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luvknow · 5 years

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tempting | hwang hyunjin

genre: fallen angel!hyunjin x reader summary: “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil”, no matter how small the temptation. wc: 4.4k

The first time you saw him was at the flower shop. That’s right, the damn flower shop, also known as the most fairy tale, cliche, and disgustingly corny place to lay eyes on possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. It was weird because junior year literature class and Disney movies taught you that Hades was this bad blue fire-haired guy who ruled the underworld, but after learning that he fell in love with Persephone while she was tending to flowers, you think that maybe Hades couldn’t have been such a bad guy, right? I mean, totally disregarding the whole part where he kidnapped her, took her to the Underworld, and bound her by contract to visit him for a third of the year by a pomegranate seed, you were practically Hades and you weren’t a bad guy, so by transitive property, Hades wasn’t a bad guy.

Yeah, math wasn’t your best subject.

While peeking through the peonies, you noticed the bundle of brown paper he took from the cashier. He was buying bunches of eucalyptus that hugged little lavender sprigs. Quite subtle, but still fragrant bunch - he was tasteful and you respected that. But of course he was, he looked like that, after all.

Ah, but he was probably buying that for his equally-hot significant other. Not that you thought you had the slightest chance with him to begin with, I mean look at him, but hey, one can daydream for a couple of minutes, right? You wondered what kind of person captured his heart and compelled him to buy such a unique arrangement. Were they someone as stunningly beautiful and graceful as he was that he had to buy something muted that would only accentuate their perfections? Maybe he liked someone more on the reserved side, someone who didn’t catch the attention of everyone within a mile radius and wanted to match their delicacy. Or you know what, he was probably into those artsy types because what non-artistic being would be excited over a bouquet of koala chow and perfume?

Then again, if you got a bouquet from any boy, koala crisps or not, you’d be ecstatic because getting something from any guy ever was all you ever wanted. So not only were you a desperate damsel, you have also succumbed to capitalism just so you could dump a dozen flowers into a vase and show it off to your equally-single coworkers at the office. One day you’ll live that fantasy of hearing ‘flower delivery for _____?’ echoing throughout the entire room and all your coworkers gasping with jealousy. One day.

The tall, handsome, mysterious man must have felt your eyes boring holes through his fancy long coat because he turned to your direction before signing his receipt.

Oh shit, you were caught! What should you do?

“_____, welcome back! Can I help you?” a blessed, loyal employee slash friend named Seungmin asked suddenly, causing you to jump. The look on his face was all but welcoming as he knew exactly what you were doing between the pink blooms.

“A-Ah, Seungmin! My favorite worker! Th-These peonies are quite beautiful in their pre-bloom state. But I’m wondering if I should wait another week until they are in full bloom…? You know how picky Sunmi can get.” Your boss’s love for all types of flowers allowed you to pull some bullshit out of your ass and saved you from embarrassment. Seungmin was impressed, so he’ll save you the embarrassment for some other time.

“Definitely get pre-bloom. Sunmi can look at them longer.”

“But she’ll order more before they even reach full bloom, so that’s why I’m wondering if I should leave empty handed? She specifically asked for peonies this time.”

“In my humblest opinion, they are much prettier this way. And who knows, maybe she’ll see them bloom and fall in love with them and keep them for another week.”

You pointed an accusing finger at your friend. “You work commission, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Was I too pushy? Too obvious?”

“Not at all. If I were any other customer, I’d be convinced. I’ll take a dozen.”

“Excellent choice. I’ll meet you at the register.”

Peaking with your peripherals towards the register, it seemed like that mysterious hot guy hasn’t left yet. What the hell was he still doing? “Uh, no that’s ok! I can wait here…!”

“But you need to pay…”

“Can’t you just pull up the credit card number, or something?”

“Uh, no?”

“You don’t save our credit card history? After all the business we’ve given you?”

“No, because I don’t think that’s legal…?”

“Ugh, you’re such a goodie two-shoes.”

Seungmin shook his head while grabbing the twelve finest peony bulbs. After he made his way towards the back of the register where he’d wrap the bouquet in that signature brown paper, you made your way towards the tall, hot guy and waited patiently. It was an awkward silence between the three of you and the boy ten feet to your right stealing glances at you wasn’t helping one bit. The shop was starting to feel warm. Was there one of those fancy warmth lights above you? To help with photosynthesis, or whatever?

But all of that was beside the real matter at hand - why the hell was this guy still waiting here? Who was he waiting for? Did he buy something else?

Slipping between Seungmin and the register, Mina, your real favorite flower shop worker, popped in with a neatly-wrapped bouquet of a different color pre-bloom peonies than the one you were purchasing.

Ok, was this really coincidental, or did he overhear your conversation with the achingly-slow flower wrapper boy? Maybe not though, because the bunch were actually really pretty… Much prettier than yours. You knew that whomever he was giving them to was one lucky person.

“Do you like peonies?”

Oh, my God, even his voice was hot! It sounded like fresh honey dripping from the comb itself! Or like the pounds upon pounds of melted milk chocolate in a patisserie. Or something else along the lines of corny poetic metaphors comparing the sweetness of his voice to equally sweet foods.

“I love peonies,” you answered honestly and surprisingly normally. You even dared to return the eye contact, which might have been a bad idea because wow, there was no way you’d be able to look away now. How could one person look so perfect? “Y-You, too?”

“They’re ok. I prefer this boring bunch of green and purple.” Of course he did. “My girlfriend likes peonies.”

All thoughts created in the last fifteen minutes under your smitten state were thrown out the window now that it was confirmed that he was indeed taken. You could finally act normal again. The chase was kind of fun while it lasted, at least. This would go down in record history of the fastest time for being rejected.

“She’s a very lucky lady.”

“Yeah, I guess. Although I think I’m the lucky one.”

His gaze on you was strong. Not like in a weird creepy way, it was just strong - that was the best way to describe it. If you thought you burned holes through his jacket, then he was searing your skin slowly, making sure you would remember this very moment. Your creepy stares between the peony bulbs was nothing compared to him being up close and personal. Being under the microscope was not fun and you wondered if he was doing this to get back at you from earlier, but his intentions weren’t that at all. They were quite flirty, if they were anything, especially with that heart-stopping smile of his.

Something wasn’t right.

“You’re all set, sir. Have a nice day!” Mina said, breaking the silence.

“Excellent, thank you!” With the cutest, nearly heart-stopping smile, he gladly took both bouquets. His face dropped back to that flirty gaze when he turned to you. He even dared to wink. “Enjoy your bouquet.”

“U-Uh, thanks…! You too, peony pal!!”

He laughed while exiting the store. Look, if you couldn’t win hearts with your looks, you could win them with your humor. God couldn’t have nerfed you in two of the most important human traits. What did it matter anyways, he was taken! Right? But who knows, he could have been lying… Maybe he was hiding something…

“Peony pal? Really?” Seungmin teased. “You’re so bad at social interactions!”

“I’m only bad when people look like that! Did you see that guy!? He’s sculpted from marble and gold! Mina, how did you keep your composure the whole time?”

“When I had my back facing him, I practically allowed myself to melt where I was standing. That guy is unreal…”

“It’s no wonder he’s taken.”

“Mm, I don’t know about that…”

“What do you mean?”

“While you and Seungmin were discussing peonies and their bulb maturity, he was looking and listening the whole time. That’s when he asked me to get a bouquet for himself.”

“So? Maybe he just thought, ‘ah, I bet my super hot model girlfriend would love those, too.’”

“It could be. But you should have seen the way he was looking at you, _____.”

“Wha-? How was he looking at me…?”

“Like he wanted to claim you as his own.”

Your heart leaped up to your throat. It was a gross and quite sexist proclamation, but damn did that boost your ego into space or what.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you mumbled, though not bothering to hide your giddy smile. “You really think so?”

“Of course!”

“Hey, don’t go feeding their big head, it can’t be good to have all that air in there,” Seungmin scolded. “I’ll admit he was staring. I don’t think I’d call it flirty. Creepy is much more like it.”

“He did seem kind of off, huh? Oh, well. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. So what do I owe you guys?”

“Nothing today!” Mina grinned. “That guy paid for you.”

With a blush on your cheeks to match your bouquet, you shyly took them from Seungmin. “Holy shit, really? Three bouquets is a lot of money.”

“Yeah, that means he has a lot of money.”

If creepy hot guys at the local flower shop you frequented wanted you to fall in love with them on the spot, they should just say so! You were already making your way there, anyways.

The second time you saw him was on the way home after working overtime. The office was in the middle of the city and the walk home to your place near campus was a solid thirty minutes. Somewhere between the popular cafe and the overpriced chic clothing store at the end of the street was where you saw him. You knew it was him, too, because in his hands was another dozen of the same peonies he bought last week wrapped in Seungmin’s signature ribbon. There was no way the man in front of you was just any random man. You couldn’t explain it, but you just knew it was him.

Something compelled you to follow him. There wasn’t a snake to blame for tempting you to the shiny red apple, so whatever happened to you tonight after following a hot stranger in the dead of night was all your fault.

He turned the corner where the overpriced boutique stood. Then turned the corner where the late-night bbq place was. Then finally, he turned into one of the busiest streets in town, where all the street food vendors and bars gave life to the night. That’s when you lost him and felt a wave of relief wash over you. This was definitely for your own good.

“If it isn’t my peony pal.”

Behind you stood the gorgeous man a little too close for comfort. So close, you could smell the intoxicating and expensive Gucci cologne. It felt like your shoes were melting with the cement, for you couldn’t move a single cell in your body and now you were sure this was the start of your slow, torturous death after he kidnapped you and locked you in some jail cell he built in the basement of his mansion.

When did he get behind you?

“H-Hey, peony pal…! What a coincidence meeting you at nightlife’s hot spot, huh? Crazy, ha ha ~”

“Not quite a coincidence if you’ve been following me, is it?”

Well, shit. “Yeah, about that -”

“I’m kidding!” he chuckled, showing you his curvy eye smile that made you want to sign all your possessions over to him. “I was actually hoping you were.”

“Really!?”

“Mhm. I was hoping I’d see you again.”

“Why...?”

The clever boy only winked and continued on forward towards the crowd of people populating the street. “I’m kind of hungry. Wanna grab some street food? My treat.”

Was it normal for strangers to be this friendly? Nothing bad could happen anyways, right? Especially in such a public place? And you were getting quite snacky… but again, something didn’t seem right. Something in your gut and your brain told you that this guy was hiding something. But your weak, dumb heart that beat for cute, tall boys said fuck it! YOLO, right!?

“I promise I won’t kidnap you,” he persuaded.

“I knew that…! It’s just wouldn’t your girlfriend be upset about this…?”

“Hm? What girlfriend?” he teased lightly.

“Eh? Were you lying at the flower shop?”

“Maybe.”

“Then who were the flowers for?”

“A man can buy a bouquet of flowers for himself if he wants.”

“Of course he can, but you didn’t have to lie!”

“I wanted to see your reaction.” You’re pretty sure he said that so he could get another reaction from you and by the coy smirk on his lips, it’s safe to say you delivered just how he expected - face flushed a bright red from embarrassment.

“You’re kind of weird.”

“Will you come with me or not?”

He held his hand out to you. Before you could reject, before your mind and gut could convince you of all possible red flags this guy had, your body had already gravitated towards him and took his hand to guide you through a place you’ve been many times before. His hands were soft.

“Who are you?” you asked.

“My name is Hyunjin.”

“I’m _____.”

“Nice to meet you, _____.” Your name sounds oh-so sweet in his honey tone. “Let’s get to know each other.”

Hwang Hyunjin liked peonies and eucalyptus bouquets, red wine, tiny puppies, eating tons of bbq, liked kissing (a lot), and was a sweet and sensitive man during romantic movies. This was what you’ve learned in the past couple months dating him.

Well, not dating dating… the conversation hadn’t been brought up yet. It was more like you were seeing each other. Exclusively. While sneaking in a kiss or two at the end of the night. Totally normal not dating-kind of dating stuff, right?

How you even got to this point was a mystery to you. One minute you were caught following him at midnight, the next he’s prince charming while buying you food and walking you home, and now you’ve practically fallen head over heels for him like he was your middle school crush all over again.

To put it simply, he was perfect. Almost too perfect. Still, even after figuring out that he wasn’t going to kidnap you that night, you could still sense that something was off.

But that’s for another night to lie awake figuring out.

Tonight was a warm night spent having dinner at an expensive restaurant near the beach. He even paid for everything before you asked how much the bill was. And sitting in one of the empty chairs between the both of you was a bouquet of peonies picked just for you. While walking off the dinner hand-in-hand, Hyunjin took a sharp turn and dragged you to the sands of the beach.

“Let’s go for a swim,” he said.

“A swim? At this time!?”

The handsome boy ignored your incredulous cries, for he had already taken most of his clothes off. He turned to you, clad only in his underwear, with an adoring smile on his lips that made you fall deeper every time you saw it. As usual whenever he’d tempt you to do something you were skeptical of, he held is right hand out for you to take.

“Will you come with me or not?” he’d always say.

And every time, wordlessly, you’d take his hand and follow him to nowhere. Tonight’s nowhere was the ocean.

Of course you stripped down to the bare minimums also, revealing the most of yourself to him than ever before. It wasn’t awkward or shy as you’d expect. In the cold ocean waters, laughing in the arms of someone so beautiful, you felt so alive! You hoped Hyunjin felt the same way.

“I really like you,” you admit as you two waded calmly in the waves.

His hold on you only tightened while he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. “I like you, too, love.”

“No, I mean I really like you. I want to be with you. I want to be yours.”

The boy brushed away hair that clung to your face and cupped your cheeks in his hands. “Are you sure you want that?”

“I’m sure. Do you not want that…?”

“There’s nothing I want more than for you to be mine.”

“Then why did you ask me if I’m sure?”

“I’m… just a lot to handle.”

“I can handle it.”

“Are you sure -”

“Yes.”

His sweet giggle rang in your ears. “So eager.”

“Not that eager…”

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that now I can call you mine.” An ocean-salty kiss on the lips under a full moon was what sealed the deal and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Let’s go before we get sick.”

Hyunjin headed to the shore first. This was the first time you got a good look of his bare back. Much like the rest of his body, he was well-toned in all the right places. You could trace every bone, every muscle fiber on him for hours on end if you could. Then you noticed two long scar slashes on either side of his spine between both shoulder blades.

“Hyunjin,” you called out to him.

“Hm?”

“What happened to your back?”

He turned to you half-way, enough for you to see his broken smile. “I had an accident.”

You left it at that.

“Tempting?”

“H-Huh?”

In the middle of his kitchen, Hyunjin was cooking you both some delicious dinner. His technique was flashy and cute and the aromas from all the spices were delectable, but he was even more so, in the best and worst possible ways. You were staring at his back for a moment too long when he caught you. Still, even after months of being together he was able to have your heart leap in your throat.

“Am I tempting, or something? You keep staring at me,” he teased.

“Seems like I can’t get enough of you.”

“Mm, you do have a habit of giving into temptation.” The boy who held the universe in his eyes took them off of the sizzling pan and over to you, where he leaned in just before the tips of your noses touched. “So do I.”

“Match made in heaven?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

A light, feathery kiss graced your lips and you think maybe you give into temptation a little too much because you wanted more of the boy named Hyunjin.

“Ah, I forgot dessert!” he whined childishly.

“That’s ok! We don’t need any.”

“I’ve been really looking forward to some cheesecake, so I’m going to get some and you can’t stop me! I’ll be right back -”

“No no, I’ll go. I could go for a walk, and I wouldn’t trust me with a pan full of food if I were you.”

“You’re the best.” A kiss on your forehead was planted to bid you a short farewell. “Be safe, ok?”

It was that time of the year when the nights were longer than the days. Luckily, the market was just a short way down the street. You used this time to think about Hyunjin, as you always did. When you said you could not get enough of him, it was the truth. You knew the moment you laid eyes on him between the bulbs of peonies at the blessed flower shop that you’d find yourself thinking about him at ungodly hours, even if he ended up being a passing stranger. But now he was your loving person, someone who meant the absolute world to you in just a short amount of time.

