#been on a big sardine kick recently??
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Hi sorry I kind of abandoned this blog I started university and have been very busy but I'm still making fish!! Here's some :)
#been on a big sardine kick recently??#no idea why but fuck it we ball!#sardine#sockeye salmon#etching print#printmaking#ballpoint pen doodle#loon#chickadee
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Love on the Line - Part 6
A/N: It’s finally here!!!
MASTERLIST P1 P2 P3 P4 P5
Henry Cavill x Reader
If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: heartache, language, angst, a pinch of lovey dovey fluff, cliffhanger
*****************************
“Ohhh myy god…it’s official. This is the best burger of my life, hands down.”
What could easily be perceived as orgasmic music delightfully made its way to his ears. Seb chuckled studying the beautiful girl across from him admiring her combination of burger grease, ketchup, and mustard staining her chin. Y/N was too lost in the delicious meal to notice Seb gleefully watching her. In an instant his hand wiped away the condiment catching Y/N by surprise. She smiled bashfully blushing.
“Told you I knew a place.”
She sighed genuinely happy in them moment; “I could die a happy girl tomorrow because of this sweet, juicy perfection of a burger. All thanks to you.”
“What can I say? I have good taste.”
“And how did you run across this wonderous joint? Kinda feels off the beaten path.”
“Well, when you fly as much as me you learn to ask around. I never trust the internet when it comes to what I put in my body. I like to know what and where the locals scavenge for a tasty meal.”
“You continue to surprise me …I admire your style, Seb. Original, classy, and you no doubt just about charm the pants off any person who walks your way.”
“Is it working now?” He flashed his most flirtatious smile devouring another sweet potato fry.
Quick on her feet, she shot back with wit and attitude; “Should it be?”
“I gotta say Y/N, I’ve never been happier to wake someone up on a plane until I met you.”
“Damn, you’re suave, Seb. Fucking suave.”
Her eyes bulged from their sockets at her crude choice of words; “Shit, I’m sorry. Ah, fuck.”
His laugh flew through the air like wind on a crisp fall evening; her cheeks flushed.
“I’m not usually such a sailor. Guess you bring out the best in me.”
“I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I kinda like that I fluster you if I’m being honest.”
“So smooth. Are you sure you’re not from LA? I get the sense that’s a requirement in these parts?”
He shook his head in stark disagreement; “Nope, sorry to disappoint you. Just a common foreigner.”
“And a handsome one at that.”
Shocked at her boldness, Y/N stared down at the remnants of food moving her fries as a distraction from his adorable gaze.
“I haven’t felt this at ease in …well I can’t remember. It’s nice.”
“Couldn’t agree more. I never actually asked what brings you here?”
Seb nervously scratched the back of his head; “Uh, work. Like I said, I travel pretty frequently. Hollywood is a hub of sorts for me. What brings you here?”
“Okay, okay, I’ll take the hint and pry later. Well, I’m a writer and some big exec wants to discuss the rights to my book series. So, yeah.”
“Y/N, that’s amazing! Are you secretly a super hero, part of the Avengers maybe?”
“Hahah, flattery will certainly get you far. No doubts there.”
“You’re too kind, Y/N. I’m definitely far from perfect.”
“Good. Perfection is overrated. Flaws are attractively imperfect. I mean at the end of the day we’re only human.”
“Consider me intrigued. I’ve gotta stop by a bookstore and check you out now!”
“Oh, hush! If you must know, I try to keep a low profile. So, uh, how long are you here for?”
“A couple days. I’ve got a bit of free time after my meeting tomorrow and thinking of hitting some trails while I’m here. Don’t get me wrong, LA is cool and all, but kinda suffocating. I try and maintain my distance if possible.”
“Oh, you’re preaching to the choir. The hustle and bustle of London is the literal definition of overwhelming. Countryside getaways were my one true savior. Sometimes London feels like an overpacked sardine can just waiting to explode.”
“So why did you stay?”
Y/N bit her lip trying to keep quiet. She hadn’t once though of Henry since meeting Seb. The lump in her throat appeared by just the mere mention of her subconscious. A part of her wasn’t ready to reveal the ache left beneath her exterior.
“Friends and family. What else ties a person to one place?”
“Love? A relationship?”
His coyness was flattering. She gave into his curiosity.
“Are you asking if I’m single?” Her feigned expression was enough to send him into a fit of harmonious laughter.
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends on your answer, I guess. Part of me believes you’re too good to be true which usually means taken.”
“HA, no. Relationships and I are not on speaking terms at the moment.”
“Ah, sounds like heartbreak hotel is just around the corner….”
“I recently got out of a long-term relationship. So, to answer your question; Yes, I’m single and so not ready to mingle.”
“Are you assuming I’m hitting on you?” His shocked appearance made her question their entire encounter and if she’d been reading the signs wrong all along.
“Well, good thing I’m only here for the coffee and platonic company, hm?”
Seb raised his mug in salute as her stress magically melted away; “Break-ups suck. But allow for a real opportunity to see who you really are. Pain can be a bitter reminder of sadness and strength.”
“Wow, philosophizing so soon into our newly found friendship? A man after my own heart!”
Y/N playfully placed her hand over her heart, smiling for particular reason.
“How about if you’re interested and only 100% positive you aren’t sick of my company; we do dinner or even drinks? Whichever the lady chooses.”
Seb motioned in jest. Y/N tried to remember the last time she’d felt so carefree unable to pin down an exact memory. For far to long Y/N trapped herself in a fog allowing Henry to rule over her even when he wasn’t physically there. It had to stop, she had to quit placing him on a pedestal if she had any luck of moving on from their failed love affair. One torturous long minute passed as Seb’s nerved ramped up.
“Shit, I’m that weird dude, now. Forget I asked and let’s chalk it up to an amazing afternoon as strangers who leave this diner and head back to our own separate lives without consequence?”
Again, Y/N was speechless contemplating what she truly wanted to do next.
“First things first, stop blubbering, you seriously are ungodly handsome. And on second note, our chance meeting was unexpected but kinda sorta awesome. I’d love to see you again. I can’t recall the last time I’ve felt so free…and don’t even get me started on the belly aches due to your comedic skills.”
“Damn, a woman that speaks her mind. Are you sure you’re not in politics?”
“Nope, never, no thank you. Sooo, it’s a date?”
Seb furrowed his eyebrow in pleasant surprise; “You said it, not me.”
Y/N rolled her eyes; “Yeah, yeah. What do the kids say nowadays…. YOLO?”
“Yes, and please never say that again.”
A napkin holder was placed strategically resting against the window sill. Seb signaled to their middle-aged waitress; “Pardon me, do you have a pen handy?”
“Course, darling. Anything for ya.” She winked dropping the pen on the edge of the checkered table leaving them to privacy. He scribbled his number on the grainy piece of paper and slid it her way.
“I’ll leave the ball in your court and pass the privilege of reaching out to confirm details.”
“Wow, and they say chivalry is dead? Obviously not in Romania.”
“What fine establishment do they have you shacking up in?”
“Chateau Marmont. Long story short, my publisher fully embraces and understands my introverted nature and love of historical hotels. Call me an oddball.”
“Oddball.”
They snickered like school children slowly understanding their time was coming to a close. A power, a force of sorts gravitated Y/N towards him. He felt the same way.
“I happen to think women who especially history buffs are so incredibly magnificent. I haven’t met many as beautiful as you.
Their flirtation skyrocketed like flicks of fire firing between them.
“Knowledge is like your super power…. also, intelligent women are a complete turn on.”
She swatted his arm smiling like a kid in a candy shop.
“Come on, let’s get outta here. I’ll drop you off.”
He offered his hand helping Y/N to her feet. She lingered a second too long. With Seb a couple steps behind her, she missed the clinch of his fists and Seb’s reddened cheeks.
---The Next Day---
No luxury was forgotten as Y/N observed her decadent hotel room, but no matter how comfortable the memory foam or high thread count sheets, Y/N tossed restlessly the whole night. Her anxieties attacking her mind at every possible angle. Worry engulfed her clutching on her own insecurities. Her fear?
That she’d walk into David Fincher’s office and leave very humiliated and very far from home. Henry’s ghost loitered just out of reach. A ghost can be many a thing; a memory, a daydream, a secret, but most times, a wish. Old or new. But that was the past, memories she must let go of.
Y/N stared at the ceiling wishing her bed to open up and swallow her whole finally dozing off to her temporary dreamland. But sunlight painted the walls like a colorful painting. She stretched and moaned at the sensations of her waking bones.
Making her way to the bathroom, Y/N’s phone chimed forcing her to circle back towards the obnoxious device.
Seb: Buna dimineata prietene! (Good Morning, friend)
Y/N: Romanian? So early in the morning. How dare you sir?
Blinking dots ran across the screen as Y/N waited impatiently for his witty response.
Seb: Never too early for greatness. As they say in the theater, break a leg! But not an actual leg because I might be looking forward to our date. Okay, good luck with the meeting!
Y/N: Thanks for the good juju. Same to you! Call you later.
She unconsciously rubbed at the tender swell in her chest, the fluttering in her belly kicking wildly. Butterflies. It’d been ages since she’d been this excited and it surprised Y/N. Maybe she was ready for something more…Y/N shook her head ridding herself of such silly thoughts. She knew better than to rush full steam ahead.
