you o so as the environment between the two of you changed.

“We’re on our way out now, I assume it’s all clear out there, and-” He was cut off, the screeching of metal loud, and you winced as the sound came over the airways, before everything went silent again, Gally having let go of the trigger that allowed him to talk. There was a shift in the rubble pile that was still smoking feet away from you all, and Thomas backed off to look at it, tensing up once again as you followed, the chatter around you all going quiet as you turned to look at it, and you assumed everyone had been listening to the radio chatter that had fallen silent.

You waited, your heart thudding in your chest to measure the beats that were passing, before the radio was coming on again, the frantic voice of Fry this time through his own receiver as you heard Gally groaning painfully in the background. “It moved! Some rubble moved, Gally isn’t so good, we need a paramedic in here because he can’t get up?”

Your hand found Thomas’ radio before he could, his hand closing over the top of your own as you leaned in, squeezing gently as you pushed down on the button. “Fry, what happened?”

“A pole fell right through his shoulder, it’s stuck in the ground and he’s pinned down. Do I just pull it out? I could pull it out, I mean, it’s unstable in here, we need to get out, an-”

“Okay, Fry, whatever you do, do not pull it out, I’m on my way, okay?” He gave a shaky assertion, nervous as he waited and you told him to hang on, and that you were on your way. Newt was staring at you, wide-eyed from the ambulance as he stared at you, holding up your bag as well as his as he silently questioned which one you would go, and you nodded to him, pointing at yourself. All eyes were flicking between you and Newt, and you rocked back down to sit properly on your feet from where you’d rolled to your tiptoes.

“You’ll be careful in there, right? Don’t make me worry too much?”

“You’re not gonna’ be worrying about me from out here, because I need you with me, Tommy. Grab the cutters?” He nodded his head, switching back to being a lieutenant as he let you go, and you felt like you were stumbling over your own feet as you made your way back to the truck.

Pulling on the jacket you’d abandoned for protection, you grabbed your bag, slinging it over one shoulder and setting off towards the pile you’d already vacated once, Thomas still searching through the lockers on the Squad truck to find the cutters.

He was only a few steps behind you, long strides from his taller stature helping him to catch up with you quickly, and he flicked on the head-torch on his helmet, holding the portable cutters in hand and placing an arm out in front of you as you made to step forwards.

“Let me go first, alright?”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, but he did take your hand in his free one, gloves palm sliding against your own as he held onto you, before stepping back into one of the gaps. The ground was unstable, and you were hunched over to move, the difference between light and darkness in the tunnels startling as the sunlight was blocked out by clouds of debris, ash and dust making everything hazy and blurred, and you raised a hand to cover your mouth in an attempt not to inhale anymore. You coughed lightly, his hand squeezing around yours gently as he heard the sound, and you squeezed back.

It was harder to navigate inside when you weren’t wearing boots, every jagged piece of the concrete or lumpy floor made you feel as though you were walking with bare feet, and you could already feel the hat absorbing through the soles of your shoes, never realised just how much difference those fire boots made until now.

Your toes caught on a slight lump of concrete, tripping forwards and your hand was ripped from Thomas’ as you felt, falling at an angle as you went down, and feeling the skin on your palms scrape against warm stonework as you hit the floor roughly. Your knees took a hit too, but your body was protected by the jacket, a feat you were grateful for, and your head was stinging along your hairline, as you fell at the odd angle, before hands were catching you under your armpits.

Letting out a huff, you allowed Thomas to haul you to your feet, shaking yourself down, and in the rush of it all, you felt all the more panicked as everything sounded muffled for just a second, the shock of the fall clearing only when you shook your head to force it to sharpen, and his eyes were wide as he stared at you.

“You okay?”

“I am, I’m fine. I swear. Radio Gally and ask him where he is, because the corridors split into three not far ahead.” You pointed forwards, remembering this pathway, the maze of jagged tunnels and pathways carved out seemingly burned into your memory from navigating them all, and Thomas nodded. As he spoke into the radio, you brushed your hands on your pants, checking your palms and noting the scraped on the heels of your hands, dotted with blood but nothing serious, and nothing that would cause any kind of long-lasting injury or impede on your work, and so you left it alone, the throbbing on your forehead from a developing headache more of a bother than the grazes.

“Second tunnel, third left, and Fry will come meet us for the rest of the way.”

“Let's go.” Thomas took your hand again, smoothing a clothed-thumb over the back of your palm, before tugging you along behind him once again. “Don’t trip again, okay? We don’t need two of you getting injured.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You teased, covering your mouth again as you got a mouthful of dust, and you felt bad that Thomas had no free hand to cover his own mouth with, watching as he took shallow breaths as not to inhale too much each time, but you supposed he was used to it.

You followed the directions given to you by your colleague, making your way forward as fast and safely as you possibly could, until you found the man you were looking for, fear written all over his face, gloves stripped away and hands a little bloody, with wide eyes that were lined with unshed tears.

You knew there was a deeper bond between Fry and Gally, a friendship that connected them both, and you’d heard the story of how they’d been each other’s first friend at this firehouse, and always stuck by one another’s side.

“He’s right this way, he’s balancing, because the pole is sitting at a really weird angle, I don’t know how long he can hold the position without falling.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding your head and letting him guide the way, anxiety flooding your system because no matter how good of a paramedic you were, these weren’t exactly the optimal working conditions and you weren’t sure how much you could do in the limited light and space, but you needed to get him out, and he was too big to drag through cramped tunnels.

It was an awkward position indeed, your eyes widening as you laid your sights on him. He was leaning backwards at a very uncomfortable angle, with his good hand reached out behind himself to keep himself propped up, legs bent and back arched, face screwed up in pain with shallow breathing.

“Oh, Gall..” You mumbled, his eyes cracking open, and he offered a strained smile.

“You here to fix me up, because that would be real nice?”

“Gonna’ do my best. Always running around after you boys, cleaning up your messes.” You tutted, stepping a little closer and running your fingers along the bar to take a look at it. It had torn right through his clothes, blood strained on the other side as it had gone right through his shoulders, and he panted slightly, watching you move. “Okay, well, first of all, let’s get you out of this interesting pose you’ve got going on, so we don’t mess your back up, huh?”

He only nodded, licking over his lips and attempting to stand, before he was crying out loudly with pain, and retreating back to an even worse position to take the weight off of his shoulder.

“Tommy, Fry, each of you grab a side of the pole, carefully, okay? When I tell you to, you’re going to hold onto it, and hold the weight of it so it’s not pulling on Gally’s shoulder, and hold it up until he’s kneeling, and don’t let go, or it’ll tear up his arm.”

“Please don’t fuck my arm up, I kinda’ need it, guys. This is my good hand.”

Thomas chuckled, Fry following as the tension eased just barely, and then your lieutenant was putting down the cutters to take the front of the pole while Fry took the back. Holding on gently, you grabbed Gally’s hands, pulling him forwards now that he didn’t have to hold onto the weight of the pole, and sinking slowly to his knees. Once he was kneeling there, they kept a hold on the pole, and Gally was able to take deeper breaths as he took the pressure off of his muscles.

“Uh, so, I feel like I should bring it up,” Gally started, watching as you knelt beside him, bag lowered to the ground as you opened it up and began to dig through it. “I can’t feel my arm. That’s bad, right? Like my fingers aren’t moving. I can’t move them.”

There was a tremble to Gally’s voice, higher-pitched and shaky and it hurt you to see someone so strong being so scared, and you shook your head, pulling out some of the tools you needed, before placing your hand on the opposite shoulder, and squeezing gently. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve never lied to you, Gally, it could be bad. It could be really bad. However, it could just be your body’s response to the shock. You’ve probably cut off nerves and got some trapped, you may never regain full feeling, maybe the arm doesn’t work, or maybe it gets totally fixed up. I can’t promise any of that. What I can promise, is that I’m gonna’ get you out of here, and I’m gonna’ do my damn best to get you patched up so nothing extreme happens.”

He swallowed thickly, tears lining his eyes a little, and he sniffed it away. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse, from the smoky atmosphere and the emotions, and you only nodded.

“So, I’m gonna’ start with a numbing spray. It won’t help much but it’ll do a little, because this isn't going to be easy. If you want to keep that arm and get it recovered, I can’t risk taking this pole out, the hospital needs to do that.”

“So, what is the plan?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” You lifted your scissors, trimming away the fabric surrounding the cut to expose the jagged and torn flesh more, the wound a little bigger than that of the post from all his movements, and blood was seeping out from torn flesh and muscle. “I’m going to clean it up and spray it, and then Tommy is going to cut away as much of the pole as he can, as close to your body as we can get without making it worse. Once there’s enough that you can move, we’ll get you out of here, and to the hospital, alright?”

“Oh, God, it’s gonna’ be like a bone drill. What if I throw up?”

“That's okay, I’ve had worse.” You hoped it comforted him, and it seemed to, his lips flicking up in a pained smile. He nodded his confirmation, allowing you to proceed, and you shook the can of numbing spray, before lifting it up to the empty spot. Dousing around the pole as best you could, he let out a sharp hiss at the feeling, eyes screwing up in pain, and you whispered an apology. You repeated it on the other side, his reaction much the same, a layer of it settling over his skin, but after a few minutes, his features smoothed out as the spray began doing its job.

“Y’know, that’s actually a little better.”

“I’m glad.” You picked up the first packet of gauze, tearing it open, and tipping some antibacterial onto it, but trying not to soak the pieces through. One packet at a time, you placed them around the entrance of the pole, catching the blood and taping them down to secure the pole a little more, until it was layered up with thick padding all over, and wouldn't budge an inch, both front and back secured. “Okay, I cleaned it a little, but you’re definitely going to need some shots when you get to the hospital, to make sure you don’t get any infections. Now for the hard part.”

“What about this piece of the pole?” Thomas spoke up as you were packing the bag back up with litter and bottles of chemicals.

“I’m gonna’ hold it steady, while you cut the rest of the pole away.” You zipped the bag up, moving it out of the way for now, and standing back up. Your knees were aching from kneeling on the rock, and you brushed the dust from your pants, rubbing at the sore flesh slightly for just a brief moment. Taking over from Thomas, he held on a few seconds longer, letting you get a better grip, before finally daring to let go. The pole was heavier than you expected, and you felt shocked by it, hoping that the flinch you made wasn’t felt by your friend.

Thomas placed a pair of goggles onto his face, before he was stripping off his jacket, and grinning at Gally with a cheeky smile, before covering his friends head with his jacket. You turned away, the loud sound of the cutter starting up, and from the second it touched the metal, your teeth were grinding together, muscles tensing as shivers ran along your body. It was just like a bone saw, and it went through you every single time, the screeching sound of the metal being cut and the feeling of it shaking as Thomas cut as close to the shoulder as he could without making it vibrate too much, and there were only eight or so inches left on this side, where there had been more like eight feet of pole in total.

When it finally snapped away, you jerked slightly, your body jolting when the pole came loose in your hand, and the saw stopped its buzzing for a moment, the metal clattering on the stone as you dropped it to the ground, and Gally let out a muffled but relieved sigh from under the coat as the weight came loose.

Moving to stand behind him, Thomas repeated the action, another shake running along you as your guts twisted at the nerve-shaking sound, and you admired Thomas for being able to hold so sure and steady while he did it, but you were certain that it came with a lot of practice. Once the second half came free, Gally swayed a little, the lack of the weight he’d grown accustomed to carrying presumably feeling liberating now that it was gone.

Thomas lifted his coat back from Gally’s head, the man blinking back to the torchlight of the room, and you picked up your bag, adjusting it on both arms as Thomas put his coat back on. Getting to his feet with the help of Fry, the two began to stagger forward.

“We’re good to go?”

“Yeah, we’re good to go. As soon as we get out, go straight to the ambo’, we need to get that to the hospital, and quick.” Thomas folded away the protective goggles he’d worn, shutting down the saw equipment he used, and making sure it was all cleaned up, Gally and Fry beginning to take slow steps forward towards the exit. Reaching for the radio on your shoulder, you pressed down on the button, listening to it crackle and connect. “Hey, can one of you guys get Newt?”

You paused a few seconds, before there was a signal coming through in return; “I’m already here, love, been waiting to hear from you. Can I expect to be making a trip to the hospital?”

“Yeah, you might wanna’ call ahead. Let them know it’s pretty bad, they’ll wanna’ take him straight to surgery, and he’ll need a tetanus shot, maybe some others. It’s messy.”

“I’ll call it in now, see you soon.” The line went dead, and there was nothing else left to be said. Wiping at the ache on your forehead, you gasped a little at an unexpected sting, a trail of blood smeared across the back of your hand when you pulled it away, and you frowned, or aware that you’d cut yourself when you’d fallen before. Thomas watched you, an even deeper frown on his face, but he resisted reaching out to look at it properly with dirty gloves, lowering his hand back to his side when he’d lifted it.

Instead, he took off his helmet, the torch on it moving wildly and sending all different casts of shadows around the room, a dizzying array of motion, before it was going calm once again as he placed the helmet down on your head. Pushing it up out of your eyes, you looked up at him, a softer look on his face as he adjusted it, and reached down to take your hand again.

“C’mon, let's catch up with the other two and get the hell out of here, and hopefully, you don’t get yourself hurt anymore.”

You could only nod, body beginning to scream out in protest with aches and pains from the day, following after him as he tugged you along, leading the way by the torchlight you offered, until daylight was finally visible. Fry and Gally had been easy to catch up with, the two walking slowly as Gally’s good arm was slung over his friend's shoulder, balancing as he slowly began to lose consciousness, the shock fading away and pain seeping in, and his body was shutting down to deal with the injury.

Newt was already waiting with the stretcher, chewing on the nail of his left thumb, and perking up considerably when the four of you came into sight. You blinked rapidly, the daylight a harsh adjustment to the darkness of the tunnels, and despite Gally still being injured, you felt a hell of a lot better knowing that he was out of there, that all of your team were out of there.

No longer were they in danger of being crushed or injured further, and your friend sat on the edge of the stretcher, sitting up and swinging his legs onto it, he was being quickly wheeled away to be strapped into the ambo’ by Newt, Minho and Fry, the other firefighters all following, nervously questioning their friend’s well-being.

Taking off the helmet and handing it back to Thomas, he switched off the torch, and you shrugged off your bag and jacket too, handing the coat over to him, watching as the stretcher was wheeled up the ramp, being clicked into place, the ambulance only second away from departure.

“I have to go, I’ll see you back at the firehouse, alright?”

“Yeah, of course, go.” His lips tipped up at the sides, and you didn’t even bother putting your bag back on properly, lingering for just a second as they put away the ramp, folding it into place. With a hold on his elbow, and the other on his shoulder, you leaned up, pressing a sure kiss to Thomas’ cheek, and he let out a soft breath at the feeling, pressing into you slightly, before you were pulling away and taking a few steps toward the van, the doors slamming shut loudly. “See you soon, angel.”

“See you, Lieutenant.”

Your words were followed with a wink, and his cheeks were pink as you turned away, jogging away to the ambulance as Newt was climbing into the driver’s seat, and you climbed into the passenger one quickly, dropping your bag down to the floor and strapping yourself in safely.

“How you feelin’ back there, Gall?”

Your words were answered with a groan, and you looked back in the mirror to the back of the van, noting that Gally was strapped onto the stretcher, half laying back as he was propped up on a lot of cushioning and Newt’s bag, an awkward collection of belongings as not to disturb the pole lodged through his shoulder.

The sirens switched on, and Newt was backing out of his space, driving as carefully but speedily as he could over the bumpy industrial roads, not tarmac-ed and smooth like real roads, but filled with dips and potholes as they were simply covered in gravel. One hand was braced on the dashboard, the other on the door, jolting slightly as he moved, and you let out a huff, hating how terrifying this must all be for the injured man in the back, trying not to get hurt any further.

Once you were out on the main roads, it wasn’t too bad, and in your mirrors as you pulled back out onto the highway you could see the red vans of the fire trucks pulling out and going in the opposite direction of you, Newt and Gally, through the flashing lights and wailing alarm on the top of your van, a direct juxtaposition to their calmness.

The drive to the hospital was only six minutes and thirty-two seconds, you timed it against the clock on the dash, adrenaline and worry seeping through every inch of you, lighting up every single nerve you had as you all but shook in your seat, but it felt more like six hours. The nurses were waiting outside when you got there, and you were grateful for it, catching sight of a familiar redhead who seemed or have been promoted after passing her exams because the colour of her scrubs had changed, and you made a mental note to congratulate her when you were in a better state of mind to do so.

You watched as they took Gally away, swapping him from one stretcher to another once they were inside of the hospital, and Newt disappeared for a few moments, finding Derek who was working in the clinic, leaving you to fill out all the details for Gally at the main desk. It only took you a few moments to do so, your friend long-since taken away to surgery, and you were finally able to let out a relieved breath, as everyone you cared for was finally safe, or in good hands, at the very least.

You waited patiently by the vending machines until he appeared, biding your time by staring in at the chocolate and cereal bars that were attempting to coax you into a purchase, your stomach grumbling a little with hunger, and you gave in. You’d been able to scrounge up enough spare change in the bottom of your bag and your pockets to purchase two candy bars from behind the glass, already eating your own as Newt arrived, and a sparkle passed through his exhausted eyes as you handed one to him, the two of you wheeling the stretcher back out in silence.

When you finally climbed back into your seat, stretcher strapped in, and Newt slumped in his seat, he let out a slow breath, hand behind your head as he reversed out of the parking space and onto the pathway to leave, the day beginning to show it’s drag on you both.

“So, how do we feel about leaving the ambo’ cleaning for the other team? All in favour, say I.”

“I!” You cheered, but it was weak, and Newt’s laugh was equally so. Your eyes went to the clock on the dashboard, noting that it was less than an hour away from the end of your shift, less than half an hour, actually, and you relaxed back into your chair, a little sleepy.

You’d probably regret leaving the work for the others, it would hang over you in the night and you’d be cursing at your current self the next time another team left it for you to do, because cleaning down the van was no fun, but you were beginning to feel practically boneless, and there was no way that you could handle doing it now. You were sure they’d understand, and besides, it wasn’t like it needed mopping or anything, just disinfecting.

The journey had slipped by quickly, the station coming into view soon, and Newt was tapping his fingers against the wheel, humming a song to himself as he reversed into the garage. You liked being in such comfortable silence with Newt, he was always a soothing company to be with, your head rocking to the side to take in your friend as he shut down the engine and pulled the keys back.

“What are you staring at?”

“Just thinking about being your friend. Things are weird. Didn’t mean for you to be important to me, but here you are, one of the most important people in my life. That’s all.” He smiled a little, his hand coming down to squeeze over your own.

“I love you, I really do, but I’m way too tired for the heart to heart right now. Rain-check feelings for the next time we’re drunk?”

“Deal, my feelings only come out when I’m tired or intoxicated anyway.” He beamed at that, nodding his head in confirmation, before opening his door, and practically flopping out of it. You had to peel yourself out of your seat, dragging yourself after Newt as he hung up the keys, but once entering the main corridors, he set off to the locker rooms, and you made your way to the common room.

The firefighters were all milling around, waiting for updates, and they all turned to look at you, silence falling over them, from the second you entered the room.

“How is he?”

It was Fry that spoke, understandably the most shaken by it all, and you tried to muster up the most reassuring smile you could. “He’s gone straight into surgery, and they have high hopes. I think it’ll be a good outcome, I really do. He was awake the whole journey and when they took him in, which is a really good sign. They’re going to patch him up and give him his shots, keep him in for a week or so, of course, but we should hear some news tomorrow, when he wakes up from the anaesthesia and they can run some tests and check him out.”

Relieved sighs went all around the room, everyone absorbing the information they’d been given, and the silence only lasted a few moments longer, before quiet chatter was taking up again, as everyone went back to what they’d been talking about, finishing up their shift and praying no calls came in within the next ten minutes, because everyone was absolutely exhausted.

Thomas was coming over to you, feet scuffling a little on the tiles, and you turned to look at him, shoulders slumping as the last of your tension slipped away, looking up to him as his shoulders slumped, finally being able to let the last of the day’s stress melt away now you were back at your station with the people you cared for being safe. His eyes swept over you, head tipping to the side a little, and you waited for him to speak, whatever it was he wanted to say practically on the tip of his tongue.

“You got a cut on your forehead.” He mumbled, hand cupping your cheek and thumb smoothing over the space above your brow, tipping your head to the side a little.

“I know, it’s from when I tripped. I can take care of it later.” You mumbled, exhaustion seeping through every inch of your body, muscles aching from climbing over the piles of debris and crawling through small spaces to get to trapped workers.

“Or, you could let me take care of it now,” Thomas whispered, hand dropping from your face to your hands, pulling you over to the kitchen counter, and using his foot to pull out one of the stools for you. Climbing up onto it, he slipped your medical bag down your shoulders and placed it onto the marble before you both, slipping a hand under your seat and using the grip to pull you forwards. “Just let me take care of you, for once, alright?”

“What do you mean ‘for once’?” You mused, watching as he shifted through the contents, his brow furrowed slightly as he tried to identify some of the bottles, before choosing a cotton wool ball and a bottle of disinfectant that you’d used on him before. Soaking some of the liquid into the small ball, he pushed strays strands of hair out of your face and pressed the ball gently down on the spot.

It stung, and you figured you must have made a face about it, because he frowned, whispering an apology as he cleaned it up, wiping slowly and clearing the blood from the small cut you’d gained along your hairline. It was nothing severe, you’d felt it happen, and it would be healed in no time and was probably already scabbing over, but he was caring for it tenderly nonetheless.

“Kinda’ feels like all you do is take care of me, actually.” You continued on after a while, and he raised an inquisitive brow, before he was taking the cotton wool pad away, and switching to the soothing gel for healing up cuts that you kept in the front pocket of the bag.

“Well, our shift is almost over. How do you feel about letting me take care of you some more later? Takeout and movies at my place.” He smirked a little, pulling back and putting the cap back on the gel, tucking it into your bag with the bottle of disinfectant and zipping it up, moving away to put the cotton ball in the bin while waiting for your answer.

When he approached, you placed your hands gently on his hips, pulling him in a little closer, and he smiled, his arms sealing around your shoulders to pull you in, close enough for him to press a kiss to the top of your head as he hugged you. “I will accept, but only if I can wear that comfy green hoodie.”

“I just washed it, so you can definitely wear it. It’s probably still in my laundry room.” He grinned, you could feel it pressed to the top of your head, before he was pulling back, wide eyes as he looked at you, and a soft smile. “If you want, you can stay the night, too.”

“Sure you wanna show me your bedroom? That's a private space.” You were teasing him, and he picked up on it straight away, that fond look morphing into something cheeky and playful, and he pinched at your arm in retaliation.

“Who said you were sleeping in the bed? Maybe you can just have the couch.”

“I’m not a couch kinda’ gal.” You sighed, shrugging at his request, and he chuckled.

“Well then, guess you get the bed with me.” He leaned down, bumping his nose against your own, and the single bell alert sounded over the speakers to inform you that your shift was ending in five minutes, and that the next team was due to arrive and take over any time now. You placed a hand on his chest, his heart thudding steadily under your palm, and you pushed him backwards slightly, hopping down from the stool and groaning under your breath at the new pressure being placed on your muscles. “Go grab your stuff, I’ll meet you at the front, I’ll drive.”

“What about my car?”

“I’ll drive you back to pick it up tomorrow. Unless you’re planning on a quick getaway?” He joked, but his words from weeks ago flashed in your mind, and you placed a hand on his cheek, shaking your head.

“I won’t be going anywhere, I promise. I’ll be by your side all night, honey.” He shuddered slightly at the sweet name, melting a little under your touch, before nodding his head and licking over his lips as a shy heat brushed his cheeks. “Meet you at the front in five.”

“I’ll be there.”

You grabbed your bag, taking it with you to store properly in your locker for the next shift, and swap it for your clothes, waiting to get changed into something more comfortable than smart shirts and trousers. Undoing the metal latch, Brenda bumped her hips against yours as she entered the room, already beginning to undo the bun she’d done in her hair and weave her fingers through the ends. Undoing the buttons along the front of your shirt, you shuffled the sleeves down, letting it fall away to leave you in your vest, and Brenda whistled as you did, making you roll your eyes as you folded your shirt up and put it into your bag.

“You know, if you decide to quit being a paramedic, you should totally be a stripper. You’ve got the hips for it.” She teased, and you scoffed, smacking at her hand when she poked your waist, but unable to avoid your grin from breaking free as she giggled all the way around to the other side and opened her locker.

Unbuckling your belt and popping the button on your work pants, you kicked off your shoes, pants falling way to the ground and left pooled on the tile temporarily so that you could pull on the comfortable and somewhat baggy pants you’d worn this morning, a silky material that was nowhere near as formal as your work pants had been.

With sneakers back on and your cardigan pulled up onto your body with only one button to hold it closed, you packed everything else away, swapping your med-bag for your home-bag, and closing your locker for another day.

“Bye, Bren!”

“Bye, stripper!” She yelled back, voice sounding more like it was coming from the bathroom than the other side of the lockers, and you figured she was doing her makeup, seemingly having more active plans than you did for the evening. Stepping out into the main foyer, Thomas was waiting, hands tucked in his pockets as he leaned against the open garage door, talking to a member of the other team as he waited.

You vaguely recognised him, you’d seen him a couple of times during hand over shifts and house meetings where everybody was required or be present, and Thomas offered you a smile as he caught you approaching from the corner of his eye. Approaching, he stood more fully, the conversation inching towards an end and you were more than happy to wait, not bothering to tune in to the workout tips Thomas was giving to a younger fireman who was thinking of taking his lieutenant’s exam.

He was passionate about it, clearly happy to share his knowledge, it was evident in the excited tone of his voice and the twitches along his expressions as he spoke, animated movements, and once his hand was back by his side, you dared to reach up, fingers curling a little around his forearm. He paused his movements, stuttering a little, before continuing with what he was saying, and lifting his hand up a little more, fingers flexing slightly. He seemed to have caught onto what you were wanting, but wasn’t sure he was correct, and he squeezed your hand back tightly as your fingers linked with his.

Newt wandered by while Thomas was still talking, texting on his phone and chewing on half a sandwich in the other, but he slowed in his steps, eyes sweeping along the pair of you, pausing for a second, before he was shoving the remnants of the food into his mouth until his cheeks were puffed up, but smirking through it all. Rubbing his fingers together to dispose of crumbs, he made his way over, the team member Thomas had been talking to bidding you goodbye as he walked away, Newt arriving only a second later to fill the gap.

“So, what are you two up to tonight?” There was a sickly-sweet undertone laced in his voice, something like seventeen innuendoes ready to be spilt from him you had no doubt, but you smirked back just as widely.

“Taking a page out of you and Derek’s book. We’re having a sleepover.”

The look on Newt’s face quickly fell, smirk becoming a scowl, and his eyes narrowed. “You know what? When you two still hated each other, I didn’t get mocked like this. Go back to hating each other.” Thomas snickered, brows raising slightly, but he didn’t bother to add anything on, just watching the interaction taking place. Your partner scoffed, before gagging falsely, and then after taking a step back, he was giving a softer smile. “Have fun, you two. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gave a salute, two fingers tapping his forehead before pulling away, and then he was turning his back on you, long strides that were slightly uneven with every other step he took on a sore leg from a hard day’s work, but he was lifting his phone to his ear a second later, and grinning as he began to speak. There was a tug on your arm, Thomas pulling you along, and you fell into step beside him, wandering over to the car he was pulling out the keys for.