Since the night at the beach, Hyunjin didn’t bother hiding his scars from you. Whether you caught him in the middle of changing or were tracing tiny shapes in the middle of a nap, he let you memorize the most vulnerable parts of him. For that, you were thankful, and you felt like you’d gotten closer to him because of that, but there’s still so much of him that you don’t know. The details of his accident are still unknown to you, but you hoped he’d tell you when he’s ready. You wondered if other couples had doubts about their partner the same way you do.

Your thoughts about the mysterious boy ran wild with all possibilities of what happened to him from the moment you left his place to the moment you realized someone was following you. He kept a safe distance and covered his face with a hood, a sign telling you that this guy was up to no good. You tried to lose him at random corners and different alleys, but somehow he still managed to catch up. He was narrowing in by picking up his pace and you were running out of ideas, but when you turned the corner and ran into a dead end, that’s when you knew you were screwed.

“Oh, fuck me…” you muttered to no one.

The mysterious man hadn’t said a word. Instead, a maniacal laughter was heard and you watched him pull out a knife. Whether it was going to be used as a scare tactic to rob you or it would be used to carve you open like a pumpkin, you just hoped it would end quickly.

“Hey there, darling,” he finally spoke, inching his way towards you. “You ready to have fun tonight?”

Out of fear, your shaky hands dropped the cheesecake. You hoped Hyunjin would forgive you later.

Suddenly, a heavy and loud THING landed behind you. You called it a thing simply because there was no way any human could not only jump down from one of the rooftops and survive, but also make the ground shake and boom with a loud thud. You figured this thing wasn’t a part of this man’s plan or posse by the look on his horrified face and you’re glad, but on the other hand, you had absolutely no idea what the fuck was behind you and you didn’t want to look. You could tell by its shadow peeking through your peripherals that this was nothing human.

The man before you dropped his knife and ran away, tripping multiple times throughout the process. You’re stuck in your spot, unable to turn around and face reality.

“_____,” Hyunjin whispered.

When you recognized his voice, you spun around quickly. Here your hero was, plain old beautiful Hyunjin in all his glory, glowing against the light of the moon. His shadow, however, was anything but the beautiful Hyunjin you knew. From the brick wall behind and around you, you saw the shadow of what was once his wingspan. The expanse of all the black space hugging the walls was so terrifyingly beautiful. It matched him quite well.

“Say something,” he begged quietly.

You touched his shadow. It felt like a thin velvet film covering the bricks. “You’re a real work of art, Hwang Hyunjin. What am I going to do…?”

The boy, or Angel, or Devil, or whatever he was, didn’t respond. All he could do was wait - wait and see if the only person that made him feel like he could fly again would continue to do so. But who would after seeing the real him? Really, one had to be so damn stupid to continue on with this life -

“Will you come with me or not?”

You’re confused, you’re scared, you’re absolutely bamboozled, but most of all, you’re an idiot. You’re the idiot who stared too long between the peony blossoms, the idiot who stalked him in the dead of night, and the idiot who fell into temptation whenever he brought it to you on a silver platter. But you loved him… what were you supposed to do about that?

Hyunjin took your hand and led you home. Then he fed you dinner like you hadn’t seen the ghost of wings thirty minutes ago. Then you spent the night in his arms while watching a movie until it was time to go to bed. His hold on you was tighter and the kisses that were smothered atop your head lingered a little longer than they had before, allowing both of your worries to subside.

In bed tucked warmly beneath the covers, you refused to let the night consume your tired soul and stayed up studying every last bit of Hyunjin’s face hoping to find something more phenomenal than angel wings. You found nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly, you’re not sure how you didn’t figure it out in the first place - you knew from the start he was way too hot to be a normal human.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he mumbled, nuzzling his face closer to yours.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Too many questions?”

“I have a million.”

“I’ll allow one for tonight.”

“What happened…?” you trailed off, referring to his clipped wings.

“Long story short, temptation is a terrible thing.”

“Really? I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“You’re right. If it brought you to me, it can’t be that bad.”

“Does this change anything between us?”

For the first time since you came to bed, Hyunjin opened his eyes. You were right to say that his big, round eyes held the universe - the mortal universe, the heavens, and even hell. They held stories he couldn’t wait to tell and heartbreak he’d hope to fix with your help. He was a whole-ass mess, but he was your mess.

“No,” the most beautiful angel told you. “Not one bit.”

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blondecarfucker · 5 years

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Bed of Roses (Last Chapter - 21)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: THE LAST CHAPTER. I CANT FUCKING BELIEVE. i feel like before i start my thank yous i could give you some weird trivia on the story. i wrote the entire outline for the fic at a weekend shift at work, where i always have free time. i had some smaller ideas - them meeting at a bar and not seeing again, the whole kensingon-taxi-class thing from the beginning - but there was a sudden burst of inspiration and in like twenty minutes the outline was done, and very little has changed, i mostly just added some more details. also, i imagine the reader as alicia silverstone in the 90s?? idk. i just do. also, the reader thing with new york comes from the fact that i lived there for a while and i miss it so much, so thats why theres so much detail about places and stuff - its my form of revisiting my favourite spots there. also, will (REMEMBER WHEN) was written with sebastian stan in mind, and liv tyler (in her lord of the rings days) was poppy. i did too much research for this fic on queen history, and everytime i had to change something (especially in the first act) so the dates made more sense, it KILLED ME.

anyway, now the thank yous: SHIT THIS FIC IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT CHAPTER ON MY LIFE. its my first time writing such a long story without abandoning it, and my first time writing fiction in english, so i learned so much!! i was doing some research the other day, and the great gatsby is like 47k words long, and the first harry potter is around 70k words long - bed of roses is around 60k words long. this is crazy.

it's also my first story to get this many readers interacting with me, and i'm so grateful for you all!! i thought about thanking you all by name, but i dont want anyone to feel left out so i just want every and each one of you reading these words to know: if you read my story, thank you. thank you for giving me your time of the day, thank you for connecting with what i wrote, thank you for telling me in any way possible that you've enjoyed it. thank you. a writer must write, but theres not a lot of joy in talking to an empty room. you filled my small room with warmth and love and there's not enough words to express my gratitude for you all. thank you.

about my writing: i plan on FINALLY DOING THE MANY REQUESTS I HAVE IGNORED OVER THIS FINAL ACT OF BED OF ROSES - requests are still open, too! i'm also outlining a smaller roger x reader fic where she's one of the videographers on the news of the world documentary, so keep an eye out for that! i'm gonna open a permanent taglist for the requests (and eventual new fic), so if you want to be added, hit me up in the ask box/comments/inbox!

anyway i'll finally wrap up this chapter's note cause you have the final chapter to read. enjoy my loves

Words: nearly 4k

Warnings: none??? part of their dialogue is inspired by some of my favourite movies and books like her and the wife and almost famous and before sunrise and the fault in our stars and eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and maybe more I DONT KNOW ITS BEEN AN EMOTIONAL RIDE OK I CANT EVEN REMEMBER WHERE DID I PULL THIS FROM EXACTLY. some errors too cause i didnt revise it completely my bad im crying ok

ACT 3 - DAWN

"It's the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out"

Chapter 21

Roger lit a cigarette in the train cabin, and tried to open the top window, the one you can usually pull open.

"Rog, it's not gonna open, you know", you told him as you watched him fiddling with the glass.

"I guess you're right. Hope you won't be bothered by the smoke", he said, taking a puff.

"I won't if you share it with me", you answered, and with a half smile on his lips, Roger lifted the cigarette to your lips, and you breathed in the smoke while looking at him through your lashes.

"Don't look at me like that. Especially if the cigarette smoke is going to leave the cabin sultry and hot", he told you, and you laughed.

"Yeah, and we won't do anything about it", you said, trying to make yourself more comfortable in your seat.

"And why is that?", he asked, batting his lashes innocently at you, you you lightly elbowed his ribs.

"We need to do something else, something we've been ignoring the whole trip", you said, and he raised his brow. "We need to talk about us", you told him, and he breathed out, smoke coming out of his nose.

"I guess you're right again", he said, then slid a bit down on his seat.

You didn't think much about talking about your future with Roger while in Paris, so now has to be the time, on a train that will take you to London and to a whole month of Roger being away, promoting News Of The World.

While in Paris, you never talked to Roger about the future, and talks of the past where subtle - you talked about how you felt with the development Doctor Who took over the years, but didn't think much about the fact that you were separate during years of the show.

You enjoyed the city, but most of all, you enjoyed each other's presence, not only going to museums, churches and castles around you, following them up with fancy dinners and walks along the Seine, but you also spent time inside the room, in your pajamas, ordering take out from restaurants you found on the phone book, having a hard time trying to speak french as Roger tickled the sole of your feet and kept trying to distract you.

You would always remember the peace you felt as you ate cheap chinese food on Roger's shirt on the balcony at night, the Eiffel Tower shining over your meal and Roger's electric blue eyes as he hummed early David Bowie's songs under his breath, or how at home you felt sitting on the couch, Roger on the floor with his head on your lap, his soft strands on your fingers as you tried to braid them while watching re-runs of I Dream of Jenie, Roger focused, trying to understand the french dubbing until he noticed what you were doing.

"Babe, are you trying to braid my hair? Think I'd look better if I'd look more girly?", he said, moving his head back so he can look at you.

"Yeah. Always thought so, but I'll have to keep imagining, since your hair is too short to braid", you pouted, and he laughed.

"Don't you like my new hair, then?", he asked, pouting back, and you moved your head to his level so you could press a quick kiss to his lips.

"I love it, Rog. Especially cause since it's shorter, it looks even messier after I pull it", you said, and he smirked. "My favourite look of yours is when you're all dishevelled after sex", you winked, teasing him.

"That's my favourite, too", he said, turning completely around and pulling you in for a kiss, his hand on the back of your neck.

But now, while in the smoke filled train cabin, you needed to make a few things clear.

"I've been avoiding this for a reason", he said, looking out the window, and you raised your brow, waiting for him to explain. "I have this weird, innate fear of you telling me it's all good but you don't want to see me again, or something", he said, and you gave him a half smile.

"I don't want to do this, Rog. And I won't do it", you told him, and he sighed in relief.

"Even though loving you is a bit complicated, I'll admit. Especially if you're me", you shrugged, and he turned to you, confused.

"Let me explain. I loved your idea for a bed of roses, a few days ago, cause it can exemplify our relationship so well. The roses feel so good against the skin, the smell is so intoxicating, it looks so beautiful - maybe too beautiful, ethereal, even. But then there's always a few thorns here and there, and they hurt so much when they lodge themselves on my skin, but I'm so intoxicated by the whole experience that I don't mind - I convince myself that it's nothing, and even that it's already part of me already, cause the thorns fit so perfectly on me, on my little stabs made by myself, by my own insecurities", you say, and he stares at you.

"What I'm trying to say is that every minute that I'm with you always distract me from the issues that come with being with you - the fact that there's a few expectations that come with being your serious girlfriend, be them always travelling with you while we're young, or eventually staying home once we have kids, knowing that you'll eventually cheat on me with a younger version of myself, while I'm too tired of taking care of the babies to even think about my sexual needs", you said, and you watched him frown.

"I'm not sure where you're going with this-", he started saying, but you cut him off.

"Let me finish, I promise it will get better", you said, fixing your posture as you start again. "But the thing is, I love you. I always have, ever since I started talking to you, you always trying to outflirt me, always seeing me as your equal. You desire me, but you also listen and see me as another human being, you never back down or ignore me if I challenge one of your beliefs, and you never treat me as a trophy-wife-to-be", you say, and you can feel your eyes fill with tears, but you're smiling. That's what you always loved about Roger. He smiled back at you.

"And because I love you, I don't want to deny myself the pleasure of being with you. I'd rather be in a bed of roses than in an empty bed - or worse, a blank bed, someone being there just so it's less cold at night. I want to be with you, Rog", you say, and he pulls you in for a hug, and you hold him back for a few moments before pulling away and looking at him in the eye.

"But also because I love you and I want to be with you, Rog, I don't want us to try to fit into this type of relationship I just mentioned. I don't want you to make me the other woman, either, when you eventually find someone so you can settle down, if it's not me" you said, rubbing your nose. "I guess I want to settle down with you, eventually, as we planned before, but this whole thing - living together and cheating if we're away for too long - it kills me, and I think it kills you, too. I respect you too much to want to cheat on you again, cause if I ever do and you never find out, I'll lose respect for you, and the same thing will happen if you cheat on me and I don't find out. And these are ugly truths, but this isn't our first time together; we know each other, we need to think about this", you told him, and he nodded.

"And I need to make it clear that I'll never be a simple rockstar housewife - I'll never be able to quit my job and look out for the kids while you travel the world and I make them lunch. I'll never be able to sit down on a dinner table on some award show with you and when someone asks me what I'll do, I'll smile as I say I'm a king-maker. I'm not", you said, firmly.

"And I'll never be satisfied with dumb spa and shopping trips as you do the actual work when we travel. If I have to live this life, I'll resent you, and I don't want that. I like being domestic with you, but this type of forced domesticity will poison us again - we're both too wild, too career-focused, for this. We've always been similar", you said, and he gave you a smile as you sighed. "I guess that's all I have to say", you shrugged, and he laughed. "Not much, right?", he said, running his fingers on his hair, pulling the strands back.

"Guess it's my turn now", he said, and you nodded, encouraging him. "When I saw you again, at the pub, there was so much that I wanted to say. I mostly wanted to apologize - it got lost as I got infatuated with you again, and tried to get you in bed - you know, usual stuff", he winked, and you laughed.

"But yeah, I kept looking at you while you updated me on your life, your skin glooming under the stars and the moonlight, and I couldn't stop thinking about all the things I wanted to apologize to you for. All the pain we caused each other. Everything I put on you. Everything I needed you to be or needed you to say. Cause no matter what - even if you had decided on never seeing me again after all this - I'll always love you, because we grew up together. And you helped make me who I am", he said, moving strands of your hair behind your ear.

"I just want you to know that there will always be a piece of you in me, always. Whatever someone you become, wherever you are in the world, however this" he said, pointing his finger to the two of us "works out, in whatever form it might take", he said, sighing "I'll always send you love. Before being anything else to me - and I hope to God you're always something more - you'll always be my friend, to the end", he told you, and the tears were already streaming down your cheeks. His cheeks soon mirrored yours.

"And now, after you so eloquently told me all your fears about our future, I need you to know something else, too", he said, as you wiped the tears under your eyes. "I always loved you for being the way you are. You always challenge me, you always make me work harder, try harder, to be better. And it's not even something you force me to do; I just follow your lead. The way you look was what first got into me, I won't lie, but the way you are is what made me stay. It's what will always make me stay", he said, a genuine smile on his lips. He made you feel warm, like the sun.

"You're the smartest person I know, you're funny, you enjoy sex, you're unapologetic, you're proud of who you are, even proud of your insecurities. And you have such a huge importance in my life: you made me who I am. Whatever way you want to make us work, I trust you. I just want to be with you, in whatever form it takes", he said, smiling, and then getting up and opening his bag.

"I forgot to give you something", he said, pulling a string out of the front pocket. You recognized the red glimmer. It was the heart necklace. "It's still yours to keep. Even though it's not in its original glory, it will always be yours. The necklace and my heart", he said, and you couldn't help but smile at him.

"Always so cheesy, Taylor", you said, joking as you moved your hair to the side so he could put the necklace on.

"You always loved it", he winked, and you laughed. "I do", you said, smiling.

"So, what does it all mean? Where are we?", you asked, and he shrugged. "Wherever you want us to be. I just hope that you keep me around", he told you sincerely.

"I will. So, we're not going back to our old ways, right? We're not back at sharing a flat and stuff", you said, and he nodded. "Sure".

"And you're going to spend a month away, all around the world. I don't want you to feel pressured not to cheat", you said, and he nodded again.