---Later that day---
The fourteenth floor was decorated to architectural perfection. Every space had its purpose and the décor elegantly stylish. There she stood in the presence of cinematic greatness! As Y/N was about to pinch herself, she heard an echo of a name. Looking up, she searched for the unknown voice before landing on an enthusiastic figure waving her direction.
“Y/N! So nice to finally see you in person. I’m Meg.”
“Meg, so glad to put a face to a name. Thank you for having me.”
Both women walked down a hallway lined of glass walls smiling at those who looked up.
“David has talked nonstop about your series. So much so that I ended up devouring your books in three days. You’re freaking brilliant!”
“You really think so? I worked my ass off to get it through any publishing house. I was on the verge of chucking my ideas in the trash and getting an actual job that paid real money if it wasn’t for a last-ditch effort.”
“I’ve blocked off a thirty-minute window before his next meeting begins. He’s booked back-to-back today but by no means feel rushed. He hates when I push him. Don’t tell him I said that.”
Her head bobbed nonchalantly taking notice of the stunning scenery from the 17th level.
“Alright, here goes nothing.”
“Best of luck, Y/N.”
Meg knocked; “Come in!”
“David, this is Y/N.”
“Thanks, Meg. Close the door behind ya, we’ve got loads to discuss.”
David extended his hand towards Y/N’s shaking firmly. Y/N reminded herself to breath and to quickly find her manners.
She stuttered trying to remember common speech causing David to laugh aloud.
“Ms. Y/N, you okay?”
“Yyess—just a tad shell shocked. I mean, I can’t believe I’m standing in a room with the David Fincher. Unbelievable, really. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
“I should be the one thanking you. You wrote one hell of a series that I trust can be transferred stunningly over to the silver screen where it can be fully appreciated. I’ve never seen someone mold together so many genres with such ease yet adding a layer of complexity. You, young lady, kept me guessing every twist and turn. That doesn’t happen too often if you catch my drift.”
“I-I, it’s just nice all those late-night writing sessions and waiting tables paid off. I’ll have you know I was on the verge of giving it all up and going back to school.”
“So, let’s get down to details. My team and I have come up with an offer that is totally open for negotiations.”
David slid a piece of paper into view. Y/N stared at the parchment gob smacked. Her jaw fell open at the written proposal.
“Holy shit.” Her eyes snapped up at her vulgar language; “Shit! I don’t mean to be impolite.”
“Ha, it’s a bit flabbergasting upon first glance but I promise you I want to do everything in my power to make this work for both parties.”
“Am I…am I reading this correctly?”
“Indeed, $10 million for the first two films, advancing to an additional $13, $15, $17 million for the last three. Of course, aiding us in the writer’s room to make sure we bring your story to live through your eyes. This will undoubtfully increase book sales across the board, I’d say upwards of $60 million if all goes accordingly. Also, I didn’t forget about making you an executive producer.”
“You’re kidding me, riight? Am I dreaming?”
“You’re gonna be a big deal once the tabloids get their sticky fingers on this. I mean this is going to skyrocket you to the likes of Stephenie Meyer and Suzanne Collins status. I mean, I had to outbid Peter Jackson just for a chance at directing this masterpiece. Darling, you’re all Hollywood can talk about right now.”
“Wow, I’m, uh, seriously grateful. I guess I’ve been shacking up in London far too long. I don’t really read celeb gossip so needless to say I’ve been in my own bubble.”
“A huge thank you goes out to Henry Cavill for pitching the initial idea. He helped get the recognition you deserve. Nice fellow, that one.”
Momentary shock came over her face, mouth still agape; “He—Henry had a hand in this?”
“Most certainly. He was the one who brought it to my attention. Of course, he mentioned the desire to work with me was motivation enough, but genuinely, he seemed passionate about the project.”
“I-I had no idea.” Switching gears as fast as possible Y/N trotted forth; “So realistically, when can we get the ball rolling?”
“Once the proper documents are signed and stamped, we’re good to go. If negotiations aren’t necessary, I’d say within the next month or so we can start casting calls, booking air fare, figuring out destination shoots, getting a manuscript going. It comes together faster than people think. How about this; you mull it over, call whoever you need, and get back at me in the next couple of days. Sound good?”
“Sounds more than good! I think I’ll be forever be in your debt, Mr. Fincher.”
“Please, call me David. We have a long road ahead of us that has truly stoked a fire in me, all thanks to you.”
Her nerves triumphed pushing Henry to the back of her mind. Y/N had bigger fish to fry.
“May I be frank with you, David?”
“By all means.”
“As you probably know Henry’s my ex-fiancée. Is it true you’re possibly considering him for the lead role?”
David looked around quizzically composing himself.
“I figured we’d have to address the elephant in the office. Yes, I was aware and I didn’t consider him to be malicious. He’s a genius actor and I figured it was worth a chat. But if you’re worried about anything, just say the word.”
“No, no. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize his successes. I agree, he’s an untapped actor full of surprising talent. I’ll be okay.”
“You promise?”
“Yep.”
“Great! Rest assured he isn’t even in the country. Believe he’s still galivanting about London.”
Silently pleading to change the subject, Y/N snapped out of it as quickly as she flew in to.
“This is a dream come true. I’m really looking forward to working with you and bringing my story to life.”
The squeaky hinge of the door alerted her to Meg’s foreboding presence. Taking a cue, Y/N stood up shaking David’s hand beaming like a child on Christmas Eve.
“I’ll be in touch, Y/N. Until then, enjoy your stay. Venture out. You’ll find LA isn’t all plastic and bullshit.”
“Oh, thank god. For a second I was getting nervous.”
“Haha! Meg, next appointment here?”
“Yes, he’s right around the cor--.”
“Y/N?”
She searched for the familiar voice unable to pin it down.
“Seb!? Wha...what are you doing here? I thought you had that big meeting today?”
“Uh, I do. That’s why I’m here.”
Sebastian nervously scratched his neck. Bewildered and thoroughly confused Y/N pushed on; “Wait a minute…. Are you an ...?”
“Actor, yes.”
“Whoa, whoa whoa. Wait.”
“Holy shit. You’re Shirley Lovecraft. Catchy pseudo name. So, you’re the brains behind this witty madness. What an interesting turn of events if I do say so myself, a happy one.”
“Agreed. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. Kinda embarrassing.”
“Don’t. A perfect afternoon with someone who wasn’t using me for fame or money? Did I mention you look breathtaking today?”
Her cheeks fumed with heat stirring her butterflies back to life. Seb’s hand stilled on her waist unwilling to let go as they continued gazing at the other.
“Earth to Seb?
Seb broke eye contact first glancing over at David. Y/N was too busy memorizing the glimmer of his cobalt blue eyes.
“Yes, ah! So rude of me. Hello there, so great of you to squeeze me in. I appreciate it.”
He directed his attention towards Y/N once more leaning close to the shell of her ear; “Still on for drinks later?”
“Definitely.”
His wink sparked a jolt to her core leaving her weak in the knees. Somehow, some way, Y/N mustered enough confidence to walk without tripping. She glowed the whole walk to the elevator. Y/N pressed the button too lost in thought to hear the quiet ding of arrival strolling straight into a hard chest. Enormous hands grasped her shoulders; “Oh! Apologies Ms.”
“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying atten—oh shit.”
Only one particularly charming British accent that could send a chill down her spine, one very distinguishable voice indeed.
“Y/N?”
Time froze icily still.
“What the fuck? Henry??”
~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira @cap-barnes @henryfanfics101 @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos @justaboringadult @peakygroupie @nalathefirefly @vikingsbifrost @bloodyinspiredfuck @moderapoppins @cooldiva1234 @icedcoffeeismythang @titty-teetee @summersong69 @kaatelyyynn @missursulacalmet @michelehansel @iloveyouyen @shyshu @star017 @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83 @starrynite7114 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @i-love-scott-mccall @darkbooksarwin @ellieseymour70 @designerwriterchic @studywithrosie01 @dangerouslovefanfic @lebguardians @crazybutconfidentaf @hen-cavill @cavill-sass @oh-for-fic-sake @icedbottles @buckysgoldenheart @brexrif @gryffindorwriter @laketaj24 @foxyjwls007 @lawsofthejungle @henrycavillfanpage @kaboogie21 @fangirl199812 @gothicninibalor @qualitynightkoala @strictlybuckybarnes @toomanyfandomsshreya @hersilencescreams-blog @viking-raider @sesamepancakes @madbaddic7ed @fuckoffbard @funfickgirl22 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @hoeforhenry @henrycavills-babe @abschaffer2 @loving-this @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs @lovelycavills @beck07990 @bokillylovesloki @michelehansel
#henry cavill#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x y/n#henry x y/n#henry cavill fic#henry cavill fanfic#my writing#henry cavill fluff#love on the line#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill oneshot#fanfic
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we’re going down [leah rilke]
bring us through: leah rilke book
chapter 2: we’re going down
*not my gif*
The private jet was fancier than any plane I’ve ever been on. Seats where your feet weren’t cramped like a bunch of sardines in a sardine can. A smell that doesn’t smell like someone just ate the whole Taco Bell menu before they came on.
It was clean and polished. No spot had a stain, like it was brand new. Perfect as one would say.
Here’s the thing about perfection though: everyone has their own version of perfect.
Here’s the thing about me: I didn’t know that until much more recently.