Letting go of his hand as you approached the vehicle, you reached for the handle, beat to it by another hand, and Thomas opened the door for you, winking when you looked at him, his eyes twinkling, before sinking into the seat. Once the door was closed, he rounded the car and climbed in himself, strapping himself in as you put your bag down into the footwell, before he was starting the car up.

His hand tucked behind your headrest as you adjusted your seatbelt, getting comfortable in the leather seats still holding heat from the afternoon sun. Backing out of the parking space, the car spun around, engine revving slightly as he did, and then he was pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

“So, do you fancy Chinese or Indian food? There are two great places near me.”

“Any pizza places?” He turned to look at you, just for a split second, following the signs toward the highway, and you shrugged in your seat.

“Two, actually. One does a really great stuffed crust thing, but the other has more topping choices.” You grinned, settling back more comfortably, and as you arrived on the highway, his hand came down to land on your thigh. You watched his fingers move, flexing a little against your skin, digging slightly into the muscle, and you reached out a single finger, the rest curled away. Stroking slowly along one of the prominent veins in his hand, the nerves underneath twitched, before you were brushing right up to the tip of his finger, and back along another, to his wrist. “So, pizza and a couple of movies? Not the most exciting of dates, we can do something else, if you want?”

“Tommy, if you’re going to date me, you’re going to have to get used to the idea of napping together and eating takeout on the couch rather than going to restaurants as dates.” He only chuckled, something hidden below the surface that was more than just humour at the joke you’d made, and you settled your hand over the top of his to squeeze it. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just remembering something you said a few months back.”

“Yeah? Because I can barely remember half of the things I said an hour ago.”

“I was thinking about when Newt thought you were on a date with Derek, just before you got called out on a case.” He continued on, his hand taken from yours as the two of you began to approach the intersection in which you’d take off for his, his hand on the gear shift instead. “I remember you saying that you had no time to date, and you had no idea where you’d even meet someone when you’re in our line of work, and I also remember thinking that you were missing what was right in front of you.”

“Technically, by that point, you were behind me, because I was walking out.” You teased, and he let out a grunt, swatting your shoulder with the back of his hand, before slowing down a gear again, as the roads began to narrow as he pulled up towards his apartment building. You’d recognised the area you were driving through, vaguely, from your trip to the vets, proud of yourself for being familiar with it.

“Yeah, whatever, technicalities. If you follow that logic, now I’m by your side.”

I hope you stay there for a while, though.” He faltered slightly, before letting out a soft and shaky breath, and nodding his head.

There was a barricade across the entrance to the building's parking spaces, and he rolled to a stop, car humming under you both as he rolled his window down, cool breeze sweeping into a warmed car, and you watched as the pad lit up and awaited his entry code. As soon as it was punched in, the barricade was lifted, squeaking and letting out a groan under its weight as it did, rising high enough in the air to let the car through.

Pulling into the building car park after the barricade had raised high enough, and rolling the window back up, cruising slowly as he searched for a parking space, and remaining quiet. When he finally found one, he paid attention to parking in it, before the engine was going dead, and he was turning to face you more.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Mean what?” You echoed, brows raising as you forgot where the conversation had been going, and he unclipped his safety belt, and twisted more in his seat.

“Do you really want me to stick around? For a while? You see this going somewhere?”

You sighed, lifting a hand to rest on his cheek, and he leaned into your touch. “Tommy, you saw my record yourself. If I didn’t see a future in this firehouse, or with you, I wouldn’t still be here. If I’m sticking around, it means I found something worth sticking around for.” His smile was shaky, nodding his head and licking over his lower lip, before he was leaning across the centre console and unclipping your belt too, his nose bumping against yours, and he hummed at the soft laugh you let out. “Don’t you dare let our first kiss be in your car, after all of this waiting around, in the parking lot of your building.”

He whined slightly, nudging his nose with yours again, bumping together teasingly, and you rubbed back, before he was sitting back into his seat with a false pout. “Then get your cute little butt out of the car, so I can get you upstairs.”

“Impatient, much?” You mumbled, taking your bag with you as you went, and closing the door once your feet were out on the concrete flooring, arms stretching above your head to loosen tightened muscles. Meeting Thomas at the end of the vehicle, you reached your hand out for his, his touch bypassing you entirely to cup your cheeks in each of his hands, and pull you in, close enough to press his lips to the top of your head in a soft kiss.

“C’mon, then. I believe I owe you a hoodie.” you could only nod your head. His hand finally found yours again, warm palms pressed together tightly, and he guided you through the compound towards the doors.

He stuck to his word, keeping himself composed in the elevator and in the halls, longing looks cast in your directions, before he was using a different key on the same ring that held his car keys to open up the door to his apartment, and you couldn't deny that you were excited to see within. He excused himself, to go and get himself changed and find your jumper, leaving you with another lingering kiss to your cheek this time, and telling you to make yourself comfortable.

You did just that, hanging up your cardigan and your bag on one of the coat hooks, and taking off your sneakers, leaving them loose and unlaced to sit on the shoe rack by his door, sock-clad footsteps almost inaudible against his polished wooden floors as you wandered a little further inside.

It was different from your place, the corridors split the rooms where your kitchen looked straight into your living room, and there was a set of wide sliding doors on one side. Running your fingers over the edge of the wooden frame, you peered inside, soft couches with black cotton cushions and throw pillows in bright splashes of colour. It was a surprising mix of minimalism in sleek shades of black and white with pops of colour. One wall was covered with brightly coloured pictures, all blown up large in custom prints, and you could pick out all the faces you knew, as well as some you couldn't.

A face much like that of Thomas’, but older and more feminine, the same shade of brown hair and eyes that twinkled like his own, his mother, clearly, and pictures of them that couldn't be any older than a year. Pictures of Thomas and Newt from when they were younger, you’d never mistake that shaggy blonde hair and toothy grin for anyone else, he looked exactly the same, just younger.

There were pictures of the whole team, one that must have been years ago, before Chuck had ever become the candidate and back when the position was filled by someone else, Thomas wasn’t wearing his lieutenant’s shirt, and there were crew members' faces that were unfamiliar to you. Standing next to one of the trucks, sweaty and dirty and looking exhausted, it was a trimming from a newspaper, an article you were sure reflected their heroism properly. Newt was standing by the ambulance, thumbs up and gleamingly wide smile, as Teresa stood by his side, looking a little more relaxed. She had a simple smile, fixed look and slightly forced, seeming to stare just beyond the camera instead of at it.

She wasn’t in many of the squad photos, a collection of selfies and pictures from group events, some with fun stories and backgrounds like mini-golf or the beach, and others with the bar or Minho’s place. There were a couple more with her in, though.

One with her and Newt and Thomas, that seemed to have her in as an improvisation, crammed between Thomas and Newt as they all sat on the edge of the ambulance and ate sandwiches, still wearing half their uniform, looking over the edge of the river on a bridge.

The other was one of her and Thomas sitting on the couch at the station, one that was old because it didn’t match the ones you knew, but you recognised the kitchen in the background. They were both asleep, and behind them was Gally and Fry, pulling faces and giving them both bunny ears, and your lips flicked up into a smile as you observed the antics of your family, messing with one another and always keeping it fun and light.

Your vision was blocked for a second, everything going black and soft material brushed over the bridge of your nose, before you were popping free again, and the smell of fresh laundry detergent and Thomas’ aftershave was overwhelming. Pushing your hands through the sleeves and turning when his hands found your hips, you looped your own around his neck, eyes scanning over his change of outfit.

Black sweats and a grey jumper, cosy-knit socks and holes in the sleeves that one of his thumbs had gone through, hair mussed from the change of clothes, and you smoothed down the stray strands that were sticking up at odd angles.

“You look so cosy.” You mumbled, a rumbling sound of agreement in the back of his throat, and one of his hands smoothed up your back, rubbing gently and pulling you in a little closer, nodding his head, and letting the tip of his nose rub against your own. “I was looking at your photos.”

He smiled, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, before he was stiffening a little, and pulling back, eyes snapping open once again. “Some of them are old, they need replacing-”

“I think they’re all really sweet.” You whispered, leaning in again, and he let out a shaky sigh, his forehead pressing to your own. He let out a sigh, his hands sinking from your waist to your hips, pushing you backwards slightly, and walking you back through the sliding doors to the living room.

“So, now, you’ve got my comfiest jumper, and you’re all settled in. Maybe I should give you a tour?” He mumbled, your feet moving underneath you, legs tapping against the back of the couch and you grinned, judging a little closer to him until your lips were brushing.

“Oh, I think we can get to that later.” You pulled him down, one hand on the back of his neck and one hand on his chest, pulling him down a little until he was sitting beside you. He was beaming, pressing you back into the arm of the couch, curled over you as one hand supported him on the cushions behind your head with the other sitting on your jaw, thumb stroking over your skin gently.

“Good, because there’s something important that I’ve been meaning to do, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Get on with it, then.” You whispered, feeling him barely nod, before he was closing the distance. His lips brushed your own softly, teasing at first, and you gasped a little, before he was pulling back, licking over his lips and pressing in more firmly. His lips met your own, noses bumping a little as you pushed back into him, chaste and testing the waters, the pressure built up forcing him to take it slow, despite the way his grip got a little tighter on your jaw, and a shiver was running along him continually. “Relax, Tommy.”

Your words were whispered against his lips, a breathy laugh following, before he turned his head to the side, pressing in with a little more confidence, and moving his lips with your own this time. It was sweet and naïve, like kids sharing a first kiss, innocence in the connection as you slowly tried something new together. He relaxed, then, his hand on your jaw sliding down to sit on your neck, lowering you a little more against the couch, and you giggled as you caught your breath, his lips trying to find yours again as you smiled, and puckering your lips for him once again.

He settled against you more comfortably, leaning over you further, and one of your hands smoothed up his back to scratch lightly at the base of his neck in short hairs, daring to slip a little further when he took that step, his lips parting a little as he kissed you more firmly. Wet lips sliding together, scarcely begun, before knuckles against wood echoed through the apartment, and Thomas let out something between a growl and a curse against your mouth, pecking your lips once more, and pulling back to sit again.

He blinked for a second, the interruption confusing him as he shook his head slightly, and looking through the walls in the direction of where the front door was.

“We didn’t even order food yet.” You pouted, a knock sounding again, and Thomas chuckled, reaching out a thumb and finger to sit on your chin, attempting to pull you back to him. “Ah, ah, ah. No way, this so doesn’t count. Go take care of whichever neighbour is at the door, and then come back and give me the kiss you promised.”

“I’m nervous, I’ll get there.” He huffed, rolling his eyes, and you chuckled as you settled back into the couch cushions and throw pillows. “Stay here, I’ll be right back, and when I do come back, I’m gonna’ give you the best damn kiss you’ve ever had in your life, just you fuckin’ wait.”

He wandered away, cursing at whoever was still knocking every so often, delicate knocks, and you took a deep breath. Despite your teasing, your own heart was racing, and you lifted a finger to press over your lips, brushing against them. Your fingertips were tingling, blood rushing with excitement, and you felt heat flush over your features. There were muffled voices, whoever Thomas was talking to, and it gave you a second to calm yourself and steady your heart for the moment he’d return.

It was a step you were confident in, a step you were more than ready to take with Thomas, already missing the feel of him holding you so tenderly and pulling you in, and the way his lips felt pressed to your own. Now you’d had a taste, you wanted more, you wanted to kiss him whenever you felt like it, to silence his worries with soft kisses and to giggle against his mouth next time he flirted with you cheekily, or to kiss him before a call each time you told him to stay safe.

You wanted to kiss him goodnight later on, and to hug him from behind when he cooked for you and have dates with naps where his lips would seek out yours sleepily, to hold his hand and put a label on it. You’d never been one for labels, because you’d never had anyone to label. Friend, best friend, boyfriend; they were all new to you, the last year has changed your life so radically that you felt unrecognisable to the person you’d once been.

Your eyes found the clock on the wall, at least five minutes have passed, and you found a great deal of internal humour as you pictured the polite look on Thomas’ face that you’d seen so many times before as he struggled to ever be able to end a conversation without feeling rude, and never wanting to offend a person.

Standing up, you rounded the corner, aiming to save him, his back still turned to you, looking tense as he stood in the doorway, door held close to his body as he spoke to whoever was on the other side.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, instead of relaxing, he seemed to tense even more, white-knuckled grip on the wood as he turned to you, brows slightly furrowed.

“Hey, you were gone a while, thought I’d see what was up.” Your hand moved down to his arm, and he paused a moment longer, before releasing the edge of the door, letting out a slow breath as it swung open to reveal more clearly who was on the other side.

Peeking out, you were greeted with a familiar face, and you felt a little put out at her composure. Tight jeans, a fitted jumper and a coat that looked like it cost more than your food money for the week that suited her well as it fell to her mid-calves. Dark curly hair that sat perfectly and wide eyes, that only widened a little more as she took in your presence with equal shock to you taking in hers. You took a steadying breath, before reaching a hand out, and trying to be polite.

“You’re Teresa, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not sure whether to take that as a good thing, or a bad thing.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, humour lacing a tone, and you forced a laugh to sound realistic, before shrugging.

“I’ve heard you were a great paramedic at our house before you moved on.”

“I try my best, I’ve heard good things about you, too.” It was a polite smile, but there was nothing friendly underneath either of your tones, and her shoulders slumped a little, her hand returning to tuck into her pocket to match the other. “I’m sorry to invade on your evening, I didn’t know you were here, or I wouldn’t have come over. I was hoping we would have that catch up you promised me.” Her attention turned back to Thomas, and despite not saying it, you sensed there was something else under her words, the way Thomas hesitated with his answer, stumbling a little on his words.

“I can’t right now. You should have texted, or something.”

“Well, I would have, but you never called when you said you would.” Your lips pursed, clearly a lot of unresolved issues between the two that never got solved that you hadn't caught onto until now, and you stepped back slightly, your mind spinning. “You haven’t called in months, but your mom said you talked to her about what happened between us on your last visit to her, stuff we haven’t even talked about.”

“You’ve met his mom?” The words were blurted out before you could stop them, her eyes finding you again, and she seemed a little more confused about it.

“Uh, yeah.” She smiled again, polite again, and you tried to return it. “Our moms went to college together, it’s how I found out about the job at the station, we went to see her a couple of times at the care home.”

“She’s in a care home?”

“I feel like I’m telling you a lot of personal stuff here that’s not mine to tell, I just assumed you knew, I’m sorry..” She stopped herself, Thomas still standing silently beside you, and you shook it off.

“It’s alright, no worries. You two clearly have a lot of things to talk about, and I seem to have no idea about, like, ninety percent of it. I should go.” You pushed your foot into one of your sneakers, Thomas’ attention finally snapping back to you and you looked down to find the other.

“No, I can come back another time, I really didn’t intend to get in the way.” Teresa insisted, and as your foot settled into the second shoe, you offered her a genuine smile now.

“You don’t have to go, really. We were about to order food.” Thomas insisted, his hand coming out to sit on your arm as you pulled the jumper up and over your head, hanging it on one of the hooks and ignoring the look Thomas was attempting to give you in persuasion to stay.

“Yeah, but, we didn’t yet. So, it’s fine.” You gave him the best smile you could, taking your jacket from where you’d hung it up and patting your pockets for your keys and phone once putting it on, finding them both where you’d left them. Reaching for your bag and pulling one strap up your shoulder, you nodded to yourself, and Thomas settled a hand on your arm once again, turning you to look at him.

“Please, don’t go.”

Anxiety and confusion were all you could feel now, and you stepped a little closer to the door once again, stomach twisting into knots, before you were taking a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our shift. I hope you guys can get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s up.”

Teresa offered you a soft ‘thank you’, at least having the courtesy to look a little apologetic for the ending of your evening, and you stepped into the hall. Turning your back on the pair of them, you didn’t bother looking back, hearing them talk for a few moments longer, before the door to his apartment was closing.

Pausing at the elevator and waiting for it to arrive at your floor, you glanced back over your shoulder, the empty hallway making a pang of something cold and nauseating run through every single one of your veins. A chime sounded overhead, and then the doors in front of you were opening up.

As you stepped into the elevator, you pressed your back to the wall and hit the thumb for the lower floor, a sting in the back of your throat making you feel pathetic for letting something get to you so much. There was a taunting voice in the back of your mind suggesting that none of this would have happened if you hadn't let your walls down and got yourself into this. You were tempted to just go straight home and put them back up, to deal with it all alone, and shut out everything else to rely on yourself.

Instead, you pulled out your phone, rubbing at your nose as you sniffled, and the numbers over your head were flashing differently with each floor you passed. It only went two rings, before a cheery voice was picking up on the other end, and you let out a watery laugh at the teasing enthusiasm she’d held as she’d clearly heard about your impromptu - and now failed - date night.

“Hey, stripper! What can I do for you? Calling for tips? Because I’m pretty sure you drive him crazy already, wear your cute panties and swing your hips and he’ll be on his knees.”

“Actually, Bren, I was wondering if you wanted to have a girls night? I know you probably have plans, but if you’re free, I would love to hang out.”

She was silent for a moment, crackling on the end of the line as she moved, before she was back; “I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes, and I’ll bring loads of alcohol and take-out food.”

“Sounds awesome.” You sniffed, stepping out of the elevator and feeling a little relieved and not having to be alone, but having your best friend to rely on. “One more thing, though. I need you to pick me up, because I just remembered that I don’t even have my car.”

#thomas #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #ff!tommy #firefighter!tommy #smoke and fire #SAF #thomas the maze runner #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

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ckbookish · 3 years

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BATMAN BINGO MASTER POST 2020

1 "I thought you were dead.": I Still See Your Ghost

Today was just not Dick's day. First he overslept his alarm and was late to work. Amy had been less than impressed at his tardiness... Then He had bungled what should have been an easy take town... But the straw that broke the camel's back was Tim. Dick had forgotten to call Tim.

2 Friendly fire: Fratricide

Jason was pissed. No, Jason was enraged. Yeah, he was enraged at the whole mess his family-- if that’s even what they were to each other anymore-- had gotten him in. It was meant to be a simple night. Break in. Torch the drugs. Maybe shoot a couple of people and go home. But no, Batman heard about his plans and decided that arson was too extreme. “Someone could get hurt.” Well someone had gotten hurt, a lot of someones.

3 Hypothermia: Weekend Commute

Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

Chapter two Bruce's perspective.

4 Superman: Bringer of the Dawn

The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.

Where do you go when your family tells you to get out?

5 Shot: The Gratitude Trap

Bruce finds himself in the dark, a place he never thought he would be when it came to Clark Kent and Dick Grayson. Yet here he is digging for answers, because he is too scared to pick up the phone and call.

6 Two-face: The Better Choice

How do you reconcile the man who was once your friend with the monster he has become? Bruce reflects on how the man he once called his best friend changed. How could the man who helped him foster Dick, hold that baseball bat?

7 Drowning: Omori’s Law

Deep in the sewer's under Gotham, Batman is trapped. There is no back up, no Robin. He is faced with the single truth that he tried to teach each of his partners... You have to save yourself.

8 Found Family: A Restoration from a Resilient Heart

Dick just wants to not be alone with the shadows in the house. Bruce doesn't realize he has lived with them for far to long, and maybe he doesn't have to anymore.

9 Adoption: The Irrefutable Truth

When he reached the reception, he found himself looking around a fairly empty room. There were a few call girls in the corner filling out forms, an older woman holding a dog, a kid that looked about twelve and a middle aged man who looked like he was ready to cry. He knew no one. Dick was about to turn around and head back to his desk when the on duty officer called out to him. Officer O’Conner was one of his fellow rookies, he had a thick accent. Dick thought he might be from Louisiana. “Grayson! Why didn’t you say your brother was coming to see you?” Dick looked at him with his mouth slightly open. There was no way he heard that right. “My what?”

10 Bruises: Mr. Wayne

Tim is new to this. He's only been Robin for a little over six months. It was going well. But now he was going to be fired. Batman wouldn't want a partner who got caught at school with a black eye. Would he?

11 Bruce is dead: You Have One Saved Message

Gotham gossip columns spread lies and smear good people's names. But yet Damian can't help but think maybe this mornings article was true. That despite all his claims of being the true son of Bruce Wayne, he was in fact the only unwanted one.

12 CPR: Vital Signs

Robin wakes to find him and Batman in an exploded factory. With Batman injured and the building burning around them, Dick struggles to get them both to safety.

13 Dad: Storge

Bruce could have sworn his spirit had left him momentarily. The sudden hollowness that filled him couldn’t be explained in any other way.

“Your dad must have his hands full with you.” Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray.

Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view. It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world. The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield... Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad. But he wasn’t.

14 Stealing the Batmobile: T-Minus Six Hours

Some days Tim is sure that he’s gonna be killed. Usually it’s some luck shot or near miss that made his life flash before his eyes. Not today though. Today he was positive Bruce was going to kill him. Yes, today was the day that Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be put down. He’s not sure that even Nightwing could save him. He was going to go down in history as the first sidekick to be murdered by their mentor. Because the Batmobile was definitely not where he’d parked it.

15 Wayne Enterprises: Amidst the Absence of Meaning

Bruce is worried. He's running on less than three hours of sleep, and way too many cups of coffee. He had messed up. That much was obvious. The question was would Dick forgive him?

A gruesome night on patrol bleeds into Bruce's work day and now all he can wonder is if this is the thing that will push Dick over the edge? Had he finally seen to much pain?

16 Ransom: Sum of My Worth

The ring of the phone seemed to echo through the manor’s still too quiet long, winding halls, and everyone present collectively held their breath. Bruce lunged for the phone.

17 Secret Injury: Hiding in Pain Sight

“What?” Dick asked sharper than he meant to. He was tired.

“Nothing.” Tim said with a small smirk. “Heavy is the head.”

Dick closed his eyes, glad that Tim couldn’t see them. He was so sick of this. Tim, Jason, Damian and Cass all didn’t think he was good enough, well Cass hadn’t said that, but Dick could read her. They didn’t think he was up to the job. Well they didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it.

18 Superboy: An Interlude in Breathing

Tim looked out over the water in a daze. Bruce and Dick had gone somewhere below deck and he was alone. Well there were strangers on the ship mingling and talking excitedly--but Tim gave them no notice. Instead he watched the water lap up against the hull and crash down back to meet the dark, cold waters. They were far enough out that he could no longer see the shore. It was just endless expenses of sea and sky. Something tickled his neck and he started, only to realize he had been crying. It was only a tear slipping under his collar.

The days after the battle of Infinite Crisis

19 Betrayed: Smother

She took another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her lungs for a long moment before allowing it hiss out between her teeth. The screams from the warehouse weren’t completely muffled by the distance, or the walls. Perhaps she was only imagining them. But then, sounds like that, she didn’t think she could dream up. She jumped after a particularly high pitched yelp. “Get a grip.” She dropped the cigarette and pulled out another. Her hand shook as she lit it. “It’s just some random kid. He’s not--” She bit back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had no right to tears, not when it was her fault.

20 Crowbar: Breaklights

The mail fell to the ground and the paper smacked the tiles hard. The sound in reality couldn’t have been all that loud, but it seemed to echo around the entryway. Bruce didn’t look at the dropped bills and the invitation to a fundraiser for the new Gotham women’s shelter. He was too fixated on the small stamp with the queen of England's head on it. Wolverhampton.

The large envelope was far heavier then it should have been. Bruce could feel bile crawling up his throat.

He had forgotten.

21 Deathstroke: Debts and Dues

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. “Move.” “You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.

22 Mission Gone Wrong: Murmur in the Quiet Hours

Superman? Clark froze. He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad. Was that-- no. Clark dove for his phone, still on the counter from when he got home last night. The screen was black. Dead. Clark swore and dropped it. He was in his coat and shoes before it hit the counter top.

23 Kidnapped: Chum

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was really stealing.

24 Riddler: Seeking Silence on Shortwaves

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk. In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things. Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing. Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life.

Batman hadn't always been so strict about talking unnecessarily over comms. When it was just two of them it hadn't mattered, their walkie talkie system had always worked. But now that Nightwing and Robin were in Gotham, it seems insane that they never realized: if only one person can talk over the radio at a time... how could they call for help?

25 Mr. Freeze: Glimpsing the Sun While Trapped in the Rime

He almost called Bruce between his fourth and fifth class. He pulled his phone out, leaning against his locker, and half dialed his number when a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey.” Dick spun around and blinked back black spots as his body protested the sudden movement. A blaze of red hair filled his vision and Dick felt a small fire build in his chest. His face split into a wide smile.

After a run in with Mr. Freeze Dick finds himself feeling odd at school, but he can't go home, not when Barbara's asked him to drive her to Betty's party after school.

#batman bingo 2020 #Master Post #Batman #CK Writes #Nightwing #Dick Grayson #tim drake #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Red Hood #Red Robin #robin #My Writing

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lil-blueee · 3 years

Text

Redamancy | Takashi Mitsuya x Reader (Tokyo Revengers)

Redamancy (n.): The act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

Treasure the time you spend together,

Treasure the ride in the evening time,

Treasure the confession under the night sky.

May you all feel the love and fall in love!

____________________

It is now eventide, the moment when the Sun deliberately goes down, exuding its vibrant red and orange rays that tints the former azure firmament. And here you are, resting on the leather chesterfield sofa while gazing at those skylights above. Broken lines of cumulus, or cotton-like clouds, are stretching for miles in the air, reflecting those fiery shades that intensifies the whole scene's saturation.

"Beautiful." You mumble, eyes lingering at that exquisite sight.

It doesn't take that long for a pitch black color to invade the sky, noticing that dusk is coming to your city. You raise up both arms to stretch that stiff upper body before a small growl grabs your attention. Looking at the clock, it's a quarter past six already.

"Guess he'll come back late tonight. I've to eat alone then."

You place your right hand on your stomach to feel that small rumbling sound - a signal for dinner time. The corners of your lips pull down to reveal a sad but so-be-it face. "Well, time to eat." You reheat the bento box in the microwave and prepare a glass of water before bringing them both to the table. Hands clasp together, you mumble, "Itadakimasu."

After finishing your meal, you sip a cup of warm tea while walking towards the bust mannequin, where the sleeveless white bridal gown is put on. Four different length of layers were sew from the waist line, covering half of the chapel train - the last and longest layer of the dress. To break free from the usual, monotonous gown, that man thoroughly embroidered roses on the left lateral, artfully arranged those small flowers from the shoulder to the side of the waist, and bigger ones when reaching the end of the train.

There's only one more piece left to complete the dress, a wedding veil. And it's also the final task for you - the girl making a messy bun for her wavy silver hair with apparent black highlights. Heading to the table where the folded tulle fabric is laying, you put the tea cup down, left hand slowly grabs your pair of black eyeglasses beside it. Eyes giving a quick glance at those thin lines drawn by tailor's chalk, you take one deep breath, ignoring some strains of hair falling down on the side and hold the sharp piece of scissors. After all, this dress is made for Hinata Tachibana, one of your best friends. I can't screw it.

You slowly cut off the excess length of the tulle until those metal blades return to their starting point, making the cabbage falls down the ground. Your other hand holds the outside edge of the fabric to trim its corners slightly, adding the curve for a graceful look. "Now then," A delighted smile appears on your face. Your sparkling gaze is looking through the edge of the veil again to see any jagged or uneven fabric needs cutting.