"Yeah, and you're back in London, starting a new job. I don't want you to be worried, too", he said.

"So, maybe no exclusivity, this time? At least not now. This is still debatable, in the future", you said, and he agreed.

"Makes sense. But I'll have a hard time desiring anyone but you", Roger said in a low voice, and you laughed to break any mood that might have settled. You needed to get things clear before making out in the train cabin.

"Me too, Rog. But I don't want to create any expectations of loyalty because we know each other too well, and I don't want a stupid fight to break this thing we're building together", you said.

"It's a good idea. So, no titles, too? I can't call you my girlfriend?", he said, and you laughed.

"You can, if you want to", you told him, and he pulled you closer to him.

"Good, cause I want to call you that on the News of the World launch party, that I'm hoping you'll go as my date", he said, pressing a kiss on top of your head, breathing in your fruity smell.

"Of course I'll go. I need to see the boys again", you told him, and he laughed.

"So you're not going for me, then?", he pouted, and you laughed again.

"No, I'm just going so I can meet Deacy's kid", you told him, and it was his turn to laugh.

Once you got to London, Roger offered to go to the airport alone - he had to get on his flight, and he was late. He knew you had to go home and get ready for work tomorrow, but you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

He looked relieved when you got on a cab with him to Heathrow.

"Big day tomorrow, huh", he said, rubbing your arm.

"Yeah, I still can't believe I'm finally going to work at the British Museum. It's so surreal, it feels like a dream. Like I'm living someone else's life", you said, looking out at the window, the early sunday morning reminding you of fresh starts - you were in the middle of one.

"Well, it's your life, and it's your job, cause you deserve it, babe. I never met someone who worked so hard to get where they want", Roger said, smiling, proud.

"I did. You and the boys", you said, and he huffed. "Guess you're right. Me and that pack of idiots, we turned out okay", he joked.

Once you got to the airport, you followed him to his gate.

You were feeling nervous - you had him for a week, and now it's time to say goodbye again.

You're both aware that the rest of the band is already waiting impatiently in the jet, but you can't help it - you hug him, dropping your luggage on the floor, and he does the same, the hug soon turning into a kiss as you rub your hands on each other's body, as if you're trying to remember how every inch of the other feels like, as if you're both about to disappear.

But the airport worker clears her throat, and you break the kiss, looking at each other longingly.

"Don't say goodbye", you beg Roger, putting your hand on his lips as he opens his mouth.

"See you soon", he says between your fingers. You smile at him, grateful he found a way with words so you're not repeating the same old goodbyes.

"See you soon, Roger", you say, hugging him again for a few seconds, just trying to capture every detail - his smell, the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours.

And once he has to go into the jet, you go to the glass wall, and you can swear you see some familiar faces from the windows of the jet.

But before you can focus, soon Roger's well known face takes over the window you're watching, and he puts a hand on the glass.

You can't help but think about the last time you did that with him, him being on your place as you were inside the plane, moving to another country, your heart weighing down on you, filled with doubts.

But now your heart warmed you up, filled with joy and love, and you could feel Roger's crystal heart on top of your chest. He was right. There would be always a piece of him on you, too.

Epilogue: News of the World Launch Party

"Y/N! You're back!" Brian's voice welcomed you to the ballroom.

You squeezed Roger's hand - it was the first time you saw the band in years, and you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous about it.

"Darling, you're really back! We thought Roger was getting high too often and hallucinated a week in Paris with you. But I guess you did come back to him", Freddie said, hugging you by the side as he held a glass of champagne on his other hand.

"I'm back with him only so I can see you all again, of course", you said, winking at Roger as he pretended to be offended.

But then you heard Deacy and Veronica scream your name in unison, and you turned to see them.

"So you're really back!!" Deacy said, but your eyes were on the baby boy on his lap.

"This is the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life.", you said, trying to get his attention. Roger looked at you, adoringly, as you moved your eyes to Veronica.

"Ronnie!! You're so big!" you said, trying to hug her through her belly. "It's coming out in a few months! It's a boy, Michael. Someone our young Rob can play with", she said, and Roger frowned.

"I could swear it was a girl", he said, and John smiled. "Maybe next time", he said.

"Hey, Bob. Do you want to play with me? C'mon", you said, and he motioned to go to your arms. You picked him up as he started playing with your hair.

"You'd be a good mom, Y/N", Veronica said, and you got tense. "God, Ronnie, don't even joke about this", you said, and Roger chuckled. "It's a sensitive topic at the moment", he explained.

"The moment will take quite some time, you know", you told him, the youngest Deacon pulling your earring before playing with the crystal heart on your neck.

You talked to the boys and Veronica for a while, updating each other, but no one brought up how you and Roger got back together. It just felt natural - no need to question.

You stayed with Roger for the whole night - behind the cameras as he did press, by his side during dinner - where he was back at his old ways, teasing you lightly with his hand under the table. You felt good in his arms, getting back into his life.

He was interested in getting back into your life, too. He came back to London last night, and went straight to dinner with you. You were trying different food, and now was time to try Indian food.

As he ate his Chicken Tikka Masala, dipping the naan in the sauce, you invited him for a party your bosses would be throwing next month to celebrate a new exhibit.

He gave you a bright smile. "I'd love to be your date, my love", he said.

And after the Deacons went home - Robert was asleep on his father's lap - the party got louder, the dance floor more full. You could swear you saw an angular face that could only belong to Bowie pick someone to dance - was this Princess Leia? - but before you could process the whole situation, Roger pulled you to dance.

"Thought you didn't dance, Mr Taylor", you told him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tried to slow dance to All The Young Dudes, by Mott The Hoople.

"I don't dance very well, indeed. But it's just an excuse to be so close to you in public, and God, I'm dying to call you Ms Taylor", he said, and you chuckled.

"Take it slower, Rog", you told him, and he leaned in to rest his head on the curve of your neck. "And why do you want to be close to me in public? Is it still one of your weird fetishes?", you joked, and you felt him laugh against your skin.

"No, it's just that you've been killing me with this dress of yours, and you've been killing a lot of the guys here, too. Could swear I saw Bowie checking you out", he told you, and you gasped.

"Taylor, don't even joke about this. I'd have a heart attack", you said, and he laughed. "You'd leave me here for Bowie, is that it?", he asked, and you laughed.

"Of course not. I just have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he might acknowledge my existence", you said, and it was his turn to laugh. "The only eyes I really like to feel on me when I look away are yours, Rog", you said, and he gave you a quick kiss.

"Okay, had enough of trying to dance. Let's get some fresh air", he told you, and you followed him to the balcony.

As the cold, fresh air brushed against your exposed skin, you heard the first notes to Tiny Dancer, by Elton John. You walked to the balcony, leaning in and taking in the view of London at night.

Roger soon took you into his arms, hugging you from behind, and you felt safe, his body heart making you warm in the cold evening as he jokingly whispered "Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man" into your ear, and you scoffed. "Slower, Taylor", you told him, and he laughed.

"However you want it, babe", he said, now paying attention to the view, focusing on the feeling on you in his arms again. Finally.

But oh how it feels so real

Lying here with no one near

Only you and you can hear me

When I say softly, slowly

"I could die right now, Y/N. I'm just... happy. I've never felt this type of happiness before. I'm just exactly where I want to be", Roger said in his husky voice, and you nodded lightly in agreement.

Because in Roger's arms, you feel home. You feel what you hoped to feel for years - what got you to move to London in the first place. You feel like you belong.

---

1988 Special

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spytap · 6 years

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Italy 2017 - Part 4 of 4: ROME

Man, if Florence took longer than I expected, this is just gratuitously late. Nevertheless, we forge ahead.

Even with the experience of hindsight and time to consider, I worry that I don’t have really anything to say about Rome that isn’t superficial or repetitive. It was, for the most part, just as we expected it to be. That’s certainly not a bad thing, especially when meeting high expectations - but in a trip of such unexpected discoveries and deliciously surprising experiences, it stood out for being the city that was most like we thought it would be.

In my memory, I remember Rome as more closely related to the “real world” I inhabit in my “mostly LA with a fair dose of NYC” existence. Of all the cities we visited in Italy, it felt the least foreign, the most easily understood, and the most comfortable. Whether that’s a good thing is left to the reader to decide.

The irony is that Rome wasn’t on our to-do list until the very end. We’d booked our flights into the country, but were still figuring out how we were going to get back. Barcelona, Geneva, and even Paris were all on the options list, courtesy of Europe’s extensive train system and a rather liberal expectation of how late we could get back to LA on Sunday evening and still be acceptably functional at work Monday morning. But a couple weeks of searching culminated in a chance sale on rather comfortable Rome to Oslo to Los Angeles seats, and we had our final destination locked in.

So because Rome was always booked as “the place to take the flight back home,” our trip headily biased our time towards the other cities we wanted to visit, thus leaving us just two and a half days to spend with the city. Added to this was the simple reality that Rome wasn’t geographically like the other cities we visited. With Milan, Genoa, and Florence, you could walk from one end to the other without too much effort - Rome, on the other hand, is damn near 500 square miles. Putting it in perspective, that’s just barely smaller than the city of Los Angeles, and more than 50% larger than all five for boroughs of New York City combined. It is, to use an old Roman term, “fucking huge.”

Nonetheless, we came into Rome in perhaps the best worst way possible: frantically trying to make our train, and dreading the idea that we’d have to immediately get a bus on the other end and somehow track our progress well enough to get off within walking distance of our apartment. Thanks to Google Maps and T-Mobile’s rather generous outlook on providing international data, our “run, train, bus” triathlon worked out almost perfectly, and by 2pm we had our bags in the apartment and were ready to explore the city.

As per tradition, the first day we got well and truly lost. And by design or accident, within just a few hours we’d wandered past ancient ruins and modern squares, the Pantheon and Trevi Fountain, Spanish steps and whoops-there’s-a-cathedrals. We weren’t really trying to hit all the spots, but everything seemed to lay itself out in front of us, and our feet continued to carry us towards monuments and cultural touchstones in short order. Maybe it was just luck or maybe it was habit at that point - who knows. But within four hours of offloading our bags, we’d hit a half dozen of the biggest to-dos in one of the great ancient cities of the Western world.

Three of my favorites worth highlighting a bit:

If you’re wondering whether it’s worth waiting the fifteen to thirty minutes to enter The Pantheon, seeing the dome and ceiling alone are worth the time. I spent a half hour just marveling at the construction and laughed a bit when I found out that no one actually knows when it was built, or what sections of the structure came when. It seemed more than a little appropriate that, in a city where we often ran across ancient ruins across from markets and archeological digs in the middle of otherwise totally modern neighborhoods, one of the largest historical and tourist spots in the city is in many ways a mystery.

Like moose, Trevi Fountain is so much larger than you think. However large you think it might be, triple it. Every photo or video I have is careful to have at least one person next to the fountain for scale just to show people “Look! Down there! That small dot? That’s a fully grown adult human!” It really was comically large, and the spray coming off of the water helped cool the hot September afternoon down a bit.

Late in the afternoon, we went off to climb the Spanish Steps, and once we’d reached the top, we watched the sun begin to set over the still ten-degrees-too-warm city. As the fifty-third man offered me the “opportunity” to purchase an overpriced rose “for the lady,” we watched tourist and local alike all take a moment to sit down on the steps, wipe their brow, take a breath, look over the teeming life within the piazza, and feel the air start to cool as the night approached. It as if the whole piazza exhaled at once. It was such a simple, beautiful moment.

After having had such luck nailing all the spots we’d had on our to-see list back-to-back-to-back, we ran across a restaurant that Beth had on her “must go if possible” lists. Luckily, having run across it at just after seven, we were slightly before Roman-acceptable dining hour, so we were able to get a table outside on the patio fairly easily. And in return, we had one of the most distinctive meals of our trip.

For a restaurant that seemed to take “Roman Style” as as indication to go well past what you’d expect from Italian food, every single dish was interesting and wonderful. Even the dishes that included foods I don’t generally enjoy (raw tomatoes, for example) were bursting with flavor and complexity. Simple dishes like a grilled artichoke heart were somehow transcendent of their straightforwardness, while a Secondi that we ordered almost entirely because Google Translate told us it literally translated to “Rolled Meat Tubes, Roman Style” and we assumed that had to be a translation error, turned out to be exactly that: veal wrapped around vegetables, simmered in a tomato sauce, where every single flavor was both distinctive and balanced.

As a side note, this was only one of two dinners during our entire trip that didn’t include ordering the house wine - both of which happened in Rome. This first night it happened because the restaurant didn’t have a house wine, only a hundred-plus page book of wine options (thank you Tuscan Wine School for helping us pick a truly excellent twenty euro bottle.) The following night it happened again - this time because when we ordered the house wine, the owner straight up told us, in a very charming Italian accent, “Is no that good tonight. Is eh.” I asked to try it anyway, and when he asked what I thought, I answered in the only way that felt appropriate: an agreeable “Eh” followed by ordering a bottle that was met with nodded approval.

Anyway, that first night, as we discussed the day’s events, we realized that yes, Rome was crowded and busy - and yes, whenever we found ourselves around some of the more well known elements of its storied past there were lots of tourists. But get a hundred feet away and it didn’t actually feel particularly touristy. For the most part the city felt like the locals were going about their business, and the tourists clustered in certain areas.

In short, it felt more than a little like … Los Angeles. Which is weird.

To add to the comparisons, similarly to LA, it wasn’t a city that felt overtly inviting beyond the known tourism spots. To get any sense of what it was like, you had to really search beyond the bit that ended up up on the pamphlets. Again like LA, Rome felt like it had better things to do than to cater to the expectations of tourists.

The next day began the first of two scheduled days of our trip. Because of our limited time in the city, we had a couple things we put on the “must-do” list: one day was dedicated to perusing the Colosseum and nearby Forum, and another day was dedicated to The Vatican and hoping I could high-five the Pope (spoiler alert: it didn’t happen.)

There isn’t anything to say about the Colosseum that hasn’t been said before. It’s easy to stand there for hours, feeling the mass of history almost as if by a localized increase of gravity. I found myself fascinated with the textures - variances that denoted hundred of years of technological and cultural advancements, mere meters apart. Most of my photos, in fact, are just close ups or wide panoramas that highlight the textures of the Colosseum. That said, it was one of the few times I wish we’d have taken a tour - there’s only so much to absorb by walking around on your own and staring at things. The few times I overheard tour groups, the information they were getting seemed like fascinating additions to the experience.

The Vatican was the exact opposite: we had the unique experience of a guided tour of the gardens, coupled with a remarkably colorful history lesson that leaned heavily into the fighting spirit of the Vatican’s storied and tempestuous relationship with Italy. Turns out that even the heads of multi-billion-person religions are sometimes the scrappy underdogs in the retelling of their own tales. The words “faithful” and “exiled” and “oppressive” were used rather liberally as we strolled through the perfectly manicured gardens discussing thousands of years of Catholic history under the Roman sun.

Out of the gardens, we had the rest of the Vatican to wade though - something that I would have absolutely relished had it not been for the apparent flood of other people aiming to do the same.

The one thing I wanted to see above all else was the Sistine Chapel - an hour-long wait that resulted in equal amounts of disappointment for the actual chapel itself and the disrespect of the visiting hordes. Granted, being packed into a small area with hundreds of people who felt too special to follow the repeated “no flash photography please - it damages the chapel” and “please no talking - this is a place of worship” announcements was certainly no way to fully appreciate the artistic elements of the chapel. But if I’m being completely honest, I don’t think I would have had much different of a reaction had I stood alone in the center of the silent building, free to contemplate and examine the chapel in solitary peace. I know the history and its importance. I’ve seen the photos. It…just didn’t do anything for me.

Now Saint Peter’s Basilica stands on the other end of the awe scale. In fact, it ruins the scale entirely, forcing you to hastily make a new scale just to properly convey the applicable amount of awe. Standing in that building feels impossible. The space between the floor and ceiling isn’t communicated properly with words - hell, it’s barely conveyed with photos.