There were many trials and tribulations with my family, especially when it came to perfection...or well perfection in my dad’s eyes. But somehow, some way, we always came out stronger. There was one time where my mom didn’t get the job we needed to really help our financial situation, and my dad got so angry that she wasn’t perfect that she had to go live with my aunt for a couple months. But when she came back with a new better job, my dad celebrated her. We went to a fancy restaurant in the city and ate the most expensive food on the menu. Then my older sister didn’t marry the guy my dad wanted her to and he disowned her for a few months. Until she came back with more money and a grandkid for our parents. He threw the baby a huge baptism party, spending loads of money buying them a house and the necessities for a baby.
My mom not getting a job? Fixed with a big celebration dinner. My sister not marrying the man my dad wants? Fixed with a huge baptism party and buying them a house.
I’m valedictorian, on the verge of going to the most prestigious school in Texas on a full ride: Rice University. And then right when everything in life seemed to be perfect, I messed everything up. There was no way coming back up from this one.
I was just sitting at the kitchen table during dinner. Eating mom’s classic country fried steak and mashed potatoes with gravy. Occasionally, participating in awkward conversation about how good the food is. I felt like I slept-walked there, barely able to recall the argument before dinner, the yelling, the screaming. Remembering for the thousandth time in the past week, that she was gone.
I sat there awkwardly, waiting for the other foot to drop. That I was just going to get kicked to the curb like everyone else who didn’t follow what my dad has planned for their life. But as my younger brothers went upstairs for bed I recognized something on my dad’s face that I had never seen since they found out. His face dressed in a big smile, like he was just told he’s going to Disney World.
As if on beat, he leaned in closer to me from across the table. And I knew that things were about to go for a crash-landing. His unusual happiness at my disobedience was going to wreck havoc into my life.
He cleared his throat hesitantly as my mother joined us back on the table. His breath smelled like his usual bourbon, “So Raleigh,” he said, crossing his fingers together with my mom’s, “We have a fun surprise for you.”
As if on cue there was a knock on the door. My father gestured for me to go get the door. I opened it revealing Shelby and her parents. I stopped short in my place, both of us frozen with confusion written all over our faces. But her parents had an unfamiliar expression: genuine happiness?
I cleared my throat, trying to piece everything together, “Hi Mr and Mrs. Goodkind. It’s a pleasant surprise. My parents are at the kitchen table.”
I open the door wider for them as the two of them say their hello’s and walk inside, “What’s going on?” I ask Shelby and she shrugs.
“I have no idea,” she whispers back, “But it can’t be good.”
The two of us sat across from our parents, as they stared at us with grins on their faces. But it’s as if the grins had a double meaning to them, “We wanted to talk to the two of you about something. We know the two of you are as thick as thieves, I mean you never shut up about each other.” Mr. Goodkind laughs, trying to ease the awkward tension, but it misses by a longshot.
Me and Shelby laugh along awkwardly, as we look at each other with a side glance. They said fun surprise. Not we’re kicking you out onto the streets. But we knew, from the way that our mom’s wouldn’t look at us or from the way our father’s faces grew more and more stern by the second, that something was about to go down.
My dad fetched something from his office. Two envelopes with our name scrawled across it, with a pamphlet in his name. The pamphlet in big bold letters saying: Dawn of Eve.
“We want you to have this,” my dad says, “It’s a gift for the two of you.”
We slowly opened the envelopes revealing a plane ticket to Hawaii, along with an itinerary, “It’s a retreat,” my mom blurted, “A beautiful month trip to Hawaii with other girls around your age. You’ll love it. Find your true self. Growing.”
Mrs. Goodkind chimes in, “Aromatherapy messages, swimming with dolphins, workshops!”
“A chance for the two of you girls to discover who you’re really ought to be.” Mr. Goodkind says.
And at that point I knew. It wasn’t just any retreat, it was a retreat to get our shit together.
I closed the overhead container, like closing the container would shut out the memories too. Looking for a distraction, I opened up Instagram on my phone scrolling through various posts of people back home and celebrities flaunting off their life.
Everyone seemed to have taken their seats. The brunette with a book sat in the back away from everyone else, holding onto the book like her life depended on it. The ‘put on your seatbelt’ sign flashed above us, as a video began playing on the screen in front of us.
“Right now, hundreds of girls just like yourselves, board charters just like this one, are on route to our retreat in Kona, Hawaii.” the middle-aged lady said.
But I wasn’t quite focused on that, but rather the girl in the back all by herself. She was staring blankly at the seat in front of her, not paying attention to anyone in the plane or the video.
“The Dawn of Eve literally waits for no man.” the lady says, causing me to catch my attention.
I looked at my best friend who was captivated by the video. I give her a look and she just shrugs. The air on the plane was tense as we lifted off into the air. It seemed like nobody wanted to be here. So Shelby did what she did best.
“I’m gonna start an icebreaker to get to know everyone.” she states, starting to get up from out of her seat.
I pull her back down as fast as I could, “Shelb, really? We’re not on a mission.”
But she just pulled out of my grasp standing up. I let out a sigh, even though everyone would hate this idea, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t support her? “So, in the interest of bringing us all together I would like to propose a little ice breaker.”
I could literally feel everyone’s eye roll in the room. An asian girl with bangs stood up suggesting ‘Never Have I Ever’. But of course peppy Shelby shot down her suggestion. She was never one for those types of games. Especially with all of the secrets she keeps hidden inside.
“Alright I’m gonna start with an introduction and play matchmaker,” she says walking up and down the aisle.
I was trying to pay attention to Shelby, but for some reason I kept looking back at that beautiful brunette. Who did not seem to be interested in anything Shelby was saying. Her nose still knee-deep in that book of hers, curled onto her side, reading like it was life or death.
“And this is my best friend Raleigh Fuller,” my best friend says, snapping out of my trance. She looks at you with the look as she follows your gaze to the girl in the back, “We’re from Dillon, Texas.”
She grabs my hand, dragging me all the way towards the back, sitting next to the girl, “You two will be paired up together. Have fun you two.” she says to me with a wink before walking back down the aisle.
The brunette didn’t acknowledge me though, but rather kept reading her book. I cleared my throat, awkwardly, trying to gain her attention.
“The Nature Of Her? By Jeffrey Galanis.” I said, squinting at the book cover across from me.
That seemed to have caught her attention, “You’ve read it?”
“No. I actually never heard of it, but it seems like it’s interesting. If you’ve been having your nose stuffed in since I accidentally ran into you.” I say jokingly with a small smile.
The flight attendant came by with a cart full of chocolate cake. We both thank him softly, before indulging in the richness of the cake.
She didn’t respond after that all she did was stick her nose in her book again. But it seemed like she wasn’t even reading the pages. After three seconds she’s already flipping onto another page.
I cleared my throat, scratching the back of my neck. I mean what am I supposed to say? The girl clearly didn’t want to be bothered. It’s like the writing in those pages were magical. The old me would just sit back in the leather private jet chair, feeling sorry for myself about her completely ignoring me. Probably thinking something like: wow, I guess I’m really not cool. Or spit out a random fact since that’s all I know like: competitive art used to be in the Olympics.
But that past me was probably dug next to the old Taylor Swift’s grave. The lyric that goes: “I’m sorry the old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now...why? Cause she’s dead.” Yeah that’s how I’m feeling on the inside, so instead I say, “You know it’s kinda rude that we’re supposed to be having a conversation, but you’re completely ignoring me.”
She let out a laugh and took one glance up from the book. Finally being met with her bright blue eyes, “Does it look like I want to be bothered right now?”
“No, but it looks like you’re reading the same page over and over again. Like it’s the only thing that can keep your heart beating,” I said, “What’s so interesting about that book anyway?”
She studied me for a brief moment. Her eyes leave the pages of that book for more than five seconds.
Finally, she said, “Look, it’s one of my favorite books. But I don’t think there’s a rule against rereading your favorite book over and over again. That’s like me telling you that you can’t read Wuthering Heights over and over again.”
Now it was my turn to stare at the girl.
She was right. She may have been a closed off book, but so was I. I used to be one of those people who would kill to ask thousands of questions about what that book was about. Or why she loved it so much. I would love to join in and lead on Shelby’s icebreakers. But now? Sometimes, I don’t even want to talk to Shelby.
I wanted to apologize for my comments. These days, I can’t control my own emotions or what I want to say anymore.
I’m sorry, I imagined myself saying, I’m sorry that I was a complete pain in the butt. I didn’t mean to judge you and how invested you are in that book. My parents found out my deepest darkest secret. And instead of accepting me with open loving arms they decided to send me to a retreat. A retreat in which I’m pretty sure is a conversion therapy camp, but they don’t want to say that out loud. So they call it a fun surprise for me and my best friend. While the girl I fell in love with is just gone. I used to be this bright bubbly girl, but now I’m not. So, please forgive me for my behavior since you probably don’t want to be here either.
That’s a little TMI, don’t you think?
I open my mouth and start to utter those meaningless two words when my best friend came rushing past.
“Shelby? Where are you going?” I ask, surprised at how fast she was moving.
“I got chocolate cake in my teeth.” she mumbles, covering her face in her hand and I immediately got the message.
“Ah got it.”
Shelby rushed back into the bathroom and I turned to the brunette in front of me again. The closed-book of a girl, opening my mouth once more ready to mumble the two most overused words. But the plane started shaking, jolting us back and forth. The two of us look at each other, tilting our heads to the side.