Immersing yourself in your work, you don't even recognize the presence of another man at the entrance, crossing his arms on one another. His head leans against the door frame, looking at you with those adoring droopy lavender eyes. "Quite meticulous, aren't you?" The lilac-haired mumbles, giving his compliment before he turns around and walks along the hall.

After that final touch, you sigh in relief, gently using your left hand surface to mop the sweat from your brow. "All we need to do is sew it. I should wait for Taka—" You startle. Whatever touches against your cheek literally makes your heart jump because of the cold sensation.

"What in the—" Like a natural reflex, you turn your head around to search for the source, but that sixth sense of yours can somehow guess the person standing behind this.

"You call for me?" He asks in a soft tone voice. In front of you right now is Takashi Mitsuya, a gentleman in his dark grey suit layered with a black shin length trench coat, projecting his professional image which instantly forms the first impression to anyone he meets. Hand passes you a bottle of water, the lilac-haired chuckles at the face he saw.

You keep staring at him, your eyebrows pull closer together while your lips tighten, making an angry but quite adorable face in his opinion. As you're about to give him a piece of your mind, his genuine smile immediately blows your anger away. That gentleman appearance, combining with his somewhat irresistible face are like a deadly combo suppressing your anger. How can I get mad like this? Placing your palm on the forehead, you ask yourself before telling him,

"You can just give it normal—"

Hold up! You pause when a thought runs through your mind and interrupts your speech. An idea? No, more like a revenge! Lower your face while smirking devilishly, one side of his slit eyebrow lifts up as he wonders what has got into you until...

"Actually, thank you very much, Takashi."

Calling for his name in a mischievous voice, you raise your slender hand not to take that bottle but to gently grab the other big, masculine one. Eyes lock with the others droopy lavender, you smile innocently as a way to express your affection toward him.

It doesn't take that long for the Second Division Captain to realize your intention. Instead of questioning about your rapid change in behavior, the lilac-haired decides to go along with your act. [First name]-chan, you're no match for me. His surprised face soon reveals a smirk, taking his time to respond you.

"My my~ you really mean it, [First name]?" said Mitsuya in a low tone voice.

He takes a few steps toward while you're doing the opposite, walking backward till your body hits the table without noticing. You startle but your attention is still drawn to his hand pulling the tie knot side to side to loosen that black plain necktie. This soon piques your curiosity. Is it because of the heat or he's doing it on purpose? However, judging the look on his face, you have every reason to eliminate the former assumption. Actually, no one will argue once they meet his sharp, yet flirtatious glance trying to lure you in his sweet trap. The gap is now shortened to only a few centimeters apart, Mitsuya rests both of his hands on the table to trap you inside then leans his lips closer to your reddened ear.

"Or you're asking for something else?" He whispers, sending shivers down your spine.

A flush of excitement is rising to your cheek, but you - my friend, show no signal of being dominated. In spite of the wild beating heart in your chest, you naturally grabs his tie and pulls it closer, looking straight into that man's eyes. "Make a guess."

Now you've done it. That confident expression of yours finally pulls the trigger for a massive explosion in his heart. It's not really something unexpected, but the Captain can't help himself whenever he sees you like this. The lilac-haired signs, looking down the ground to hide his defeated face. But, things won't end that easy.

"Alright, you said it. But," Unveiling a devilish smirk, his left hand wraps around your waist and gives a sudden pull, making your eyes widen from his unexpected move, "don't mad at me afterward."

The other hand is gently placing on your cheek before his thumb touches your lips. He's not gonna... There are butterflies in your stomach as you realize his intention, but sadly, it's too late to escape by now. Feeling his head is leaning closer, you place both hands on his chest to try and stop him though his body doesn't move a single bit. Hold up, hold up, hold up!!! Too close!

"Takashi, wait—" Your eyes shut immediately, knowing what he's about to do.

Mitsuya pauses when his lips are only a few centimeters away. That man is taking a glance at your heavily blushing face and secretly smiling to see this shy and nervous side of yours. Oh my, now I'm the meanie. He signs. Well then...

Soft. Something touches the tip your nose - a light kiss, as light as a feather. As your mind is still trying to comprehend the whole thing, his giggle soon gets you back to your senses.

"I'm just joking! You don't have to worry!" You open your eyes and freeze like a statue. Noticing how tense up you are, his hand gently caresses your cheek where the heat is still lingering around. "Did I scare you, [First name]-chan?"

You know the answer, don't you? Well, he did surprise you in a way but... why not let him guess a little longer? "Who would?" You mumble.

"Really? Shall we try again the—"

Like an instinct, your palm covers his lower face as you know he won't leave you time to answer.

"Not so fast. I won't be tricked again." You smile cheerfully because this time for sure, victory is in your hand. However, life rarely happens according to your plans, and especially when you are with him.

His gaze sharpens and that makes you think twice about your action. Just when you're about to let your hand down, the lavender-eyed holds it in position and gives your palm a kiss. You raise your eyebrows and are completely shocked at his gesture. Mitsuya gently places your hand in his palm, bowing down like a gentleman greets a lady before his lips touch your knuckles. This greeting gesture, hand-kissing, normally indicates courtesy and politeness but not in this case scenario.

"Are you sure about that, my Muse?" He asks with a mischievous smile.

And the Cupid - the god of love in the Ancient Roman, shots his arrow right through your heart, again. Love and passion are spreading out from your wound, making you fall for this man for... how many times you have lost count to be honest. The only difference is that you sink deeper and deeper every time the Cupid has his decision.

"So now you're into role play just simply because of the suit? And what Muse would wear a white tube top with grey sweatpants like me?" You chortle.

"Well, doing it once in a while isn't so bad though." He answers. "And you're always beautiful no matter what you wear."

That makes your heart skip a beat. He always says what in his mind, even if you're ready for it or not. "You sure are good with words." Whispering softly, you don't know what to do but to smile happily like a child.

"Anyway, how was the meeting with your customers?" You ask.

"The good news is we have a big order coming up. It's for their wedding and they chose the design already. One mermaid wedding dress and a tuxedo. We have to make five dresses for the bridesmaids too, so it's gonna be a busy week."

"Oh no, it's not that much... Lemme fainted a little." Without waiting him to respond, you let your head fall down on his shoulder, creating a big "thump" sound in the ears. The Captain is trying hard not to laugh by now. He gently pats that heavy head of yours.

"But still, I'll try my best to help. Can't let my beloved handle everything, right?" There you go, being mischievous again.

Wish you could see his face at that time. It was the most happiest face in the world. He wraps you in his arms for a full, warm embrace. "And I don't want my Muse to be exhausted too."

"But we'll put that aside for now. Wanna go for a ride? It must be bored to spend your whole day in the workshop."

Your eyes wide open to hear his suggestion. How long has it been since the last ride you guys had with each other? You're obviously happy to hear that but you're quite concerned about his health. "Maybe you should rest for today, you must be tired already."

"It's okay. I need to refresh my mind a bit. Lemme get change real quick." He gives you a light pat on your head.

Standing in front of the garage, you're gazing at Mitsuya, who is wearing an energetic set of cloth, opposite to the formal style earlier. He layers his white tee with a loose black baseball jacket with cream leather sleeves. This jacket was you two first couple cloth, and it was made by you-know-who. For the bottom, he puts on grey sweatpants and a pair of sneakers.

Your man is taking his baby Impulse out. The lavender-eyed is looking for something, your helmet. He slowly puts it on for you to ensure your safety while you sit behind him.

"Hold on tight." No matter how many times he has taken you out, that sentence always comes up first like a habit. Yes, you understand clearly that he cares about you, but seeing him like this somehow makes you want to tease him.

"Come on! It's not like my first time letting my boyfriend take me for a ride~" Leaning your body closer to his back, you slowly give that muscular body a hug from behind. The lilac-haired sighs, lowers his head before turning around.

"And it's not like my first time saying this to my girlfriend." He responds while gives you a light flick on your forehead. "I just want to make sure you'll feel safe."

You release your hands to touch the spot where he aimed. Knitting your eyebrows, you ask. "Alright, but do you have to give me a flick?"

"Cause I feel like it." Now your nose is being pinched. Right after when you try to react, Mitsuya grabs your hands and puts them around his waist again. "Alright, no more teasing. We'll be back late if we don't leave now."

You actively tighten your arms so that someone won't give a long lecture again. "Fine, baka Taka."

"That's my girl." Closing his eyes, those lips reveal a winsome smile before his black full face helmet covers it. Once everything is set, he starts the engine and drive you both to the main road.

Resting your head on his firm back, your eyes slowly observe the night life in the city, looking at those cars running on the road and how people spend the rest of their night. Every time the winds blow through your hair, they always give a sense of relaxation, relieving all the stress you have during those working hours.

You breathe out bit by bit, tighten your embrace without noticing, which is a good sign for the person sitting in front of you. Glad she's enjoying this. The lilac-haired chuckles in secret, feels glad at your reaction.

Fifteen minutes have passed by, you two leave the city center, driving on a deserted road that leads to an abandon outdoor parking space overlooking the city's view. This is his go-to place whenever he seeks for the tranquility and now, it's yours too. Mitsuya drives right to the spot where you can observe the mesmerizing scene below and parks his Impulse.

Arms in the air, you stand up and stretch your back after spending nearly the whole day in his workshop, helping him to finish the wedding dress on time. Turn your head around to look at the man sitting side saddle, you ask. "Just three days left. We'll finish Hina-chan dress before it, right?"

"Yeah, I only need to sew the veil and adjust the length of the dress a bit." Mitsuya responds before gazing at you with a delighted face. "It all thanks to your help! Your skills have improved a lot after two months."

"Really? Guess I have to thank someone being patient while teaching me too~" Your mind then recalls how many times he sighed and flicked your forehead when you messed up during your practice. Despite of that, your caring teacher always there to explain and demonstrate again and again. Also, you can't forget the times you injured yourself because of your clumsiness, and he was always there to help you. Those are the memories that you're always cherish.

"I'll still be in your care, Sensei~" You giggle.

Sitting beside the man you love, you lean your head on his shoulder while getting lost in thought. 12 years huh... They finally make it. The fact that Hanagaki could travel back in time is always unbelievable because to you, it's something that only appears in sci-fi movies. You're really grateful that he tries to save everyone even if he has to risk his life. Not knowing what the future may hold, every moment staying with Mitsuya just becomes precious and you truly appreciate it.

Hina-chan finally escapes from the Death, now they're about to engage. "I'm glad for them."

Hearing your mumble, his left arm, which wrapped around your waist, moves its way up to pat your head. Those fingers that he uses to design beautiful clothes are now gently stroking your hair.

"What're you thinking about?" He asks out of curiosity.

"I was thinking..." After a few seconds of consideration, you say something out of the blue "when will I become a bride?"

From your unexpected answer, Mitsuya completely freezes. His astonished face with raised eyebrows and wide-opened lavender eyes is fully drawn to you. Looks like someone's heart just skips a beat. You really are...

Not seeing the Captain react, you ask him with concern. "Taka— Wh—what???"

As you're about to lift your head up, his hand quickly covers your eyes, pressing it down to the old position. You're wondering what the heck is going, not knowing Mitsuya is facing the other direction, hands cover his face. He's making time for the blush to fade away but it's impossible when you're struggling like this.

"Stay still for awhile, will you?" A long sigh escapes from his lips when you're trying to pull his hand off.

After realizing how physically strong he is, you finally surrender. "Fine, I give up."

The atmosphere go into silent, no one has opened up first because you're waiting for him, and your boyfriend? He's still trying to calm himself down. Once Mitsuya gets back to his cool, usual shelf, he removes his hand to reveal your sound sleeping face.

"[First name]-chan?" He whispers.

Oh... She must be exhausted. Caressing your cheek before moving to your ear, his mind suddenly recalls your words. The Captain tries to move his other hand without waking you up, manages to take something out of his pocket. He then remains silent, eyes are focusing that small box lying in the palm of his right hand. "A bride, you said..."

His thumb opens the box, staring at the thing placing in the middle. For some reasons, your man hesitates before taking out the circle object, raising it up to the night sky and gazing deeply.

"You should fall for someone else." He mumbles.

"That's what I said when you confessed your feelings. But you, you still stay around after everything we went through, after knowing my background." Mitsuya pinches your cheek lightly because he doesn't want to interrupt your sleep.

"How stubborn you are."

You can feel something touch your face but only make an annoyed expression like a reflex.

"You always talk to me, run toward me whenever I'm around, and even learn how to sew. And just like that, I get familiar with your presence in my life."

"I used to think if you were in love with someone else, I would be rooting for you and make sure you find a good guy. But right now, I don't think I can let you go—— No, more like I won't let you go this time."

His hand puts something on your right ear. It's his other signature piercing - a black huggie earring with silver crosses.

"One for me, one for my most important person. Hope you won't laugh at my childish thought, I was young and bold." He chuckles at his own thought.

"I'm not ready to be your spouse yet, not when I'm still struggling with financial issues. I don't want my love to struggle it with me."

"Just a little more, will you wait for me, [First name]-chan?"

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #takashi mitsuya #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #takashi x reader #takashi mitsuya x reader #tokyo revengers mitsuya #fanfic #tokrev mitsuya #mitsuya x you

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

Text

Under the Moon

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: I’ve been in a mood recently.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I actually put forth a decent effort this time to make it as gender-neutral as possible. It’s probably not perfect but I tried.

^^^^^

A twinge in the muscles of my back jarred me from my sleep.

$#!+ did I forget again? I thought. Another spasm arched me off my mat. I fumbled through my bag for my phone. No service. Of course not. With shaking fingers, somehow I managed to unlock it. Moon Tracker was waiting for me on my home page. It launched and actually loaded, despite the lack of service.

Tonight’s Moon: Full read the screen.

I swore aloud. MJ didn’t wake.

Scrambling out of the tent, I stumbled through the dark to the tent next to ours. “Peter!” I hissed, knocking a knuckle against the tent pole. “Pete!”

I heard a groan. “What?” Peter complained.

“I need your help. I need you to come with me. Now.”

The tent he shared with Ned zipped open. Ned was curled up in a corner and clearly Peter had been sprawled out. Peter slipped out, barely managing to get into his sneakers, and zipped the tent shut behind him. “What’s goin’ on?” He yawned.

I recoiled as pain wracked through me. “We need to get away from camp—and I need you to web me to a tree,” I replied.

“What?”

“Now!”

My tone scared him into movement. He grabbed my hand and we ran from the campsite. I stumbled more than anything. My control over my own body was slipping. I moaned in pain. Peter looked back at me.

“What’s happening to your eyes?”

“No time to explain. Keep moving,” I panted.

We blindly wove through the woods until we were over a mile away. I found a sturdy tree and backed against it.

“Web me here,” I said. “Just cover me.”

“Why?”

I looked up. The moon was starting to peek above the hills, casting its light through the woods. “Just do it!” I cried out—stifling the sound as much as I could—and slammed into the tree. “Now!”

Peter’s webshooters activated and he spewed webs at me. I gave him a small smile.

Then I thrashed in pain—

And everything went black.

—

Peter stared as his friend’s body began to change. Claws broke through fingers. Fangs replaced teeth. A snout elongated from the face. Thick, brown-and-black hair sprouted. Pajamas started to disappear under the hair.

Until, instead of a human, Peter was staring at a wolf.

An enormous wolf. Easily twice the size of a regular wolf—and he’d found out that wolves were twice as big as he’d thought not too long ago—and covered in grey fur. The beast’s paws were wide and ended in long dark claws sharp enough to tear flesh like cotton candy. Thankfully they were positioned too awkwardly to reach the webs holding it.

“Gah! What the he—” He cut himself off as the wolf snarled at him, writhing against the webs. He applied another layer just to be safe. “Since—since—since when could you do—” The moonlight shone brighter, catching his attention. He peered up.

The moon was a massive disc—full and shining silver-white down against the tree trunk.

The wolf in front of him seemed transfixed by it, staring up with a melancholy whine softly escaping its throat. It tried again to escape the webs, but only half-heartedly.

Peter whooshed out a breath as realization struck him like a blow from the Hulk. “You’re a werewolf,” he whispered.

The wolf whimpered and then growled. Peter stepped back.

“I’m not sleeping tonight, am I?” He asked.

The wolf didn’t reply.

Which was probably a good thing, because if it did he probably would have screamed loud enough to wake up their friends over a mile away—and every big nasty in the forest. And he doubted his werewolf friend would protect him.

The wolf’s amber eyes were watching him suspiciously. But Peter just sat down and yawned again. “You and I have known each other for like ten years now. You’re in on my secret. Why didn’t you ever tell me yours?” He stared at the wolf, who was still seething at being trapped, but not fighting against the webs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Again, the wolf made no reply. Just turned those amber eyes up to the moon. Peter looked up at it too. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. Especially on nights like tonight. When there aren’t any clouds.”

The wolf whined like a puppy—and Peter had to remind himself to not tear off the webs to cuddle into that thick, soft-looking fur. That werewolves probably didn’t have any human memories when they were in their wolf form. He leaned back on his hands. “You’re probably not gonna remember this, so I may as well tell you: I’ve actually had a crush on you since like seventh grade. I know we’ve been friends for longer than that but…” He shrugged. The wolf kept staring at the moon. “I don’t know. Something changed that year. I saw you in the gym with the ballroom dance club, teaching some poor dude how to waltz when I stayed late for robotics, and it was like this… like a lightbulb went off in my head. You know? Suddenly it was like I was really seeing you for the first time. Like I caught a glimpse of the best pieces of your soul.

“And I’ve never been the same since. Never looked at you the same way. I notice the grace you use when you move. Even if you’re clumsy sometimes. But I see your compassion too. Your care. Like once I started looking, I couldn’t stop.”

The wolf didn’t even react to him at all.

Peter sighed. “I’ll keep an eye on you tonight. I promise. You won’t be able to get out or hurt anything. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

—

I came to under the pale orange light of dawn. The last dregs of dissolving web fluid clung to my pajamas. I felt drained. Like I always did the morning after a full moon.

“Hey, you’re up!” Peter said happily. I turned. He was sitting on the forest floor a few feet away, using a Bunsen burner camping “stove” to heat a small pot of water. Two paper cups were sitting near him, plastic spoons poking out of the top. I slumped against the tree trunk. “I’m making some cocoa. Want some?”

I watched him pour the water in the cups, adding packets of cocoa mix and stirring carefully. I didn’t have the energy to actually reply.

He handed me one of the cups. “This should warm you up. It’s a little chilly.”

“Did you get any sleep?” I croaked.

“I did, actually. See, the thing is, my webs dissolve in two hours. On average, it takes fourteen minutes for a person to fall asleep, and a single sleep cycle is ninety minutes—hour and a half. So I used my webshooters to set timers. An almost-two-hour one to know when to replace the webs around you, and another to wake me up roughly an hour and forty-four minutes after I set it. So I slept between replacing your webs and I actually feel alright. Probably better than you anyway.”

I grunted agreement at that. I felt like I’d been trampled by a herd of elephants.

I tried a sip of the cocoa. Not too hot, but enough to warm my core. I sighed, content with the taste and warmth.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Peter asked quietly. I met his eyes. He had the expression of a sad puppy on his face.

I huffed a little, stirring my cocoa. “My secret isn’t like yours, Peter,” I said. “You keep your secret to keep the people you care about safe. I do too, but mine—mine is different. You’re keeping the people you love safe from villains who want to hurt you by hurting them. I’m keeping the people I care about safe from me. Because I’m… we’re classified as monsters, Peter. Werewolves, vampires—we’re referred to as monsters the same way humans are mammals. I never told you because what I can do… it’s worse than what you can do. You’re a superhero. I’m a lycanthrope. Yours is a mutation of your DNA. Mine is literally a curse. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you looking at me like I’m…”

“A monster?” Peter finished gently.

I almost growled at the word. “Yeah,” I admitted begrudgingly, taking a sip of my cocoa. “You have no idea how hard it is for someone like me to make or keep friends. I’ve spent most of my life super lonely. Then I met you and Ned and MJ and I felt like… like finally I could have some friends. I was turned into a werewolf when I was four-years-old, Peter. Thirteen years, I’ve suffered with this alone. My parents know but they don’t talk about it. They pretend like my curse doesn’t exist. Then I make friends for the first time in my life and still know, deep down, that I’ll never belong with them. Not really. Even when you told me about you, I knew I still wasn’t like you. I never would be. So I hoped I could just be friends as long as I could with you guys and… find a way to live with it when you all eventually left me.”

I downed the rest of my cup and stood. My joints ached.

“We should go back to camp before Ned and MJ wonder where we’ve gone,” I said.

Not waiting for Peter, I headed back the way we’d come, following my own scent through the trees, several hours old now, but doubly punctuated by Peter’s as he’d gone back to get the burner and the cocoa.

He caught up to me, jogging a little. “For the record, even though you scared the pants off of me last night when I saw you turn, I don’t think you’re a monster,” he said.

I managed a small smile. “Thanks,” I replied.

“And, also, I’m not going to leave you. You’re still my friend and I’m not scared. I can lift… like, a hundred times more than my body weight. I think I can handle you as a wolf. You’re not gonna hurt me and I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s… that’s a relief to hear,” I admitted. We kept hiking back. “Do I remember you saying you’ve had a crush on me since we were in seventh grade? Or did I dream that up?”

Peter swore under his breath. A normal person wouldn’t have heard it, but I did. Wolf’s hearing. “Uh… I think you dreamt that up,” he said.

Liar. But if he wasn’t ready to tell me human-face-to-human-face, I’d give him time. He’d taken my secret better than I could have asked for or anticipated. I could let him admit his feelings whenever he was ready. I owed him that much.

When we got back to camp, MJ was sitting on a tree stump, munching on some dry cereal. “Where have you two been all night?” she asked.

#Under the Moon #Spider-Man #spider-man imagine #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagine #Spider Man #Spider Man Imagine #spider man fanfiction #Peter Parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #Avengers #avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

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ofhouseadama · 3 years

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could I dm you this? yes. but also asks are fun even though this question is mean so. how do Ed and Lorraine react to the Vietnam war?

Okay so my Ed and Lorraine are absolutely Kennedy Democrats, are both very excited and enthusiastic about the first Catholic president, but both are against the Vietnam War and US military intervention from the start. Ed's already fought in one imperialist proxy war, he's got the PTSD to prove it, and Lorraine just is truly repulsed by violence of any kind.

And also like, to go completely left field for a minute -- I've been thinking a lot about how teenage Lored were effectively trapped at 17-19 years old. Mostly financially, and in different ways. in 1951, Lorraine wouldn't have been able to have her own bank account. Women wouldn't have the right to open their own bank account until the 60s or have a credit card until the 70s -- her money would have been her father's, effectively. and while probably not maliciously, since she was a young woman she likely wouldn't have had much access to her pay checks unless she was cashing them directly. Ed, meanwhile, while trying to survive a negligent/abusive household, absolutely would have been spending money on things most teens wouldn't have to in order to survive... and that's before getting the draft notice from the Selective Service, which took away even more control of his own life.

So I see Ed and Lorraine getting married young (even for the 50s, they're a few years younger than the median, though the war was actively driving that age down) mostly out of making the most out of what they could together. Ed putting Lorraine on his bank accounts and asking her actively to manage them while he's away, and her depositing her paychecks into his account would give her more financial control in her life than most women of the era. Lorraine's engagement ring (the size of that goddamn rock) is even an insurance policy most women her age and demographic didn't have -- often when women fled marriages, it was only with their jewelry to sell. It's half about Ed's possessive streak, half him showing he's not afraid to give her the money to run, if she needed to.

Anyway -- the trauma of their late teens and early twenties is entirely rooted in the rising Cold War anxieties and the locus of harm done to women in the 50s and I fully see their pursuit of demonology and the supernatural as something Lorraine initially started while working as a secretary for the Diocese, something she did to stay late at work and help people she could physically reach while Ed was away at war. She initially started staying late on the days she knew Father Gordon would be bringing in a scared family or terrified couple or frightened soul in through the back door hours after everyone had left, staying to pray and keep herself nearby, to be an observer to a fight she could be party to. Father Gordon figures her out quickly, of course, asking what interest she has in demons and exorcisms, and figures out she's clever with records and archives, almost to an uncanny degree.

And then figures out to exactly what uncanny degree.

After Ed came home and became the husband instead of the boyfriend, it turned into something Ed could throw all his metaphorical demons onto and a healthy way to exercise his control issues and fear and anxiety that doesn't (generally) affect Lorraine because she's fighting with him side by side in this, when before they were separated by thousands of miles -- the beginning everyone's favorite Catholic battle couple very much rooted in Ed and Lorraine parsing out who brought home metaphorical demons from the war, and who brought home literal ones, and bringing them to Father Gordon when necessary. Rooted in Ed needing to be useful, to dusting off his Catholic school Latin and reading everything he could get his hands on so that he could continue to help, continue to fight.

Lorraine would have been pregnant with Judy during the heightening tensions with Cuba and as Kennedy is sending more and more military "advisors" to Vietnam and Cold War tensions flared the hottest they'd get in the 1960s and I can just see both of their control issues revving up, especially with a few-months-old baby in the mix. Just the two of them laying bed, looking down at their three month old baby girl, wondering if they'd all get nuked tomorrow. If war would be declared tomorrow. If they'd all be dead, if they brought her into the world just to die violently. It's like taking guns off the street. They can't control the White House, or the Soviets, or Cuba or China or or or -- but they know about demons, they know about spirits, they know about taking these bombs off the battlefield, in the war of good against evil, and this is a war they can be foot soldiers in together.

Lorraine would get a bit of relief in the March of '63 when Kennedy dropped married men with children to the bottom of the draft pool, and then dropped the age of the draft pool to 26, aging Ed out of the Selective Service entirely. And then in November, JFK would be assassinated, and the photo of Jackie Kennedy covered in blood, leaving the hospital hand-in-hand with RFK, would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country. It would be a jolt for both of them -- but it wouldn't fully hit Lorraine until seven years later, when she'd have her first vision of Ed's death and fully understand Jackie Kennedy's weary, "I want them to see what they have done to Jack."

After the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in August of 1964, they fully throw themselves into taking cases almost full time. As the war heats up, Ed pulls back from teaching art classes at the VA. If he spends too much time there, he has to face how pointless the violence has been. If he spends too much time there, now, he has to face that he still doesn't know why he survived. Why he lived, and everyone else on board the ship with him died. Because he still doesn't know, he still is fighting to make his life matter in a way that makes sense to him. All he has is his sense of duty, a couple of college credits, and his hands. On good days, he knows that he's loved -- that Lorraine loves him so much it makes it hurt to breathe, that he's a good father to his daughter, who will never be afraid of him.

Ed has a complete PTSD relapse in 1966, with the beginning of the ground war and the full-throated resurgence of the American propaganda machine and military recruitment. He's back in the guilt spiral, the "I never had it that bad, I was only in the Navy for two years, I never had it that bad," just feeding into "why did I live when everyone else I fought with died," back and forth until he can't sleep, can only sleep when Judy sleeps, accidentally ends up adapting himself to her nap schedule and has to sleep with his hand on her chest, feeling her breathe.