If the intention of Saint Peter’s Basilica was to be the physical manifestation of one religion’s idea of man’s distance from God, then they pretty much nailed it. Because that’s what it felt like to stand in the center and look around.

The detail of the marble carvings was unreal. Or too real - rock conveying sheer silk sliding over bone and muscle and veins. The pillars extended upwards as if into the clouds. The angels above, carved out of solid marble, seemed at the same time far too massive to be supported by the ceiling, and too dainty to need to be attached at all. If they circled the room once per hour on their own power, I wouldn’t have been shocked in the least.

Even after two weeks of increasingly impressive cathedrals - nothing stood even remotely close to Saint Peter’s Basilica. Nothing. I think we spent an hour just walking around - seeing, touching, marveling. I could have spent a lifetime there and not been able to convey the majesty of the space. I’m not a religious person, but it is without question simply breathtaking.

Back within the (Roman) city limits, the downside of devoting so much time to those two locations was that it left us just the evenings and our initial half-day to get acquainted with the rest of the massive city. The bad news is that I don’t think we really got to experience the culture of modern Rome as much as we’d have liked to in retrospect. The good news is that despite the timeframe, the evenings in Rome were nonetheless memorable.

Without going into detail on everything we ate and drank, it ranged from merely excellent to superb. Rome had treasures that ranged from a place near our apartment where the owner himself served us (and forgot to put in my entree order, resulting in a comically exaggerated forehead-slapping apology and a few items on the house), to the best gelato we had in all of Italy, to a nondescript restaurant in what can only be described as “cobblestone Brooklyn” where the room next to us regularly exploded with old Italians half-drunkenly singing old Italian standbys and the main dining room was filled with young locals there for the equivalent of your favorite Aunt’s home cooking.

We enjoyed three hour dinners where we chatted with the couple next to us (an older Mexican couple - he was a general in the Mexican military, and she was a diplomat), and the younger British girls who replaced them after they left. We watched a hundred mopeds and motorcycles all gather together to drink wine on the steps of a church, bought a bottle for a table of strangers we were chatting with, and nearly caused an international incident when we showed up at a restaurant with a bottle we’d brought from Florence.

That final night we walked slowly back to our apartment, hearing the local church clocktowers signaling midnight while knowing that we had to be up early the next morning to catch our flight - but nonetheless taking as much time as we could steal alongside the Tiber as it rippled and slipped south towards the Mediterranean.

Ultimately, I don’t think anything in Rome itself really surprised me - but I also expect that’s on us. My memory is of a major city, Italian style. There was certainly history, but it felt segmented away, and we never got to experience the rest of the city that was culturally distinctive from what we’d seen before. Again, it felt more like Los Angeles than Milan or Florence. But maybe that’s what Rome ultimately was (for us, at least) - an opportunity to end our experience in a liminal space that blended Italy with familiarity as a transition back to home.

As the taxi picked us up the next morning and took us to Rome’s airport, I took my final photos in Italy: the sun illuminating and shining through the long, languid clouds that hung high in the sky. After two weeks away, having seen six areas and cities throughout Northern Italy, and finally seeing the city where my family came from, there were just two flights left to bring us back to our daily lives.

It was, as it always is, too soon. But in a trip filled with surprises, we still had one left: it turns out that if you catch the right flight - say a 6:45pm heading west out of Oslo - the sunset shines purple through the windows nearly the whole flight home.

#Italy #Travel #Four months late I know #long reads #longreads #vacation

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pilgrimonpoint · 4 years

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“The Pattern Aggrandizment of Self-Delusion.”

Is There a Term for Convincing Those Around You of The Obvious, Then the Obvious Thing Doesn’t Happen?

Yes. It is called “The Pattern Aggrandizement of Self-Delusion.”

I have been in a near constant state of awakening and suicidal ideation, but really, who hasn't been?

Anyway, one of the realizations I had sprang from the analysis of my accrued data metrics that addressed “whether or not”, in aggregate, “listening to my ‘gut' had the generalized overall result being beneficial, certainly positive, and nice feeling upon post examinations of my necessarily subjective experience of the undocumented events as remembered after the fact".

What I learned was ‘jaw dropping.’

The unqualified result was that, astoundingly, I had never listened to my gut up until the age of 46, and my life had generally been a sucky experience, BUT, since then, while being in the most chaotic time in memory, it has also been the most mind-bogglingly creative and satisfying time I have ever lived!

The crises personally and country wide were seismic! In many, many ways I was the same me, but in a different place and time. The question then occurred to me, "what is the most consistent random thing to occur in my life?”

Without hesitation, the thought manifested within my expansive mind, “420”.

Now mind you, I am not a pot smoker. Sure, in the past I liked to “loosen the screws", but for me the experience was “losing the screws altogether. Has anyone seen my glasses? How about my keys?”

You feel me.

Since I was 16, you would not credit as believable how many times I have wondered,” what time is it?”

Looked at the clock, and, you guessed it, exactly 420.

It happened so much that I have been using it as a running joke for over 10 years now. Even going as far as to text my partner every time it happens to try and share the weirdness of it. It did not even occur to me to wonder, “I wonder what it could mean in relation to April 2020?” prior to last Nov.

When it did, the first thing I thought was, “I wonder if that is when I am going to die?” My ‘gut’ reacted when I considered it. So, I considered it more.

Now this is the part of the story where it REALLY starts to make sense. When I was 22, and just out of the Marines, Texas had just started the state lottery. Looking at the odds of winning, it occurred to me that the best random odds one could have would be to pick one set of numbers at 21, or 22, then play those numbers with odd regularity until I died at 127, and have a better chance of winning than any other strategy.

Let me tell you, I was SO impressed with myself. Especially when each number I chose had a special significance. OF COURSE, I told my family, my friends, strangers, little children, EVERYBODY about my brilliant plan. I talked about it so much, my friends and family knew my numbers without the need for hints.

After two weeks of being fully the most annoying pleasant intellectual in all West Texas, my roommate and I were parked in front of The Colonial at 9 pm. Terry was in the store, and my gut went crazy!

I had the darndest feeling that I should buy a ticket, BUT I only had 5 dollars and we were headed to the dollar theater to watch a movie. $1 to get in. $2 for a large soda, and $2 for a hotdog or nachos. So, in weighing my desires, I found getting a soda and hotdog outweighed my need to buy a lottery ticket, and realize again I was paying “the poor man's tax” as my father was want to call the lottery.

OK!

I had decided.

Shut UP gut!

Then Terry got into the vehicle.

“Aren’t you going get a lottery ticket??” He asked significantly, leaning over towards me and wagging his eyebrows to indicate he was only half mocking my intellectual prowess, which was profound, yet untested at such a young age. I then had to explain to him my well-reasoned excuse not to purchase a ticket, even repeating my father's moniker for the gambling game.

“Alright!” Terry said, and we went to the movies.

In those days, the theater would put up the numbers next to the movie screen on drawing nights. I was watching the trailers when Terry punched the holy living hell out of my shoulder.

“What the F Ter-,” Terry interrupted my indignant anger, “Look!” he said loudly, pointing. Following his pointer finger I saw at the end of it, my lottery numbers. Loud, recriminations ensued.

That was my first gut failure and will long live in the annals of family history of missed chances.

I have had many times from then to my present 47 years where, every time I ignored my gut, I later learned I should have listened to my gut. It was with this infallible information in hand last Dec, I decided TO follow my gut for ONCE in my life. Further, I decided to combine it with another observation regarding my life.

That observation was my life seemed to, without intent, be the most cliché life that I am aware of. So much so, that if I am in an unusual situation, or witness to one, and I can think of an absurd situational cliché similar to what I am witnessing, then further picture an even more absurd cliché that involves me, then it will probably happen, and then leave where ever I am because I am tired of experiencing absurd clichés in my life. Really.

As a brief example of what I mean, I have actually been in a situation where a hot, beautiful, younger woman was BEGGING me to be with her, and my response in that moment was, “No, not until you tell me something personal about you. It can be made up, I don’t care, but it has to sound personal.” To which she said, “Shut up and GIVE it to me!” I then responded with, and I am completely serious, I said, “But I want to get to know you as a person!”

Really? What!

And I meant it! I realized the irony of the situation as well as the cosmic humor of the organic interaction.

My friends said that I could get struck by lightning on a cloudless day. It was so ridiculous, even my friends and family could only agree with the sentiment.

Back to 420.

So I combined “Cliché” with “420” and came up with the conviction, not mere supposition, but conviction that the “Big One” was going to happen in the San Francisco Bay area on, you guessed it, 4/20/20.

For those too busy for historical references, “Big One” in this context refers to a geological tremor, of OMG proportions. If I had lost some of you to a more debauched definition for “Big One” when associated with San Francisco, no worries, I added some useless but fun filler for the rest of us to read until you came back from your “wonderings”. We are not judging.

Welcome back!

I further backed this up with a dream I had my first night in the area. I dreamt that I was on a roof with another guy and water was swiftly rising up and overtaking us, and I was yelling, “which way do we swim for the Berkeley Hills?!”. Not a normal dream, but one of those super lucid, real feeling ones.

I had had 5 of them in my life. One of THOSE 5 was a dream where I standing on a cliff on the west coast overlooking the ocean, and there were meteors, several of them trailing huge smoke trails behind them, and I said in the dream, "And behold, a mountain was cast down from the heavens, and this is the 6th seal”

I quietly began telling friends and family and those I like to go camping or be out of town on 4/20. Hell, I was so convincing, my sons and partner were trying to help pack so we could get on the road at 2 am on 420! It was such a mess despite all efforts, I took that as a sign I should just chill and not drive to the border of OR to wait. The border of Oregon, OF COURSE because, during our research, we discovered that our RV Trailer Park of extravagant plushness, was encircled on three sides by liquefaction zones. LIQUIFACTION ZONES! We were also within a 15-minute walk on our other side to the Hayward Faultline. As well as 5, not 4, not 6, but 5 volcanoes that had active within enough historical time, to add a nice hysterical flavor to our familial rash of survivalist instincts!

Did I really want to see if, in another cosmic cliché, I was a prophet?

“Oh man. Please no. Not in the middle of a pandemic with apocalypse feelings like this happening with everyone in twenty-seven social interactions I had been having lately. I even read a couple chapters of Revelations. The only thing more catastrophic than reading revelations with serious intent to understand is our local crazy on the street corner not carrying an “end is nigh” sign. OMG, he is carrying a sign! I will get burned at a stake for sure!”

I reasoned one of two things were going to happen come 4/20/20.

One, my talent for identifying unusual, but true patterns in meta social data was more that I wanted to actually have, or two, I had a lesson to learn and needed to reevaluate some of my life choices.

Not doing anything would be irresponsible, where doing something COULD save some lives. If nothing happened, no real trouble for anyone, and I didn’t broadcast across the internet, and set myself up for being an I-D-I-O-T publicly. Only privately, and within a small circle of people who would either need to be stopped from making more of my prophetic powers than is seemly, or hopefully, they could accept the above reasons as fair, and let me learn said lessons without too much joking about Nostradamus or even considering crossing a pandemic border to then go into a more serious lockdown for 14 days of shame, or anything. I mean, I DID tell them the same thing as in this paragraph BEFORE 420, so I have a very reasonable, and self-evaluating insanity.

YAY!

*my partner says I must inform y’all that we had actually been planning a trip to OR for many months before our invisible stalking COVID frenemy began crawling up both legs at the same time

It being June 8th now, you can figure that I learned the lesson of not associating entirely subjective experiences into any kind of designation of anything prophetic or inane. Trust me, I am not that guy, which is exactly why the whole collection of things felt MORE probable. People were like, “Man, Adrian is saying this. Shit! Maybe something IS going to happen!”

Yeah Something happened. I realized my hair was not on fire, and humans are silly as hell. Oh, I made up the term up top. Seemed in keeping with the tongue-in-cheek feel I was going for.

Pattern Aggrandizement of Self-Delusion in no way whatsoever, needs to be credited to me when bringing up who coined the phrase, but if absolutely necessary, you may use Sabrina Siebert, 42, from Troy Michigan. She IS the boss. I merely dictated this answer.

*OOOOwwwww

**she is giving the evil eye, but smiling, and denying, and now looking down at her phone. Mission accomplished.

Feedback in comments! THANKS!

Respectfully,

A. Yobi Blumberg

#veteranartist #voctrbe #veteranwriter #ptsdtherapy #thetruth #hmor

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justhereforseverus · 4 years

Text

A Rose by Any other Name would Smell as Sweet

Chapter 7: Speak the Speech, I Pray you

Summary:

During one of the drama club meetings, (y/n) struggles to find an acting partner to demonstrate a scene properly. Thankfully, there is one tall and gaunt man that comes to the rescue

Notes:

Disclaimer: I’m not a teacher, especially not for drama. I’m not even a good actor. The only acting experience that I have is that I’ve played a pirate cook once in a play that was set in the time when Hamlet was saved by a pirate ship.During the performance, I actually said one of my lines too early so that was that... I study and interpret plays that’s more of my thing. So, all the methods described here are probably bullshit. Severus is also very talkative here. Dunno, if I’m writing him way out of character but hey, we’ve never seen him talk much in the books or the movies so maybe he opens up with attractive but awkward arts teachers.

As always thank you for reading, commenting, and all the kudos!! <3

Chapter Text

Another session of my drama group and I gotta say, we’ve made progress. It’s been a tough job getting students acting roles when they’ve never had contact with all this. I also knew that I’ve chosen a rather difficult play. Maybe I should have started with something else. But the students were invested in the story now and hey, who doesn’t love a challenge? It’s also still a school performance, not a Globe audition.

Everyone did a good job in the small groups and most of them were comfortable giving feedback there and discussing certain scenes. This time, I put up a stage that is as high as the one we’ll be using in our final performance because now it should move into a more serious direction. Before we try to put together the scenes in order with the designated roles, I wanted to address some techniques many students were unsure of how to perform. I also wanted to prepare them to perform in front of an bigger audience and not just one or two other people in the group. It was still just me, their peers and Severus but it’s still significantly more than before. Severus usually sat in the back of the class, arms crossed, legs stretched outs - a critical but relaxed pose, rather unusual for him. The students have become used to his presence. It did make some of them nervous in the beginning but a lot of the stress went away upon learning that that he couldn’t give them detention or a bad grades in here. He wasn’t very interested in doing so in the first place. He was here for a change of pace.

One of the problems was the aside instruction in some of the scenes. They struggled to see how it should be performed. They felt weird doing so and didn’t see the point of directly speaking to the audience and not to the character on stage. So, I thought I should show it rather than tell. I asked: “Anyone comfortable enough to perform the scene with me? You can use your book and just read the lines to me so don't feel nervous.”

Silence. Somehow they are ok within their own groups but standing on a stage in front of everyone else seemed to be a problem for that moment. I was ready to perform on my own but suddenly a voice came from the back of the room:

“If you need some assistance, Ms (y/n) I’m familiar with the scene and can try, with my humble acting abilities, to be your acting partner.”

Ok, we can do this. Students are eerily silence as Severus, elegant and confident as Julius Caesar, walked up the stairs on the stage. He picked a book from the pile of copies and stood there waiting. We agreed upon me being Lord Polonius and he Hamlet. He pretended reading the book and I said to him: “ O, give me leave: How does my good Lord Hamlet?”

“ Well, God-a-mercy. ” - said Severus, turned towards me and closed the book in his hands.

“Do you know me, my lord?”

“Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.” – he put emphasis on fishmonger by his usual slow and articulated speaking style. His deep voice rolled around the g and I knew he would’ve been perfect for that role. Severus performing style was in the beginning a tiny bit stiff and controlled but on the other hand, it suits the Prince of Denmark. Furthermore, he didn’t seem to look into the book for the lines. He performed them by memory. It was marvellous and I demonstrate the scene properly to my students.