“Hello everyone. We’re experiencing a little turbulence.” The plane continued to jolt and it seemed like more than just a little turbulence, “Actually a lot of turbulence!” the pilot yells.
The lights flashing on and off. The brunette just shoved her face back in the book. This could be our last moments on Earth and she’s still reading that book! I get up from out of my seat, banging on the bathroom door.
“Shelby! Open the door!” I yell.
My blonde best friend came bursting out and she fell onto her knees on the floor. Praying to the God she still whole-heartedly believed in. I fell down on the ground next to her, holding her in my arms as she prayed. I didn’t pray, but rather sat there thinking that this was the end.
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Sardines, or Professor Vargas is an Asshole
Another fic from someone who’s only half-read everything. Told in second person, starring a female Yuu.
Content warnings for coarse language, kidnapping, sexual harassment along the lines of Vargas being similar to Gaston, and being deeply, direly self indulgent.
As always, please let me know if you enjoyed it, I live and breathe for positive feedback.
You do not like Professor Vargas, and the feeling is mutual.
It wasn't like the almost amiable vitriol between you and Schonheit, which, while having its ups and downs, was usually at a level of shooting a few insults at each other in between whatever dorm prefect business had you talking to each other, and parting ways with a hair flip on his part and a rude hand guesture on yours. And hell, the other teachers seemed almost fond of you. Trein appreciated you passion for history, even if annoyed at your preference for layman-oriented literature, and would let you sound off about whatever strange bit of lore you'd recently found out, and even once down and listened very patiently as you tried to explain who Emperor Norton was before he said you needed to leave so he could mark papers. Crewel and you had reached an uneasy truce where he did not call you a puppy, and you did not start going "what happens when these go together" in potions class every time he called you that in protest. (You may be a bitch, but he certainly isn't allowed to imply it, even in the most roundabout of ways.)
But Vargas. Vargas hates your soft belly, your unwillingness to push yourself to the point of exhaustion, and most of all, he really, really hates that you're a girl that won't throw herself at his feet. You were trundling along at a swift walking pace on a broom, a mere few feet off the ground, when he stopped yelling at your classmates to pick on you instead.
"Too weak to do better than that?"
"I'm not magic. That I can do this at all is impressive." You're pointedly looking ahead, not looking at him jogging up beside you.
"You can go higher!"
"Professor," you say with barely contained irritation, "I am a beginner, and would much rather have the basics down before I attempt to turn myself into a fine paté from a hundred feet up."
He snorted. "Ashengrotto goes high; you can too."
"Azul's damn near in tears by the time he comes down because he didn't even have legs before a few years ago. He's not a good example."
Vargas, being a wretched asshole who should not be allowed to teach, instead tipped the end of your broom up. Only the broom shot into the air, you merely went ass-over-teakettle onto the grass, and stayed there because if you got up you would attempt to bite his nose clean off.
"Such poor balance! But I can fix that with some private lessons!" Oh, Christ. "You come by here after dark, I know all about teaching a girl how to ride -”
At that, you kicked him in the shin, and while he started back in pain, you shot up and started walking off the field, vibrating with the strength of your disgust.
"You can't hit a teacher! You'll regret this you stupid-" And you've picked up to a jog, because fuck if you were going to listen to that piece of shit try and pick up one of his own fucking students, what the actual fuck.
~*~*~*~
You relayed this whole mess across the supper table, afterwards, and your host was just as grossed out as you were.
"Keep an eye out next class," Azul said to you. "He holds a grudge."
"First hand knowledge?”
His silence was telling.
"You think I could get an exemption? Or like, permission to do a treadmill when everyone's out on a broom?"
"Who do you think you have to ask about all fitness-related things?" Azul had a faraway look that recalled war films. "It's not going to work.”
"What if I start skipping class?"
He gave you a look that could wither an evergreen. "Don't you dare, or he'll start picking on me again."
You shrugged. "Aight. I got three days to figure out what to do, then. You got any ideas?”
He folded his hands and rested his head upon them. "What would you pay?"
"No."
"Come on."
"What do I even have that you want?"
"I can think of a few things. The wave in your hair, or the gleam off your teeth."
"Because you need more curl to your hair."
"Someone might want to contract me for them."
"No. I got three days, Azul, we don't have to resort to your contracts.”
As it turned out, you did not have three days.
~*~*~*~
The next day's gym class was a motley bunch. Idia couldn't miss any more gym days this month, Lilia was doing his stretches, Floyd was... being Floyd, resulting in everyone who wasn't Rook giving him a wide berth, and Leona appeared to be skipping class and was therefore not present for the upcoming bullshit.
"Sorry I'm late!" Cater jogged in, cheery as sunshine though the clouds, and Idia rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't strain. "Laps today?"
"Vargas said we're doing Capture the Flag. Dunno how the teams'll go." Lilia was doing something complicated with his hands as he stretched his arms. "Kingscholar's absent, so they'll be uneven. And," he thumbed over at Rook, who was looking into the forest with the coiled intensity of a greyhound waiting for the rabbit to spring, "he's got an advantage, he knows the woods best."
"Yeah, but I've got unlimited data and a GPS." Cater patted his chest with a smile, the outline if his phone visibly through a pocket.
"Can't count on that for everything."
"Alright students!" yelled Vargas, strolling out of the woods with a bruise purpling one cheek. "Capture the Flag today. Use your brooms to navigate the forest, grab the flag, whoever brings it back gets the flag as a prize."
"It's in the forest, hanging from a pole in a clearing, you cannot miss it! All in white, too..." The professor brought up a little screen, showing off a live feed of his flag.
The flag, of course, was you, trussed up with rope and you legs hanging freely, still in last night's sleep shirt. Your voice came out, tinny from the speakers: "I did not consent to this, asshole."
The students were torn between looking at Vargas in shock, looking at the phone in shock, and muttering between themselves.
"Don't forget to have all the fun you want with the flag before you bring it back to me! When else will you get the chance?"
This just had everyone looking at each other with shifty-eyed suspicion.
"Every man for himself! Go get your prize!"
~*~*~*~
Vargas couldn't rig worth a damn. You're twenty feet in the air with just one rope suspending you, tied at the base with a simple knot. Everything hurt from chafing, you were cold, and you couldn't help but worry over what the hell was going to happen, depending on who found you. Vil still hadn't forgiven you for projecting a gorefest of a film across the walls of Pomefiore, so he might leave you to rot or use the situation to put a particularly vicious curse on you. Idia would probably drop dead of exhaustion after reaching you, leaving you both stuck. Floyd, well. As much as you enjoyed his company, it was like hand feeding a pet tiger; eventually he'll decide your hands tastes better, it's just a matter of when. You're running the numbers on most likely scenarios based on who shows up, when some twigs snap by the meadow's edge and you look towards a small "Hi."
Little ears! Little hands! Little all over, and looking up at you with curiousity as his tail swished. Chen'ya? No, no, other Ch- name. "Cheka! Hi, sweetie, honey, baby, can you get me down?" You'd already been here an hour and your hands were nothing but tingles.
"... Okay! Why're you up there?"
"Bad man," you say as he starts to tug at the rope. "You got it?"
He shook his head. "It's hard."
"Can you go get help, honey? Bring them back to get me down?"
He nodded. This was a big boy job, he could do it. "I'll get Uncle Leona."
Please don't, you thought to yourself, but instead said "Okay, please be quick, Cheka."
He started off towards the school, and you could have sworn he vanished before he actually hit the treeline.
~*~*~*~
He was only gone for a few minutes before you realized that you were starting to move. Turns out Cheka, despite being so small, had pulled enough at the rope before he left that the knot was unraveling.
"Oh shi-" is as far as you got before you're in freefall, and you yelped as you hit the ground feet first, wheezing. Fuck. You can barely move to survey the damage, because a certain asshole had put your hands behind your back, and every move made your ankles wail in pain. The only saving grace was that the ground was soft.
At least someone had landed by you, looking you up and down.
"... Hi, Yuu."
"... Hi, Lil."
Lilia pointed up. "You're supposed to be up there."
"Vargas was too busy trying to get upskirts to secure a fucking knot, apparently." You wince as he worked at the ropes. "My feet?"
"On the right way." You gritted your teeth and hissed as he prodded at them. "Both badly sprained, left worse than right. You're not walking out of here."
"Figured." You sat up and held your arms out. "Come on, old man, you're stronger than you look."
He was, but was too small to leverage you correctly.
"Can't you fly?"
"Yes," He said as he tried to balance you on the broom.
"Then carry me.”
"You want me to drop you?"
"Nope."
"Do we just wait for the others?"
As if on cue, you heard distant yelling and what was maybe an explosion.
"Yeah." Lil brightened, and snapped his fingers. "I saw a place, hold on."
Said place was either a nice treehouse or an okay deer blind, wide enough in the floor that you could lay flat out as he surveyed the damage. "This should be a good place."
"What the hell is going on out there?”
"Everyone's looking for you." Lil's settled crosslegged, with an amused smile. "Vargas said you're the prize, so everyone's trying to get here first. Isn't it good I found you? Who knows what they're planning."
You set your arm over your eyes and sighed. "Brave words from someone who's broken into my room more than once."
He shrugged. "You need looking after."
"De-organizing my things isn't looking after, you damned goblin."