Lorraine calls in Chief, after Ed can't get out of bed for 72 hours and misses mass for the first time in his life. Chief, who comes up from Brooklyn to remind Ed of the time their entire ship exploded and Ed treaded water for eight hours and everyone else died. How they spent the next six months getting drunk whenever they weren't on duty and picking fights they couldn't get out of, and that one time they got thrown in the brig because Chief struck a superior asshole and Ed just followed him into the fight. (No, Lorraine does not know about that time Ed and Chief ended up in the brig. She will never know about that time. Judy will at some point in her early 20s learn about that time, when she needs to learn about how her parents are people, who have absolutely made mistakes in their lives.) "You and I spent six months drunk," Chief says, bouncing Judy on his knee in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, Ed refusing to look at him as he deep cleans the stove. "And then your dad died, and your sainted wife handled everything for you, and we realized we couldn't send you home to her like that."

"I still don't know why I lived."

Chief shrugs. "It doesn't matter why, son. The same reason any of us live, and any of us die. It doesn't matter. You have a little girl now who depends on you. She matters more than any goddamn reason -- you live for her, and your saint of a wife, and for all the people that you help. So that you can look them in the face, say you've been down in the hole that they're in now, and you know the way out."

Lorraine calls in Chief, because she absolutely picked a fight after mass that day without Ed, with Judy on her hip. Overheard Dorothy O'Malley running her mouth in the pew in front of her sounding like a national security ghoul and didn't even think before she opened her mouth and unloading the full force of her anxiety and anger on her. Only stops because she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and Father Gordon murmuring in her ear, "Okay Mrs. Warren, you've made your point," while leading her away. It's the "Mrs. Warren" instead of the familiar "Lorraine" that jolts her back to herself, kissing Judy's head as she tries to shake herself out of it.

"Thank you," she tells Father Gordon, defeated.

He shrugs. "You don't come to confession until before Friday night prayer service. I didn't want you stewing on this all week." Pausing, he takes a moment to fondly tug on one of Judy's pig tails, making her laugh. "If Ed's not... feeling well, I know about that."

Lorraine bites her lip, knowing full and well that Father Gordon served as a chaplain in World War II. That seeing the violence of the Nazis firsthand is what convinced him that the Devil was more than a metaphor, that evil truly walked the Earth. Sent him on his own path, chasing darkness.

Lorraine nods.

"I could talk to him," Father Gordon says. "But it would likely come better from someone he served with."

When she gets home, she finds Chief's number in their phone book, and calls Brooklyn for the first and last time. He comes up the next day, and shoos her out of the house to do something for herself for the first time in months, telling her that he's more than equipped to look after a single three year old.

Ed goes back to teaching at the VA a few months after that, teaching art to the new round of mentally scarred children returning from war. He concedes to group therapy, and a few sessions with the VA psychiatrist to get something to take the edge off. He teaches at the VA until the troop withdrawals in 1970, reducing his class load as he and Lorraine take on more and more cases -- verging towards a hundred a year -- for the Catholic Church, and the media attention that comes along with that, the publicity engagements that help keep their bills paid, the articles and academic talks.

Even still, Ed occasionally brings home someone for dinner, just to make sure that they've only brought metaphorical demons home from war with them, not literal ones.

Sometimes it's literal ones.

#ask #rikertroi #otp: i forgot my pills #emily watches the conjuring #i cannot believe that Sam was just like #''I am going to give Emily an excuse to use her degree and hurt people''#this got... so very long

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Text

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!! It’s Finally the Day to share my piece for the @harringroveheart-on !! (If you didn’t already see it posted on ao3 yesterday)I went with the prompt: secret admirer!! enjoy some flangst and have a wonderful day whether you celebrate the holiday or not!! ❤️

Fortunately

read on ao3

***

Billy needs a job.

He’s two months fresh out of the hospital but that doesn’t matter. The local pool was closed for the winter and Neil was adamant that he get out and find work as soon as he was able to walk, despite the fact that he could only do so for only short periods at a time.

And he’s forced to take what he can get. January wasn’t the best time of year to be looking for work in Hawkins. He told himself he’d apply at any place with a help wanted sign displayed in their window. And he did. Application after application. Stellar fucking resume. The only problem was that not many people were looking to hire on the guy who looked just minutes away from death each time they saw him. Didn’t want to put the guy with the hideous scars and the sickly frame in front of customers. Though, they’d usually let him off with the same similar speech about how he “just wasn’t what they were looking for.”

Luckily for Billy, there was one place that was just as desperate as he was. Li’s Kitchen. The local Chinese restaurant that had just needed to make several layoffs to keep themselves from closing. They quickly hired him on to wash dishes in the back because he was ready and willing to work for minimum wage. Making just $3.35 an hour, it was enough and at least it got Neil off of his back.

So he’d haul his ass into work every day on the dot. Walking the full half-mile distance through snowy paths to the restaurant since the Camaro was still out of commission. Trudging along, praying he didn’t slip because his ribs were still fragile and just a simple impact of a good fall could break them again. The walk was simply exhausting. By the time he’d enter through those double doors and set off the bell hung above, he’d be completely out of breath and exhausted and his shift hadn’t even started yet. But fortunately it was just washing dishes. How hard could it be?

Apparently. Pretty fucking hard for a guy who could hardly stand up straight. The heat radiating from the hot steam of the water making him lightheaded almost instantaneously. The boiling hot water against his arms and hands sending him back to those days flayed out in the sun as the ultraviolet rays burned through the skin. The liquid dripping from his face that he couldn’t differentiate from steam or sweat taking him back to the sauna. Feeling his insides heat up and burn like fire inside his gut. Trapped in a prison that was his own body. He just wanted to crawl into a bucket of ice.

His only saving grace was that this time it was winter, and he wasn’t actually flayed. Just overheated and weak. He'd take his breaks behind the restaurant digging his feet into deep snow and letting the chill breeze cool him down. Lighting up a cigarette to get his body to an equilibrium of hot and cold. But the good feeling only lasted as long as he stood outside, immediately getting the same sick to his stomach feeling as soon as he walked back in. Hunched over the sink in the kitchen just trying to move fast enough and stay standing.

He figured he was lucky enough to get the job, that he couldn’t afford to disappoint, because then he’d be entirely out of options. Unemployed and still stuck under his father’s roof on Cherry Lane, this time accompanied by a deeper rage. If Billy didn’t have a job to get to, Neil would have no reason to hold back anything. No reason not to leave bruises or cuts. But it was getting harder and harder as the days progressed. Never enough time in the day to rest and recover enough to brave the next one. He was running on borrowed energy and excessive amounts of caffeine.

There came a moment when he nearly passed out into the sink full of porcelain plates. His breathing became shallow as his vision got blurry and dark. His head spun and his balance faltered and he needed a fucking drink of water.

One of the servers caught him just before he was about to go down. A man older than him but not by much. Same build as him before the accident but easily with an additional five inches on him. Billy was probably at least ten pounds lighter now that a bulk of his muscle had wasted away in that hospital bed. Making him easy to catch.

“You look like shit hargrove.” is what the man says, but Billy barely registers it because everything is muffled. The sounds of running water into the metal sink being the loudest noise he can hear. The man tosses one of Billy's arms over his shoulder and hauls him into the break room. Billy’s doing exactly zero of the work. Letting his legs fall limp and his feet drag against the tile floor. He sits him down in one of the metal chairs and hands him a small cup of water from the jug. “Drink you’re dehydrated” he says, tilting the bottom of the cup upwards so that it’s forced into Billy's mouth and down his throat. “The dinner rush is almost out, I’ll take care of the rest of the dishes, you just stay in here and try not to pass out again, sound like a plan?”

Billy nods his head and drinks the rest of the water in the cup before letting his head fall into his hands and his eyes fall shut as he tries to regain his composure. Cool himself down and slow his heart rate.

By the time his coworker — Zachary, he remembers — comes back into the break room he’s better. Not quite ready to get back to the sink and the hot steam cloud that comes with his job, but better.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten kid?” Kid. Sounds really odd coming from someone who could be no older than thirty.

“I had toast this morning.” Billy hadn’t actually been eating much lately. Not finding the time in the day to sit down to have a meal in between work and recovering from said work. His hours conflicted with family dinner so he was left to fend for himself. Neil made it very clear that what was in the cupboards did not belong to him. So all he had to his name was a single loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.

“Well guess what. It’s closing time and you’re not leaving here without a meal. So go sit down at one of the tables and pick anything you want from the menu.” Does Billy have pride? Yes. But is his stomach turning and his mouth watering at just the thought of some orange chicken? Also yes. So instead of arguing with him about how he can take care of himself, which is debatable at this point, he just says thank you and finds himself a table in the corner. He doesn’t expect Zachary to follow him all the way there and sit down right across from him.

“Don’t worry about paying. My dad will cook it up for free.”

Oh right. Zachary Li... The owner’s son.

And suddenly things went from awkward to outright uncomfortable for Billy. Because he was sitting here eating dinner with another man who would be footing the bill. Sure, Zachary was just his coworker and in his mind the exchange had absolutely no weight to it, but to billy it was so fucking heavy. The thought of Neil barging in to see the display and not giving two seconds to read the situation before he started throwing punches. Because it didn’t matter if it was a date or just dinner with a coworker. If it looked a certain way, then that’s how it was.

But the other thing was he couldn’t just get up now. Not without an explanation. So he sucked it up and said he’d have the orange chicken, earning a scowl followed by a laugh and a nod because of course he’d order that and none of the authentic chinese food dishes. But then he ordered the same thing because they both have fallen victim to american colonization.

And chef Li made a damn good orange chicken.

And this one did not disappoint. But it’s not like he really had the chance to taste it since he was too busy inhaling it. Finishing his entire plate before Zachary had even made a dent. And Billy was slightly embarrassed by it. But zachary said nothing. Just continued with his own meal without acknowledging that Billy had scarfed his own down in no time at all. Making other dry conversation with Billy and constantly refilling his water glass with the pitcher every time it got below half full.

When he’s just about finished is when chef Li brings out a small plate with fortune cookies sitting on top, one for each of them. They each take their own and crack them open.

“What’s it say? I got an inch of time is an inch of gold for the thousandth time. I swear elizabeth is getting lazy with these”

Billy looks down at his, and can’t help but laugh.

“A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.”

Hahaha. Hilarious.

“Well then we better hope that these things come true. Though I have a lot of time and have not seen any gold fall into my lap yet.” he laughs and pops the cookie into his mouth, Billy does the same. “Hey dad, you gonna open one?”

“Sure.” he says. Pulling one from the container in the back and breaking it open quite aggressively. “Allow compassion to guide your decisions. Boring.”

They both just laugh. But then Zachary gets this weird look in his eyes. “Hey dad? What if Billy made the fortune cookies instead?”

“Who would wash the dishes?”

Zachary just shot him a look. Yeah, Billy's medical condition and clear exhaustion didn’t go unnoticed by the staff. That must have been what that look meant.

“Read that fortune again, Dad.”

He looks down at the slip of the paper in his hand and almost instantly tosses it to the floor.

“You’re a pain in my ass Zach. alright then Billy, you available in the mornings? I can have Elizabeth show you the ropes tomorrow and if you’re any good you won’t have to wash dishes anymore. That will be my ungrateful son's job.”

“Hey-“

“No ‘hey’ nothing. Have compassion, remember?” he swats Zach with the towel that hung over his shoulder.

Billy just stayed silent for the whole exchange. Only nodding his head when asked if he was free in the mornings. He wanted to tell them to fuck off. To tell them he could do his job perfectly fine. A bold faced lie, but still. However, he also recognized that he couldn’t continue the way he was going. He was three shifts away from an ambulance ride to the emergency room, and that would just piss off Neil further.

So instead of speaking up, he silently agreed, and suddenly found himself walking the same distance he did every day, this time at seven in the morning when the rest of his house was still asleep. Another bonus. Less he had to see Neil, the better. And he’d be home in time for family dinner, the only meal he was welcome to join. And as much as he hated sitting across the table from his Dad, Susan's cooking served as a pleasant enough distraction.

Liz gladly showed him how to make the cookies. Constantly expressing how much she hated making them and is happily giving up the job to billy. That didn’t make him feel too great about it.

But then it really wasn’t bad. Just tedious. Slightly boring and mindless. Made his hands ache after a couple hours of folding the fortunes and squeezing out the batter, but it was ten times less painful than doing the dishes. He got to make them while sitting down at a table before the place even opened. No crowded kitchen or hot running water. The only heat he experienced came from opening and closing the oven, and that only happened for seconds at a time.

And the best part.

He got to make the fortunes.

Typing out several sheets of sample fortunes on a typewriter, cutting them into slips using the paper guillotine. It was definitely strange they never bothered to check his work. They had way too much trust in a guy like Billy to write fortunes. Free will to throw anything in there.

Did he ever veer away from the script posted to the wall? No. But the fact that he could was so funny to him.

He never once considered he would actually want to throw something else into those fortune cookies, until that first tuesday in the middle of his shift right as they opened for lunch and he saw a familiar figure enter through the glass doors into the restaurant. Bell chiming behind him. Craning his head upwards so he could get a closer look he recognizes Steve, picking up a to-go order still wearing the dark green family video vest. Steve didn’t even notice him. Just grabbed his white paper bag, dropped the bill on the counter, and walked out the door. Flashing a smile at Liz who was up running the counter.

But Billy, he saw Steve. He stared at Steve for the duration of his time in the store because he was totally and completely whipped. Totally entranced for long enough that the cookies he was folding had already hardened, and Zach was giving him a weird look when Billy visibly shook at the sound of the bell chiming for the second time, pulling him from the trance.

“So harrington, huh? He’s your fortune?”

Billy got all wide eyed and jerked his head to the right to look at him. Completely zoned out and unprepared to defend himself, instead just stuttering out a string of nonsensical “I”s and “no”s and “it’s not”s. Failing miserably to get the lies past his tongue.

“Relax dude. I don’t really give a shit. Elizabeth, however, might. Girl doesn’t stop talking my ear off about you.”

But that just goes in one ear and out the other. Billy still continues to stutter out as best of a denial he can but his heart is racing, his stomach is churning, his palms are sweating, and the cookies are burning!

“Shit.” it’s the first full sentence he’s been able to get out. Rushing over to the oven and pulling out the hot pan of nearly completely blackened circles.

And Zach is just standing there laughing. Waving the smoke out of his face as Billy tries to blow out the miniature fire he caused on one of the cookies.

“Still gonna try and deny it?” he says.

“Fuck off. Seriously.”

Zach just backs away. Hands in the air. “Okay, okay. I’ll mind my own business. Lover boy.”

Billy promptly tosses one of the finished cookies at his face. “Whatever you think you saw. Keep it to your fucking self, alright?”

“Got it. Loud and clear.” But he’s still fucking giggling and Billy is currently contemplating murder. Eyes darting to the array of knives in close reach. Shakes the feeling. Killing the boss's son probably wouldn’t look good on evaluation.

Did he tell anyone? No. Did he tease billy relentlessly about it every fucking day. Of course he fucking did. Especially on days Steve walked into the restaurant for a to-go order. Nudging him in the arm with a little “Guess who’s here?” in a sing-songy voice.

And to think Billy thought having someone know and not crucify him would be a good thing. He'd rather he just hate crime him behind the restaurant instead of the constant, and I mean constant, ribbing.

Eventually moving on from teasing behind the wall of the kitchen to suggesting he go out and take the payment to actually pushing him out the swinging doors to do it. “Talk him up Hargrove. Put on the moves.”

There were no moves. But there was a conversation. A good one. A nice one. They just talked about themselves and caught up. Not really seeing much of each other once he was out of the hospital. Only having seen Steve in passing on days he’d bring max by for visiting hours. But they never actually talked much during that time. He’d come up to the room with her saying “Thought it’d be nice to see another familiar face.”

And it was.

Billy was not paying much attention to this conversation. Answering Steve's questions and asking his own, but he was definitely distracted by how close their hands were to each other, both rested on the counter, supporting themselves. If you asked Billy after the conversation what they talked about, he could only recall two things. One; he works at family video, not really substantial. And two; he said he looked good.

“You look good Billy.”

Yup, Billy was completely gone.

So maybe the constant teasing wasn’t completely terrible. Especially now that he’s given him such a stupid stupid stupid idea that he’s one hundred percent going to go through with because it’s about fucking time he wrote some fortunes of his own. He had several typed out and ready to be placed into a cookie whenever they received another call for an order for ‘Harrington.’ The first one was innocent enough. Pulled straight off the list of sample fortunes.

“You always bring others happiness.”

Just something simple. He just saw it on the list and it made him smile. Thought it would be nice to see Steve smile too.

The next few were similar to that one. Pulled straight off of the list but tailored specifically toward Steve.

“You are working hard.”

“Have a beautiful day.”

“You look pretty.”

But that last one was different. Because on the back of the last one he wrote in ballpoint pen.

- The cookie maker ♡

And that’s when it became a thing that they were both aware of. Now it was a romantic gesture and not just an act of kindness or a series of coincidental fortunes. Now steve was on the lookout for who made the fortunes at Li’s kitchen, but at the same time trying to keep the mystery alive so that the fortunes would keep coming.

Billy started writing out his own.

“I like your hair.”

“You have a terrific ass.”

“Somebody’s got a crush on you.”

Zach wrote that last one.

Then they got deeper.

“You make me happy when I don’t think that’s possible.”

“You make the pain go away.”

Steve never failed to blush at each and every fortune with the signature heart on the back.

But it was dragging on. And Steve was getting impatient. Started to ask around, eventually learning that robin had seen Elizabeth Li making them one time.

Elizabeth Li is sixteen. Absolutely not.

And now he feels bad for letting it drag on this long. Taking himself to the restaurant to let her down gently. When he walks through, Billy is standing behind the counter. Confused because he didn’t usually order on Wednesdays, and especially not this late in the day.

Was that a weird thing to know?

“Do you have an order to pick up?” Billy asks.

“No. Not today. I was actually hoping I could talk to Elizabeth, is she around?”

And Billy's heart just sinks to the floor. The slight smile that was on his face now completely gone and shattered to pieces.

“Yeah. I’ll go get her.” he says, with a heavy heart, disappointment clear in his voice.

He sends her out to the front and lingers in the back, ear pressed to the door trying to listen in like some creep.

“Look, elizabeth. I’m really flattered and I appreciate the fortune cookies, but you’re way too young for me. I’m sorry.”

Shit.

Is Billy supposed to be worried or relieved?

He can’t even see her face but he knows she’d be giving him her death stare right about now.

He can hear her say it through clenched teeth and he shouldn’t find it so funny but it is.

“Yeah. Okay, sorry about that. I’ll definitely stop doing that. Have a good day Steve.” And she just walks away from the counter and Billy barely jumps backwards in time to not get a door slammed in his face.

“You better fucking fix this Hargrove. I am not going to go down for this for you.”

Zach had just walked into the kitchen from the break room. Chef Li and the rest of the staff are just minding their own business.

“What did I miss?”

Elizabeth is all up in Billy’s personal space. Inches away from his chest looking up at him from her height of just five feet and three inches.

“Steve fucking Harrington thinks I’m his little secret admirer.”

Her face is red in anger but Zach’s is red from laughing so hard.

“Now that’s fucking funny.”

“If you don’t tell Steve, I will. I covered for you out of the kindness of my heart, but I’m not that kind.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

“Shut up Zach!”

Zach was laughing. Billy however, was suddenly not. Head now bowed, sighing heavily.

“I can’t do that.” It was a quiet and sudden change of tone that altered the mood of the situation entirely. The only people who could hear were just the three of them because the sound couldn’t overpower the noises of chopping vegetables and the clanking of pots and pans and the sizzle of cooking meat.

“Why not?”

“Fuck you. You know why.”

“Well what was your plan Romeo?! Were you just never going to tell him?” she threw her hands in the air like he was being ridiculous. The only thing that was ridiculous was that he ever went through with it in the first place.

“I don’t know. Okay? I don’t fucking know.”

Zach came up from behind him and offered a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Look dude, my little sister is a bitch but she’s right. You have to tell him. I’ll have your back when you do.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?” Billy jerks his head back down to look at Liz.

“Tell him. Tomorrow.” Her arms were crossed and she clearly wasn’t taking a no for an answer.

“Fuck the both of you. My shift is over.” Billy pushed past her and out of the restaurant. Leaving his jacket behind and walking home through the cold weather. His converse getting wet from the slushy snow, soaking through to his socks making him even colder all over. He’s internally freaking out and his heart would be beating out of his chest if his nervous system wasn’t operating at a decreased rate due to potential hypothermia.

He can’t even think. Just kicking his feet against the wet pavement letting the breeze take him over. If he dies, he doesn’t have to tell him.

Headlights pass him by as he slowly walks the distance home, nobody caring about the guy who cheated death just months ago inching closer back to that point instead of further away. Nobody stops to offer him a ride or even check to see if he’s okay, and he’s not even sure if he even wants to make it home. It would be preferable to just fall asleep in one of the bushes outside than having to make his day even worse by introducing Neil into it. Sitting at a dinner table, making nice and pretending like everything that was going well for him won’t come to an end twenty four hours from now. All the joy of making those little fortune cookies and just imagining the look on Steve’s face every time. The look he knew for sure was one of happiness despite never seeing it because it wasn’t a coincidence Steve’s lunch orders became more and more frequent.

But in his peripheral a set of headlights did seem to slow. That was either a sign he was meeting his savior, or potentially his kidnapper. Honestly at this point they are the same thing.

“Billy?”

You have got to be kidding me.

“Hey Harrington.” His teeth are chattering and his voice is shaky as he says it. Is it the cold? Or are his nerves finally beginning to work at the worst time possible?

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Walking home.”

“You’ll die out here.”

“If only.” He says it under his breath but Steve still hears it. Letting the car come to a complete stop rather than the slow pacing he was doing before.

“Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Billy just waves him off. “I’ll be fine on my own.” And he continues walking at his slow pace.

“I wasn’t fucking asking. Get the hell in Hargrove. Before I drag you in here.”

Billy stops and sighs. Kicking more slush into the air. “Fine.”

He walks around to the passenger side and lowers himself into the seat. Groaning as his body aches from the motion. Steve doesn’t acknowledge it. Just puts the car back into drive and heads towards Cherry Lane. Silence in the car as Billy breathes into his hands trying to warm them up. He’s pale. Looks like he’s never seen the sun before. His face is flushed. Even in the state like this Steve carries the same sentiment from that first conversation at the restaurant.

“You look good, Billy.”

He doesn’t say that. But he’s thinking it.

They eventually pull up to the white house with the screened in porch, and Billy grows visibly tense in his seat. He’s not moving. Just darting his eyes from the clock in the car and back to the house with the lights on.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks. But Billy’s eyes continue to move back and forth as his breathing quickens slightly more as each second ticks by. Showing no sign that he heard the words that came out of Steve’s mouth. He reaches over the center console and grabs his hand. “Hey.”

Billy looks over like a deer in the headlights. Eyes ever so slightly glossy. Clearing his throat he tries to speak.

“Can you take me somewhere else?” He asks.

He doesn’t want to go home. Can’t begin to even think about seeing his Dad today. He just wants to crawl under his covers and go to sleep. Dream of a reality that isn’t his own. Not this fucked up shit show he’s stupidly gotten himself into.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here?”

Neither of them realize Steve is still holding his hand. Not until he squeezes it tighter, recognizing the pain in Billy’s voice. Not for what it meant but just that it was there. He didn’t need to nor want to know why Billy didn’t want to go home. Just wanted to make it so he didn’t have to.

“Is my house okay?”

Billy hesitates, but nods.

And they turn the car around.

- : -

Billy wakes up the next morning on Steve’s couch to the sound of a microwave’s hum followed by a loud ‘ding’ that echoes off the walls. He just remembers walking through the door of Steve’s house and immediately laying down on the first soft surface he could find. Remembers Steve saying he’d be upstairs if he needed anything before quickly drifting off into sleep without a care in the world.

He went to sleep without a pillow and a blanket, and woke up with both.

Billy rubs away at his eyes while Steve enters the living room from the kitchen with two plates in his hands.

“I made you a hot pocket if you want one.” He sets the plate onto the coffee table before he takes a seat in the chair beside the couch. Billy sits himself up and takes the plate, cooling it off with a quick blow of his breath before biting into it. “You have work today?”

“Yeah, at eight. What time is it?”

“Only seven fifteen. I have to be in at eight thirty so I can drop you off if you want.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s seriously not a problem man, and no offense but you don’t look like you’d make the walk from here to there.”

Billy laughs.

“I thought you said I looked good.”

Shit. It’s weird that he remembers that.

But Steve blushes. “Well yeah, just not ‘two mile hike’ good. But you’ll get there.”

“Thanks.”

“Why are you working anyway? Shouldn’t you still be recovering?”

Billy frowns. “My Dad is making me.”

Oh. That’s why he doesn’t want to go home.

The situation is awkward now. Silent as they finish their breakfasts and drive off in the Beemer. Pulling up outside the restaurant fifteen minutes before his shift starts. Billy suddenly reminded of what he’s supposed to do today as soon as he looks at the sign out front.

“Uh, hey. Listen. Come by the restaurant for to-go. On me y’know, as a thank you.”

“You don’t have to-“

Billy cuts him off.

“Yes. I do.”

- : -

When Billy walks into the kitchen in the same clothes as yesterday nobody says anything. Nothing about his undone hair or his or his early arrival to work. Instead he’s met with apologies exiting the mouths of the two Li children as they corner him in the break room.

“We’re sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t fair for us to do that to you. Elizabeth said she won’t tell Steve.”

They were waiting for him to yell, or at the very least get his anger out some way.

But instead Billy smiled. Barely there with just the slight upturn at the corners of his mouth but it was there, so distinct from his natural grimace. “It’s fine.” He says.

Zachary and Elizabeth are entirely confused. Looking in between each other like ‘did you just see what I just saw?’

“What has you so chipper?”

His smile just grew slightly wider.

“Spent the night at Steve’s last night.”

The two’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“You what!?” They both said in unison.

“Jesus! Not like that. I just slept on his couch.”

Billy could see the cogs turning in each of their heads. Trying to figure everything out like it was some complicated math problem. “I think I’m going to tell him. Today.”

“Really?”

Billy nodded, threw on his skull cap, and left the dumbfounded siblings where they stood. He had a fortune to write, and cookies to bake.

He was so meticulous this time. Making sure they were perfectly round circles, folded exactly in half. Throwing nonsense fortunes into each one. Avoiding the one sitting by itself on the table beside him. Too afraid to throw it into a cookie, each time he tossed in another basic off the list fortune was just Billy trying to talk himself out of it.

But he inches closer and closer to reaching the point of no return. First by putting in Steve’s lunch order. Next by finally slipping the fortune into a cookie. Next by slipping the cookie into Steve’s bag, and finally at the strike of noon, handing the bag to Steve, insisting he pay for it while Billy continuously denies him. Telling him to go enjoy his meal and stop arguing with him.

When Steve walked out the door Billy thought he could stop holding his breath. But he couldn’t let it out. Thought the anticipation lied with handing the meal to Steve, now feeling his breath caught even more now that he had. It was the anticipation of not knowing. He had to know.

But Steve left with the cookie still intact.

So he had to wait.

- : -

Steve brought his lunch into Family Video. The same thing he always ordered. Feeling a warm sensation in his chest at the knowledge that Billy knew his order. Fried rice and soup dumplings. Robin was there, waiting to mooch off of his food since she never bothered to bring her own lunch, but would also refuse to let Steve buy her anything.

If he didn’t know any better he’d think she liked him.