At the last line Severus did something that showed he was acting and not just his usual snarky self, which frankly is easy with Polonius. When Polonius humbly took his leave Severus replied faithfully to the script:

“You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that I will more willingly part withal: except my life, except my life, except my life.” - here he repeated the words loudly, walked around me and put a different tone and manner for each repetition on. In that moment, I was in awe and thought to myself: This man is perfect.

Applause. Cheering. The students liked it. I took Severus hand, turned to the small group of students and bowed. He followed bowing rather reluctantly but I could feel how he squeezed my hand a bit. I felt myself blushing and slowly let go. He returned to his seat at the back and I turned around pretending to order some props to order my feelings. When the applause and talking faded I once again put my students in pairs and everyone had a go at performing these two roles in front of the others. It went much better now that they had a clear picture on what to do and some even interpreted gestures and tones in their own way.

At the end everyone said goodbye not only to me but also to Severus in a happy way, waving and wishing us a good evening. I walked up to Severus and sat in the seat in front of him, turning the chair around so I could face him. “Well done. You would have been a marvellous actor and you even knew the lines. I’m impressed!”

“Don’t flatter me that is just the bare minimum if you’re part of a drama society, aren’t you?”

“Come one, take the compliment, I mean it! When did you learn the lines?”

“I simply read it so many times that I remembered it.”

“Still impressive. Wish I could do that so easily.. Did you ever act it out on your own or with friends?”

“No.”

I looked at him with suspicion.

“Ok, maybe in my youth, I did. On my own usually. Although I must be admit that Hamlet’s wit here is nothing too far away from my own experiences so there wasn’t that much acting involved per se.”

“Nah, don’t try to get out of that. Should I tell you a secret?”

“Seems like you are ready to tell me either way.”

“Correct. When I was a kid, I read almost all my books aloud to my stuffed animals and toys. Later I did act out plays on my own as a well. I guess, I was a teenager who was more interested in fiction than people. How absurd all this may sound it does help you acting, reading, understanding, extending your language abilities. So, nothing to be ashamed of. Well apart from me just telling you that I was a weird outsider with an obsession for books in my youth but I guess that comes with the job description.”

“Mhh. I’d say we have that in common.”

“You’ve also read fairy tales to your stuffed animals?”

He shook his head, while rolliung his eyes but in a joking kind of way: “No, but the outsider aspect.”

“I’m sorry to hear that but yes. I guess interest in the arts often comes from feeling something’s missing. That there is a lack of meaning in reality and a desire to fill this with imagination. It also shows an interest in solving problems creatively. It just often brings people together that are from the same roots. Of course, there are many exceptions to this rule. Especially when it comes to the elitism in the muggle world around the arts. But I often find myself flocking to the same kind of people while doing this. So, there might be a connection.”

“I’d agree with that. I have to admit it was a pleasant experience.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Thank you, Severus.”

He stood up and moved towards the door. Suddenly, I had an idea. Before my brain could stop me with reason, I asked:

“Hey, ehm. Are you free for a tea tonight? I’d love to talk to you more about literature and plays. Maybe I can recommend you some works? You know like…a little book club? Just between us. If you want? I love talking about it and you seem like someone with whom one can do.. that…” – wow very articulate. I clearly know how to speak. Not.

He looked at the door and bit his lip slightly in thought. He then replied: “Thank you for the invitation. Unfortunately, I must decline. I’m assisting Albus in an important matter for the rest of tonight. Would you be free tomorrow evening? We see each other anyway at the great feast in celebration of the 200th anniversary of the first Quidditch team at Hogwarts. We could go after that?”

“Yes, of course. That sounds great. See you tomorrow then!”

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

It was mandatory for teachers to attend feasts celebrating important dates. However, there were a couple of empty seats as it clashed with a teacher’s conference in France, who were entirely uninterested in the local Quidditch history of Hogwarts. As a consequence, Remus, Flitwick and three other teacher were absent. Thus the seat order was not as strict as usual. The hall was decorated with Quidditch logos, paintings of the first and current Quidditch teams and there was a constant buzzing as snitches flied around in the air to set the mood. Severus sat at the left end of the table and I thought maybe I should take a seat next to him for a change.

“Hello Severus. Is that seat available?”

“Of course, go ahead."

“You’re not often here for lunch. Are you eating in your office usually?”

“Yes, it’s just more convenient for me to not disrupt my working flow with useless eating. Furthermore, I also need a break from seeing students from time to time.”

“Understandable.” And here we both looked into the crowd of students in their Quidditch uniforms or Quidditch fan attire. “I mean, I love my class to bits but some of them are so…. Without respect or interest. How is it being a headteacher for an entire house?”

“The job title comes with more responsibilities. You are responsible for everything your house does and it reflects on your image. This is more difficult when you have students who think of themselves as untouchable because in a way.. they are. Money and connections run deep in the wizard bloodlines. I’m not afraid to scold and punish them but you always have to be cautious. One misplaced word and our headmaster will feel the consequences and the school's image will be hurt. As the house motto says, you have to be cunning and plan ahead to achieve any progress with them.”

“Sounds tough. But you seem to be well equipped to do so. Wow. Are there any perks to that job?”

“If you mean money, no. We basically get paid in exposure. However, your quarters are a bit bigger than the rest of the staff. I got the position because I’ve been here for so long and am apparently the only one capable enough to deal with this rather difficult house. In the end, I’m also a Slytherin. However, as it is with everything in life: Nothing is clear cut. And I’d argue there are enough cunning and manipulative students in every house who use their false pride to put down others.”

“I aree. Nothing is ever black and white. Good people do bad things. Bad people do good things. We grow up, we learn, we change, we fail. Stereotypes are sadly often a beginning but they should never be the end of a judgement. People are fluid in their actions and attitudes.”

“Well said.”

Dumbledore made a speech celebrating sports and our food arrived floating from the air. It was nice despite me being utterly uninterested in Quidditch usually. Dumbledore sat next to us for a while and talked about my progress with the group. Before he left to talk to some students, he had something left so say: “Oh, and Severus. I’m delighted to see you being a part of the group, too.” Severus just nodded absentmindedly and continued to eat. When the feast ended everyone returned to their quarters or offices. So, I and Severus made our way to the Ravenclaw quarters.

#severus snape #pro snape #snape appreciation month #archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction #snape x reader #snape x female reader #snape x oc

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nancronomicon-blog · 7 years

Text

Information - Sokoya

I was given a prompt by my Pathfinder DM to write about one of my characters doing surveillance work and gathering information in order to advance her goals. She’s got a while to go before she can accept the role that fate wrote for her, but everyone has to start somewhere.

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Sitting on a flat building's rooftop, Sokoya carefully counted out the amount of coin in the small bag she kept on hand. It wasn't everything she had of course, and she doubted that Wrathcatcher would stab her if it was incorrect at first. So long as the total wound up correct, the elf was likely to be satisfied. Still, there was something to be said for not making missteps in her investigation. It had taken months of denial and desperation for Sokoya and Rav to come to the conclusion that there was little hope of the amalgam that they currently are to make it back just yet. Once they were stronger, that might change, but they were stuck for now. So, the two had quickly decided that if this was their life now, they would accept it and react accordingly. If the world required them to save it, they had best get started. The first step would be to find out any notable events in the area, and to find out all they could about the history of the world that didn't match what Sokoya was told.

It was slow going at first. After all, Mourning Ridge aside, not a lot of the common folk were inherently willing to trust a drow on the surface. Sokoya didn't blame them, but it did result in a few tricky situations. The first time she had ventured into a major city, she had been nearly arrested on the spot. The local guard had immediately tried to knock her out, and it was only because of Rav warning her in her head that Sokoya had managed to dodge the strike. Her mind--or rather, their shared minds--kicked into overdrive with the sudden stress, and for once she felt connected to her former time based abilities once again, as things seemed to slow to a crawl. The two of them agreed in their hyper-conscious state to flee rather than making it worse by fighting back, so they quickly darted down a few alleyways, getting lost soon enough.

A small smile formed on Sokoya's features as she recalled the memory. It had started off poorly, but the next moment had introduced her to an ally that she would come to count on quite a bit in the coming weeks. Sokoya had nearly collapsed against a wall, struggling to maintain her body's synthesized state for a moment with herself so winded from running through the city. She could still hear the guard out there, looking for the drow that had dared to intrude into the city. Her keen ears had already heard rumors spreading, and she was quickly beginning to give up hope of escaping that day. The quiet sound of footsteps approached, and she gritted her teeth, ears low as she forced herself to stand back up as she reached for her knife.

The footsteps stopped a few steps away and Sokoya acted quickly. She couldn't keep running, and getting caught now was unacceptable. Tuning Rav out for a moment so she could focus, Sokoya had pivoted on one foot, practiced movements carrying her dagger from her waist into a thrusting motion at the person behind her. Her target had been surprised at first, but reacted nearly as fast, and Sokoya's vision blurred for a moment before she found her face shoved roughly against the wall of the alley, held firmly by a hand and the cold feeling of her own dagger's blade pressed against her neck. She hadn't even fully seen the person's movements, and in her dazed state she could barely think of more than the fact that she should have been faster than most guards.

"Not too shabby, really, but kind of predictable," came the quiet voice behind her. "Now I'm going to let go, and let's see if you can avoid trying that again, yeah? I'm not here to arrest you." The person pulled away from her, and Sokoya carefully turned around, staring down the other. At first she paused, thinking the other was another drow, before she caught on soon enough. There were traces of drow heritage to be sure--a red tint to the eyes, skin a bit more grey than most elves, hair a bit lighter--but the person in front of her was clearly a surface elf. That didn't help her nerves at all, really. Especially not now that she was disarmed.

"Not from around here, are you?" The elf asked with a small smile, half mocking and half genuine. The smile soon faded however, as a small commotion outside signalled the guard was getting closer to searching this area. The elf gave a small jerk of their head towards further in the alley before quickly heading off in that direction, and Sokoya saw little reason to not follow. The alternative was waiting for the guard to catch her, after all. The elf soon led her to a concealed hatch in the alley wall, completely hidden if you weren't looking for it. They slipped inside and Sokoya followed after just a brief hesitation, the elf closing the hatch after the two of them. The inside was a dark passage, lined with stone and with very little light.

"I think you might've set the record for the quickest someone set off the guard, friend. You definitely made our job harder today, too. The guard's looking everywhere for you. From what we heard though, you didn't do much, huh? Bunch of racist pricks, really. Name's Wrathcatcher, by the way," the elf said, idly looking over Sokoya's dagger before back up at the drow. In the dim light of the passage, the elf's eyes were glowing, and Sokoya knew hers were as well. "...Sokoya, Sokoya Yulijalil Ra'riithel," she replied after a short time, and awkwardly extended her hand. Wrathcatcher had saved her, and especially after she attacked them, being polite seemed the least she could do. The elf didn't shake her hand, just passing her the dagger back after a few short moments. Sokoya paused, before putting it away, a silence falling over the two as Wrathcatcher looked her over.

"So, Soko, tell me. What's a drow doing on the surface, anyway? I mean I get enough shit for being partial drow, so I can only imagine it's worse for you. The way I see it, though, you're causing us a bit of trouble either way, since you're stirring up the guard and now you know about this passage here. So I'm thinking.....you join us, or at least become a client of ours, and maybe we don't tell the guard where you are, and help you out. What do you say? Street rats like us gotta stick together, hm?" Wrathcatcher said as Sokoya stared for a few moments, the drow and dragonborn in her head quickly debating on if this was a good idea. Eventually, she nodded.

She had told Wrathcatcher the gist of her situation--or at least, the parts about information gathering--and the two had worked out a partnership from there. Wrathcatcher and their friends, who Sokoya very quickly learned made up a successful thieves guild, would keep ears out and find out information for her, as long as Sokoya could keep coin heading their way. They also set Sokoya up with some documents about nearby cities and the like and the sort of people to avoid both because of her race or because they were corrupt enough to warrant a warning. It wasn't a relationship of boss and employees of course, so much as mutual respect because of the need to survive. It was almost like being back home with Misery and her grandmother, really. A bunch of people on the more unfortunate side of things banding together to make it through the world.

"Hey Soko, something on your mind? You look pretty pleased," came a voice from behind her, making Sokoya jump in surprise at first as she looked behind her. It seemed every time they met, Wrathcatcher was getting better at sneaking up on her, and she still didn't have a chance at catching their reflexes without her time powers, either. They still wore a small grin, though Sokoya had come to learn that behind that mask was a sharp mind analyzing every interaction, always on the lookout for danger. It was how her friend had come to survive so long, after all.

"Just remembering a fool with a knife," Sokoya replied calmly, turning to face Wrathcatcher fully. She held the bag of coins up, shaking it a bit to let them clink against each other. "The usual amount. Anything new to report? How're your friends doing?" She asked, before tossing the bag over. Wrathcatcher snatched the bag out of mid-air and tossed it back and forth between their hands as they weighed it and thought things over. After a short time, they pocketed it and shrugged.

"Things have been a bit quiet lately, Joleyne's been crying that her newspaper's going to die out if things keep up like this," Wrathcatcher said. Sokoya opened her mouth to protest the lack of news, but the elf cut her off. "Hey now, have I ever disappointed you? Don't answer that. Penwriggle's been teasing that he's got another book that's being published, but more to the point he's been getting a bit more cozy with the captain of the guard. It'll be nice to have one of our people on the inside, and for now I can tell you the guard's being criticized for how it's handling the races around. There's some town a few days out that I guess has a bunch of adventurers joining it and most are tieflings, apparently. It's making things more awkward for the guard, so it might just be safe for you to explore the city on your own after a while."

Wrathcatcher paused, looking a bit uncertain before continuing. "There's also a new person of interest out west. Calls themselves 'Avast 88th Sea'. I think they're a bit of an ass, but they're a sailor's apprentice. The guildmaster's brought them in as one of us, and they're a pretty nice connection to the sea and beyond. On that note, apparently there's been a lot more raider activity across the sea. Not sure if it's headed in this direction yet, but it's at least getting closer to their ports. Rumor is that it's just as much humans and the like as it is goblins and orcs. Kind of weird to hear about them being organized like that. Oh, and there's apparently supposed to be some nobility coming through town in a few weeks. Said something about visiting that town--Mourning Ridge?--while visiting too. Might be a good idea to pay attention to that, as long as, you know, you don't mention knowing anything if anything of theirs goes missing," Wrathcatcher said with a wink. Sokoya frowned, none of this was really anything she could act on. It would be nice to visit the city properly, though. Still, it was better than nothing. If she really could visit the city before too much longer, she could expand her information network, at the very least.

"Well, keep some ears out for me, would you? I'll see you again next week, yes?" Sokoya asked, gathering her things as she got ready to head off. Wrathcatcher put a hand out though to stop her, taking a bag from their shoulder and holding out a small package bound in parchment. Sokoya looked at it, then up at Wrathcatcher questioningly.

"The boss said to give you this, said 'consider it an offer'. It's a bunch of coin and information that I didn't have," Wrathcatcher said, and Sokoya stared for a moment longer. She had been asked multiple times to join the Guild, and each time turned them down, but never had they given her anything beyond information. "Soko, babe, we're not dumb. We know you're not staying in town--guard's too full of racist pricks for that, and you're too healthy to be hiding out in the woods. Mourning Ridge's the closest town to us, so we know that's where you're probably from," Wrathcatcher said, their smile replaced with a more serious look now. "That's fine and all, but remember that we've got your back if you ever need it, yeah? As far as we're concerned, you're one of us street rats. That being said....If you wanted to do us a favor and do for us in Mourning Ridge what we do for you here, we could probably just drop the whole payment thing entirely. You don't have to join the Thieves' Guild entirely, and we're not really asking you to steal anything, just....give us another branch to our network, yeah? Just some information. Think on it at least, will you?" They said, before heading towards the nearby ladder to the alley.

"And....Soko, you don't have to say yes, we can keep things the way they are now, but if you ever want to be part of the family properly, just let us know. If nothing else, we work for clients, but we protect our family," they said, before slipping out of sight down the ladder as Sokoya clutched the package tighter.