He bristled. "I'm not a goblin."
"What is a goblin, Lilia."
"Small little fae who like to cause trouble."
"Exactly."
You couldn't see it, but you could feel the eye-roll.
~*~*~*~
It was five minutes at the most after that before Rook climbed in the door, looking so fresh-faced and joyful to see you it made you want to swat him. "Bonjour, my Trickster! You're living up to your name, hidden away!"
"Salut, Rook." You squinted at him. "You have first aid anything?"
"Hm," He said, prodding at your calf. "I have water, but these need wrapped."
"Give." Lilia took a sip of water before passing it to you. "The uniform denim won't tear easily-”
"Oh, we use this."
"Oh no you do not," You said as you tugged the hem of your sleep shirt from his hand. "No one here gets to see my underwear."
"I don't care about your panties, I care about this," he said as he brushed an ankle, making you jerk back. "It'll get worse if they aren't wrapped. There is fabric to spare.”
You huffed before you told him not to mention it to Vil, and between him and Lilia, you had two wrapped ankles and a dangerously short hemline. At least you'd actually put underwear on before Vargas decided to kidnap you, otherwise this would be a whole other level of distressing.
~*~*~*~
"You have a phone?"
Lilia pulled his from a hidden pocket. "You want to play Sweetie Scrunch?"
"No," You say as you take it from him and start flipping through his contacts. "I'm calling help."
It took him a whole three seconds before he realized who help was. "... Nope, nope, you're not getting Malleus involved, he will eat Vargas alive, we are not causing an international incident."
"Would you rather he find out after? And he knows how to heal." You'd already texted him a brief explanation one handed, the other keeping Lilia away.
"She is not wrong, monsieur... And it would be a delight to see him raise hell."
"See?" You gave Lilia a smile that would be very sweet if it wasn't full of the devil. "C'est bon."
~*~*~*~
Mal hurtled through the window so fast it was a miracle he didn't go clean through the far wall, before he was on top of you, fussing over his precious Child of Man.
"Mal, I am fine, please fix my -"
"Dreadful, simply dreadful." He was already working a prickly green light around your bruises. "And he did that, too?" he growled as he guestured to your ragged hemline."
"No, we did that to wrap my ankles. As much as I'd love to see it, we do not need to turn Vargas into - Mal. Mal. Put your clothing back-" He'd already managed to wrap you up in his green-trimmed uniform coat. "You don't have to do that."
"Yes I do." He already had you cradled in his lap, both arms around you in a vice grip. "You won't heal immediately, I must keep you safe until then.”
Lilia raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. You were about to ask, before a dreadful wheezing started up from outside, and familiar pale hands had the bottom of the doorframe in a vice grip. "Help."
"Shit, Idia! Get him in here before he falls!"
~*~*~*~
Idia looked downright grey in your arms as you tried to get him to drink some water. For someone who had the physical fortitude of an overboiled noodle, he'd pushed himself to his limits looking for you, and then some.
"You're okay? Full health?" Idia sounded horribly raspy, and you fussed over his scrapes as you picked half-charred twigs from his hair. He was too tired to protest you holding onto him in much the same manner Malleus was holding onto you.
"Bout three-quarters. Fifty before Mal got here." Idia's eyes flicked to just behind your left ear before he shrank back.
You turned your head around, and Mal gave you his sweetest you're-my-best-friend smile. You looked back at Idia, who was attempting to shrink into something microscopic, and then back at Mal.
"Play nice. He's my friend too."
Mal turned his face as innocent as he could muster. "Whatever do you mean, my friend?"
"You know what I mean."
"I do not." He wasn't looking at your face anymore.
"Yes you do. And he's you're friend too-"
Idia raised one hand tentatively. "We only play Dragon-Kun with each other."
You guestured down at Idia, still looking at Mal, looking anywhere but you. "You love your Dragon-kun. And maybe," you say as you nudge Malleus's cheek, "If you made more friends than me, you wouldn't have to be jealous when I have other friends?"
Mal's pupils were so narrow as to be barely visible when he glanced out of the corner of his eye at you, but he nodded, and mumbled a very quiet apology as Idia faintly relaxed.
"Impressive. I haven't been able to do that in years."
"That's because you're his dad."
"Do you think anyone else will show up, my Trickster? It's getting cramped in here."
You looked around and considered. "I mean, probably."
~*~*~*~
"Sevens?"
"Go fish."
"And that's when they added a dance emote, but it cause a glitch so the top half of your body started to spin around while the bottom half went normally, which would be okay, but if you collide with a wall then you clip about a mile above the ground and die from fall damage, and when they went to fix that -"
There were eight people in the treehouse, and no room for more. Mal had you in his lap in a corner. Idia was gesticulating wildly as he talked about what you were sure was this universe's version of Fallout 76, tucked against you at an angle. Floyd insisted on you using his lap as a footrest while he, Lilia and Cater played card games with an ancient deck Lilia had produced from another pocket. (You were not certain that Floyd's guesture was innocent, since he kept poking at your toes until you said you'd take them away if he didn't stop.) Rook was skipping this round to keep an eye out the window. There was maybe a half foot total of floor showing. Despite the magic fired and fists swung earlier, as soon as everyone had realized that no one was running to your rescue simply to perform their own indignities, everyone had relaxed.
Overall, it was very cozy, and as long as you could keep Idia talking instead of realizing he was crammed in a tiny room with a whole bunch of people, you could stay here quite comfortably for ages. Your ankles were currently only sore, with twinges of more, no one was at each other's throats, and as long as no one else fucked shit up, you could wait out Vargas, go home, and think about how in the hell you can report a teacher at this school for harassment.
"Trouble's coming."
Ah, shit.
Trouble, unfortunately, had figured out where they were due to the cluster of broomsticks at the base of the tree, flew to the window, and started spewing bullshit.
"What are you all doing? You abandoned the game," and here he guestured towards you, "and didn't come back with the prize. None of you would know what to do with a girl if she begged you!"
What a piece of shit, and he couldn't even read a room with eight sets of eyes glaring murder at him. He was still talking, but you weren't paying attention. Instead, you drained the last of the water, wiped your mouth on your arm, and took a deep breath.
"Get his ass."
~*~*~*~
Everyone scattered after that, not ready to deal with the consequences of ganging up on their teacher, even if he thoroughly deserved it. Everything will be dealt with tomorrow, when you can put weight on your legs without your knees buckling. Mal was walking you out of the woods personally in a princess carry, when he stopped in place.
"See, she's down, you didn't have to bug me."
You'd completely forgotten that Cheka had gone to bug Leona for help. "It's been hours."
He ignored that. "Draconia. What would your grandma say?"
"Mal-"
"I would hope she would be proud of my helping a friend." He held his head high, and brushed by Leona without another word.
"Bye!"
"Bye Cheka." You waved back at Cheka before the two lions were out of sight.
~*~*~*~
"Mal, you know you could just take me to my dorm, right?"
"Someone should keep an eye on you until you are fully healed," he said as he pulled out a pair of silk pajamas.
"Which you could do at my dorm, instead of." You guestured to the hangings on his bed. "Here."
"It's far more comfortable here than your dorm."
"I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Mal."
"You're not in a state to argue." He set the pajamas beside you, before turning to face the wall.
"About that."
He did not move a muscle.
"I'm surprised you didn't just heal them outright."
Silence.
"I know perfectly well that you can. So why didn't you?"
He still said nothing.
"Be that way, Malleus. But you know that's not okay." You flung the remains of your shirt at him, managing to catch it on one horn. "If you want me to stay over, just say that instead of conspiring to keep me dependent for an evening."
He turned, pulling the cloth from his horns, before his eyes nearly popped from his head and he hurriedly turned back to the wall. "I... am not used to this."
"Neither am I. We're going to have to have a little talk about boundaries and healthy friendships. You can turn around now."
He did, you patted the side of his bed, and he joined you.
"How do you want to do this, Mal."
"I do not."
"Tough titty, said the kitty."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I know I'm the first real friend you've had. I've been on both ends of that. You know what happens when you cling real fucking hard to your friend, and try to isolate them because you don't wanna share?"
His face was a practiced mask of emotionlessness. "What is that?"
"They suffocate, and draw away because the intensity is way too much. And then no one's happy."
Mal frowned, but said nothing.
"I do want to be your friend. I like you. You're funny, you're deeply sincere, and you're still the same person I knew when I just called you Horned Boy. But I will cut this off if you try to isolate me. I do not want to, but I will have to. If you can't play nice with others, you don't get to play with me at all."
He's so clearly trying to hide his distress and irritation, but he could not help a sigh. "You are not wrong, Child of Man. And..." He looked away. "You won't live forever. Or be here forever, at that."
"I will not. You won't either, but like, you'll outlive me. Eggs in one basket, and all. Another reason to attempt to make more friends."
"Hm." He stretched out beside you, staring at the ceiling. "With who should I start? My reputation precedes me."
"Well," you smiled, "If I've learned one thing, forced proximity does wonders with forcing Idia to like you, and he's already somewhat used to you."
He smiled at the ceiling. "I do like him."
"Me too. You'd like his little brother."
"The creation?”
"Yeah. Look, I'll network for you with other people. And I'll make sure to invite you places."
"A promise?"
"Of course. Now, are you going to take me home, or put up with the rumours of keeping me in your room all night after beating up Vargas to get at me?"