But he did know better not even to entertain that idea. She was just the girl who liked to eat Steve’s food because that’s just what she did. She’s standing there with her grabby hands, ready to start digging into his rice. She peruses through the contents of the bag and pulls out the plastic containers and the one fortune cookie that he always got.

“Did you let her down easy?” Robin asks, waving the cookie in his face.

“Yes. She was weird about it. But I guess she took it well.”

“Well that’s good. Can I have this one then?”

“Sure. Go for it. I don’t like them all that much anyway. I just like them for the fortunes.”

“Well then let’s see what Steve Harrington’s fortune is today, shall we?”

Robin cracks it open and gently pulls the slip of paper out from inside. Popping the cookie into her mouth as she pulls it taut so she can read it.

Her eyes squint. She pulls it closer to her face, just inches away like she can’t see what she’s reading. Like she’s confused.

“What’s it say?”

“Umm.” She just shakes her head. Mouth still full with the fortune cookie as she passes it along to Steve.

He takes it from her hesitantly, and a look of confusion washes over his face as he reads the words.

“I’m not Elizabeth Li.”

“What?” He says it mostly to himself, because what the fuck?

He turns it over and is expecting to see the same little signature. The vague ‘the cookie maker’ with the tiny heart.

Well the heart is still there.

But it says something else.

- Billy ♡

“Holy shit.”

- : -

It’s a painstakingly long rest of his shift. Doing the same old boring jobs like cleaning up, manning the front counter, and bussing tables when he’d finished the daily batch of cookies. It usually felt like a long five hours, but today it was excruciating. He could feel Zach and Liz’s eyes on him the whole time. Like they were watching intently so they didn’t miss the moment where he inevitably exploded from all the anxiety in his chest.

Billy’s constantly playing out different scenarios in his head. Steve barging into the store and punching him in the face being the one that’s the most prevalent. Occasionally letting himself get slightly hopeful and imagining the opposite.

But there was a third scenario he considered. That Steve just wouldn’t come back at all. Let him down by not even bringing him up. Robbing him of the closure he needs. He’d rather Steve just punch him in the face. That was a kind of rejection he could handle. One that gave him a reason to let go. Not one that left him hanging on by a single thread.

His shift is quickly coming to an end and he’s debating on how desperate he is to wait and linger around the restaurant with his small shred of hope that he comes back. His neck hurts from jerking his head towards the door every time the bell chimed. Hoping to see the boy with the chestnut hair walk through only to be greeted by another local he refused to learn the name of.

He’s losing his goddamn mind and he needs a fucking cigarette.

His shift comes to an end and he clocks out. Escaping to the back of the restaurant behind the dumpsters, lighting up a Marlboro Red and sinking his weight against the brick siding of the building. Feeling himself shiver when the heat of the flame warms the tip of his nose. Breathing in the smoke trying to regain some sense of calm that completely left his body as soon as he handed the bag to Steve. Too many hours on this high alert feeling that he can’t even recall what relaxation feels like anymore. Just accepts the burning in his lungs in the cold outside weather with just the hum of low traffic and the sound dripping gutters as the closest thing he’s going to get to that for the time being.

Finishing his cigarette, he tosses the bud into a puddle. Dragging a hand over his face as he prepares to walk back into the crowded restaurant that would feel completely empty because it was lacking the one fucking person he wanted to see.

He could go see him.

No he couldn’t. The ball already was in Steve’s court.

He opens the door and Zach is standing right there like he was waiting for him.

“What the fuck dude?”

“No. Shut up. Someone is in the break room waiting for you.”

Billy doesn’t get the chance to register his words before he’s being grabbed by the collar of his shirt and dragged and pushed into the room, where Steve is sitting at the table.

Just looking at him. Studying him.

“Look, Steve –“

“Stop.” He cuts him off. Continues to stare before hesitantly reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out what looks to be a ziplock plastic bag. Opening it and dumping the contents of it out on the table all while Billy is left standing there unable to speak, couldn’t even if Steve would let him. The ability to get words out being entirely suppressed by the sight of about ten slips of paper spread out on the table in front of Steve. Steve just looking back down at them and not looking back at Billy. Lost in another trance. He starts moving them around on the table. Moving them away from each other so that none are touching each other and they are all completely exposed. Steve smiles. Gets up from the chair.

Walks over to where Billy stands with his back pressed against the door, holding tightly to the handle for a quick escape. Steve moves so slowly, like he’s forging his plan with each step until their chests are just inches away from each other. Steve’s looking down, away from Billy’s gaze. Taking Billy’s hand in his, causing him to shudder. “You know I rushed over as soon as I could. Thanks for the lunch Billy.” Billy’s just silent and completely still against the door. Steve’s hold on him is loose yet he feels entirely restrained. “I can’t believe it was you.”

“I’m sorry.” Billy practically chokes on the words, prompting Steve to finally turn his eyes up toward him. Seeing how his eyes have grown glossy and his face has turned a pinkish color.

“What for?”

“That it was me.”

Steve squeezes his hand tighter, brings another to Billy’s cheek gently and Billy feels like he’s being suffocated under the touch. Like instead the hand is wrapped around his throat and pushing against his airway. But he leans into it. Steve’s touch is so soft and he lets his eyes fall shut to burn the sensation into his memory.

“Don’t apologize for that.”

His eyes are still closed when Steve moves forward and kisses him. Shooting open as soon as lips make contact and he suddenly stiffens like a board. It’s quick and chaste and he doesn’t get the opportunity to kiss back before it’s over.

“You can’t… you don’t –“

“But I do.”

“This isn’t a joke, Steve.”

“I agree.”

Billy’s left standing there. Rubbing at his lips that were just touching Steve with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Steve smirks, moves back into Billy’s space so his breath is hot against his mouth.

“You could kiss me, asshole.”

Billy doesn’t need to be asked twice.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #mandi writes tresh #fanfic #harringrove heart-on #harringrove heart on #stranger things

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Get Up Eight, Chapter 7

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Free Space

The air is sweet outside of Hiratsuka; the ocean’s salt still carries its pale sting on the breeze, but it cannot compete with the last of the spring’s harvest. The paddies are flooded still, slowly draining under the heat of the sun; wet earth weighs down the air’s sweetness, rich and full. This far into the season it is gold and green as far as the eye can see, set over a shimmering stretch of blue; a precious comb laid on silk. But this, this is finer than any gift an emperor could give his concubines. Ryo might buy jade and sapphires, but it could not buy a moment in time, experienced with all the senses of the body.

The threshing would come soon, as the end came for all beautiful things. The fields will be allowed to dry, and in weeks, this ground would lie fallow, a barren marshy plain awaiting its next use. But impermanence is a part of beauty, what made a sight such as this so precious and so dear. Just as petals fell from cherry trees, or snow sifted from the winter sky, this moment only existed in the here and now. In mere days, all of this would be gone.

Even Obi slows ahead of her, hands resting on the tight nip of his hips. Stalks spring thickly up beside the road, paddies dug so close the cobbles have sunk, curving the edges of the walkway like a scroll unfurled. He stands in the middle of it, a samurai out of a wood-block print, surveying his domain--

“Well,” he huffs, turning his chin over his shoulder. “It sure smells like shit.”

Shirayuki tries to stifle it, to keep the noise buried deep in her chest, but it’s impossible-- a laugh hiccups up between her lips, and try as she might, her sleeve doesn’t muffle it a single bit.

“What, ojou-san?” His mouth quirks at a corner, too sly for innocence. “Don’t you think so?”

Now that he mentions it...yes. That sweet earthy smell mixed with standing water gives off a fragrance that only a fly could love. The rice may be sweet on the wind and salt may still roll through with a breeze, but when the skies were quiet and her feet were still, it savored of nothing so strongly as the pies oxen dropped on the road.

Not that she’d ever give her samurai the satisfaction of agreeing.

“Surely it isn’t so bad as all that.” She takes in a large, pointed breath, and prays she won’t cough. “I only smell sweet grass.”

Both narrow brows scurry up his forehead, rumpling his scar. “Is that so, ojou-san?”

With a sharp smile he swaggers over to one of the sparse pines clinging onto the road, dropping down into a squat. “Then you won’t mind if we take our rest here?”

“W-what?” There’s barely any room for the cobbles, and none at all for two travelers trying to stay off them. And the smell...

“Come on.” He pats the muddy ground beside him; it splats beneath his palm. “This water looks healing if I do say so myself. Perfect to rest your poor feet in.”

Shirayuki casts a dubious glance over the road’s edge, knowing full well what she will find. These paddies are not freshly filled, water sparkling blue under the fair sky like in the ukiyo-e; oh no, this is a field left to drain, the water growing murkier with every day, probably rife with leeches and worse. Fine for plants, but for her poor, weeping blisters--

Well, she’d certainly collect quite a few friends putting her feet in there. They would be such a comfort before she succumbed to whatever infection stagnant water gave her. He blisters throb at the thought.

“We should keep going,” she informs him steadily. “Weren’t you just saying there was much road left to be traveled?”

At least, that had been his excuse in Hiratsuka. No time for dallying, ojou-san, he’d told her, slipping a vendor a few mon for the onigiri in her hands. We’ll have to sleep on the road if the light fades before we get to Odawara.

Obi doesn’t exactly frown; such an expression isn’t in his nature-- instead his mouth pulls to the precise width of the line she’s toeing.

“Well,” he hums his dangerous way, the sort that says only her twelve ryo stand between his hand and her cheek. His body unfurls to standing with an exaggerated slowness, a threat in every curl of his limbs. “Since ojou-san doesn’t need a break, I suppose we can walk all the way to Oiso.”

Her ronin stands across from her, kimono threadbare, hakama in hardly better shape, arms folded across his narrow chest. She knows that cock to his hip, that hint of a smirk on his face-- he expects her to fold, he expects her to beg like the delicate ojou-san she’s pretending to be.

Even wrapped tight under her tabi, the warabi loosely tied, her feet ache. Kino’s wife would plead to stop-- no, command him to. Either way, she would merely confirm what he already knew; she was a pampered fine lady, unable to keep up with the grueling pace he set. A burden he would be made to bear all the way to Kyoto.

Shirayuki shifts the sack on her back, Buddha’s hand pressing into her spine. “Fine. Let us keep going.”

Marsh bleeds into hills, the road flattening and slanting both, reeds rising up into pines. The shade is a welcome reprieve, as is the sea breeze that stirs the branches overhead and sends shadows to dance at her feet. Even as nature’s wonder presses in around her, Shirayuki cannot help but think she might be able to enjoy it better if her feet were not about to pop off at the ankle.

Oiso is hardly an hour’s walk from Hiratsuka, but every step is on needles, stabbing wherever her sole touches cobble. Still, still-- she will not relent. Surely they would see the post for the shukuba at any moment, and then she might--

“Ojou-san?” A shadow falls over her; even if she could not see the patched hem of his hakama, the scent of his sweat, clean and earthy, would give him away. His hands hover at her shoulders, steadying without touch. “Are you all right?”

“Ah!” She steps back, covering a wince with a smile. “No, no. I’m just fine. I can keep up! Oiso is only a few miles away, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He shifts back, arms folding into a forbidding bar of steel across her vision. “Do your feet hurt, ojou-san?”

His tone might be playful, a little sing-song like a child at play, but it is a knowing gaze that he wears, fixed to the hem of her kimono. She shuffles her feet, hoping they fall into shadow-- if only she had bought new tabi in Hiratsuka, she would have had a few more hours before the blood stained the new cloth.

His breath hisses through his teeth like a palpable hit. “Ojou-san!”

Ah, so he’s seen it. That will make this conversation a hair more difficult.

“Don’t worry about me!” she yelps, sweeping away from the hands that would grab her, that would hold her in place to behold the extent of her foolishness. “It can wait until we get to Oiso-juku!”

He shakes his head, sitting back on his heels. “We’ll rest.”

Her cheeks puff out with annoyance. “Aren’t I the one who makes those decisions, samurai-dono?”

His mouth pulls thin for a moment, considering her, but the next has it bent in a bright smile. “All right then. Let’s rest. We can have some of those onigiri in your pack.”

Shirayuki longs to protest-- she did not make her way trading on feminine weakness in Yokohama, and she was not about to start here and now because this man would let her-- but her stomach growls long and loud, a beggar on its knees.

“Well,” she murmurs, looking away from that smug grin. “If you insist.”

“You know.” Obi’s fingers pluck nimbly at the twine knotted around the bamboo leaf, slipping it open with a firm tug on one end. Inside, the rice still steams, just cool enough to touch. “If you had said something, we could have stopped at Hiratsuka.”

Shirayuki looks up, her legs stretched out before her, wiggling her toes with a grimace. She spares him a raised brow, managing only a strained, “Could we have?”

His mouth opens, then closes again. Gold eyes shine almost green in the shade of the pine trees, but they drop away before she can determine whether it is merely a trick of the light. “Maybe.”

Her lips press tight as she watches him, long fingers separating one sticky triangle off from the others. “You’re worried. Did something happen...?”

At the hatago, Shirayuki assumes, but caution stills her tongue. The days she has spent with him have been long, but still-- she’s known him for only three. What trouble dogs his steps now may have been bought and paid for long before she knelt across from him in a tea house and offered twelve ryo to take her away from her own.

“Should I rewrap them?”

Her head jolts up; the amber of his eyes waits to trap her, honey-warm with curiosity. He presses the still-warm onigiri into her palm, and she-- she nearly says no. She may be smaller than him, but she’s not a child. A single rice ball would not a meal make.

But then he chucks his chin downward, toward where her feet sit bare save for the bandages.

“Oh,” she breathes, flexing them. Even that small movement sends pain lancing up her legs. “No, not yet.”

He shifts, mouth rumpled into a dubious knot. “It’s soaked through in places.”

“It’s fine.” Sour plum bursts on her tongue, rice sticking to her teeth as she tries to hurry it along. “It will take too much time to tend to now.”

If anything, his frown deepens. “I can work quick, ojou-san. You said last night that I’d done a good job.”

“I...” A frisson ran through her when he’d cupped her heel in his palm, fingers brushing over her blisters with a gentleness she had not expected from a man as rough as him. And when his hand had slid higher, gripping her calf to hold her in place-- “It can wait. Until we stop.”

Until she is sure she won’t need her legs to support her afterward.

He hums, unconvinced, but settles back onto his seat, knees crossed in front of him. If he were born to a greater station, there would be block prints of him like this, desultory and cross-legged, moments away from a war.

“Oiso is close by,” he reminds her, as if she did not tell him the same only minutes ago. “If the pain’s too much, let me know. We can always stop for the night.”

She swallows her bite of onigiri, watching him steadily. “Would you stop on your own?”

He lets out a long, annoyed breath. “No.”

“Then we’ll press on to Odawara.” She offers him a soft smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not a short walk,” he warns her, impatience creeping into his tone. “If you’re really hurting--”

“I know.” She smiles. “I’ll tell you.”

He leans back on his hands, a laugh rasping out of his throat. “I doubt that. You’d faint before you’d admit you can’t keep up.”

She lets out a huff. She can’t say it’s not true, but all the same, he doesn’t have to say it. “I--”

“Well, well.” A man emerges from the pines, lips stretched to a smile so wide that her own cheeks hurt. “Look at what we have here, boys.”

Shirayuki jumps-- not far, stretched out as she is, but enough to tuck her feet beneath her kimono, hiding the bandages. Obi’s already got his own beneath him, his knuckles bone white where they wrap around his hilt. His gaze fixes on the treeline, steady and gold, the way a tiger might watch from the long grass, and her breath catches. Obi might wear a man’s skin, but in this moment he is more wolf than warrior, a predator in the guise of its prey.

But that man doesn’t see it. He strides into the copse, blades rattling at his side, heedlessly smiling at his death. “No need for that, oni-san.”

Obi’s hilt creaks beneath his grip. “I’m not your brother.”

Her eyes blink wide, searching the strained planes of his face. This man may be a stranger, unwelcome in their company, but to be so unconscionably rude-- well, Shirayuki can hardly countenance it. Not from a man who slid goshujin through his teeth like steel bared from its sheath, a man who wielded manners as a weapon--

A man who knows that his rudeness would mark them more than submission. She’d seen what counted as fighting words when she ran the sake house; not a single bushi worth his blade would let a ronin parry their generous parity.

But still, this one only smiles. Wider now, the sharp edges of his eyeteeth cresting the ridge of his lips.

“Oh, no?” Men shuffle through the trees, the boughs obscuring their gaunt faces, but still, Shirayuki is sure-- they don’t smile like this samurai. No, ronin. He might have the paired blades wrapped at his hips, but there’s no crest on his haori, only a single long tail winding over his shoulders from the hair at his nape, instead of a bushi’s top-knot. “But we shared a drink back at the hatago, didn’t we?”

Shirayuki takes in the worn hem of this ronin’s hakama, the meticulously mended seams of his haori, the fine material his kimono had once been; none of it is familiar, nor is his face. “Obi-dono?”

Something twitches in the depths of Obi’s jaw. A flicker of recognition, perhaps, to pair with the fleet warning that lopes across his eyes.

“Having a rest, I see?” the ronin observes, edging ever closer to the clearing, his men jostling around him. Three of them, plus the headman; more than any man could manage, no matter how skilled Obi might be. “Now, we were just thinking the same thing, weren’t we?”

Tension thickens the air, and there’s no reason for it, none at all. Not unless her yojimbo is restless, eager to prove to her his prowess. It’s an exhibition that she is less than enthused to participate in, especially with these odds.

“Please.” There is no sake house for her to serve, but her old role drops over her like a mask, mouth stretching into that close-lipped smile, hiding in behind her sleeve. “Come in. I mean--” Obi stares at her, chin slowly shaking, a silent plea-- “please, come sit.”

It’s his stare-- pupils pinprick small with shock, white a thin ring all around the gold-- that reminds her that she’s still looking up. Her eyes drop, fixing to the stranger’s hands, where no dirt lingers beneath his nails, each one diligently picked and scrubbed to cleanliness. But no-- it must drop farther still, down to rest demurely on her knees. Already she's done too much, said too much; a hostess speaks to custom with ease, but a retiring ojou-san in the company of her retainer...

She would be silent. A woman ready to fade into the background as the men carried on her business.

Shirayuki shifts, rolling up to rest on her knees, head bowed. Not three days on the road, and already the role she has chosen for herself chafes.

“Well, since onee-san has been so kind.” The man saunters from the shade, crouching down to a kneel. “It would be rude to refuse.”

Obi’s jaw works, a rebuttal brewing on his lips, but she holds out a hand instead, quelling. Her palm brushes over his knee, the muscles hovering beneath her fingertips going tense, his breath caught in his chest--

And she jolts it away, letting it hover safely over him instead. Still, he lowers onto his feet, placing the blade at his side. The right side, she notes with satisfaction, until he rolls back, legs crossing at the ankle before him, hands braced on his knees. A shogun’s stance, she had thought when Kino took it, but Obi in his threadbare kimono, juban long since lost, and faded hakama...

He makes it look like trouble.

Shirayuki swallows a grimace, bowing her head over her hands. “You are too kind, oni-san--” Obi grunts, displeasure stark on his sharp face, but at least leaves his protest to that-- “please, partake in our meal as well. We have only just started.”

Obi swivels toward her, betrayal writ clear in his eyes, but there’s nothing for it. She’s already asked the headman to sit; she can’t possibly ask him to starve. Not unless Obi would like to risk these men finding them on another stretch of road, far from any shukuba, the night much closer, their minds less wary.

The ronin casts a lingering glance at the onigiri still on the leaf, his tongue tracing the barest path over his lips--

“It is you who are too kind, onee-san, by offering,” he says, the picture of well-born courtesy. “We’d be happy to. As long as you don’t mind sharing our food as well?”

Obi blinks. “Your food?”

The headman holds up a hand, and at once his ronin come forward, dropping their sacks in front of them, and--

“Oh,” Shirayuki breathes, staring at the array of bento tumbled across their makeshift camp. Thinking of what they might well find inside them, her stomach shivers, just short of making its anticipation known. “Well, if you insist...”

As each lid springs open on the men’s hakubento, a feast spills forth: rolled egg and minced fish cakes, soy bears and boiled lotus, taro and shiitake. One has whole, simmered shrimp with pickled ginger, and the water in her mouth nearly leaks out at the sight of it.

“So much,” Shirayuki murmurs, palms pressed flat to her thighs. “Where did you get it all?”

“The hatago.” The ronin’s mouth lifts at a corner, gaze darting to where Obi sits beside her, stiff. “I’m surprised your man didn’t have them pack one for you.”

She resists looking at him, just waits until he’s finished his sticky bite of onigiri to say, “We were in a hurry.”

The ronin’s reply is a sly flash of teeth. “Hope you made it where you were going.”

Obi settles back onto his heels. “Not fast enough.”

It’s an answer made to be muttered, but Obi enunciates every syllable clearly, punctuating it with an insolent lift of his gaze, meeting the man’s with a pointed finality. It’s her first instinct to scold him, the way she might with Kino-san when he acted out of turn, but her breath catches in her chest.

She would do that. Her, a girl raised beneath the bar of a sake house, used to putting men in their place before they reached too far out of it. But a young ojou-san, naive to the ways of the world-- she would sit silent, letting the men speak their piece. If a fight broke out, she might scream, covering her fear with her sleeves, and hope for the best. Ah, never has she been so ill-suited for a role before.

It doesn’t matter in the end; the ronin only twitches his mouth to mark it before turning to her, smile firmly seated on his lips.

“I’m the headman of this outfit.” The man pats his chest, drawing her attention back to the fine material worn thin, to the juban that is still meticulously white when it has not yellowed at the collar. “They call me Mihaya.”

No family name, she notes. That’s fine enough for her. “And I’m Shirayuki.”

She casts a pointed glance toward Obi, willing him to show one glimmer of the respect he pays every other creature that’s made their acquaintance, but he makes no move to introduce himself. Instead he only reaches forward, past all the fine foods Mihaya’s men have provided, and picks up the last of their onigiri.

“Are you going to have this, ojou-san?” he asks, so mild. “Or should I?”

She draws in a deep, steadying breath. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine with sharing with the others.”

His lip juts at that, sullen, but it disappears behind a sharp smile. “Well then, more for me.”

Her only solace in his rudeness is that at least Mihaya’s companions return with the same, too busy stuffing their mouths to pay attention to propriety. Even with such fine bento as these, they dig into each box like men who haven’t eaten in days instead of mere hours ago.

“You must be from around here.”

Shirayuki startles, attention whipping back toward where the headman sits smiling, one hand brace on his knee. “Since you’re traveling south, I mean. Unless you’re traveling back home, onee-san?”

“Oh, no. I’m from--” Obi’s warning glance stills her too-honest response-- “not so far away.”

“Thought so.” There’s a conspiratorial sparkle in his eye as he leans toward her. “I don’t see many of your kind on the road, at least not without an entourage.”

“Oh.” Her fingers clench in her kimono, keeping her seated. She should have thought of that; a girl from a family with money to spare would have sent her with a handful of men, carrying her from Edo to Kyoto slung like precious cargo between them. “I thought-- I mean, my grandfather thought traveling with one guard would draw less attention than a dozen.”

“Might keep more eyes off you, sure,” Mihaya agrees, crunching on a slice of taro. “But it’s safer to have more men when the roads get...rough. You get set on by bandits, and one sword won’t do you much good, onee-san.”

“Is that so?” she asks mildly. “I thought-- what is the saying? Having a single, well-made blade is better than a thousand that will break on the first strike.”

Obi coughs.

“True enough, onee-san.” The headman’s smile wears thinner with each word. “And it’s so much harder to find quality nowadays.”

They have only known each other this past hour, but already, Shirayuki finds little quarrel with Mihaya or his manners; at least, not as much as she does with Obi and his, but still--

Still, she mislikes the smug glance he cuts toward Obi, his gaze raking up his worn and well-mended clothes, the lack of his juban, and clearly, clearly-- finding him wanting.

“For some.” There’s a bite to her voice that surprises her, but she likes it. “I am fortunate indeed to have found such an exemplary bushi as Obi. I could hardly wish for better.”

Mihaya’s expression crumples like a paper lantern in the rain. “I’m sure--”

“Where are you from, Mihaya-san?” she interjects; the last thing they need is to have this rest spoiled by this odd hostility between headman and yojimbo. Especially if it might force her to admit she’s only had her exemplary guard for all of two days. “You don’t sound like a man from Edo.”

A dark shadow flits over his face, like a cloud passing over the sun, gone before she’s ever truly seen it. “Here and there.”

The west, his accent says, though it’s too crisp to be from any common man. Just like his clothes, his voice betrays him. Still, there’s no reason to push; plenty of men have left their domains these days. With tension between the shogun and emperor--

Well, Shirayuki wouldn’t want to be a man with a blade in hand. Samurai had once lived and died by the sword before the shogun wrenched the domains beneath him and brought an end to the warring states. But with all the silken pillows being pulled from beneath the tender seats of the daimyo, blades rattle in their sheaths, threatening its return.

“Where are you off to, onee-san?” Mihaya’s smile is brittle as he sits back, eyes casting her a hooded, measuring glance. “Not all the way to Kyoto I hope.”

Obi shifts, restless beside her. Her fingers sweep out subtly between them, thumb and small finger spanning the gap. It stills him, but not his grunt, wary and dissatisfied. Too cautious, her yojimbo. To avoid so obvious a question only means she has something to hide.

And she does, she does, but none of these men need to know it. Let them think her a loose-lipped ojou-san, if they wished. Better than a girl with no family and a dozen ryo in her bag, with only one guard to keep her safe. “I am.”

Mihaya whistles, long and low, impressed. “That’s a long journey for an ojou-san like yourself. What’s so important in Kyoto?”

“Ah...” A cousin, she should say. That’s what she told Obi, after all, and one story was easier to keep track of than a dozen. But still, there’s something in the headman’s eyes that demands more, than makes a cousin seem a pale prize to crawl across a country for.

“A husband,” Obi offers, so easy. “Arranged. You know how these things are. Ryo flows through fingers easy enough, but blood binds. Man’s eager to have her too.”

“A girl as pretty as this one?” Mihaya laughs, giving her a demonstrative glance. “I can believe it.”

“How about you, Mihaya-san?” she asks, if only to keep from more speculation. “Where are you and your men heading?”

“Funny you should ask, onee-san.” His mouth twitches, almost triumphant. “Kyoto. Just like you are.”

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #freespace #Get Up Eight #samurai AU #edo AU #my fic #ans #I think this is the first time since Seven Suitors where I have posted a fic on my birthday #actually did I post the second chap on time?? i no longer remember #this might in fact be the first time #there are moments in this fic I am DYING to get to #but the idea of doing this Mihaya plotline was too exciting #i mean who could say no to an onsen episode...not me #and so now we are getting this mihaya mini-arc #before some of the other plot-centric parts >:3c

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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

Keeping Cinderella

Dannymay Day 11: Midnight

He needed to leave. He needed to run, the clock was going to strike midnight at any moment and everything around him would fall to pieces.

If he wasn’t back in time his masters might discover where he went and what little privileges he does have would be quickly swept away, he wouldn’t put it past them to lock him in the tower with nothing to do but make their clocks and fix their machinery. They weren’t about to learn how to do it themselves.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” his dance partner, Pariah, asked.

Clockwork glanced up at the large clock tower above them, counting the seconds until the spell wore off entirely. He needed an excuse. A believable one that wouldn’t offend him, he’d been a wonderful dancer after all and Clockwork didn’t exactly have a choice when it came to leaving.