#pathfinder #dnd #nanowriting #fantasy #drow #rogue #Sokoya #original

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komahinasecretexchange · 7 years

Text

Title: Looking Forward

Author: @komaedakun / @givemerockruffs

For: @procrastination-hell

Rating/Warnings: nothing explicit just some..making out I guess// read the author’s notes for any other “warnings” I suppose ^^

Prompt: “Hinata’s wife dies, but Komaeda helps him move on.”

Author’s notes: I hope you’re ok with slight hinanami…This is a no-despair, no-talent (but some do have jobs that feature their talent), modern au (I think) in which Hinata lost Chiaki in a shooting, Komaeda lost Izuru to suicide, and the two old college friends (now in their 30s) reconnect due to their tragic experiences.

I had tons of fun writing this (I may have went a bit overboard)!!! I hope you like it! ;v; (also I feel like I should mention that Izuru and Hinata are unrelated in this! and it’s also more them helping each other rather than just Komaeda helping Hinata//)

Enjoy!

When he lost Chiaki, it felt like his whole world ended. Like it completely stopped. This was no exaggeration – it’s just how it really, truly felt.

Souda was the first to apologize to him after it happened.

“Losin’ my wife…,” he’d said. “‘Can’t imagine what that’d do to me, man…I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t a gradual thing, either. It happened out of nowhere, all at once. There was a shooting at the mall out in the city – a man came in with a gun and just started…shooting. She’d probably hesitated, the way she always did. She’d always moved slowly – too slowly.

Hinata didn’t really know the whole story, but he didn’t actually want to know any more. He’d briefly heard about it on the news while it was happening, but he turned the TV off the second he realized that his wife and friend were there. She was with Tsumiki.

When the nurse came back and broke the news to him, they both cried – hard. Hinata wished he’d been there. He was convinced he could’ve done something. Like he’d be any more in control in the situation than anyone else. He was glad Tsumiki was okay, at least – though she was probably scarred for life.

After it happened, he felt utterly alone, despite all his friends’ kind words and embraces. Nothing could console him, it seemed. It felt like nothing would ever be okay again. He wouldn’t go out for any reason except work and to go to the supermarket. That was it. He was terrified to go anywhere else, really.

About 4 months passed after Chiaki died when Hinata received a phone call. It happened midday, but he was still laying in bed, simply staring at the ceiling. When his phone rang, he sighed heavily and swept it off the nightstand beside him.

Unknown caller.Hinata blinked at the screen, debating whether or not to answer for a moment. He picked up.

“Who’s this?”

“Hinata-kun? Is that you?”

“Huh?” The voice sounded oddly familiar. Hinata’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who is this?”

“Ah, my mistake.” The person on the other line laughed softly. “Um…It’s Nagito Komaeda. From college? Hope’s Peak? I don’t expect you to remember me, but…”

Oh. Yes, he remembered Komaeda. They were friends in college – best friends, even. He wondered whatever happened to that.

“Oh,” Hinata said aloud. “Hi! Ah, how’d you get my number, exactly?” He was happy to receive a call from an old friend, yes, but he was honestly wondering about how Komaeda obtained his phone number.

“I heard your friend, Souda, talking about you at the café in town! I work there. ‘Turns out I work fairly close by to where you guys live…Souda is a regular, but I never knew that you knew one another; I asked him for your number. I’m sorry, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah? Oh, yeah, that’s fine…” Hinata sat up in the bed. Of course; Souda wasn’t exactly quiet about…anything that he did. Hinata briefly wondered who his friend had been talking to about him.

“Okay,” Komaeda replied slowly. “That’s good…well, anyway, he seemed to feel really bad for you,” he went on. “I had no idea you were married.”

Hinata felt his breath catch in his throat. “Mhm,” he forced out. “I was.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Komaeda said. “I, ah…a while ago – around a year, now – I lost my boyfriend.”

“Oh?” Hinata swallowed, throat still tight, though that somehow made him feel a bit…better. “I’m sorry to hear that…”

“That’s alright! This is more about you than me! Ah, how long ago did she pass – if you’re okay with me asking?”

Hinata took a deep breath. “A…about 4 months ago.”

“Wow,” Komaeda breathed. “I’m shocked you can even talk about it,” he said.

“It’s hard,” Hinata replied, just barely keeping his voice from predictably cracking.

“Of course.” There was a pause of silence on the other line. “I don’t think it ever won’t be hard.”

“Mhm.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to call and offer my condolences…it seemed appropriate, considering our history,” Komaeda continued. “I apologize for calling out of the blue like this, I–”

“Is that the only reason you called?” Hinata asked, running a hand over his face. “I mean, not to reconnect or…anything?” Suddenly, going out for something other than work sounded okay.

“Oh um, I mean, not really, but…do you want to meet again?”

“We were friends in college,” Hinata reminded him. “I wonder what happened to that.”

“Life moves on, I suppose. Sadly.” Another beat of silence. “I’d disappoint you, anyway.”

“Don’t be like that.” Ah, yes. It was all coming back to him: how Komaeda could be. He could deal with it…probably.

A pang of excitement suddenly sparked in his chest. He sat up a little straighter. It surprised him, really; why was he excited? ‘Just the thought of a “new” friend, he guessed, but…it was strange to him why he wasn’t more than ready to hang up and never pick up a phone again, after the topic just forced upon him. Had he really not had a decent interaction with someone in so long that it didn’t matter what they talked about?

“We should…meet up sometime,” Hinata suggested. “And talk. Just to, y'know, catch up again.”

“You sound pretty upbeat for someone who just talked about something so tragic,” Komaeda said. “I’m surprised you’d get like this over someone like me!”

Hinata went quiet for a moment. He’d definitely need to get used to this, if they were going to “reconnect”.

“‘Guess so, huh? Sorry.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry! That must’ve sounded bad, I’m–”

“No. you’re okay,” Hinata quickly replied. “Not everyone’s really great with words, I guess…but…I get what you were saying, I think, I was just caught a little off guard, um – I was thinking the same thing, really. Myself.” He took another deep breath, glancing around his bedroom. His eyes landed on the clock on his nightstand. 1:27 p.m. “Um, so, anyway…does lunch sound okay?”

————————————-

Lunch was arranged for that Sunday. Komaeda called on Friday.

On Saturday, Hinata talked to Souda about the whole ordeal. The man came over per his friend’s request, and they simply sat at Hinata’s kitchen table together to talk.

“You’d think I’d be turned off by it – the way he talked,” Hinata told him. “But, I dunno, it was weird… ‘cause I was talking to an old friend, you know? And it was like it didn’t really matter once I stopped myself from crying ‘cause it was, like, exciting to talk to him again, I guess? It felt familiar.”

Souda nodded at him from across the table, eyebrows furrowed together. “Well, man, I’m glad he called!” The mechanic put his hands up. “‘Seems like you’re happier than you’ve been in awhile just from a talk! This guy could be good for ya.”

“I don’t know if I’d say happy, just a bit uplifted, maybe.”

“It’s pretty crazy to me how a person you haven’t talked to in years could just call up ‘n do this to ya, regardless.” Souda chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. Hinata shifted his gaze from his friend’s face and noticed his heels were now up propped up on the edge of the table, and he briefly wondered how he’d moved them there without Hinata noticing.

“Well, we were friends in college…” The brunette rubbed at the back of his neck, looking back up at the other.

“Yeah but dude, you’ve been in this slump for, like, quite a few months now – with good reason, ‘a course, but man…I was so worried about you!”

Hinata gave a tiny smile. “Well, um, it doesn’t just…go away, still.” He cleared his throat. “But, um, I dunno, I guess it just felt good to know that I’m not really alone. I mean, I know other people have lost their partners in the world, but–”

“Whaddya mean?” Souda raised an eyebrow at him. “What’d he tell you?”

“Oh, he, uh, lost someone, too. Recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So I think that’s part of it.”

“Probably.” Souda nodded thoughtfully, eyes on the ceiling. “Well, man, I hope this’ll work out for ya, then. ‘Could be good to reconnect with an old friend. ‘Take your mind off things.”

“Mhm. Hopefully.”

————————————-

He wasn’t going to lie – just trying to take his mind off of the fact that Chiaki was dead made him feel sad and especially guilty. Sad because it was a reminder that she was gone; guilty because he was trying to forget her, but he really didn’t want to.

He wondered if she’d be angry with him for trying to forget.

The rest of Saturday went slowly. Hinata really didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day – he was still off from work, and there weren’t really any errands to run. He kept on top of anything that needed to be done around the house, so it left him…bored a lot of the time. He did not like the feeling.

When Sunday did come, Hinata was excited. Purely, genuinely excited – he felt like a child. That was a good feeling. He welcomed it.

However, on his walk down to the local café at precisely 2 p.m (when and where they’d decided to meet), a sinking feeling formed in his gut. He wouldn’t stand me up, would he? He thought grimly. No…I mean, he doesn’t really have any reason to…and this isn’t a date, anyway… Hinata shrugged. It was useless to worry; it only spoiled his good mood.

When he arrived at the café, Komaeda was sitting, waiting outside for him on a small bench. Hinata was only a bit surprised to find that he looked…absolutely no different than he looked in college. He had the same white, reddish-tipped, unkempt hair sticking up every which way, same stormy gray eyes, same tall, frail figure and pale skin. He was wearing a white shirt with some sort of red pattern on it, and a dark green jacket over it. Hinata recognized the jacket. Huh.

“Hinata-kun!” He cried upon seeing the other approach the front entrance. Hinata waved a hand at him. Komaeda stood up from the bench. “Hi! How are you? You look just how I remember you!” He laughed, grinning from ear to ear.

Hinata smiled widely back at him. “You look the same, too; it’s kind of amazing,” he laughed, slightly, himself, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess it hasn’t been that long, so it makes sense…um, I’m good! It’s nice to get out of the house for something other than work.”

“Yes, I bet.” Komaeda nodded, looking him up and down. “You still don’t seem to know how to use a hairbrush,” he teased.

“‘Could say the same for you.” Hinata smirked.

“Touché.” The white-haired reached out and took one of Hinata’s hands. “Should we go inside?”

Hinata looked down at their hands, blinking. Right; he’d forgotten that Komaeda was kind of touchy. How could he have forgotten that part?

“Hinata-kun?”

“Oh, yes, of course – let’s go inside.” The brunette nodded quickly, and Komaeda glanced at him before leading the other into the café.

The inside was quaint, quiet and Hinata briefly asked himself why he didn’t visit this place more often, consider how close he lived to it. More than that, he wondered why he had never run into Komaeda in town before. He figured he only worked nearby, but lived farther away. There were only a couple people inside the place, and no one except for the barista behind the front counter looked up at them when they entered, which Hinata was grateful for. Komaeda released his hand after a moment.

“It’s a nice place, huh?” He said. “I like working here. It’s not really all that busy but even when it is, it always seems to stay quiet.” He hummed. “It’s a nice atmosphere to work in.”

“Yeah.” Hinata replied with a nod. “‘Seems like it,” he added as they took a seat at a tiny table at the far left of the establishment, right beside a window. In that moment, he couldn’t help but feel slightly antsy at the realization that he was outside, somewhere that wasn’t his house or his job or the supermarket; he fiddled with his fingers. He was a target. Komaeda was a target. Everyone in the café was a target.

“‘Something the matter, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda was looking at him worriedly. Is it showing that much? The thought that he looked as worried as he suddenly felt made Hinata more uncomfortable.

“Oh, um, no, I’m okay!” Hinata waved his hands in front of him, forcing a smile. “Just, um, a little anxious.”

“If it’s about this, there’s really no need for it! You shouldn’t be anxious around someone like me, I–”

“No, no, it’s not that. This is, like, uh…this is the first time I’ve been out of the house for something other than work or getting food since…Chiaki died, and I…it’s weird.”

“Oh.” Komaeda nodded slowly, relaxing a bit. “I’m sorry; we don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be here! We can go to your house, instead, and just talk there…”

That’d be a good idea if my house wasn’t a mess. Hinata deflated. He’d been slacking on cleaning for a few days, which didn’t normally happen; of course this had to be a time that it did. I don’t want that to be his impression of me…

“Um…I don’t think that’ll work…” Hinata looked away from him, feeling shameful at this point. “Sorry, ‘guess I’m kinda ruining this–”

“Oh, no, it’s okay!” Komaeda smiled at him and he briefly believed it was okay. “Well, we could go to my house, then. If you want.”

His house. Hinata paused to think about it. ‘Seems a little awkward…but…he did offer to come to mine, and that would’ve been awkward for him…I guess it’s fine. He fought back a sigh; he was angry with himself but didn’t want Komaeda to get the wrong idea.

“Okay,” he said with a small nod. “That sounds okay.”

“Alright!” The white-haired stood up from his chair. “We’ll have to take my car,” he added, as if it was a terrible consequence.

“That’s fine,” Hinata replied, warily glancing around as he stood.

“Okay.” Komaeda shrugged, and went to the door, opening it for the two of them as they exited.

“…‘Sorry,” Hinata said after a moment of silence between them as they walked to Komaeda’s car (which was a small silver Honda, he noted). “You must think I’m nuts.”

“No, not at all, Hinata-kun!” The other laughed lightly, pulling his keys out of his jacket pocket. “Really! May I ask what exactly happened to your wife, for you to be so anxious, though?”

Though he immediately felt tears in his eyes, Hinata felt…okay sharing with him. There was still a pause of silence (that included them just standing there, Hinata looking around awkwardly and Komaeda holding the keys mid-air, not unlocking the car), though. Hinata swallowed back the tears. “She, uh, she was at the mall that got shot up in town. Bell Mall?” He couldn’t stop his voice from cracking, that time.

“Oh.” Komaeda’s smile suddenly fell. “That’s…that’s really terrible,” he said, and finally unlocked the car. Hinata walked around to the passenger side and stepped inside.

Once they were both seated, and Komaeda was starting up the car, Hinata glanced at him.

“Uh…I get it if you don’t want to tell me, but…would you mind sharing what happened to…your boyfriend?”

Hinata could’ve sworn he saw the man’s grip on the steering wheel tighten.

“He killed himself,” he said after a moment, then smiled. “That’s not really important, though.”

Hinata stared at him for awhile, even as he pulled out of the parking lot. He killed himself. That’s just…fabulous. He couldn’t help but wonder why.

“That’s horrible,” the brunette finally said. “I’m so sorry, Komaeda.”

“That’s fine!” Komaeda replied, humming. “It’s not your fault, anyway! Don’t sweat it.”

The brunette glanced away, feeling guilty for even asking. He did ask me, though. I mean, I guess it’s fair…

They were mostly quiet for the rest of the drive; Hinata successfully made it awkward. When they arrived, he glanced out the window and at the house they’d parked in front of.

It was a fairly small, blue-gray…craftsmen, he believed. It was lined with white – there was a white deck in front, in fact. The door was a pale orange, which was kind of an ice contrast, and two large paneled windows were on either side. It seemed…homey. There were two potted plants on either side of the steps leading up to the deck. Red flowers.

“‘Coming?” The other was looking at him, keys in one hand and other on the car door handle. Hinata quickly nodded.

“Yes, yeah. Sorry,” he added, and pushed the car door open. The driveway, he noticed, was dirt. There were also little to no trees in sight. He didn’t bother asking where they were, though he was a little curious.

“‘House’s nice,” Hinata commented as he trailed behind the white-haired man, following him to the door.

“Thank you.” Komaeda laughed lightly. “That’s nice of you to say.”

The other merely nodded, still glancing around the unfamiliar area. Komaeda had the door open in moment, and he followed him inside.

They stepped onto a welcome mat the second they were through the door. Komaeda kicked his shoes off and Hinata followed suit.