"... Oh dear."
"Yeah."
After a moment, "... I am alright with the rumours."
You snorted. "You could just ask for a sleepover next time. Don't wait for an injury."
"I will ask."
"Make sure Sebek doesn't eat me in the morning."
"I would like to see him try." He gripped your closest hand and squeezed it.
"Me too."
You lay there a few moments, scary lonely dragon boy and strange lonely human kid, hand in hand.
"Do you have any tales from your home you could tell me?"
"Mostly ones you already kind of know."
"I would still like to hear."
Even a dragon wants a bedtime story, it seems.
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Some bowl pics from the last two evenings for kicks and a long ass description.
I think we’ve been mucking around with rotating different kibbles for like a year now, lol. Right now we’re on a blend of two discounted bags of Purina. They’ve mostly been eating Purina One Lamb and Rice that I found on a grocery store clearance rack $5 for an 8 lb bag. I’ve been mixing in grain free Purina Pro Plan Sport 30/20 that I got at a Petco marked down to $15 for 24 lbs. I’m mixing in the PPP because it’s over 500 kcal/cup and everyone is fairly easy keeper. I don’t want to have to cut their servings back too much.
Current supplements are Rogue Origins 5-in-1 and Rogue Pumpkin Pro. They get the Origins every day and I’ve been giving the Pumpkin Pro just about every day. They’ve had rich chews and new foods. Mud tends to have a sensitive stomach, although I think I’ve managed to get all the dogs used to switching kibble because I can do cold turkey switches without much fuss these days.
Sometimes I go without buying Origins for a few months and then I end up back on it. I give way less than their serving suggestion and I still see results in stools/coat. I’m fluctuating between a full serving and half a serving of the Pumpkin Pro. I am thinking I may not even give it on days I’m not feeding something new or weird or showing.
I ran out of joint supplements the other week and haven’t purchased more yet. They were on Hylasport Canine earlier this year. Had Synovi G4 most recently. Wasn’t really into the format of that one. It turned into a big blob that I had to form back into chews. We’ve done Cosequin and 1TDC before. Oh, and I got Tru some Movoflex that she had been using while the others were on Synovi. Honestly don’t notice a lot of difference when they’re on or off of most supplements, though we did notice Siri moving better on 1TDC.
Top toppers are watermelon, canned sardine, leftover carrots from pot roast + supplements. Bottom pic toppers are watermelon, cantaloupe, canned sardine, Purina One True Instinct canned food, homemade chicken stock + supplements. The canned food was more part of the meal than a topper because I wanted to use up what was left in the can.
Did you know watermelon has more lycopene than tomatoes??? Makes me feel better about giving it as an occasional treat and eating it myself.
#we're like majorly on purina right now lol#i'm not a purina cultist#but some things like the canned food and the beneful stuff are pretty great#i used to feed unbalanced homemade raw#i've got some nrc balanced recipes for fresh cooked#but like kibble is easy#i'm doing a little of everything rn#i've picked up frozen raw#i like picking up dehydrated food to freeze in toys#siri started us on canned food#never really used to buy canned food#now i pick it up when i see it on sale
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Demons(you).me: Chapter 9 - Schrödinger's Eva
Artwork Commissioned from Aya/Itouyas on twitter! Please check her out! <3
>>Click here to read on Ao3!<<
Summary:
In a city controlled by the generally altered race of Demons, Lady’s life as a mercenary on the lower floor was never easy. Especially when she ran into Dante. A demon on the hunt for his missing brother.
———–
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Characters: Vergil, Lady, Dante
———–
Chapter 9:
At the loud clunk of a bottle rolling out the bottom of a vending machine, Dante mindlessly squatted down and reached a hand under the dark flap.
The glass was ice cold to the touch beneath his fingertips; wet too - dripping with water droplets that uncomfortably ran down his hand. Water condensing under the warmth of his flesh. Just what he needed right now. A good kick to the senses.
God, he felt so numb.
The walk here had done little too soothe him. No, it had just given him more time to think, when he just wanted to do the exact opposite. It had been a constant battle of trying to keep his mind empty, free of any stray thought, while also trying not to get run over by cars. Something that turned out to be pretty damn hard!
Dante pushed himself back up off the ground, using the colourful vending machine as a support. He didn’t even attempt to find a bottle opener. Instead opting to just rip the mettle topper off with his bare hands. Bottle plugged to his mouth in his next breath and letting the freezing liquid pour into his system. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. It kept coming; as he chugged, chugged and chugged, until his body could take no more - practically on the verge of asphyxiation when his lips finally left the bottle.
“Fuck, that was good!” He coughed out, voice raspy. Falling back against the vending machine with a thump. The young man allowed himself a few moments to breath, before glancing back at the bottle. He’d managed to down at least 3/4’s of the bottle in one foul swoop. He had to smile a little at that, a new record for him. Might as well finish you off then, shouldn’t I?
And so he did. This time thankfully not almost suffocating himself.
Done with the bottle, he dumped into into a nearby, green ringed recycling hole beside the machine. Lighting up happily when he did so, as he moved to order another beer from the vending machine’s display.
"Attention all travellers! Due to a on-going police incident, all trains from 11pm onwards have been cancelled, as this floor will be placed under immediate lockdown for the foreseeable future. It is advised travellers either find suitable residence for the night, or board any of the remaining trains currently platformed. Thank you for your patience. Glory be to our Emperor!”
The peppy tannoy announcement quickly faded away, soon replaced by the starting of a tacky hip-hop beat in its place leaking out of the small rooms speakers. Dante sighed and shook his head at the announcement. Walking over to a small steel counter and bar stool by the large glass window, new bottle in hand.
It made sense they’d be closing off the area. Although Dante hadn’t exactly counted on them being so quick about it. The police were far less efficient than his people were at dealing with stuff. Although, murdering a bunch of people right next to some of the wealthiest of humans in the city, probably send a rocket up the arse of much the bureaucracy that normally held them back.
Must’ve been quiet the pandemonium back at the party . All those corporate folks clutching their pearls and fainting... W hat I would have given to seen that! Dante chuckled to himself at the thought. Taking another swing of his beer. Guess those poor guys down there will work for now.
Blue eyes focused down on the hectic platform bellow. The last stragglers of the floor’s night-life battled each-other over the nearby ticket hurdles in a mad crush. Although there was a particularly amusing group of what looked to be a dozen bachelors, bent over backwards forming a makeshift stairwell over the tall barrier for their groom to walk up. It obviously failed of course. The guy lost his balance and ended up going crashing to the ground on top of his friends, but they all seemed to be having a laugh at least.
The platform itself was no better. People sprinted down towards the trains like they were getting onto the last life-boats of the titanic. Cramming tight into the trains like fish in sardine cans. Clearly he wasn’t going to be sitting on the way back it seemed. Great.
For what should have felt like a clean victory tonight, really was starting to feel like the complete opposite. Yeah, their big family secret was now as good as dead and buried now (if Augustus was holding up his end of the bargain), and they could return back home finally. But, what would even be awaiting them there now when this adventure was over? Lady sure wouldn’t. She’d be stuck back down here. Where they could only - what? Visit her whenever they were given a new assignment? Ugh, Dante wasn’t even starting to miss them. How much pleasure had he gotten from being able to do his own thing down here? It was amazing feeling, not having every mission strictly chosen for him by mother dispatch’s hand-
Don’t think about that! A voice snapped in the back of his mind like a metal slap. His body jolted in sharp response, as the alabaster hand around his glass tightened. Just don’t.
Dante took a shaky sip of his icy drink. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he attempted to purge his mind of the thought once more.
But the beer did little to help, its chill expertly focusing his mind onto that exact topic, onto her alone.
What was Trish? Please stop . Clearly not Eva in terms personality that’s for sure. They couldn’t be more different. There… there just wasn’t the same flame there that Eva had always had. That’s the best way Dante could think to describe it. Eva always felt warm in a homey way, while Trish felt like the violent tinders setting the whole place alight. Stop It!
Granted, he couldn’t lie that he didn’t find that quality rather admirable. But the uncanny valley was just far too strong for his own liking. Heh, maybe that’s the same feeling people get when they meet him and Verge for the first time. Two people who look completely alike, but are so wildly different from one another it. Fuck, maybe Trish is just a long lost twin of Eva’s who’d just happened to be converted into a demon at some point? Fucking absurd idea, he knew. But given how many recent revolutions about his family had come to light in the past few weeks. How much did he truly know about his family, anymore? For all he could know, twins really could just run in the family-
He was just kidding himself wasn’t he? Dante could already imagine Vergil disapproving remarks over how ridiculous such an insane idea was. And he knew damn well phantom Vergil wasn’t wrong. He knew the most likely answer. You’re going to regret this you idiot! Stop thinking now! He always had.
The only other thing Trish could most likely be was…
Eva herself.
Ground up and converted into one of his own kind.
There was no other obvious (and realistic) way why Trish would look so much like her. And in a twisted way, the idea just worked, from the moment it clicked in his mind! What would be a more fitting punishment for her and Sparda, for having half-human offspring like him and Vergil, than making Eva into a demon against her will?
A twisted, cruel smirk pulled at Dante’s lips. This was all his fault wasn’t it? He should’ve been there to protect her. He never should have gone looking for Vergil. He should’ve payed closer attention to him instead of brushing his strange behaviour off, stopped him before he went on his murder tour of the city’s databanks in the first place. He was such a awful brother and son to the both of them, wasn’t he?