“I haven’t gotten to see the King,” he said, it was true if not the actual reason. “It might be my only chance.”

Pariah froze, surprise flickered across his expression for a fleeting moment but he didn’t let go. “What do you mean? You haven’t seen the king?”

This was wasting time, but there wasn’t anything Clockwork could do to break free. Sitting at home working constantly on clocks wasn’t exactly a sure fire way to gain muscle and Pariah had the body of a warrior, all toned muscles and obvious strength.

He snuck a glance at the clock tower, time was running out. “I mean what I said, I arrived a bit late and missed his majesty’s arrival. You’re the only one I’ve danced with all night.”

“Clockwork,” Pariah said, his voice carefully neutral, “I am the king.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He tried to pull away again, but Pariah’s grip simply tightened. Not enough to bruise or even hurt, but certainly enough to keep him in place. “The King has countless duties to attend, he wouldn’t have spent all night dancing with some stranger.”

Pariah’s eyes darkened and he actually started pulling him into another dance, a slow one, matching the music they could barely hear from the band back inside the palace.

“Did you not hear? I have to leave-“

“If seeing the king is your only reason to leave then you’ve nothing to worry for. I’ve explained I am the King. The only duty I have this day is to find someone with which to dance.”

Rolling his eyes, Clockwork attempted to pull away again, using the momentum of the dance itself. He was caught though, and pulled quickly back into Pariah’s arms, his back pressed against a firm muscular chest. His voice, low and even, tickled against Clockwork’s ear and he had to fight a shiver as it crawled along his spine.

“So, clearly you must have some other reason for trying to flee so desperately.”

He was trapped, and if he didn’t do something soon every secret he had was going to be exposed. The magic, the clothes, the decorations in his hair, even the glass shoes fit snug against his feet, it would all disappear. He’d be nothing but a slave again, hardly fit to be called to the castle, much less for a ball.

And if what Pariah had said was true, if he’d been dancing with the King, stealing time from his search for a Consort… he could be executed.

His movements became desperate, he had to get away. Away from the comfortable warmth of Pariah’s hold, from his endearing, enjoyable company, away from the looks and glances they’d shared the entire night, promises not quite made that could never have been kept.

“Be still,” Pariah whispered into his ear, “there is no reason to try and hurt yourself. I don’t seek to keep you captive, only an explanation so I might find you again after this night.”

Clockwork fell limp in the King’s hold, his eyes never once leaving the hand of the clock above them. “It’s too late.”

The clock struck midnight, and the magic left. It dripped away, pooling and running down his body only to dissipate entirely once it touched the ground, taking every bit of finery with it.

Leaving a pauper in the King’s arms.

Arms that tightened around him, suddenly more desperate and Clockwork struggled not to flinch. He was turned around to meet Pariah’s eyes when he asked, “Will you disappear next?”

Clockwork froze, uncertain of how to respond. He chose his words carefully, making sure not to struggle too much lest Pariah assume he was trying once more to break his grip.

“I will not disappear, the illusion was only my dress and the carriage I used to arrive.”

The grip lightened slightly, and Pariah looked thoughtful for a moment. His eyes never once left Clockwork’s face, the torn and filthy rags he called clothes didn’t even seem to cross the King’s mind. He neither looked at Clockwork with disgust nor contempt. His gaze hadn’t changed at all from earlier in the night when Clockwork had been dressed in jewels and finery.

Clockwork didn’t know how to react to that.

“Then you have no way home for the evening.”

“Nonsense, I can simply walk. It’s less than ten miles and my shoes are no longer glass.”

Pariah looked down and Clockwork followed his gaze to his decidedly still glass shoes. Ah, that was troublesome. Pariah smiled, and Clockwork once more tried to take a step back. This attempt was no more successful than the others however and instead Pariah seemed to take it as a cue to start dancing again. With a man in rags. Rags and glass shoes.

“Since you have no way home there is no reason you cannot stay the night at my castle,” Pariah offered casually.

Clockwork smiled, his brain working a mile a minute. While Pariah might be King, and certainly had power over everyone in the kingdom including Clockwork’s own masters, there was no telling when he might bore of Clockwork and cast him aside. And the punishment he’d receive for his deceit, it was unthinkable. He’d already almost lost an eye, next they might saw off a foot, determined to keep him in place and unable to ever try dancing again. King or no.

“I’m afraid I’m expected at home.” His masters might not notice his absence stumbling home drunk tonight, but they certainly would come morning when he wasn’t there to nurse their hangovers and be dealt their abuse.

“Then I will take you there in my personal carriage-“

“No!” That would definitely be noticed.

Pariah quirked a brow, trying to catch Clockwork’s eyes while he ducked to hide behind a curtain of his ratty white hair. “You seem quite desperate to refuse any comfort for someone who used magic to sneak into a ball.”

He flushed, embarrassed. “I just wanted…” What did he want? To see the King? No, he’d never cared for royalty or titles. He didn’t particularly care for finery either, the riches around him fun to marvel at but hardly moving or enough to make him desperate, to seek out magic and the arts of the mind. “I wanted to dance. Just a night away…”

A soft touch at his chin tilted his face up. The emotions he never wanted anyone to see on full display while Pariah’s hand moved to cup his cheek, a thumb softly caressing the scar threaded across his cheek.

“Away from what?”

He couldn’t say. Every instinct beat and carved into him held his tongue still before accusing his masters of anything at all. He tried to shake his head but Pariah lifted his other hand and placed it along Clockwork’s other cheek, cradling his face gently. “Clockwork… it’s an interesting name, isn’t it? I had wondered if perhaps such names were more common in foreign lands but that isn’t it at all is it?”

“It’s the only name I have-“

“They hurt you,” Pariah whispered, his voice soft and his thumb caressing once more against his scar, “and they call you a thing.”

Clockwork’s chest hurt, it was too much, like his emotions were water pouring into a clay bowl, brimming over and close to breaking it with the pressure. He felt a tear fall from his eye and he felt as Pariah wiped it away. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move, the only thing he could do was keep Pariah’s gaze and try not to fall apart.

There was no way he figured all of that out just from a name and a scar. Was there? His situation couldn’t possibly be that unique.

Clockwork glared up at the King, silent and frustrated. It wasn’t like he’d had a choice, he didn’t decide to be nothing, a slave bound to the whims of his masters.

“You won’t be going back there tonight,” Pariah said, causing Clockwork’s heart to sink. “You won’t be going back there at all in fact, since you’ll be too busy spending your time with me instead.”

“Why would I be doing that, your majesty?”

Pariah smiled. “You’ll have to. To properly prepare for our wedding.”

…. Oh.

#dannymay2021 #danny phantom #Pariah/Clockwork #Dark ages #Pariah Dark #Clockwork #Cinderella AU #Human AU #Bee's Writing

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letapollojusticesayfuck · 3 years

Note

“would you come to my funeral?” + narumitsu

"I'm going to write something short," I say, and then come out with nearly 1300 words of Angst. But this really was the perfect line for some good angst, and so I hope you like it! (and please excuse any typos, I very much have not done any editing here)

Thanks, Sparrow! :)

Send me a randomly-generated line of dialogue and some characters, and I'll write a (relatively) short fic!

............

It’s raining. That’s the thing that Phoenix notices, first—the way the water collects on the pane-glass of the window, the office dark and silent otherwise.

How long has he been in the building for the weather to have changed so drastically? How long did it take to extricate himself from the aftermath of the trial, to escape the celebrations and cheer once he’d noticed the conspicuous absence where someone should have been?

Long enough for the cup of tea abandoned on the desk to have gone stone-cold, he realizes, when he presses his fingers gently against the side of the delicate china vessel. Long enough that Miles Edgeworth might be long gone by now, and he’d have to ride his bicycle home in the storm, without even getting a chance to check in with his oldest friend.

Motion, from the corner of his eye, and Phoenix swings around to a previously unexamined corner of the room, in the shadow of the vibrant pink sofa and the framed jacket on the wall. A hiding place, of sorts, and for half a second he feels the chill of adrenaline through his veins as he wonders if he’s about to be attacked in Edgeworth’s office, victim of a trap planted for the prosecutor and not for him.

But he relaxes, as much as is possible, when he recognizes the figure slumped against the wall by his distinctive cravat, his steel-grey hair. Miles Edgeworth, looking distinctly miserable, but Phoenix will take it if it means he’s here.

“Of course you’d manage to find me,” the man grumbles, and Phoenix laughs, awkwardly.

“Well, you know what they say about defense attorneys,” he jokes, hand combing through the hair on the back of his neck. “Always sticking our noses where they don’t belong.”

Miles huffs, as though he can’t be bothered to dignify that with a response. With some trepidation, Phoenix moves closer, kneels next to him, attempts to put himself on a level with the prosecutor. He doesn’t quite reach out, the way he so desperately wants to, because he’s never quite sure where exactly he stands with Edgeworth, these days. He’d hoped, that since they’d cleared up the history behind the DL-6 incident, that they would have properly reconnected, but…

Well. It’s unfortunate that they only ever seem to see each other at opposing ends of the courtroom, or so it seems.

But Edgeworth looks so downtrodden that Phoenix can’t help but want to help him, and so he crosses his legs and leans against the wall, nearly casually, and risks his life to ask his next question:

“What’s the matter? Why aren’t you out with everyone else, celebrating a job well done?”

“Wright. Really?”

“Well, yeah, maybe it didn’t turn out quite as well as it could have, but...we’re still a step closer to fixing the justice system, aren’t we? Sure, the Chief Prosecutor’s….in jail, and the Police Chief is...alsoin jail, but--”

“Wright, I’m going to stop you before you can jam your foot even further in your mouth than it already is.”

“That’s...probably a good idea, yeah.”

They pause, for a moment, listening to the wind and the raindrops against the window. A distant lightning strike illuminates the office, and Phoenix is reminded of quite how high up they are.

“Would you come to my funeral?” Edgeworth asks, apropos of nothing, and Phoenix’s head whips around almost faster than he can process the words.

“Your—Miles, what are you--” He can’t form a full sentence, finding his mind blank even at the prospect. Edgeworth sighs, deeply, and leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed.

“My funeral, Wright, it’s not that difficult of a question. At such a time as I perish, whether through natural or unnatural means, would you attend the event that I assume someone would inevitably arrange for honoring my memory or other such tripe.”

Phoenix is still stuck processing, the very prospect of Edgeworth and death and funerals all sparking associations he’d rather not think too hard about, calling to mind the ceremony they’d had for Mia not even six months ago—and, even earlier, the image of a far younger Miles Edgeworth in a black suit, surrounded by arrangements of lilies and with an unreadable expression.

“I—well, in a purely hypothetical scenario, because you aren’t going to have a funeral anytime soon—in that case, of course I would come to your funeral, Miles, what do you take me for?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know. I’m not—” and Edgeworth pauses, clutching at the fabric of his sleeve as he averts his gaze to the opposite corner of the room. “I’m not exactly a paradigm of innocence, and your reputation for...well…”

“Are you still trying to say that you’re guilty when we’ve proven that time and time again to be untrue? Miles, c’mon, that’s bullshit. And—my reputation?What, do you think I’d even care, if you were—”

“Wright, surely you’re not that much in denial. I’m as much guilty of evidence tampering as Lana Skye. And worse—you know the tactics us prosecutors employ. I did not gain the name Demon Prosecutor for nothing. I’m not—you shouldn’t even associate with me.”

Phoenix frowns, eyebrows furrowing. He’s clenching his hands into fists, he realizes, as he takes a deep breath and focuses on trying to have this discussion rationally, as much as possible.

“Miles Edgeworth, you can’t blame yourself for doing as you were taught. You were only a child, you should have been able to trust your mentor figures—it wasn’t on you to be able to construct a detailed critique of the legal system! And you think that I wouldn’t associate with you because of that? I guess…�� he swallows, looking away from the prosecutor. “I guess you don’t know me as well as I thought you did, then.”

The silence is almost tangible, as they let Phoenix’s words sink in, settle around them in the dark office. In his mind, Phoenix begins to count the seconds that it’s taking Edgeworth to answer—one, two, three…

“I suppose I don’t,” he finally supplies, and that’s it, then, the kind of sentence you don’t continue a conversation from. It’s not the only thing he seems to want to say, Phoenix notes, but it’s the only thing he vocalizes, letting the sound of the rain fill in the empty spaces.

Phoenix breathes out, slowly, and stands up. His knees pop as he does, tiny cracking noises competing with the rumble of thunder from outside.

He looks over his shoulder, and Edgeworth’s still on the ground, avoiding eye contact. It’s not like he wants to leave, but…

Maybe Miles just needs some time alone. He seems to have a lot on his mind, and Phoenix probably isn’t helping by bothering him with conversation.

He lets himself out of the office, vowing to himself that he’ll check back in tomorrow morning, when the rainstorm’s let up and the world’s back to normal. He isn’t going to let Edgeworth wallow in his thoughts for too long, at least.

Overnight, the rain fades to nothing, clouds making way for soft sunshine, promising bright blue skies for the day and uncharacteristically warm weather for February. Miles Edgeworth’s office window lets in the sunlight, where it illuminates the grand desk and the items on top of it. In turn, the light falls on a pen, a nameplate, a lamp.

A teacup, still half-full from the night before. And…

A note, with one single line of neat cursive penned in the middle of the crisp, textured paper:

Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death

#ask #asks #ask game #my writing #ace attorney #exitcorners #thank you!!#let's hope i managed to fix all the bits where copy and pasting italics got rid of the space after them #sorry this is Sad #also uhhh rfta spoilers #if that's a necessary thing #angst #major character death #except not Really #that's spoilers though #ANYWAY #it is 2:30 AM which means i'll probably write the others of these tomorrow morning

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malkumtend · 3 years

Text

(Their) Booth. Human Warriors AU.

“This is my booth.”

Crow does not consider that the voice is directed in him, therefore he continues to scroll through his phone.

“Hey.” The voice raises and Crow hears the hint of annoyance. “I said this is my booth.”

His own mood souring, Crow turns and returns the narrowed eyes the girl gives him. She stands with her arms crossed, green eyes flashing, her look is so thundering that it may have looked intimidating, if it wasn’t clear that she was half a foot shorter than him.

And he was only 5,7.

“What?” He tries to push her away with the growl on his tone.

“You’re in my booth.” She says it again, her frown sharpens.

“Your booth?”

“My booth.”

“Is your name on it?”

Her annoyed glare darkens. “Is yours?”

Crow already decides he hates this girl. Whoever she is. She seems familiar somehow (it would be hard to picture not remembering the dark ginger curls or the peach coloured skin or the dotting specks of freckles) but Crowpaw doesn’t care to find the time to remember.

He takes a sip of his milkshake, clicking his tongue as the tang of mint lingers. “I’m not the one claiming a seat is mine.”

“Well I am, so will you move?”

“Find somewhere else.” He tries to cut it off, turning back to his phone. He knows that she won’t; this break hour is near lunch which means that every table is full and bursting with laughter or chatter.

Still it’s a slightly more polite way of telling her to piss off.

She doesn’t budge. An eyebrow raises. “Why don’t you?” In the crook of her arm rests her own milkshake, her fingers drum on the cup impatiently.

“I’m already here.” There’s no way he would even consider moving, even if she was a friend rather than a nuisance of a stranger. It’s still half an hour before his next class, and without his friends out of their own periods, he’ll be damned if he’s walking out alone for that long.

Her green eyes dart over the booth, “Are you waiting on people?”

His eyes burn as she smirks. “None of your business.”

“You’re taking up a six-person booth, you seat hog.”

He leans back on the chair, his jacket squeaks against the leather seat. “I don’t hear anyone else complaining.” He ignores when she lazily uses her hand to gesture over herself. “Whatever.”

“Are you going to move or not?”

“Are you going to make me?” The silence makes him think he’s beaten her. A split second later, she’s across from him on the other side of the booth. Her feet tuck over the seat, letting her back slip against the wall as she pulls out her phone, scrolling as she uses her other hand to let a straw link her treat to her lips.

Crowpaw stares as she expertly ignores him. “What are you doing?”

Her lips smack as the straw leaves her lips, “Drinking a milkshake. Can I have some privacy?”

“You’re at my table.” He falls into the trap and cringes when she says it, smirking with a grin full of sugary, sickly sweetness.

“I don’t see your name on it.” She coos, “Now a little quiet please, I am letting you share my booth after all.”

Crow felt like he wanted to stand up and start screaming, but they were in the middle of a busy milkshake place, and he would more than likely be thrown out, and this time was the only peace he got to himself. So he glowers, sucking in milk and sugar through the bitten crease of his straw and tries to block out her face with the screen of his phone.

…

Same time the next week, he sits in that booth. It takes ten minutes for her to arrive. She doesn’t even speak before she sits down on the other (her?) side of the booth.

He figures they’ll stay silent like last time, so he just frowns and tries to focus on his drink.

Then she grins again, “Thanks for saving my spot.”

His hand grasps the cup so much a shot of vanilla goes right down his throat. After stifling his cough, he growls. “Haven’t you got any friends to hang with?”

She shrugs and pulls up a bright, sunny yellow backpack adorned with badges of flags. “Got class this period.”

He could say ‘likely story’ but he knows she’ll just throw it back at him. So, he just grumbles a complaint and fails to ignore when she pulls out a notebook and a textbook, something to do with film studies. She opens to a task page and starts writing in her notes.

She notices him looking, “It’s not at the last minute, for your information. It’s for tomorrow.”

He blinks. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

She doesn’t look up. “We both know you were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.” As she writes, her ginger curls fall over her eyes, blocking their gazes from meeting, ending the conversation. It suits Crow just fine, as he relishes the silence. It means he can tolerate the intruder (was she an intruder it wasn’t his seat either) enough to not feel a vein throb.

Then after filling a page, she speaks again. “Should you really be drinking that?”

Crow’s face twists, “What?”

Still not looking up, she points her pen perfectly at his vanilla bean iceblast, “That? You’re on the track team, right?”

His brow hardens and he sets the drink down. He tries to remember this girl again. “How do you know that?”

The pen flicks towards the gym bag beside him. “Well there’s that, and I don’t think you have the… build for the football team.”

Crow suddenly regrets wearing the thermal top today. He crosses his arms over his lean, but extremely un-muscled, body.

“That’s going to take a two-mile run to burn off, right?”

He scoffs, “You make that sound like it’s a big deal. Not much of a runner, are you?”

She lifts her head to frown at him, “Careful, you’re Miss Ashfoot’s kid, aren’t you? I don’t think she’d like to know what calories your poisoning your body with.” She almost sounds like her, wagging a mocking finger at him with her artificial authority.

She isn’t wrong though. His mother would freak out.

Crow scoffs, putting down his phone, “As long as I burn it off, it doesn’t matter. Besides, I’d still run rings round someone like you any day.”

“Oh, is that right?” The girl says furtively, “You wanna take this outside, then?”

Crow laughs, it’s full of mocking spite, but it’s a laugh. “I think I’ll save you the embarrassment.” He wasn’t going to waste his break over some fight or race he knew he’d win.

She leans back, her chin rising up, her eyes shine a gratified emerald. “Good excuse.” Crow wipes off the trap like dirt off his shoulder. His eyes drag down to her textbooks.

“A film student then?” He might have guessed. Those lot were known for being an extravagant type.

She pouts, placing a hand over her book like they’re in middle-school. “You’re nosy, aren’t you?”

“You seem like the kind of girl who’d be absorbed in a camera?”

She hasn’t taken off her dark green winter jacket, the beige faux fur on the hood surrounds her neck like a lion’s mane. It’s like she’s dressed like she wants everyone to look at her.

She laughs off his comment, sneering. “Says the weedy kid, on his own, dressed only in black.”

Fucking A! This girl was quick!

“And you’re wrong, I’m mostly behind the camera.” She says pridefully, her pen taps on the table with a show of reverence. “I’m part of the directing team.”

“What? The staff intern?”

“Ha ha, weedy. We’re in the middle of a major project.” She looks over her notes again, beaming. “It’s going to be awesome!”

He feigns ignorance with a small huff, but a part of him is interested. Everyone likes movies. Even the shitty ones could be a good laugh.

She writes another set of notes down, then looks up again. “So you’re Crow, right?” Her grin skulks over him. “Like the bird.”

He rolls his eyes, a lifetime of childhood taunts rolling in his memory. It doesn’t bother him so much, but it still makes him groan. “Mhmm.”

Her arm moves and Crow expects the offer of a handshake. Instead he’s met with a not-so-light punch on the arm. She whips the locks out of her eyes as he rubs his arm. “Squirrel.” She says.

“Oh, like the bushy tailed rat?” He says instead of ‘like the daughter of Fireheart, head of the Thunder department’ because he does not want her to feel like she’s special.

Regretfully, it seems she likes his answer more. “You can’t talk, bird boy.” Her laugh is real.

…

He easily wins the track meet, he always does. His heart doesn’t start pacing until the fourth lap, and by the time he’s finished the tenth, the rest are only on the eighth.

“Good work, Crow.” His mother says, permitting him to sit down on the bleachers. “Keep it up.” She pipes on her whistle, waiting for the others.

He drinks his water and rubs the sweat out of his eyes. He checks the stopwatch attached to his hip and purses his lips when he sees he’s twenty seconds off his last run. Oh well, he considers, he’s still at the top. It keeps his mother happy. (keeps him happy) He shakes his head.

He gazes up into the bleachers and smiles when he sees Feather is there. She’s part of the swimming team and they met because of a sports team gathering last term. She’d come up to him and told him he’d left his water bottle in the gym.

After that Crow was pulled into her smile. It’s a smile he always responds too.

Until he sees who’s next to her, waving, still keeping that stupid grin of hers.

After greeting Feather, he sits down and hisses into her ear. “Are you following me?”

“In your dreams, bird-brain. Feather’s my Math tutor, she wanted to come and see you before we head into Highstone Steet to go to ‘Milkshakes 4 You’ before we head to hers to study.”

Crow forgot that Feather mentioned how she tutored some students. “Have you two met?” She asks, her eyes glittering on the two.

Crow grumbles, “Unfortunately.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Squirrel pipes, gleaming Feather with a smile, “Me and him are milkshake pals.”

“We are not!”

“Oh, that’s great!” Feather’s always pleasant and friendly voice rings out, “Should we all head there together?”

Crow sees Squirrel’s fluttering eyelashes that prick him to shout a denial. But Feather’s friendly radiance forces him to say yes.

At the milkshake table (their table) Feather and Squirrel get on really well. Throughout their studying, they laugh and talk and it’s clear this is not just going to be a study meet. They’re friends.

Crow sighs because he can tell this is going to happen again.

After another half hour, they giver their goodbyes (a sweet wave from the actual girl, while the red-haired rat gives him a back-handed flick of the wrist). He’s not sure if it’s her cockiness that pisses him off, or if it’s the fact she’s the one going to Feather’s house instead of him.

…

They’re sharing a lunch table at school now.

Feather has her brother, Storm, with her (Crow doesn’t care about him too much but he’s alright enough) and Squirrel’s brought her sister along (she doesn’t say much but she can tell Crow recognises her, everyone knows about the straight A student since Firestar wouldn’t shut up about how she was one of the few who got perfect marks in her mock tests). Her name’s Leaf and she keeps her eyes behind the fringe of her cut short hair. It’s clear she’s only there because her sister dragged her along.

Squirrel does most of the talking for the table, which annoys Crow since she always offers her own opinion whenever he tries to ask Feather something. He doesn’t dare tell her to button it though. He would not turn into the delinquent that Squirrel likes to believe he is.

So, he keeps quiet and watches the group react to this girl.

It’s clear from Storm’s face that he thinks well of the ginger nuisance. Crow tries to hold back his vomit.

He also learns more about this girl than he cares to.

Her favourite class – Film.

Her favourite teacher – Mr Dustpelt.

Her favourite movie – The Breakfast Club (she stops to claim that Crow would make a good Bender. Crow’s never seen it, but the fact the group are laughing makes him scowl at her.)

Her favourite film studio – Disney (would have guessed)

Her favourite film movement – German expressionism (what the fuck is that)

She pulls her sister into the conversation, despite her obvious hesitance, but that only spurs Feather on. Calm, lulling and welcoming as always. It doesn’t take long before the shy girl has settled into some kind of comfort and safety as she actually begins asking the others’ questions.

“I’ve seen you on the field before! How do you do that without passing out?”

Crow feigns indifference but admittedly it’s always nice to be recognised. “Just practice and practice. It’s just like studying really.” He knows she’ll get that.

She does, letting out a small laugh. “Oh, well I could never do something like that.”

“Well that’s because you’re good at healthcare,” Squirrel nudges her, coyly smirking at Crow, “Something meaningful.”

“And just how meaningful are your little films.” Crow doesn’t hold himself back now, but he doesn’t scowl as the others share a cautious glance. Perhaps mercifully, Squirrel just flicks her ginger hair back with another throaty laugh.

“Don’t be an idiot. Everyone enjoys movies, we all have one that means something to us! Even little kids binge watching Disney films, those princesses and frogs will always be in their memories.”

Crow raises a brow, “So what are you making then?”

She wags a finger at him, “Ah ah, that’s classified.”

Leaf gives him another gentle shrug, “It’s true. She won’t even tell me what’s it’s about?”

“But if you’re interested, they’ll be airing at the end of term at the culture festival.” Crow vaguely recalls the festival where every class portrayed some kind of reflection piece, he also recalled staying far the hell away from any sign-up sheet. He wasn’t competing in some damn triathlon.

“Oh!” Feather bursts up, “That’s so cool! Could we come see it!”

Oh no no no no no!

“Of course!” Squirrel pulls out her phone and emails what Crow can only assume is an invitation. “It’s $5 for entry. But I’d say that’s not so bad!” The invitation is confirmed when his own phone beeps and he sees that Feather has forwarded it to him as well.

“I’ll be there!” Feather pipes, Storm soon follows suit. All eyes turn to Crow, Feather’s excited, Storm’s expectant, Leaf’s sheepish and Squirrel’s smug. So very smug.

He realises that if he turns this down, he’ll turn into this ginger haired director’s antagonist. For a moment he wonders if he can feign sickness on the night, but it’s a night four months away, and it will be oh so obvious what he’s avoiding.

So, he nods. And gives her this round.

…

A month later, their group has become normal. Feather’s still a complete angel, Storm seems to have realised how Crow sees his sister (if the stone cold eyes weren’t telling), Leaf’s a little more hard to get out due to her consistent studying phases but when she turns up she’s fine enough (she keeps to herself and is oddly polite whenever she speaks to him), and Squirrel is now a little less of a constant grievance.

Crow presumes it’s like one of those dark films where a person has been kept in a constant state of torture long enough that it seems almost calm now. What kind of torture punishment would she be? Crow’s stuck between waterboarding and being stuck in a basement for a month with the same terrible song on repeat.

They’re now waiting for her film class to finish so they can head to Highstones for a bite to eat (yeah waiting to be annoyed, that was what his life had come to). But he couldn’t argue. They all waited when Feather was caught up in Swimming practice and they all waited when he was running behind in the track meets.

They all had to deal with each other now.

He can hear her barking orders in some kind of movie nerd language he didn’t really get. It didn’t seem like some mindless drivel; she clearly had some idea of what she was talking about. But he still felt pity for the poor actors she was leading, lord know he wouldn’t be able to handle getting shouted at by the likes of her.