It was very open, and very modern, he noted, pleasantly surprised. The walls were all white (with some paintings on them offsetting it here and there), the floors were dark hardwood, and there were wooden beams on the white ceiling. It made for a nice touch. They were standing in both the dining room and kitchen just upon entering; to his left was the dining room, to his right was the kitchen. Both were tiny, but not so small that they seemed cramped. The dining room table was small, circular, dark wood, and there were three matching chairs around it, a centerpiece of flowers in the center, and a small, black lighting fixture directly above. There was also a gray area rug beneath the table, and a dark wood cabinet with glass panels in the far end of the room, presumably filled with China or…something of that sort. The kitchen was brightly lit and almost all white; white cabinets, white counters, white island. However, the stove (which was wedged between the cabinets on the left), fridge (on the far right of the room, on the corner where it led into a hallway) and sink (which was beside the stove, on the counter to its right) seemed to be stainless steel, and the counter and island tops were a dark marble, Hinata believed. There was also a pale blue backsplash over the stove and sink.

Directly ahead of them was a living area; a gray couch in the near-center with a tiny circular table with a lamp on it beside it, a dark coffee table in front of the couch with a couple candles on it, a TV on the farthest wall, some sort of cupboard to the right of the couch on the wall there. That was all Hinata could see from the get-go. There was very little decoration, and even less evidence that anyone even lived there. It was still nice, somehow, though. Weird.

All in all, the home looked like it had just been moved into. It was virtually barren; he could only guess Komaeda was a minimalist of something. Or he was moving. He couldn’t have just cleaned it for Hinata’s visit, right? He didn’t even know they’d be coming here.

“Are you planning on moving?” Hinata asked, and turned to him, genuinely curious.

“Hm?” Komaeda glanced at him, in the middle of hanging his keys on a tiny handle by the left the front door. Hinata noticed, as well, that there was a calendar hanging on the right side of the door, marked with numbers too high to be on a calendar. He’d ask about that later. “Oh, no. Why?”

“It’s just so…clean in here.”

“Oh, I just like cleaning! It keeps me busy…I also like to keep it nice in case anyone should happen to drop by. And – for my own sanity. I lose things often, so I like to be assured that everything has a place and is in that place at all times.”

Hinata was impressed. “You do a really nice job of it, it’s beautiful in here. Just kinda empty.”

“Thank you. And, yes, I don’t have all that much but again, what I do have is all in particular spots.” Komaeda chuckled in that way of his and headed into the kitchen. “Anyway, do you want anything to drink?” He opened the fridge. “I’ve got…iced tea. And water, of course. And there’s probably some coffee in the cupboards.”

The brunette followed him, leaning on the island slightly. He was still looking around, taking it in. “Oh, uh – just water is okay,” he insisted, smiling at the other. “Thank you.”

“No problem!” Komaeda hummed and walked over to a cabinet, reaching up and taking out a glass and then proceeding to fill it up with tap water.

Hinata tapped his fingers against the marble surface of the island. “Can I ask a dumb question?” He said after a beat of silence.

“Ask away!” Komaeda replied, turning off the tap and moving to hand him the glass.

The man muttered a “thank you” as he took it. “Um, what’s with the numbers on the calendar? Like, not the date ones but the big ones that were, like, written on there. I think I saw one that was like, in the 400s. Do they mean something?”

“Yes.” Komaeda nodded. “Something I’d rather not share; it’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Oh, sure.” Hinata broke his gaze. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem!” The white-haired boy insisted. “Don’t worry. Anyway,” he clasped his hands together. “It’s my turn to ask a question. What do you do for a living?”

“Oh, I work in an office. Nothing special. I like, answer phone calls and stuff.” He immediately felt embarrassed, sharing his boring old desk job.

“Hmm. Interesting.” Komaeda nodded, as if it was truly interesting. “What type of company do you work for?”

“A window installation company.” Hinata wanted to curl up and die. This was very, very embarrassing. Komaeda was probably a surgeon or a scientist or something. He wouldn’t want to waste time talking to some dude he knew from college who asked people what type of windows they’d prefer over the phone for a living.

“Ah! That’s cool. It sounds like a very leisurely job. ‘Seems nice.”

“It’s really boring, actually.”

“So you’d prefer something with some life to it.” Nodding seemed to be Komaeda’s thing. Aside from laughing.

“‘Guess so,” Hinata replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “What do you do?”

“I work in retail,” he told him. “I’m a cashier. Nothing special. Pretty generic, actually.”

“Really?” Hinata tried not to look surprised. He failed. “With the house you have, you wouldn’t think that that, of all things, is…your job.”

“I know…unimpressive, huh? I mean, a piece of trash like me doesn’t need an amazing job that could be left for someone much more worthy, though. I’ve got enough money to get by; my parents left me enough to retire, really, but I’ve got to do something with my time.”

He was rich. Komaeda was rich. He didn’t really show it. That was weird, but kind of cool. Cool that he didn’t take advantage of it. Hinata felt privileged.

The brunette chose to ignore the “trash” comment, as he remembered that was something Komaeda used to say very often in college, and it probably wasn’t going to do anything to say something.

“Ah. Yeah, of course. But–I didn’t mean it was unimpressive, I was just surprised!” He laughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Komaeda waved a hand, smiling. “So, anyway, do you have any kids?”

————————————-

Talking with Komaeda felt therapeutic to Hinata in a way, despite how many times he said things that should be considered off-putting. The brunette really, honestly, stopped minding after a while, and realized just how much he enjoyed his mere presence. It was relaxing, and quite comforting to feel that way again. Cleansing. They talked until it was dark out. Hinata got home at at least 7 p.m. It seemed like, the longer they spoke, the easier the words came. Instead of running out of things to talk about, they found more and more. Komaeda drove him home that day, and this time the silence was more comfortable. Hinata didn’t feel awkward in the slightest. When he was dropped off at home, the white-haired smiled widely at him and waved as he drove away. It left him in a good mood.

When he stepped into his house, however, that feeling vanished as if it had blown away with a gust of wind. A feeling of guilt and sadness set in, like it had on Saturday after Souda left. Maybe Hinata just…needed to be around people all the time. That would be tough, unless he remarried…which wasn’t happening anytime soon, by any circumstance. Hinata refused. He just wanted Chiaki back. He really, really wanted her back. He wished all of this was a joke – that whatever or whoever had taken her would come out of nowhere with an arm around his wife and place her safely in Hinata’s arms instead.

When he laid down in bed that night, he couldn’t help but notice how empty the bed felt with the vacant space beside him.

————————————-

Komaeda called back a few days after Hinata had been over his house – two days, to be exact.

“I figured you wouldn’t mind me calling, but I guess that was kind of a bold assumption,” Komaeda had told him sheepishly. “But we had such a nice time when you came over, I figured–”

“I had a great time.” Hinata cut the man off before he could feel any worse about calling, which is where he knew it was going. “You’re not bothering me by calling, okay? I’m glad you called. I would’ve, but–I don’t actually have your number, I totally forgot to ask you for it.”

“Oh!” Komaeda laughed into the phone. He proceeded to tell the other his number, and Hinata wrote it down on the notepad he kept on his nightstand. It seemed like it would be a regular occurrence for Komaeda to call when Hinata was in bed.

“Okay, thanks.” Hinata nodded to himself. “It was stupid of me not to ask for it; I’m glad you called.”

“Yes, me too! I’d hate to lose contact again.”

They talked for what had to be an hour after that. They talked about nothing particular, just random things: a pretty bird Komaeda had seen, something Hinata had watched on TV; it was peaceful. Reassuring. He decided he really enjoyed talking to Komaeda because there was no stress involved. Even if Chiaki did come up, the unsettled feeling Hinata got would vanish just as soon as it came.

———-

————————————-

———-

Two months passed.

Hinata and Komaeda made phone calls a regular thing. Then, meeting regularly at one another’s houses became a thing. The two months went by quickly, full of those two things and almost nothing else (other than working and buying food) for Hinata. He enjoyed it. It made him feel like he wasn’t so disconnected anymore; like he was putting himself out there, and getting better somehow. Not only that, but it was refreshing to just sit and talk about all the fun they had in college, when they were younger. Anything brought up was a fond memory. Hinata never seemed to stop smiling during these interactions. They grew closer with every conversation.

On the days when Komaeda had work, Hinata sometimes visited him at the café. On the days Hinata worked, Komaeda sometimes visited him at the office. Those visits always brightening the brunette’s day – even when he was in a pissy mood.

“This friendship seems to be…somethin’ else alright,” Souda had told his friend the next time they saw each other, a bit awkwardly. That’s right – friendship; Hinata refused to look at it as anything else. “Pretty remarkable. I’m glad he could make you this happy.”

Was Hinata completely happy? He figured as much, but he wasn’t really sure. There was still that nagging feeling in his stomach every time he went to bed alone.

Komaeda came over to Hinata’s house one day as they approached the third month of constantly seeing each other (as Just Friends, of course). He arrived unannounced, but Hinata didn’t mind, because the second he opened the door the white-haired got this huge grin on his face and it, truthfully, melted his heart. Wait, did it? He quickly composed himself.

“Hi, Hinata-kun!”

“Komaeda!” He said, and smiled back at his friend. “Hi! Why’re you here?” The man asked. “Not that I’m not…glad to see you.”

“Oh, I just thought I’d drop by. I was in the neighborhood,” Komaeda explained. Hinata waved him inside, and the other stepped in quickly, as if walking in front of a playing movie screen. “I wanted to talk to you…”

Hinata was instantly a little anxious. It was just a natural reaction. “Oh yeah?” He shut the door. “About what?”

“Oh, just…” Komaeda hesitated for a moment. “Us.”

That only made the brunette feel worse. “Us”? What was that supposed to mean? Did Komaeda not want to hang out anymore? God, he probably noticed how Hinata looked at him sometimes. That wouldn’t make sense, though – the smiles he made at the other were always so full of joy. That just wouldn’t make any sense!

“It’s nothing bad…I don’t think.” Komaeda’s words snapped him out of his thoughts. “I still really like you.” It was like he read Hinata’s mind. The man blinked at his friend.

“I wasn’t thinking that,” he lied.

“Okay.” Komaeda smiled sweetly. “Do you want to sit down?”

Was this a conversation they’d need to sit down for? “Sure.” Hinata led him to the living room and plopped down on the couch. Komaeda slowly sat beside him. It was quiet in the room for a few moments, which didn’t normally happen.

“Our friendship is interesting, don’t you think?” The other man jumped straight into it. He didn’t waste any time. Hinata was kind of impressed at his ability to skip all the small talk.

“Sure,” he replied. “Why?”

“It’s just amazing to me! How we just…became friends again after not even seeing one another for so long.” The white-haired laughed lightly. “I feel very connected with you.”

Hinata suddenly felt awkward. Why? “Yeah, me too. It’s nice to have a friend like you again,” he said. “Not that I don’t appreciate my other friends. It’s just different, I guess.”

“Mhmm.” Komaeda nodded slowly, staring at him. Hinata glanced around the room, trying to avoid his gaze. “I’ll understand if you don’t share my feelings,” he went on. “But I just feel like I need to tell you that I don’t believe I’ve felt the way I do when I’m with you since Izuru was alive. But – I really don’t deserve you, do I?” Ah. Izuru was his boyfriend’s name. The gears in Hinata’s head turned as Komaeda broke his stare and leaned back on the couch. “No…you’re much too good for me. He was, too. That was foolish of me to say, huh? Just forget i–”

“Are you saying that you, like, want to date me?” It was Hinata’s turn to stare.

“Nevermi–”

“Komaeda.” They were staring at each other, at that point. Hinata chose to notice, as well, just how close they were sitting to each other. “Would you just answer something clearly? It’s like you speak in riddles sometimes…”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “I just spoke on an instinct,” he insisted. “I didn’t really mean it…”

Hinata could just tell he was lying. He was quite poor at it, really. He remembered, in college, he’d believed many of Komaeda’s lies without a second thought. He was so dense back then, it was kind of pathetic. The brunette sighed aloud, closing his eyes for only a moment. When he opened them again, Komaeda had his hands folded in his lap and was gazing to the right. He clearly did not know where to go with this. Hinata took a minute to organize his own thoughts. He thought about how he felt lighter every time Komaeda smiled; how his heart clenched when the other laughed; how he felt incredibly amused when noticing the things he unconsciously did (like talk with his hands, or furrow his eyebrows when invested in a conversation, or take Hinata by the hand to lead him somewhere, and then apologize once he noticed they were holding hands, or–lots of other things); how he just felt…elated, anytime he was with him.

They were just friends, though, right?

…Apparently not.

————————————-

Hinata said it “just happened.”

Well, it didn’t just happen; it happened and it was like, way too important to slap a “just” on it. It really began the second Komaeda had basically said “I haven’t felt like this since Izuru was alive.” It escalated, however, when Komaeda interrupted his internal struggle for the second time that night by saying “I should go,” and Hinata forgot any other nagging thought in his mind for that moment because the want to say “No, stay” trumped all of them. Maybe that was it.

All he really knew was that the white-haired was almost literally on top of him, seemingly trying to kiss him to death. Honestly, Hinata was loving it.

It started out slow, gentle, fairly tame: Hinata pulled him back down to the couch and pressed their lips together. They separated pretty quickly. Then they kissed again, when they both realized they liked it, and then they just kept coming back for more. Each one turned longer than the last, and then it turned feverish and Komaeda’s tongue was in his mouth and Hinata was pushing him down against the couch and then–

And then kissing like that made Chiaki pop into Hinata’s mind and he just kept on kissing him, because he reveled in the familiar feeling and he hadn’t had it in so long and if he shut his eyes tight enough it was like he was really kissing her.

It didn’t last long, though. Hinata quickly remembered who he was actually kissing and everything instantly felt terribly wrong and he was ashamed with himself. He pulled away abruptly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, I can’t, this is wrong.”

“Woah, hey,” Komaeda breathed out, gripping Hinata’s arms. Hinata pulled away, allowing the other to sit up. He couldn’t look at him. “What’s the matter? Is it me? I did something wrong, I’m so–”

“No, no, not you.” The other took another breath. “I’m sorry, I just–it felt like, it felt like I was kissing her, and I just, I don’t want to kiss you and think about her that’s just not right an–”

The white-haired cut him off. “It’s okay.” He laughed, as if it really was. Hinata shook his head. “No, really, it is. I–I can’t say I wasn’t thinking about Izuru, myself, because I mean…it felt like I was kissing him.”

Hinata looked at him. He was rubbing the back of his neck slightly, only half-sitting up. “Oh. Well, that’s fine, because I–”

“But you said it felt like you were kissing Chiaki, too, right?”

“Yes, but–”

“So it’s fine,” Komaeda said softly, sitting up fully and taking one of Hinata’s hands. Hinata stared at him. “Because we loved them, right? So that means that…the feeling, here, is the same, or at least similar – right?”

The brunette was quiet for a while. He was right, he supposed. Right? Yes. That didn’t make Hinata feel better, actually. It only made his head hurt.

“I just don’t want…I don’t want to think about her if I’m kissing someone else,” he practically whimpered. It was kind of pathetic. His throat felt tight. “It just doesn’t feel right, but I don’t want to forget her, I still love her–”

“You don’t have to stop loving her,” Komaeda said gently. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving Izuru. Just because they’re gone – that doesn’t mean they have to totally disappear.”

Hinata’s throat still felt tight; the feeling had, in fact, intensified. He looked away again. Then, he felt Komaeda’s hands on his face, wiping tears from his face. When had he started crying?

“Sorry,” Komaeda mumbled when Hinata glanced at him again, and quickly retracted his hands. “But, as I was saying, you don’t have to forget. And neither do I. I’m sure there are people in relationships that have lost lovers before and they still haven’t totally moved on, but…we can still go forward.” He paused, clearly thinking his words over. “I’m not forcing anything on you, though, I totally get it if that’s not what you’re looking for, or if you’re not ready for that, I could be useful for anything, th–”

“No, no, I’m not thinking any of that, please stop.” Hinata shook his head once again. “I’m just trying to process…my thoughts right now.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Listen, I…really like you, okay, I really do.” Komaeda seemed to deflate slightly at his words, like he already knew how the story would end. “It’s just hard for me to accept them because…I feel like I’m betraying her, I feel like–” he paused, sucking in a breath. “I feel like it’s too soon for me to be…in another relationship, because it hasn’t been long enough since she died, and I just…I don’t know, Komaeda, I don’t know.”