"Attention travellers! 5 minutes remain until the last train departs!”
Despairing, Dante went to go take another sip from his bottle. Yet only a drop of the bitter drink landed on his tongue. He lifted the bottle up into the air, and lazily tipped it upside down. Squinting a little, gazing up into its small hole, only to depressingly find nothing there…
Maybe he was taking this self-deprecating train of thought too far though? There was nothing concrete about that conclusion. He was just going off yet another assumption wasn’t he?
For one, Trish didn’t have the trademark bleach white hair they all had. Heh, another blindingly obvious deduction there Detective Dante! He thought, a weak smirk just tugging at his lips. It...wasn’t a great case for Eva not being converted the more he thought about it though. She clearly had the tech of a demon, being able to summon those swords at will and all, and as Vergil had demonstrated tonight, she could’ve just dyed it blond. Perhaps it was a faint memory of Eva slipping through. But no, even that didn’t seem quite right...
He’d run into a few newly converted demons in his time, and while disoriented, they seemed to be able to completely recall their old lives with no trouble. Yet Trish had no memory of either of them - not even the basic motherly sixth sense that Eva always seemed to have, still lurking in there at all. So Eva's memory being wiped (did they even have that tech?) seemed out of the question. And what about the rucks that would’ve been caused upon the discovery that a human woman had been living on the upper floor for like what? 20 years under the demonic authorities noses? That would’ve been all over the news without question! Yet they hadn’t heard a peep of anything like that…
“Attention travellers! 2 minutes remain until the last train departs!"
So Eva could be safe, but she also be long gone. What a wonderful fucking paradox!
Dante rubbed a hand across his tired eyes, his fingertips glazing over the warm sweat covering his brow. He got up from the stool, nursing the empty beer bottle to his chest; somewhat amazed it wasn’t shattering beneath his firm hold. He really needed to get going. No matter how much the anxious twist of his gut, or dizzy, alcohol-fogged mind begged him to do anything but sit his ass back down.
Shakes racked his body, as he stumbled out of the small room and headed towards the escalator back down.
“Attention travellers! The last train will be departing in 1 minute!"
———–
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#devil may cry#dmc#devil may cry fanfiction#dante sprada#vergil sparda#lady dmc#dante dmc#vergil dmc
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Jungle Park [14]
Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15
➜ Words: 7.1k
➜ Genres: Fluff, Angst, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU
➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.
“Y/N, ready to go?”
Everyone turns around in front of the elevator, each smiling kindly and waiting patiently for you. A burst of warmth erupts in your chest as you look at the group. Finally, you felt like you’re a part of this firm. No longer an outsider or an outcast. You’re a part of this family and they welcome you with open arms.
You secure your coat and bag in your arms, smiling as your pace quickens. “Yeah.”
One by one, everyone files into the elevator, making it a tight squeeze. A few people grumble like Lisa who tells Jin to get his fat ass off and wait for the next one, but he ignores her and wedges himself in between Yoongi and Namjoon.
“So where are we going?” Naul asks. The plan was to go out for drinks since it was a Friday night before a long weekend, yet no one had thought any deeper than that or actually decided a location.
“Let’s go to Jinhee’s,” Sunyi suggests.
“No, why would we go there?” Seokjin frowns and snaps his fingers. “We should pick somewhere expensive.”
Taehyung digs into his pocket, grabbing his phone and accidentally elbowing Jungkook in his ribs. “I’ll see if the Crystal Plaza Rooftop Bar is open.”
Jimin automatically sighs and begins to complain, “Are you guys trying to suck all our funds from us?”
“You said you would treat us,” Lisa reminds him. “So we should take advantage of it.”
The elevator stops on a different level and a person wanting to get on is overwhelmed by the crowd, reminding them of a can of sardines. Hoseok apologies and Naul hits the button to close the doors. “It’s the end of the quarter and we did well this year,” Inyoung adds.
“It’s not open late enough today.” Taehyung pockets his phone again. “Should we go to the club?”
Seulgi scoffs and shoots him a look. “In these clothes? Are you crazy?”
“What. None of us look bad.”
“We look like office workers.”
Naul hums. “I don’t think I’ve been to a club in thirty years.”
Everyone gets off the elevator when it makes it to the lobby, thankfully not breaking down or crashing halfway from the sheer weight of everybody. You all bid goodbye to the security guard, making your way outside to hang around the dimly lit parking lot.
“Well…” Lisa kicks a pebble underneath her kitten heel shoes, beginning to feel the cold weather bite at her skin. “Someone has to make a decision.”
“Don’t ask me.” Yoongi shrugs when someone looks at him.
Sunyi adds her own opinion. “I’m fine with anything.”
“There’s a bar that recently opened up on fifth avenue,” Dahyun suggests. “There are pretty good reviews of that place.”
“Oh yeah.” Jungkook nods with a smile. “I heard about that place too.”
Jimin looks around and it seems like a consensus has been made. There are no cries of protest or any complaints. “Alright. Sounds good then.”
But before everyone can disperse, Namjoon brings up an important issue. “Who’s driving?”
“I’m gonna drink until my heart’s content,” Lisa pipes up. “So not me.”
Sunyi shakes her head. “Not me either.”
Yoongi shifts slightly and lifts a brow towards the female. “Can you even hold your drink?”
“Fuck off.”
“You don’t drive, right?” Hoseok asks and nudges you gently, turning his head to meet your eyes, even though it’s more of a rhetorical question. He digs his hands into his dark blue overcoat, casual smile placed on his lips and says, “I can drive you.”
You blink, eyes running from the strands of his dark hair brushing by his forehead to the smooth slope of his nose. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” The lawyer turns towards the crowd and increases his volume. “I’ll drive.”
“I can drive too,” Yoongi announces.
“I don’t mind either.” Seulgi steps up with a sheepish smile. “I have some stuff to do tomorrow, so I can’t be under any hangovers.”
“You should take my car.” Jimin hands over his keys. “There’s more space. Just make sure not to crash it.”
She takes it happily with a devious smirk. “I won’t.”
“Then we’ll go with Seulgi!” Lisa hooks an arm over Dahyun’s shoulder, walking over to the paralegal who’s excited to drive her boss’ expensive, new vehicle.
Jin lifts his hand, grinning. “I call Yoongi.”
“I’ll join this car.” Namjoon also chooses Yoongi.
“I’m going to make sure Seulgi doesn’t crash my car,” Jimin mutters while Naul also steps over to join him. All the groups are quickly forming and when your eyes meet Hoseok, it seems like you’ve already chosen who you’re going with. It’s automatic without anything needed to be said.
“Let’s go with Hoso!” Taehyung makes up a weird nickname on the spot and drags Jungkook over who smiles shyly at you.
“Alright. Guess it’s all decided.”
“Wait, what about me?” Sunyi has her eyes widened and her mouth open, standing in the middle while everyone has already split off. She was preoccupied on her phone for a moment, and now she’s left behind completely.
“You’re going with me, sweetheart.” Yoongi grins, motioning her over slowly with one hand.
The lawyer looks off desperately towards Seulgi who shrugs. “I already have three people in the backseat of my car. Can’t have a fourth.”
The girl turns to Hoseok’s group and Taehyung laughs, patting his mentee on the back. “Jungkook’s got big thighs, so I don't think there’s enough space.”
“Come on.” Jin exhales in impatience. “You’re making us stand around for nothing.”
“You’ll get shotgun if you’re good.” Yoongi winks and jangles his keys like she’s a dog who will get attracted to the tinkling sound. Sunyi ends up staring at him for a long moment with dead eyes before she mutters something like ‘fuck my life’, tightens her grip on her bag strap, and then storms towards the car.
Namjoon and Jin cheer, following after her, both intelligent men reduced to three brain cells when they interact with each other. You watch as everyone makes their way to their selected vehicles and you walk over to Hoseok’s. “I wonder if they’ll survive the trip.”
“It shouldn’t be too bad.” He grins. “It’ll be good bonding time.”
//
The bar is quaint and pleasant. There’s a soccer game happening on the televisions, a few people playing pool and others chatting at tables. There’s a constant murmur of conversation with music playing in the back. It’s a cozy kind of feeling that makes it as if this place is welcome to all.
Your coworkers grab the largest round booth in the corner of the room, all fourteen people gathered around the table together. Lisa orders the first round of drinks without even needing to look at the selection, being well experienced enough to know off the top of her head what to get.
Jungkook sits beside you and you tug on your coat that he’s sitting on. The slight pull makes him look down and he lifts his butt right away. “Sorry!”
“No, it’s okay.” You laugh, moving your coat so it’s more comfortable for him.
“Do you need more space?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.” He nods, doe eyes staring into yours before he looks away seemingly out of nervousness. “I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
The boy is too sweet and you feel your heart melt a little. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you if I am. But you seem like you’re more uncomfortable than I am.”
“Really?” His expressions are animated and you muse that he’s too cute.
“Only a little. But I get it. At your age, I wouldn’t want to drink with people older than me either, especially with my boss. It’s natural to be uncomfortable.”
“No...it’s not that.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck and you don’t miss the way he peeks at you from the corner of his eye. “I’m actually really happy to be here right now. I really like everyone and I like my work.”