Eventually it ends though, and the director and her team exit the doors, red-faced, but shivering with excited, well-done, glee.

“Great work guys!” She yells after her waving friends; Crow recognises none of them. She points out to one short boy with curled brown hair. “Remember to work on your stunt moves, Shrew!” She hits her fist against her palm with spicy exaggeration, “We want real action, not Pinocchio caught in his strings!”

The boy presses his palms against his cheeks in mock shock. A real actor, Crow can tell. “Ouch! That hurts, ginger!” He rolls his eyes as he turns away, “I’ll knock you off your feet, next time.”

“That’s what I’m counting on!” She laughs for a moment, then finally turns to the waiting group. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting.”

“It wasn’t that long.” Stormfur says, a little too smoothly to be natural. Crow, disgusted, meets Feather’s eyes, she shrugs with a gentle chuckle.

“Are we heading over to Highstones then?” Leaf asks.

Squirrel nods her approval, but her eyes dart around the corridor for a moment, as if searching. It’s only for a moment, but when she smiles back to the group, Crow notices a slant along the natural perk of her shoulders. She hides it well.

Crow isn’t sure why he’s noticed it.

He isn’t sure why he can see her face tilt back and forth as they all walk from school to the high street. Still scanning for something unknown. Her smile stiffens and trembles as they begin to reach their destination.

Crow considers saying something, but he knows how well that would go down. Besides, it wasn’t his business. It wasn’t his concern.

By the time they’re at their table, her eyes aren’t smiling anymore. Crow can see a vague disappointment.

He says nothing about it.

But he does pay closer attention to her. Especially when she doesn’t have the energy to make quips at his expense today.

Crow wonders if he’s worried. Then brushes away the thought like dirt.

…

It’s next week when Crow sees Squirrel get angry for the first time.

It is approaching the end of the lunch period, and the four are leaving their newly established table when Squirrel’s head perks up.

Approaching them is a boy. A tank of a boy at that. If this guy wasn’t part of the football team, Crow was sure that the teachers were begging him to join. A golden ‘T’ badge is clipped to his bag. Clearly this guy was well thought of in the Thunder department.

He must stand a good foot over Squirrel, but he smiles at her, not really looking down. “Hey.”

Squirrel straightens her posture, her eyes half closing, “Oh, hey Bramble. How’s everything?”

“Can’t complain. Your dad’s giving me ear-ache though.”

“Heh. That’s a surprise.”

“Yeah. So, he wanted me to ask you when you’ll be home? I’ve got a meeting with him about the sports faculty later so I just thought I could tell him then.”

He doesn’t sound patronising, but Squirrel still coils back in offence. Her hair sways as she groans to the side. “Ugh! What? Does he not want me studying?”

Bramble raises a brow, “I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s worried about.”

“Um, excuse me.” A polite but firm voice steps in. All eyes turn to Feather. “Hi, I’m Feather. I’m the one who’s tutoring Squirrel for math, and you can tell Firestar that she really is working hard!”

Bramble’s eyes widen, and Crow can see the surprise. His gape stands while he marinates on his words. “Oh, really? Um, sure. I’ll let him know.”

“You don’t need to let him know.” Squirrel says under her breath, her emerald orbs losing the shine they’d had before. “I’m working on it, I just have other things to work on as well.”

As if snapping his fingers, Bramble’s chestnut hair whips up with realisation that makes Squirrel’s face fall. “Oh right, the film thing!” He clearly doesn’t catch when Squirrel winces. “How’s that going for you?”

Squirrel takes a breath that is too fragile to lay her exasperation. “Well-”

“Bramble!” A sharp voice cuts in. Another tank of a lad comes over. Not as warm as his predecessor. He stands taller than Bramble, more defined and muscled as well. His hair is the same colour, but it looks darker above the icy blue of his eyes. He looks over the group absently, it only takes that brief second for Squirrel to blast him with a look gleaming with hate, before he truly fixes his attention on Bramble. “Are we heading out? We’ve got to train for tonight, remember?”

Bramble’s lips thin, but he nods. “Yeah, I know Hawk. I’m coming.”

‘Hawk’ doesn’t move away, he stands there, dull impatience creasing his lips into a frown.

He might have looked bad if it weren’t for the storm taking place on Squirrel’s face.

Bramble turns, offering the group a generous apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve got to get going.”

“So, he said.” Storm chimes in, trying to lift the chill that has clearly overcome them all.

Only Bramble and Feather laugh, both equally weak.

“Yeah. I’ll see you later though. Oh, and I’ll make sure to let your father know to expect you late.” Bramble says that over the shoulder gripped by his mysterious accomplice.

Squirrel flushes with a spark of frustration and anger but once again, the ice thin polite voice of Bramble beats her voice. But he isn’t talking to her.

“Oh yeah! Leaf! Congratulations on getting first in the state Healthcare exams!” He chirps, casting her a swift thumbs up.

Leaf’s eyes widen, and her eyes slide from side to side nervously. It’s like it wasn’t a compliment she received, rather an arrest warrant. “Oh, uh, thank you.” Crow has heard her enough to know when she sounds genuine rather than hollow.

Then he follows where her hopeless look lands. And it becomes clearer.

“It’s all that keeps Firestar in a good mood these days!” Bramble chuckles, “So, thanks for making my life a little easier.”

“You’re welcome.” Leaf nods her head in a way that should share a joke, but her tight voice is almost a plead for him to go away.

Now Feather notices it as well, placing a gentle hand on the shaking shoulder.

The brown-haired boy is finally pulled out of the cafeteria by his growling friend. In his wake, a group of friends are left, all anxiously glancing at their tight-fisted, clenched-jawed, unmistakably gutted friend.

“Squirrel.” Leaf starts gently, her tone carrying something the others cannot peg.

Her sister brushes a stray ginger lock out of her eye and starts forward. “Let’s just go.” She doesn’t wait for another word of concern. She doesn’t even say anything until they reach the milkshake bar.

Well, more she doesn’t start yelling until they’re there.

“Piece of shit!” Squirrel bursts, chewing on the end of her straw. Her emerald eyes are now balls of green fire. She would more than definitely be making a scene if the place wasn’t at full capacity. “That pompous, know-it-all meathead!”

Crow’s sure that’s an oxymoron but he keeps his mouth shut for concerns of having his head snapped off.

“’Am I studying?’ The freakin’ nerve of that idiot! How’s it his business?”

“He was just asking for Dad.” Leaf says carefully, she’s been trying to calm her sister down since they got there. It hasn’t worked.

“Then he needs to mind his business as well!”

“He’s just worried.”

Squirrel’s eyes narrow into viper like slits, “He doesn’t need to be. I’m doing fine.” She leans onto a palm, her head sinking into her hood.

There’s something troubled on Leaf’s face as she turns away slightly. It’s clear to Crow that there may be a reason that Firestar is worried about his loudmouth daughter. But the dark-haired girl is smart enough to not say anything.

Crow sits there, half-lidded, pretending not to listen, and inwardly groaning every time Storm tries to bark some sugary compliments to the angry girl across from them. It does give him some mild pleasure to see the disappointment on his face when he realises that Squirrel clearly isn’t listening to him.

Still, it was aggravating to see the girl so damn moody. Crow wasn’t so sure why, but seeing her so clearly pissed made him pissed as well, the kind that makes your stomach shift and your breathing heavy.

Luckily, he’s able to get away from that when Feather returns from her assumed break to the toilet carrying back three milkshakes. She slaps them down in front of him and Storm, before sliding into the seat beside him, beaming.

Crow’s cheeks cruelly heat up. “Oh, come on, you didn’t have to-”

“It’s fine!” She pipes, gesturing to the drink before him. “You have to try this! It’s new here and I think it’s one of the best things I’ve tasted in freakin’ years!” Her eyes sparkle and her silver hair swirls in the excited movements of her head.

He sucks on the straw and a deep twist of caramel and honeycomb exploded on his tongue, coating him with a sweetness that could only be equal to Feather. It might be too sharp for his taste personally, but he smiles at her, relishing the fireworks that go off in her eyes.

“Told you so!” She exclaims.

“It’s a little too sweet for me.” Storm says. Off of Feather’s look, he quickly adds, “But it’s still really good!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you guys one.” Feather said, shyly looking to the two sisters across the table. “But you guys had already got yours so-”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” Leaf sooths. Squirrel only makes a passive murmur as she scans a page of crudely drawn diagrams.

“Thanks Feather,” Crow blurts out. The words feel like a tongue twister to Crow, embarrassment and hesitant glee melting in his mouth.

Her blue eyes light up again, and her hand pats a spot on his shoulder that instantly tingles. “No need. Next time it’s on you though.”

Crow manages to let out a laugh. It was easy when he was entranced in her happiness.

…

It’s two weeks later, and Squirrel isn’t at the lunch table.

“She’s filming with her group today.” Leaf says. Crow wants to take this moment to relish for the opportunity at a little silence, but Feather looks worried.

“Is she okay?”

“I think she is. Why?” It seems that Leaf does know why but doesn’t want to be a bad sister who spills secrets. It might have worked, but she was a terrible liar.

“Whenever she studies with me now, she looks stressed.”

“Isn’t stress another word for studying.” Crow jokes. He hopes to get a smile from Feather, but her worry keeps her mouth turned down.

“Well, how is she doing study-wise, anyway?” Storm asks.

“She’s definitely improving.” Feather considers, delicate fingers rubbing her neck. “But she was doing well enough before, in my opinion, and she wasn’t so…” She sighs. “I don’t know, I just thought that something might be bothering her.”

Crow’s frown tightens, he hates seeing Feather worried. He sighs, long and tight, “Maybe she’s just worked up about her film? She never tells us how it’s going. Maybe she’s behind schedule on something.” He’s grasping at straws but he’s trying his best.

Storm murmurs a sound of agreement but neither Feather nor Leaf give him a reaction that says they’re reassured.

“Maybe.” Feather twirls a silver lock in her hand.

“You don’t need to worry about it, sis.” Storm remarks, offering her one of the fries on his plate. “You’ve said she’s doing fine; she’s probably just worried about getting the grades. Like all of us!” He laughs. “It can’t be easy studying when you’ve got a department head at home breathing down your neck.”

Leaf quivers in her seat, the salad leaf on her fork trembles off and falls to the floor.

Everyone notices and now not even Storm is smiling.

“Leaf?” Feather probes gently.

The girl looks up, then down, then up again and swallows hard. “For the love of God, please don’t ever say anything like that to her.” She sounds as dry as sandpaper.

Storm’s jaw loosens then shuts with a clip. Nobody says anything about it, as if mentioning it further would call forth bloody Mapleshade herself.

But the thought is there in Crow’s head, remaining like a scorpion in his skull. Not because he truly understands what the issue is, he is not psychic. But-

It can’t be easy studying when you’ve got a department head at home breathing down your neck.

He wishes he didn’t, but he gets that.

In more ways than the others could understand. Certainly more than he would ever tell them.

He feels sick now. He actually sympathises for that ginger brat.

…

Crow is surprised when he finds her studying at their table the next day. Studying Math to say the least? It’s early in the break and the others will be on their way soon. For now though, it’s just him and the girl biting the end of her pencil with a scowl.

“Having trouble?” He smirks, sitting across from her.

“Piss off.” She growls but doesn’t look up. Her freckles look like small stains underneath the shadow of her fringe. Another frustrated groan leaves her lips as she scribbles out what looks like an angle diagram on her sheet.

Crow obliges her mood and pulls out his phone. After a series of three more grunts and four rips of paper being ruthlessly scratched, he gives in. He already knows he’ll regret it.

“If you don’t get it, just wait for Feather to get here.”

Her green meets his blue, her irises twitch like hungry fangs. “I’m just fine on my own, thank you.” She finishes poisonously, dimming back into her work while obviously trying to avoid his gaze.

Crow looks away, “Whatever, just don’t ask me for a sharpener when you’ve killed that pencil.”

Her hand makes an exaggerated line on the page, “I’ve got my own. I need it to be nice and sharp when I stick it in your eye.”

Unconsciously and conceitedly, he snickers. “If only your Math was as good as your comebacks.”

Now she is really glaring at him like she wants his head to erupt into flames. The hand gripping the pencil turns white and Crow actually wonders if she is straining from jabbing the instrument into his retina.

Instead, she hisses through clenched teeth and bores down to her scribbles of failed solutions.

This round goes Crow’s way.

There’s a twitch to her lips that makes him wish it hadn’t.

To hide his awkwardness, Crow makes sure his focus is on his phone before he speaks. “I don’t get why you’re so worried. Feather told us all you were doing just fine. It just looks like you’re worrying over nothing.”

He means to be (somewhat) nice, but Squirrel only shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who said it. What’s the problem, she said you were doing good? Newsflash.” His hands stretch out dramatically, “That’s a good thing.”

She’s clearly multi-tasking with ignoring him and realising she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing. Her free hand digs into her head, strands of soft hair fleeting through the cracks. “It’s not good enough for me!” She hisses.

“Why? Did you get an F in your last exam or something?” He teases, though part of him braces for the possibility that that was the truth.

It wasn’t. “B-”

Crow’s mouth hung partway open while he blinked slowly a few times. “So, what the heck are you worked up over?” A B-? Crow used to get a trip to Purd E Cheese when that happened to him!

The pencil is dropped and lies still as she directs a stony gaze at him. There is no trace of animosity or bite, just plain out exhaustion. A dull emerald bore into him. “Different house, different expectations. I’d be happy getting a second in one of your little track meets.” She leans forward, a finger tap-tapping on the notes below her. “Would you?”

Damn. That makes Crow’s mouth feel like it’s full of glue.

He keeps quiet as he imagines the idea of not coming first in track. The shadows that would appear before him.

Point made, she slinks back, and they don’t talk. Either embarrassment or anger keeps them in this icy space. She still audibly struggles with the work, looking more and more drained by the minute.

Finally, she sets the notes down with a defeated grimace. “I’m getting a drink.” She says tonelessly, hands hidden in the deep pockets of her coat.

Crow doesn’t move, but his eyes fall on the abandoned notes, or scribbles, or whatever they were and were not meant to be.

He considers. Glancing back at the worthless news feed on his phone, then at the girl sulking in the line to the bar.

The shadow comes back to his mind. And then he sighs and relents.

She understandably isn’t happy when she finds him on her side of the table, scanning through the notes she was actually embarrassed about. She’s on the cusp of snatching her humiliation away from him when he says in a stoic voice. “You’re using the wrong formulae.”

She glowers, but she doesn’t argue. “What?”

He taps the page, “You’re using the theorem for binomial series here, you should be using the arithmetic series.” Off of her clueless expression, his brow raises. “Have you gone through this with Feather yet?” He doesn’t imagine she’d make that kind of mistake.

Squirrel blushes. She actually blushes, and it’s clear this was unknown territory for her. Crow stifles a chuckle while she crosses her arms and turns away. “I don’t remember any of that.”

By God, being nice to this girl could be a chore. Crow exhaled, “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She bites, still not looking at him.

Crow’s about to lash, but he bites his tongue, considering his words. “I’m not helping you. I’m just studying for myself.”

She gives him a half-lidded, uninspired glance. “Of course.”

“Just shut up and sit down.”

She doesn’t shut up, her mouth is full of questions (which he guesses is fair enough, least she’s actually trying) but she does sit down next to him and listen as he goes over the formulae. To be very fair, she’s a quick study and once she knows the right theorem it takes her half a minute to get the question done.

When they’re done and Crow rises to go back at his own seat, he winces as his arm feels her fist again. He’s about to snap when she looks up, and Crow has enough reasonable certainty to see the lightness in her eyes. Her smile is about as slippery as an eel, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

She wouldn’t be smiling if she was mad. He knew that much about her.

A punch was a strange, annoying way to thank someone. But he supposed that fit her rather well.

When the others finally arrive, they’re too focused on returning to their original seats, shouting that it wasn’t what it looked like, that they don’t notice the brief sadness coating the eyes of Feather and Storm.

…

It’s next week when the siblings finally tell their friends.

Squirrel, unsure, like the rest of them, of what to say, keeps her voice whispered. “What do you mean you’re running away?” She leans across the table so they can hear her over the din of the bar’s patrons.

Feather and Storm sit side by side, both equally unhappy, looking down at nothing but a stained and chipped table. “It means what it means.” Storm says, breaking off a piece of his chocolate bar. He nibbles on the ridge.

Crow feels like he cannot move, his mind thumps and crashes like it’s being pummelled by a heavyweight boxer, but he barely manages to speak. “Why?”

Feather holds her head up with a hand, tired, but encompassing all the strength she has left. “Our parents decided on the divorce terms.”

Crow tenses, he remembers hearing how shaky things were at their home. They used to make jokes out of how they couldn’t get sleep because of their parents screaming. Neither had looked perturbed, so he hadn’t thought much of it.

“Joint custody?” Leaf anticipates wearily.

Storm shakes his head, “We fucking wish. Our mom wants Feather to move out with her at the end of term, I’m meant to stay here with my dad.” His fist clenches, “No way that’s happening.”

Crow looks from him to his sister, they’ve both clearly made up their minds. They would not be separated.

He wants to admire them, but he can’t help how his chest stings.

“So what will you do then?” Squirrel asks.

“We have some family that live down in River County, once the term ends, we’re heading down there.” Feather’s voice shakes as she explains. It must have been a plan they perfected over the week but saying it out loud is a completely different ballpark.

“That’s just two months away.” Squirrel muses out loud, for once her voice doesn’t carry any kind of bite. Her eyes widen like a puppy being abandoned by its family.

“Our folks down there need to prepare for us arriving.” Storm sniffs, he gives his sister a small sideways look. “Plus, we need to decide what to take with us.”

It really was a plan they had thought hard about.

Two months to plan.

Two months until Crow would never see Feather and her glowing smile again.

He feels like he knows he should say something. Just a small wish of good luck, a nod of acceptance, and buried deep he knows he should reveal what he’s always wanted to say to Feather.

But what did that matter? She’d be gone soon.

There was no point at all.

So while Squirrel and Leaf speak about how much they’ll miss them, and while Feather and Storm apologise and thank them for understanding, Crow continues to stare and stay silent, making a case to look away from those tender eyes so desperately trying to reach his.

If he was going to lose them soon, why should he even try?

…

For the next two weeks, he spends most of his time on the track, practicing. Preparing for the final track meet before summer.

His mother is pleased, but obviously perplexed. Her son was just naturally gifted when it came to the field, he never trained more than every three days usually, now he was there most days from five till nine, just running again and again. Lap after lap. She makes sure to tell him to not overwork himself, but it doesn’t look like he’s listening. Even when she gives him the death stare that usually sent him to bed without a second thought, as a child, he just turns his head, drinks some water and gets back to the track.

She doesn’t know what it’s about.

She doesn’t know what’s he running from.

He runs until he can feel his muscles sting and his head goes blurry, that way he goes home focused on something else. He can’t focus on them. No point gripping to something that would soon let you fall.

He saw them appear once. Looking for him. No doubt wanting to question him about why he’s never at their table, at school and the bar, anymore. Storm looked pissed for reasons Crow didn’t care to know, Leaf was holding back a furious eyed Squirrel from storming up to him and screaming in his face, and Feather just looked sad.

Incredibly, shamefully sad.

He knows to turn back to the track again when he wants to go over and hug her.

So once again, he’s running, hiding and forcing them out. Reluctantly, one by one, they seem to get the hint, walking away from the field. Crow couldn’t help but watch to see if any of them looked back.

Only one person did.

Her green eyes were in a tight scowl, rigid with scorn. They lock on Crow’s sweating, pounding face for a moment. Then she shakes her head, slowly, at him, and leaves him there.

They don’t return for the next week. Crow is left running, burning, and aching on his own.

So, there’s nobody there when one day on the track, the muscles in his blazing ankle finally give in on him. It happens within the intake of a breath. For a suspended second, his foot hovers above the air, then hits the ground and fire chokes his tendon. He falls like a fat sack of flour, too amazed by the overwhelming pain to even utter a whimper. He tries to stand but falls on one knee with every attempt. He has to crawl to his bag to get his phone and call his mother to rush over from her office. Nobody else is there.

There are no tears running down his face, no sobs or moans creasing his throat, as he limps with one arm on his mother’s shoulder he just feels a deep, pulsing emptiness, a drainage in his gut that he feels could swallow him whole and he wouldn’t even complain.

…

It’s just a strained tendon, is what Dr Bark says; just two months taking it easy off the right foot; just one track meet, the final one, that Crow will have to miss.

Dr Bark actually had some relief to his voice when he explained it. Apparently, Crow is lucky that it’s not as bad as it could have been. You could have ruptured the tendon. Then you’d really be in trouble.

Crow does not feel lucky.

He is not glad that his time sitting on the bleachers, watching his teammates actually able to compete for once, will last just a little less than it could have.

He was still on the side-lines. His right ankle wrapped in a flurry of bandages that throttled his skin like a thick mess of barbed wire. He doesn’t need a crutch, but the weight of the bandages, as well as the thin cast stiffening his foot, makes him limp.

He knows, every time he passes a face, where the eyes will fall.

All pathetic pity. All the more knives that dig into Crow’s back.

They’re everywhere, Crow feels them, the thin smiles, the smouldering eyes, the low whispers, all of their bitter empathy. They stared at him as if he was some kind of invalid instead of the track champion for the past year.

All of those stupid get well soon cards his mother had gathered from his team-mates, he’d hidden under the bottom drawer of his cupboard. He knew what they really thought, they relished this, he would have. Now they had the chance to shine above him for once; hell, he wouldn’t even be considered. And yet, his mother thought it would be a good for him to turn up for the final race, just to show support for his team.

As if.

He spends the next week wandering, anywhere really, just so he can avoid those pathetic stares. Whether it was in the corner of the library or needlessly searching the computers of a barren class, he made sure that whatever free time he had, he spent it alone.

He’d rather be a shadow than a crack on the wall.

Unfortunately, some couldn’t seem to take the hint.

Thankfully, he’s able to avoid them. But his phone is a non-stop traffic jam of messages. He only gave his number to one of them.

Every single time, his finger lingers over the block button. It would make it so much easier; he’s practically blocked her in real life after all. But the messages, desperate, pleading, keep coming and coming like fingers digging into his shoulders. I hope you’re okay. We’re here if you want to talk. Please, Crow. I’m worried about you. Please! I’m sorry! Can you please call me back? … Call me if you want to?

Crow stares as they flood his phone, his finger still shaking over the words as he imagines them all in her voice; her trembling, hopeless voice that he hated to picture.

His arm limply falls every time, and the messages continue.

He knows he’s being unfair. He knows she’s hurting more because of him.

But he can’t do anything but sulk.

Unlike his father, he’s never had the guts.

…

“Hey!”

Crow cringes as the book falls from his hands. He hears the furious shushing of the librarian and the quiet ‘sorry’ the girl responds with. He pushes the weight into his swollen ankle, ready to get out of the library as soon as possible. He can’t be bothered to deal with her now.

But a hand, heavy and determined, forces him down into his seat, and she is there beside him. As furious as always. He remains impassive, undisturbed. He can’t lose his cool now.

“What do you want?”

“That’s a nice way to greet your friends!” She scoffs.

“We’re not friends.” Crow returns himself to his book, anything but her.

“Yeah?” The book burns his hands as she snatches it away, forcing him to glare at her. “Well I’m the closest thing you have to one right now! And that’s your own damn fault!”

She follows him past the snarling librarian and out into the courtyard. Crow grit his teeth, wishing he could limp any faster. The early rays of summer make the fabric feel like a constrictor around his ankle.

“Stop following me!”

“Didn’t you say you could run rings around me?”

“Fuck off.”

She doesn’t. She walks on, clutching her bag over her shoulder, never leaving his side.

“I know she’s messaged you.”

Crow tenses. “So what?”

“So why don’t you quit ignoring her, you asshole; what’s your deal?” She asks, as stabbing as possible without even realising it.

“None of your business!”

She makes a scoffing sound that is ripe with astonished disgust, “Uh, when my friend is crying because of you ghosting us all, I think it is.”

It’s only for a moment, but Crow’s pace slows. The image of her tear-stricken face flashes in blue luminance. His chest suddenly aches terribly. But he tosses it away, still storming off, his foot now stinging from his increasing speed. If he doesn’t get rid of this pest soon, he knows he’ll either have to stop from the pain or will fall down himself.

So, he lies. “So what?” He hisses as if she’s nothing but dirt on his shoulder. “Why the fuck should I care about her?”

Crow doesn’t know what he expects. Her to stop out of shock? Her to storm off with fire in her belly? Maybe her jumping on him with blazing fury?

He doesn’t expect the small, cold laugh. Or the words that leave her mouth. “Because it’s clear that you like her.”

Now he truly does stop. His burning foot sets like a stone he could never lift up. She stops right beside him, a thin gaze cutting into him. His head rolls up with a hollow exhale.

“What makes you say that?”

She snorts. “From what I’ve seen,” She responds, “She’s the only one who you ever smile at.”

Ouch. Crow would like to think he didn’t know why that hurt as much as it did.

The boy notices how heavy his steps had become. He sat down on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard, the nearest place, soon joined by his ginger accomplice. The boy shifts himself about so that he can face her directly without having to turn his head, now with his arms resting on his knees. But he waits for her to inevitably speak first.

Eventually, after what seems like a lifetime of her cold stare, she sighs herself, her ginger locks glistening as the sunlight flashes between the water and her hair. “Why do you have to be such a moron?”

He briefly wonders if she’s talking about his attitude or his foot. He now secretly considers the idea that he may be a bit of a moron.

“She misses you.” The girl says.

A month ago, he would have been overjoyed to hear those words. Now, in the face of an outcome he wants to abandon, it just leaves a terrible pain.

“Great.” He responds, hollow.

“No, it’s not.” She declares with a frown. “What the hell are you trying to prove by ignoring her? You think that’s going to make her stay?”

Crow stares for a moment, then his eyes dip. Admittedly, that was a good question. What was he trying to prove? Nothing really. He just didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Won’t you miss her?” He asks.

“Of course I will!” Squirrel says, letting a hint of anger bleed out of her assurance. “That’s why I’m trying to spend, you know, actual time with her before she goes!”

His eyes narrow. “But she’s leaving.” He finds himself saying aloud.

“She hasn’t yet.” Squirrel says plainly, like she knows she’s in the right and is tired of trying to explain it to the incarnation of self-pitying foolishness sat next to her.

Christ. Were those actually his own thoughts…

Shit…of course they were.

This girl was a pest of many variations, but that didn’t stop her from pointing out the obvious.

The truth that he’s been trying to flee.

His neck cranes forward again, staring at his feet. The pain in his foot has dimmed, leaving a tingling, but blank, pulse around his injury. “I don’t want her to go.” He admits, finding it easier when he doesn’t look at her.

Amazingly, she doesn’t say anything for a moment. Predictably, but deservedly, though she sniffs. “Neither do I. But moping around feeling sorry for yourself like some emo isn’t helping anyone!” Her voice punches him. “It’s not like she’s looking forward to leaving as well. But what else can she do? Her and Stormfur don’t want to be dragged apart because of their parents’ bullshit. You can understand that can’t you?”

He does. But it does not mean he likes it?

But then again, neither does she probably.

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as it begins to sink in just how in the wrong he is? Is it too late to drown himself in the pool? He doesn’t know how long he can take her vindicated glare.