“Well, it’s only been six months since she passed, right? So…it’s understandable. I get it.” He nodded.

“I just–the thing is I think that I want to be with you, I just didn’t expect I feel this way again so soon after she passed it feels so, so wrong–”

“You aren’t betraying her by feeling, Hinata,” Komaeda insisted. “I promise you. It’s only natural. You don’t just stop feeling. There’s billions of people on Earth, you know.”

“I know,” Hinata practically grumbled. “I just–”

“She’s not angry with you. He’s not angry with me. Though, again…” He stood up from the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to pressure you or..anything like that. I just want you to know that.”

They just looked at each other for awhile. After maybe 30 seconds, Komaeda was clearly uncomfortable.

“Okay, well, I should go,” he said. “Sorry. About everything. I’m just–it’s to be expected of me, I’m sorry, I can’t imagine I let you down because I was too low to begin with for you to have any high expectation of me–” he was already beginning to walk away. “–but I guess I did let you down, I’m sorry–”

Komaeda kept talking, but Hinata didn’t really hear past that part. He’d pin anything on himself, wouldn’t he? The brunette stood up, reached out and grabbed the other by the arm. Komaeda was instantly quiet.

“I said I should leave, Hinata.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t want to leave, either. And also, seriously stop blaming yourself because I literally just told you what this was really about. None of it’s your fault, idiot.”

Komaeda laughed lightly. “…Okay,” he said after a moment. “If you say so, I suppose…”

“I just need to think about this, okay?” Hinata released his arm. “Give me a day?”

“Of course. However long you need. Don’t feel obligated,” Komaeda told him. “Please.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Hinata promised. He’d have everything figured out by then. Hopefully.

————————————-

Once Komaeda left, Hinata threw his jacket on and left, as well. He hopped into his car and drove straight to the graveyard. The graveyard where she was buried. He’d only visited it once before.

When he arrived, unease immediately washed over him. He already didn’t like it. There were countless tombstones of varying shapes, sizes, lengths; all smushed together, struggling to fit in the space inside the gates. Contained. Like there wasn’t enough room to fit all the bodies.

Surprisingly, Hinata found Chiaki’s grave fairly quick. She had a small tombstone, rounded at the top. It was very new, not a sign of wear on it or a chip to be seen. Hinata sat down in the grass in front of the stone.

“You’re too good-hearted to hate me for this. Right?” That was the first thing he said. “I’m so sorry.” The tears were already flowing. He let them. “I didn’t want this to happen, but I guess I can’t help it now. You always said that you–can’t control what you like, and you were right, I guess.” He took a breath. “I’m really sorry. It’s my fault, too, I can’t just blame him like that; I chose to keep seeing him. I could have stopped.” The brunette leaned his elbows in the grass, face in his hands. “I really like him. But I love you, too. Would you be angry if I decided to be with him?” He paused for a moment, as if expecting a response. Nothing came, as expected.

“…I’m so sorry, Chiaki. I’ll never stop loving you, never. Never, so long as I live. And I’ll never forget you, I absolutely won’t.” He took a shaky breath. “I promise. Never.” His hands were wet.

He talked to her for an hour more, at the least.

————————————-

He called Komaeda the next day. He just picked up his phone (when he was sitting in bed, of course) and dialed like it was nothing.

It was, somehow, liberating, despite how he had felt the day before. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest yet at the same time there was still guilt in the back of his mind. He guessed that’s just how it would have to be for awhile. He could live with that.

The phone rang four time before the other man picked up. Hinata held his breath through all four rings.

“Hello?” A groggy voice greeted him. Hinata glanced at the clock on his nightstand; 11:00 a.m.

“Hi. It’s me.” The brunette cleared his throat. “Did I wake you?”

“No. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.” He yawned into the receiver. Hinata suddenly felt guiltier. “Sorry. How are you today, Hinata-kun?”

“Good,” Hinata said slowly. “I’m good. Um, I was calling to tell you something.”

“Oh, yeah?” Komaeda barely sounded interested; this was very different from his usual attitude. He must have been extremely tired. “What is it?”

“I went to Chiaki’s grave last night.” Though he would usually cry upon just saying her name, he didn’t even feel an urge to do so.

Komaeda was quiet for a moment. “Really?” He finally replied. He seemed a bit more awake. “That’s good…and?”

“And I talked to her. A lot. And I thought a lot about a bunch of stuff.”

“Mhmm.”

“I talked to her about you.”

No response.

“I realized that she wouldn’t be angry with me. She was too amazing to ever be angry about something so dumb.” Hinata took a breath. “I’ll never forget her. And I’ll never be over her, I don’t think, but I really want to be with you,” he said, and continued without waiting for a response. “I think it’s okay. I want to–I don’t want to forget, and I don’t want to leave her behind, but I want to–I want to at least move on from–from this–”

“Really?” Komaeda cut him off. “You’re really okay with this? Another relationship? After her?”

“Yes,” Hinata said, and he was sure. “Are you okay with this?”

“Of-of course I am,” the man replied. “…You know, I think they would want us to look forward. ‘Be happy again.”

Hinata nodded, even though he knew Komaeda couldn’t see him. He was right. That’s just what Chiaki would want. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

There was a pause of silence between them, but it was comfortable.

“Hinata-kun?”

“You can drop the honorific, seriously.”

Komaeda laughed. “Okay, Hinata then.”

“Hm?”

“Do you still want to know what the numbers on my calendar mean?”

Hinata blinked. He’d forgotten all about that. “If you’re comfortable sharing.”

“I count,” he said. “I’ve been counting the days he’s been gone since he first died.”

The brunette was quiet for a moment. It made sense now.

“Yeah. So, we still have a long way to go. Both of us.” He laughed yet again, in that way of his. “But I think that…you’re good for me. And, as hard as it is for me to grasp, I think I might just be good for you, too.”

“Hey, Komaeda?”

“Yes?”

“Come over.”

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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the-record-columns · 7 years

Text

July 19, 2017: Columns

The sermon from my wife was entitled...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Often in this space, last week for example, I often revel in the really odd, eclectic, and unusual things that have either been brought in to me, I have found in my travels, I have purchased, or, shall we say with tongue in cheek, have otherwise acquired.

On Monday of this week I was recounting the stories that go with my chance encounter some years ago with one Joseph Thomas Redding, III, from Long Beach, California. Joseph was the grandson of legendary businessman, civic leader, entrepreneur, inventor, and the de facto mayor of the Cairo Community, the late J. T. "Big Tom" Redding. I met Joseph when he was in town to settle the estate of his father, J. T. Redding, Jr.

Over a period of weeks, I was able to acquire some very special items of local history, including some black history items. These include two cement block-making machines which the senior Mr. Redding invented (and the patent model that went with them), all the way to two 9 foot arched doors from the old Damascus Baptist Church-and a plethora of treasures in between.

There were some really cool old locks in the in-between stuff, and, while locks had never been a focus of my collecting, Kay and Brenda Ball had given me a some locks from the old Thrift Supermarket some time ago. But these at the Redding estate caught my eye and went along well with the other stuff I was loading up. I took what looked like the better one to Harvey Barlow, local locksmith at Wilkes Lock Service on 10th Street here in North Wilkesboro.

Harvey is not too easy to impress, but his eyebrows did arch up a few times as he looked over my Redding locks, especially an unusual Yale lock, and pronounced the lot of them as "...well worth saving." With that endorsement I proudly placed the locks, along with some Ford wrenches from the same find, on a window frame just outside my office door at The Record. If I can see them often, I will be be reminded to show then to Sonny Church and crow about beating him to the sale.

So now I am excited about locks, and one evening I happened to be in a place where I really had no business being-at a minimum it was a judgment call-but curiousity won out over judgment. I went inside the building; it was dark, rainy, and leaking and all I had with me was a small flashlight and a flat head screwdriver. As I stumbled around in the dark and dampness, I spied a lock hanging on a door frame.

My new found interest in locks trumped ( or is that Trumped?) the fact that it was cold and I needed to go top the bathroom. Upon looking closer, I could see the lock was attached to a hasp that had Phillips head screws. Armed only with a flat head screwdriver, I resolved to dig those screws out if necessary, all the while holding the flashlight between my teeth which was making me drool like a baby. After what seemed like forever, I had the lock in hand and managed to get out of the building without breaking a leg so I could find a bathroom.

I went straight to the office and began to clean up my treasure-WD-40, Gunk Remover, and fine steel wool soon cleared away years of dirt, soot, and grime off the lock. I grabbed my trusty "Carl W's," the jewelers glasses I have which I named after the wonderful jeweler who worked across the street for so many years, Carl W. Steele. With my Carl W's on, the hair on my fingers looks like a tree limb, so I squinted down to see if I had found a Yale, Slaymaker, Master, Hurd or Corbin lock. I found numbers but no name. After more cleaning, I realized that there was a name on the bottom left, but it was so small and full of dirt I still could not read it, Undaunted, I continued cleaning and spraying till the name could be finally read with magnification. I adjusted my Carl W's once again, peered through the three layers of glass at the lettering. I cannot tell you the emotion I felt as I read, stamped clearly on the bottom of my new lock--"Taiwan." When I looked again, it still read, Taiwan.

I was crushed.

All that work, basically breaking and entering, enduring the cold, rain, and leaks; enduring personal discomfort to the point of uric poisoning, and all for basically nothing.

And to top it all off, the only help I got from my wife was a sanctimonious sermon entitled, "You shouldn't have been there to start with."

Decisions

By LAURA WELBORN

Have you ever acted on something that seemed like a good idea at the moment and then turned out to be a disaster? I sometimes forget how much everyday decisions can affect our lifes with great consequences both good and bad. While an immediate need is satisfied, in the long run the decision lasts a long time. The story of Jacob and Esau (the twins of Isaac and Rebekah) Genesis 25:19-34 where Esau gives up his birth right for food to Jacob, thinking he was going to die anyway. While this is a dramatic story, it does illustrate how decisions that are made quickly without care thought about how it affects not only ourselves but others as well.

The Torah guideline is that" every one of us is responsible for the well-being of our neighbors. What is right is right and wrong is wrong.". How we treat others is a direct reflection on ourselves. So we must put faith in action with a lantern to our feet and a light to our path so that with power and determination we can accomplish our goals without harming others.

So how do we keep from making quick decisions? This goes back to mindfulness. The

It's about being silent, and witnessing the thoughts passing through you. Just witnessing at first, not interfering and not even judging, because by judging too rapidly you have lost the pure witness. The moment you rush to say, "this is good" or "this is bad," you have already grabbed ahold of the chaos.

It takes a little time to create a gap between the witnessing of thoughts and your reaction to them. Once the gap is there, though, you realize - that you are not the thoughts themselves, nor the chaos influencing them. You are the witness, a watcher, who's capable of letting go, changing your mind, and rising above the turmoil.

And this process of thought-watching is the very alchemy of true mindfulness. Because as you become more and more deeply rooted in witnessing, the confusing, chaotic thoughts start disappearing and you can make decisions that are thoughtful, and do not lead to harm to yourself or others.

Continue to move through each day consciously. Make an effort to notice at least one insignificant little frustration that you would normally get frustrated about. Then do yourself a favor and simply let it go. Experience, in this little way, the freedom of being in control of the way you feel. And realize that you can extend this same level of control to every situation you encounter in life.

Ice cream, sunsets, and green pigs in the dog days of summer...

BY HEATHER DEAN REPORTER/PHOTOJOURNALIST

This column will not make much sense unless you are like me, and weird and random facts swirl through your brain at warp speed 24/7.

I'm absolutely addicted to the "this day in history" and the "this is National (insert bizarre shenanigan here) day. In fact my 2016 office wall calendar had an assignment for everyday every day. I went with a simple calendar this year because it proved entirely too distracting, as my publisher , Ken Welborn, did not feel as strongly as I did every week about the public-at-large needing to know it was National rutabaga day and the story behind it.

But I digress.... This week Ken and I were fortunate enough to find out that this is National hire a Veteran month. He asked me to work up a little ditty about it on page 7B and I did, and we talked about all the awesome guys we know and love at the local VFW Post 1142.

But not before he and my editor Jerry, spent the next 20 minutes finding out what every day in July was, rather (Allow me to share those most notable in my opinion:) the 8th is “bald is in”, the 10th “don't step on a bee day”, the 13th is “embrace your geekiness day”, the 14th is “Robin Hood day”, the 15th is “National gummy worm day” (which is every day for me as its my my favorite candy ever) the 16th is “national snake day”, (bet my daughter makes a party hat for her pet snake) and the 17th is “yellow pig day”. Now, we don’t have any yellow pigs, here in Wilkes that I know of, but Ken says we did have a Green Pig restaurant..)

For those of you who like Ice cream, (I’m the odd duck who doesn’t...) July is National ice cream month. It’s also Park and Recreation month, blueberry month, watermelon month (sorry, Justin...) sandwich generation month, (whatever that means, but I love a good sandwich)....

Well you get the idea. Very little work was done Monday morning cause Heather got distracted by the fun fact tunnel, but we all shared a giggle at some of the absurdities.

I guess that’s enough of that for one day. (By the way, today is National Hot Dog and raspberry cake day.)

So, enjoy talking your house plant for a walk (July 27) in the dog days of summer (July 3 - August 11) and remember you deserve a massage (July 16-22).

The Hounds of Summer

By Carl White

Warm summer days in the South are not uncommon and the Dog Days of Summer take things to another level. For the most part, we don’t mind sweat because we know it’s good for us. Sweat is an equalizer for all people…somewhat that is.

I recall a conversation with Jenny Biddle in Conway SC. We were talking about the hot weather and the sweat of summer. She reminded me that horses sweat, men perspire and women glisten. This expression seems to have originated from the Victorian era. I listened as she explained and later I did a bit of research because I know that sometimes etiquette suggest we say things in a politer way, and often, there is good reason.

As it turns out men do in fact sweat or perspire more than women do, by as much as 4-5 times. It is also of interest that horses do have a few things in common with humans and two of those common traits are armpits and sweat. I realize that the horse has legs and not arms, non-the-less the correct expression is armpit and not legpit.

As it relates to sweating or perspiring for men. If you look back in time we will see that the many cultures used the expression that men perspire and animals sweat. But time has progressed and for good or not humans are often classified as sweating. I even asked three of the ladies at the office if they sweat and each answered yes. One even said that her husband glistened far more than she.

So, what’s all this got to do with summer heat, well just about as much as dogs have to do with the Dog Days of Summer. It’s easy to ponder the lazy days of summer with our dogs stretched out and not eager to do anything that requires a lot of energy or at least not for an extended period. We humans can find ourselves feeling a bit the same. It’s just too hot to do much, the heat seems to take away our energy. We spend much of our energy trying to find ways to cool off.

We have established annual traditions that take us high in the mountain for shade and cooler weather or off to the coast we go to play in the waters and then lay in the sun and crisp our skins, which does in fact make us feel cooler when the burn stops.

The Dog Days of Summer are normally the hottest days of the year and last between early July and mid-August. It all goes back to the Greek, Roman and Egyptian ideas and mythology. The star Sirius which is represented by the dog apparently rises with the sun during this time of the year.

It was thought that when joined with the sun, Sirius A which is the brightest of the stars, and with its smaller counterpart Sirius B creates our hottest, haziest and yes laziest days of the year.

When you consider the geography of Rome, Greece and Egypt compared to the Carolinas, it’s hard to tell if the idea is valid, however it is hard to dismiss the heat of our summer days.

And how can we deny the sweating horses, the perspiring men and the glistening women all surrounded by our beloved lazy hounds of summer.

Please remember to apply sunscreen.

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturdays at 12:00 noon. For more on the show visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com, You can email Carl White at [email protected].

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