“I guess.” He admits, dragging his voice like a corpse.

It’s not enough to sate the girl. “You guess.” She snorts, “You know there are better ways of saying you fucked up.”

He leans back, crossing his arms, remaining stupidly silent.

Her mouth creases down, her eyes sliding away from him. “Whatever. So, you going to apologise to her then, or are you just wanting to sit here remaining a jackass?”

“What good what it do?”

“What? You being a jackass? Not much.” She smirks when he growls at her. “What the hell do you mean? ‘What good?’ Does it really matter? It’s just apologising so you can hang out with her again, dumbass.”

His mouth sharpens to swing another sword of insults, then it dulls as the thought lingers. Hanging out with her again. There is some dark, small voice buried somewhere that reminds him how much he wants that.

Tilting forward, his voice is softer than he thought possible. “But she’s going to leave. What does it matter?”

That’s what happened to him. People were here, then they went, and Crow was left missing them. That was his life; the kind of bad joke you would find in a Christmas cracker.

He hears something rough start up like a boxer stepping into the ring, before a dry sigh follows. Something bumps against his arm, but it doesn’t hurt, it just gets his attention. She’s still there, sat beside him, relaxed, her eyes still sharp, but her mouth is curved into something flat and unjudging.

“If we’re going to miss her either way,” Squirrel says, far too smooth to be recognisable. “We might as well make up the time we’ve got left with her.” She adjusts herself in the cold, yet comfortable way that only she could. “Look, she misses you, man. Just come to the bar and talk to her.”

It’s so gentle there might as well be the ‘please’ on the end that she refuses to say.

She’s keeping a little bit of her pride.

Crow can admire that much; he’d be a hypocrite otherwise.

His own pride wants him to scoff and turn away from her, carrying on the same way he always has. His pride has always been the leader ahead of his brain.

But something’s catching up in that race.

Something that makes Crow stumble up, silently resigning himself to what he truly wants. He doesn’t wait for the clearly surprised girl to stand as well. She’d catch up soon enough. And she does. Crow half expects her to take a clear lead, walking backwards, grinning at his expense as he plods along like a fallen soldier.

Instead, she walks beside him, never taking a lead and slowing down when he needs to. He must have been going crazy; he almost swore he saw her hand reach out to steady him whenever he slightly stumbled. She looks away whenever he glances to see.

Hazily, he changes the subject.

“She really missed me?”

“Yep.” She snaps her jaw, beside him he can see the conceited sneer grow on her face. “God knows why? It was beginning to get peaceful without your miserable ass.”

The quiet part of him softens, pleased and guilty by the clarification.

The loud part of him is wounded by the insult.

“Oh really?” He scoffs; same old bitch she usually was. “Then why are you here?”

Her emerald eyes open halfway, a thin line across her mouth. “Feather was too scared you were mad at her, and Storm pretty much hates you.” She shrugs, “No one else would give you time.”

“Right.” He scoffs, nudging her with a force that’s halfway between play and pain. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You should be grateful that I will.” Her teeth gleam in the sunlight. “Otherwise, you’d be limping your sorry ass back to crying in your room again.”

He rolls his eyes, annoyed that he’s gifted her another point. “Prick.”

She gently nudges him along. “Love ya too.

…

Every chemical in his brain is sparking. The thoughts rising up in a thousand screams that demand him to turn around.

At the door to the bar, the flashing neon lights seem to hurt when they meet his eyes.

Get out of here. They roar in flashing cries. She’ll never forgive you.

A hand softly pushes him on.

They’re all at the table. Their table. Her beside her brother, upset and anxious. Leaf on the other side, awkwardly trying to raise broken spirits. The empty seats make their space look lonely. Or maybe it’s for the best.

They’re better off without you. Just like you’re better off without them.

Squirrel raises a hand, calling over. They all turn to face the pair.

Crow wonders where their eyes linger, what they all hold.

You know where they’re looking right. Cripple.

He swallows, trying to taste whatever they see in him. Feather’s blue orbs shimmer on him.

She just feels sorry for you. You can’t make it right.

He slowly trudges to the table. Feather rises out of her seat. Storm puts up a limp hand cautiously.

See that. He doesn’t trust you. He hates you, and he should.

Storm lets the hand fall, lets her walk slowly up to where Crow stands.

Crow begins to feel spots blinking across his eyes, she gets nearer and nearer. His cast is beginning to warm up, the heat milking over his body, he thinks he can feel himself sweating a little.

She’s only a step away, her eyes close then open with direct intention.

Crow breathes in the silence accepting the hate she’s sure to give. The hate he now knows he deserves.

Then she hugs him.

Tells him she’s glad to see him, that she was so worried after hearing about his injury, that she’s sorry for not coming to see him herself. She pulls back, holding him dearly, smiling like only she can do.

Crow breathes in and out. In and out.

She’s going to leave.

She is. And it will hurt.

But he can’t let himself see her hurt again.

So he apologises.

She accepts it.

And they all blissfully move on.

…

They only have a month left. They all know that. There are days where Feather and Storm take the time to pack and plan, careful to not alert anyone. They all realise how quickly this time will fade in the hourglass before they can never see each other again.

So they use that time wisely.

Every moment they can, they are all together. Storm picks them all up in his car, sometimes early enough that they can get breakfast together, then it’s classes, breaks, lunches, and finally getting together so they can finally put their evenings to good use.

Movie nights and pizza meals where they laugh as Squirrel overanalyses every detail.

Final study groups where they all take turns being embarrassed by Leaf’s overwhelming knowledge.

Drinks at the bar where Storm and Feather sneak drinks out to the younger members before running as security spot them (those are Squirrel’s favourite nights apparently).

Sessions at the karaoke place – Crow refuses to take part for a while, watching as Feather sings Beyonce like an angel and Squirrel (admittedly perfectly) spits out every rap song from Hamilton. He eventually gives in when the bar added songs by The Strokes to the list and nobody else knew who they were; it was time to teach them about real music.

But even before that, Crow knows that, for the first time in years, he’s truly having fun.

Because when they’re together, laughing, not out of any mocking reverence, but true laughter, and he sees her smile in the way he loves, everything feels right. Perfect.

There is a part of him that stings, like a thorn twisted in his arm, at the thought that these days are slipping and fading through their fun, growing closer to the separation that rains on them all.

But for those smiling moments, he doesn’t care.

Because it’s only those moments he should ever care about.

…

“You’re coming, right?” She asks.

She’s sat beside him as they watch the final track race of the year from the bleachers. They all talked him into seeing it. Sure, he still had another week before his cast would come off, so of course he was side-lined, but it gave them all some more time to kill. Plus, apparently Storm was friends with some guy on the team (Crow pretended he recognised the name) so if Crow didn’t go, he’d be on his own.

Reluctantly, he’d acknowledged his pride wasn’t worth the bullshit of that.

So they all sat there (except for Leaf who was helping her friend Moth study), buried in the small crowd, wrapped up against the cold air (he’d never realised how cold these nights were when he wasn’t pumping air and blood throughout his body) watching the team actually compete for once.

They are all in the fourth lap when she asks.

“What do you mean?” He asks, stiffly looking ahead. He’s only playing, but there’s something different in the brief glimpse he can make of her. Her mouth is coiled into a frown that doesn’t look right. He lets the game go early. “Oh, the premiere? Yeah, sure. I’ve got time to kill.”

“It’s not killing time,” She scoffs, pulling the gloves from her hands to click her fingers. “It’ll be making it.”

“Is that a promise, or will I get a refund in the inevitable chance it flops?”

She tries hard to look angry at him, but there’s something twitching her mouth upwards. “Nope. You turn up, that money’s ours.”

The team ascends into the fifth lap and Crow scoffs, spotting that half of them are clearly running out of energy, they’d all drop before they got a winner. “It better be Oscar worthy then?”

The gloves slip gracefully back onto her hands. “You shouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great!” Feather coos from the other side of Squirrel. “You’ve converted it for me, haven’t you?”

“Naturally!” Squirrel promises. Feather and Storm will be able to attend the premiere, but the girl had begged Squirrel to burn the movie onto a disc for her. A parting gift. Feather spoke like it was already a masterpiece instead of a secret project none of them knew about.

“Sick! I can’t wait!”

“Well, you’ll have to. Just two more days.” Squirrel says, her dark ginger hair flares up as the light of her phone screen brightens on her face.

Just two more days before the film. A day later, their group decreases.

Crow sips down his coffee, the bitter taste mercifully numbing his thoughts.

“Come on, lad! You can do it!” Storm’s grunts resonate.

Crow watches as his (kind of) friend’s friend sprints near the front, sweating and panting in ways Crow could never do this early on. He keeps that to himself. “He needs to slow down a little.”

“Slow down in a race?” Storm’s tone is enough to scratch Crow with a stare. “Great idea.”

“Yeah, I know, numb-nuts.” Crow bites back, “Because if he doesn’t, he’s going to fall worse than I did.”

“There’s still like ten laps to go.”

“All the more reason to take his time. From the looks of it, he’ll be able to walk past a track of dead bodies if he holds back compared to the rest.”

“This is the team you were part of, right?” Storm’s leer prick from an eye corner, “Do you have a nice word to say about anyone?”

Crow gives him a look.

“Never mind.” Storm retreats, his sigh steaming in the cold.

“I don’t know,” Feather grins, “You might actually have a challenge when you’re back on the field, Crow.” Her voice is a tender prod that makes both her brother and Crow smirk.

“Oh, I’m shaking.” They all find themselves laughing.

Almost all of them.

Only Crow notices, but he doesn’t try to look like he does. Squirrel is staring at her phone screen, a dull look burrowing into a series of messages Crow can’t get a good look at before she buries the phone away.

Then she gets back to smiling. In that filtered, artificial way that Crow has begun to perceive with weak malaise.

…

Something is definitely wrong, Crow identifies.

The whole group had been able to get front row seats. Surprisingly, the film team made the hall look really damn impressive. The Home Ec class had sent a section of their team to cater at the front of the hall, and the whole room was pungent with the airy tang of buttered popcorn and hot dogs.

At least sixty chairs had been set up around the room, and each one was occupied, probably mostly by friends or family members, but hey, they all paid. Plus, another twenty people were stood at the back of the room, also eagerly awaiting. Crow sees Squirrel’s parents among them, both holding bright, jubilant smiles as they await for the introduction by the film team.

Crow remembers the way Squirrel felt when they were studying, the pressure on her shoulders.

Surely her father’s excited face would make her know that there were some who believed in her.

Crow doesn’t wonder anymore why that satisfies him.

It had been a great turn out, all things considered. The kind that Squirrel had wildly mulled over all these months. The kind that she should have been proud to see.

That’s what makes it so much more troubling when she steps out with her class. The group is a sea of faces, nervous and proud, but her face sticks out. Because after her eyes glaze the room, examining every seat, her face, actually done up with a little make-up, drips into disappointment.

Her voice, high and passionate as she thanks them all for coming, is enough to trick the audience with a mockery of eagerness. But Crow finds the small tics, the breathy snaps in the joy.

His stomach curls as she walks off to her own seat at the side, the green glow of her eyes darkening to grey, her fiery hair extinguishing, as the lights fade off.

Crow almost feels guilty that it isn’t the film that takes his attention for the next hour and a half. He catches on enough: it’s some stylised action-comedy about a group of teens who rebel against their domineering teachers and take several of the worst teachers and bullies’ hostage. It goes well enough, Crow feels. The audience laugh when they’re meant to, some in deep hysterics, it’s directed fairly well, especially for a student film (how they got the permission to set a car on fire, he’ll have to ask her), the actors are genuinely really good (though that Shrew kid is certainly melodramatic when he has the chance), but it goes by.

And it’s undeniably Squirrel. Crow isn’t sure how much of a hand she had in the script, but the jokes and one-liners he knows so well (usually since they’re at his expense) fly off the screen like bullets. The scenes are energised, fast, dragging every pair of eyes like they were on the back seat of a crashing plane.

It’s all her.

And Crow finds he likes it.

Hell, Crow actually chuckles at one or two jokes, that’s something they could put on the poster.

But still, his attention is driven away, like an itch on his neck, a pinch that convulses his head sideways, towards her.

The placid line, the lacklustre stiffness that makes her expression like a plastic doll, it never leaves.

There is a screen that is literally screaming everything he knows is her, and when he looks at the flesh, he doesn’t recognise what he sees.

Not even at the end, where the cast are bowing to a room of applauding, whooping, undeniably entertained people, she fakes the smile, her eyes give her away.

Crow doesn’t understand. Not why he’s worried. Not why she’s like this. Not how he’s the only one who’s noticed. A sigh to his left proves the last thought contrary.

“Leaf?” Crow prompts her as they exit the seats. “What’s going on?”

Unlike what he’s seen on the screen, Leaf’s acting is terrible. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” She stammers, blinking three times in a second. Storm and Feather follow a group of people to the front of the room where the film team are being congratulated, they join Squirrel and her parents, helping the adults gloriously praise the director. Squirrel smiles thinly and nods her head.

“Yes, you do.” Crow presses, his eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with Squirrel? Did something happen?”

“I’m not sure.” Leaf lies, she doesn’t meet Crow’s gaze. “Not that I know of.”

Somehow, Crow suspects Leaf is one of the few that does know about it. “Come on, cut the crap.” He snaps. “You know what it is!”

“I- No, I don’t.” She tries to join the group, but Crow gently hold her arm. She turns to him, worry filling her eyes. “Let go.”

Realising himself, he does, but he speaks quickly. “I’m sorry. Look, I just want to know what’s wrong?”

Leaf does calm down, enough that her own eyes thin on the boy. “Why?”

(She helped him get over himself)

(She told him how much he had upset Feather)

(He hates how she looks when she’s upset)

“She’s my friend.” He admits and lies, bleakly, letting go of his annoyance at how hot his face becomes. Be calm. Keep cool. It’s not that big an admission, whether they say it or not, they’ve been hanging out with each other for almost half a year now, they definitely were not just unfortunate acquaintances anymore.

However, Leaf still looks at Crow like he’s grown a second head.

But after a moment of tense silence, and a promise by Crow to not tell Squirrel who told him, she admits that Crow is right and what it is that’s upsetting his so-called friend.

It takes him a minute to remember the face that matches the name. Bramble. He does eventually remember the brown-haired jock from months ago. Apparently, he used to be Squirrel’s English tutor before Feather. Leaf says that Squirrel used to get on really well with him. Enough that their sessions on Shakespeare had begun to turn into something else. But then he had to quit as her tutor because he wanted to spend time with his half-brother.

“Hawk.” Leaf says the name like she’s chewing on wire.

Crow doesn’t see the problem until Leaf explains more. Hawk is trouble, real trouble. Leaf has met him before, since her best friend is his sister. He’s terrible to that sister, Leaf says. Terrible in ways that are conducted by threats and insults. There are rumours that he is involved in crowds that are more, and worse, that plain out teenage vandals.

Squirrel had tried to warn Bramble about him. He didn’t listen. He continued to stick with Hawk, continued to stay over the line that was growing wider between him and the girl that had clearly liked him. He had made promises to meet her, to show he wasn’t giving all his time to one person, and had failed every time.

Failed again and again.

And tonight was one of those failures.

The night that had meant the most to Squirrel, the night that Bramble had sworn to uphold in every apology he had made before, it was a night where he hadn’t shown up. It seemed it was the final straw for whatever friendship Squirrel had thought still remained with the boy.

By the end of it all, Crow understands. And, though he knows he can’t really hate someone he doesn’t know, the thought of the brown-haired boy makes Crow’s fist clench and his jaw tighten.

Crow had hated Squirrel when he first said he would turn up, and he had meant what he promised even then.

“It really upset her that much?”

Leaf looks down, letting the silence speak. “Squirrel doesn’t like anyone easily.”

“I can believe that.” Crow mutters, exhaling. He wonders why his breath steams in a room as warm as this. “Do you think he might call her?”

Leaf huffs, anger looks wrong on her features. “Oh, he will. Just not when it matters.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Leaf nods sagely, craning her head for a moment. She’s staring right over his face, like a hawk watching a mouse.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She says, turning away. “Come on, we better go see her. At least someone can be there for her.” The awkwardness between them lets up a little at that shared goal. They both hated someone who had hurt their friend. They both now wanted to cheer that friend up.

But Crow didn’t know how to do that? It sounded like Squirrel really liked this guy. He must have meant a lot to her if his absence had caused that look to cross her face. What could he possibly say?

Well, he had to say something at least.

They walk over to where she stands, still soaking in the compliments like a wet rag. “Hey.” She says simply when she finds them. Her mouth crookedly curves up. “Did you enjoy it?”

As Leaf goes on about how much she did, Crow sees everything. The attempted blushes of make-up, the smooth dress she wears so differently from her winter coat, the way her hair has been smoothed down in red shining tails. Everyone had dressed in some formal style; this was different.

She’s made such an effort.

Squirrel takes in her sister’s words with lazy nods and a weak smile. Soon enough those hazed eyes will be on him, waiting for his own words that will fall off her like dust.

Crow’s stomach dances like a maniac, internal claws poking and prodding him to think of something that won’t just pass through her like a ghost. His breath hollows in his throat, and his fingers twitch in his pockets.

He didn’t know about this kind of-

Oh shit. Yes he did. Not the same way, but it was there. Liking someone close to him, and then feeling betrayed by her actions.

But unlike him, Squirrel was innocent. Still, he got it. Of course, he did. It was her who had come to him when he was like it anyway.

Leaf finishes her tune of praise, and Squirrel doesn’t look much better. Leaf can see that, but she doesn’t say much else, just gives her sister a close hug. Maybe there are some whispers that Crow doesn’t catch. Then they separate like rain off of glass.

And those green eyes find him. Crow straightens. She rolls her eyes, not in the way Crow likes, and her brow creases. “This ought to be good.” She sighs, reserved, “Okay, put me on the chopping block.”

Against his better judgment, Crow laughs lightly. He isn’t sure why. Around the two is an endless noise of celebration; whatever light revealing them mounts the shadow of a spotlight. Their own personal staring contest, as if they were waiting for the other to say something. But no, it’s Crow who has to speak, now or never.

Someone more cunning than Crow might have figured out the perfect thing to say. But Crow wouldn’t know wits if it spat in his face.

He’s always been up-front and honest. So that’s what he is. “It was good.”

The lines on her face break as Squirrel raises a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. You all did a good job.”

Despite the noise, it feels quiet. “Oh.” The girl purses her lips, “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

It’s plain and simple, that is Crow, but that’s not her. Crow’s mouth trembles open again, his mind digging. “Um, so, that part where Anita smears paint over her teacher?”

Her head raises slightly, “Yeah?”

“Was that inspired by Tarantino?”

Squirrel snorts, “Was it that obvious?”

“Kind of.”

“Are you saying I plagiarised? There’s such a thing as influence.”

It’s not the joke, but the snappy nature that makes Crow smirk. “You want me to write that in your defence notes for the trial?”

A tight sound escapes Squirrel, her hair curls out a little from the snap of her head. “Well, at least I know I got his style right.” She mumbles.

Crow shrugs, “You got a lot of his stuff right actually? Is he one of your favourites or something?”

“Pfft! I’m still convincing my dad to let me hang his movie posters in my room to this day!” She shakes her head a little, “Excessive violence, my ass. So, what else of his ‘stuff’ do you mean I got right?”

Crow doesn’t hesitate, “The humour.”

Now, a real chortle of laughter escapes the girl. Her eyes close, then open again, spunky and full of light. “Humour? Knowing you, I’m not sure if that’s really a praise!”

Crow stiffens himself with a coy shrug, “Well, it made me laugh. Whether the scenes were meant to or not,” His teeth expose in a real grin, “That’s a different question.”

The punch lands softly on his shoulder. “Jackass!” She pipes in a voice Crow can actually recognise.

He takes the chance. “Still, I wouldn’t like to be the idiot that missed this.”

Her smile remains, like an age old painting. But there’s something questionable in her eyes, and its hard to tell if she thinks he knows anything or not. “Yeah…” Her face flickers momentarily like a dying lightbulb. The silence comes back as her head falls a little, the smell of hot dogs becoming overshadowed by the fizz of cheap soda.

Crow swallows, “They don’t know what they missed. I guess that’s their loss, right?”

Her poker face is not as good as she likes to think it is. Crow is glad it’s not. Under the lights, he sees every detail buried in the screen of her emotions. The silent stare, the drop of her face, then the slow rise of the sun, and the settled, content smile that finally looks normal.

It’s probably not the end of it. Crow knows it wasn’t even really over for him.

But for now, it’s enough. The shine of green that lingers on him proves that much.

“Damn right.”

…

Crow is sad the next night.

For one, he stands in the cold air as Storm finishes packing the small luggage into the back of his car. They had to all be on time if they wanted to make this right. Feather hugs both Squirrel and Leaf close, they’re all making wet, crying sounds.

“I promise I’ll be in touch soon!” Feather exclaims, her face must be freezing from how much the tears streak down her cheeks.

“You better!” Squirrel hold back a real sob.

In touch. Crow suspects that’s a nicer way of saying I’ll never see you again. The cast is now off of his leg and he’s able to walk surprisingly well.

But it still hurts. Everything hurts.

As the women cry, Storm wipes his hands down, walking over to Crow. His impressive build is imposing and powerful in the red headlights. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“I guess.”

One of Storm’s hands lazily finds his pocket, the other waves aimlessly in the air. “Feel free to call if you want.”

Was that a last minute effort of a truce? Crow can’t tell as Storm’s face is remarkably stony; he guessed he had to be when his sister was crying her eyes out. The dark-haired boy nods, “Sure.”

“Great. Um, good luck on the field when you get back to it.”

Crow sniffs, “I don’t need luck.”

“Cocky little shit.” There’s a rattle of humour in his response. His hand extends out. Crow takes it. They shake and part without struggle. “I’ll see you.”

“I hope not.”

As he enters the car, Storm leaves crow with a smirk on his face, and a gradual nod.

Now it’s her turn.

Linking their eyes for the final time was harder than any race Crow thought he’d ever done or do. This had been the climax he’d hated to think about for the longest time. This was it. If there was anything he wanted to say to her, he had to say it now.

He doesn’t say it.

Partly because he knows it would do neither of them any good.

Partly, and more surprisingly, because when he found those blue pools he’d adored, they didn’t pull him in like they remembered. They were just the eyes of a good friend that he needed to say goodbye to.

A good friend.

And that’s how they part, after a long, tender hug, and more promises to talk over wires and electricity. He’s have to cherish that voice in the future, he knew that much. But it’s not as hard as he imagined. They pull away from each other, her eyes wet, his eyes beginning to leak, and then she calls a final goodbye as she enters the car, not looking back.

Crow feels like he’s only blinked once, his hand still in the air, when the red eyes of the headlights fade over the road and into the darkness.

It’s just the three of them now. And it’s then that Crow realises another reason why he’s sad. The link in his friendship with these girls was gone now, they had no reason to remain friends of friends anymore. It’s certainly that way for Leaf at least as she turns off, still rubbing her eyes.

To Crow’s small, slowly realising hope, Squirrel met him for a moment. Her eyes are red and raw, but she’s keeping herself tight and composed.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Apparently, hope was like a dominatrix, a real pain lover. It was only pity that Squirrel had for him. The pity for some heartbroken sap; that was all he was. Crow looked away.

“We’re going to have to be, aren’t we?”

Squirrel exhales, her breath fogs over the creamy glow of her skin. “She’ll call.”

“I know.”

He wants to leave yet wants to stay. It’s what she thinks that makes his lips tighten. But can he blame her? For a while, it was undeniably true. Not anymore, but it was still there, she was in her right to think that.

The quiet sticks, making the air sickly and humid, until Leaf pipes up. “Squirrel, Dad just text; we need to get back soon.”

“I’m coming.”

She lingers there. Her ginger hair un-straightened and blazing. The fire begins to cool as she turns one last time to the boy. He stands there, feeling stupid for so many reasons, his stuffy throat keeping him infuriatingly silent.

Once again, he’s running away, this time while being cowardly still.

She must realise that nothing else will come, as her pitying eyes only loom over him a second more before she nods slowly – a last goodbye – and walks off with her sister.

He stands there, watching another fire go out. In the cold. Alone. Once again.

He zips up his hoodie over his mouth and walks off home. Still terribly cold.

…

It’s the first day of summer vacation. The break towards a new start, some idiots have said. All he feels is an ending.

Feather has called him like she promised. Her and Storm have made it to River County. Crow is happy for her. He thanks her like the good friend he likes to think he is and talks about track and the swim team up there before they call off with another promise to speak again.

By the time he’s finished the call, he’s made it to the milkshake bar.

He’s terribly thirsty. Terribly drained. He’s ready to sip in the sugar again, this time at a new, smaller table.

He walks in.

They’re both already there. Sat at their table, two sisters talking between themselves. Crow thinks the seats beside them look full already. This was a bad idea. He swallows down the empty air before turning.

Then he hears his name. Then a nickname.

“Hey bird-brain, we’re over here!”

The name hits him like a dart. But it’s enough for his hand to fall off of the door. When he looks over, staring, still, he waits a tense moment to see if his hopes will be kind to him for once.

She’s standing up, her winter coat shaking gleefully in the summer air conditioning, not caring a bit as other patrons look her way. He doesn’t care either. Her hand waves frantically, “You still having trouble walking? Get over here, dumbass!”

Her sister scolds her volume and language. Squirrel laughs, pitchy and playful, then calls for the boy to come over again, exaggeratedly patting the seat next to her.

Crow doesn’t hesitate to take it.

“I would have called you, but,” She shrugs, “Turns out I don’t have your number. So, I got you this, just in case.” She pulls a shake up from next to her knee and holds it out to the boy.

Crow, like he did a while ago, blushes fervently, “Is this some kind of extortion scam?” He says, smiling, pulling out his wallet.

She smacks his hands down, “No, it’s a milkshake. This round’s on me!”

“What is it?”

“Try it and see.” There’s a glint in her eyes Crow finds charming and worrying all at once. He tries to see if Leaf knows if he’s about to be poisoned or not. The girl just smiles and shakes her head unknowingly.

He knows the chances that he’ll regret this far outweigh the chance that this will be something he’ll enjoy. He wouldn’t expect anything less from this girl. Yet he still grins as he gratefully takes and tastes the drink.

His face twists. Gleefully. Banana, cream and caramel leaps over his tongue, forcing a tidal wave of pleasure down his throat. They surge around his taste buds like a thousand fire-crackers.

It isn’t too sweet either.

It’s as sweet as the syllables of a name that feels warm in his mouth.

Just perfect.

His expression is clearly enough. “Thank God for that.” Leaf sighs.

“See! I told ya I had good taste, Leafy!” Squirrel punches him lightly on the arm and Crow thinks nothing of it. The girl may be infuriating, but she’s also remarkable.

But, he wouldn’t give her the round that easily.

He sets the drink back down on their table, flicking the girl’s ear. “If this makes up most of your taste, little bushy-tailed rat, that smirk of yours will go black.”

For now though, her smile is a beautiful, a really beautiful, white. “Laugh all you want, just know that whenever you get that in the future, I’ll be wanting an interest rate from you.” Her hand lands on his back, and it doesn’t leave. “How’s fifty percent sound?”

“How about I tip fifty percent of this over your head?”

“As long as you pay me, I don’t care.”

And they all laughed.

…

#human warriors au #human warrior cats #squirrelcrow #crowfeather #crowsquirrel

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