Your smile widens. “You’re really nice, Jungkook.”
“I’m not,” he admits with a tiny laugh. “I think you’re a lot nicer.”
You lean back in the plush seat, a snort of air leaving your nose and your cheeks aching with your wide grin. “You’re good at flattery too.”
“It isn’t flattery, if it’s the truth,” he banters back. “If I seem nervous, it’s because I’m trying hard to impress you.”
For once, he’s direct and you’re caught off guard. The drinks finally arrive with Lisa and Taehyung holler, making a ruckus, but you stay focused on Jungkook, too amused. “Why? There’s no reason to impress me. I can’t really give you a raise, you know that, right?”
The boy cutely giggles, nose scrunching and he draws into himself timidly. “No, that’s not it either. I just….really admire you.”
Tears are brought to your eyes. If you weren’t touched before, now all you want to do is fling yourself onto the student lawyer and give him the biggest hug you can, but you manage to control yourself. “You’re going to make me cry—”
There’s a rough nudge, interrupting you. Hoseok is on your other side and he wears a serious expression, using his chin to motion to what he wants. “Can you pass me the water?”
“Oh.” You slide it over to him while Jin begins distributing the shots. “Here.”
Jimin stands up from his spot. “Alright everyone, stop talking for a second, it’s my turn.” Everyone turns, mimicking him and holding their shots or glasses of water out in front of them. “I’d like to give a toast to myself.” People groan all around and he laughs.
“And more importantly, the people of this office who make the entire firm. Without you guys, I wouldn’t be able to work even if I wanted to. Without you all, we wouldn’t have had such a great year or a quarter. Hoseok and I are eternally grateful for your hard efforts, for your dedication, for being here with us. We wouldn’t want anyone else—”
“Is this a toast for a wedding?” Seulgi complains.
“My arm’s tired,” Lisa groans, her arm beginning to shake as she holds up her glass.
Taehyung frowns. “Hurry up!”
Jimin completely ignores them and continues on with a bright smile, “I want to take a moment to thank our lawyers, Yoongi, Sunyi, Naul, and Taehyung. You are the pillars to this firm. It would not be able to function without you. That being said, I would also like to thank our paralegals, Seokjin, Namjoon, and Seulgi. Without your help, we would be running like headless chickens around the office trying to make copies. You are the glue to the entire firm.”
“Oh my god,” Jin rolls his eyes, wrist beginning to ache with how long he’s been raising his glass for.
“Dahyun and Lisa. You are the face of our company, the greatest receptionists we could ever have.” The former smiles while the latter smirks, satisfied with having their part in Jimin’s speech. “Inyoung, thank you for sticking by us in times of trouble. None of us would be able to make any money or bill hours without you.”
Naul interjects with a genuine question. “How much longer is this going to take?”
“I’m almost done. Hoseok — my one true soulmate, my partner in crime, the foundation to all I know and love…”
His partner smiles, amused with his description. “Can we hurry this up?”
“Last but not least, Y/N.” Jimin grins and he raises his drink even higher. “Thank you for always helping out—”
You interrupt him with bubbling laughter. “One, two, three!” Everyone howls and cheers at the same time, downing their drinks in one go. The alcohol runs smoothly down your throat, but the bitter aftertaste is overwhelming and makes you gag. You have no idea what it is, but it’s strong and there are sharp inhales taken all around, except for Lisa who hollers and calls for another round of drink and Jungkook who puts down his shot glass unfazed.
“Do you drink a lot?”
“Sometimes with my friends,” Jungkook explains to you. “I was in a frat, that’s why.”
“Oh. Makes sense.” You smile. “I was—”
“Hey.” Hoseok interrupts and nudges you again. “Can you pass me a napkin?”
You shoot him a slightly annoyed look, but whether he doesn’t actually notices or just pretends not to, he doesn’t seem fazed in the least bit. “Thanks.”
Quickly, you turn back to Jungkook, giving him your attention. “What were you saying?”
“I was in a frat.”
“Who was in a frat?” Jin asks from across the table, the private conversation opening up to the entire table.
Jungkook smiles sheepishly at the attention. “Me.”
“Oh.” Dahyun’s interest is piqued. “What was it like?”
“It wasn’t that big. There were parties sometimes and drinking and all that. But I joined for the study programs and scholarships.”
“Of course.” Taehyung throws his arm over his mentee’s broad shoulders, proud of him and beaming a smile. “Our Kook is a smart one.”
“He did graduate top of class,” Jimin notes with a smile.
Seulgi has her cheek smushed in hand, elbow propped up on the table as her expression becomes nostalgic and dreamy. “I was actually part of a sorority.”
“Me too,” Sunyi pipes up with rounded eyes.
“You were?” Yoongi lifts a brow in surprise.
“Yeah. It was great.” The lawyer turns to the legal assistant. “What sorority?”
“Chi omega.”
“Oh my god!” She squeals and Yoongi beside her flinches. “Me too!”
“No way! How come we never talked about this?” Both females look at each other and they recite their pledge at the same time. They chant their rhyme, too quickly for anyone to actually discern what they’re saying, but everyone is entertained watching them.
“So, were you guys cheerleaders?” Jin asks, slightly judging the pair of them, but they turn to him with dead eyes and unimpressed looks.
“No.” Seulgi scoffs. “I was President of Model UN.”
“I didn’t join any clubs.” Seulgi shrugged. “I didn’t have any time. I was always studying in the library.”
Yoongi smiles fondly, taking a long sip of his water. “Of course you were.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were probably a nerd back then. Still are actually.”
It’s a pretty low blow and a lame remark to be made, but Jimin steps in nonetheless before a fight can break out. “Hey, don’t insult nerds. I happened to be part of the Honour Society. I was also part of the student government, a volunteering group, and Vice of the Astronomy club.”
Hoseok takes a long drink of the Sprite he got and smiles at his partner. “Weren’t you also part of a ballroom dancing club?”
Lisa whips herself over, brows shooting up, impressed. “You dance?”
“It was contemporary dance,” he explains in a whisper, having wanted to keep it a secret. Jimin glares without any malice towards his same-aged friend and then decides to throw him under the bus as well. “Hoseok did street dancing too.”
“What?” Inyoung is surprised and suddenly, everyone’s looking at their uptight boss. “Really?”
“Yeah...it was a side thing.”
“You should dance and show us!” Jungkook suggests and everyone claps or hoots and bellows, agreeing.
“No. Who’s going to pay my medical bills if I pop my bones or break a hip?”
“You will,” Lisa says.
Jung Hoseok laughs and shakes his head, playing with the white straw in his glass. “My dancing days are over. I wasn’t really good to begin with.”
“That’s not true.” You shake your head, staring at his profile. “You used to be so good. Everyone in the dance faculty came to watch you. You even majored in it.”
As the words tumble from your lips without much thought, you fail to realize that everyone’s attention has shifted towards you in both confusion and shock. It’s quiet for a moment, Hoseok meeting your eyes before Seulgi breaks the silence. “I thought you majored in political science before going to law school.”
“I was a double major,” he reveals in a delayed whisper.
“Weren’t you also part of the tennis club?” You sip on your strawberry berryoska, the sweet flavour bursting on your tongue and making it especially dangerous when you forget how fast it’s going down.
“Yeah,” Hoseok hums and tilts his head to the side. “I was.”
You laugh noisily at the memory, continuing to drink between giggles until your mouth leaves the rim of the cup and you turn towards the rest of them, hitch your thumb beside you. “He was really bad. Couldn’t hit the ball if his life depended on it and then he was benched the entire match.”
Naul smiles, having been an observer to all the conversations. “How do you know?”
Oh. Right.
Everybody is still staring at you, bewildered and curious, including Hoseok himself. You scramble to fix the situation, lips having been loose, words having rolled off your tongue with too much ease. “We went to school together...like ten years ago,” you say casually, a million curses ringing inside your mind and damning yourself for making such a mistake.
“I didn’t know that,” Dahyun muses like she’s thinking to herself.
“That explains why you’re so close,” Jin says as an afterthought and you don’t know what he means or what he’s implying. You can’t address it either when Sunyi asks Yoongi if he knew you too since he and Hoseok became acquainted when they both articled at the same firm.
“No.” Yoongi shakes his head and looks at Jimin.
The lawyer's brows are furrowed, puzzled like the rest of them, and Jimin shakes his head too. “I didn’t know Y/N either. Hoseok moved to the law school I went to, so he must’ve met her before that.” Jimin smiles at his partner from across the table. “You should’ve told me that you knew Y/N. We could've hired her right away without having to go through all the other applicants.”
“I didn’t know either.”
Hoseok admits it aloud and he frowns, obviously uncomfortable as he leans back with his hands in his laps. It lasts for a handful of moments. You stare at him, but time goes on and your hope of any reminiscence becomes smothered. “He doesn’t remember anything about me.”
You step in, speaking past the thick lump in your throat and hastily adding, “which is fine by me since we weren’t close anyways, so it’s not that important.”
“Right.” Lisa takes a drink of her pineapple mimosa, swallowing the mouthful and setting the glass down. “You got into that accident.”
“Was it really that serious?” Namjoon inquires with a light tone after sipping on his old fashioned.
“Took a year of recovery,” Hoseok states straightforwardly, not finding it that big of a deal and not bothering to keep it hidden from anyone. “What’s important is that I’m still alive.”
“To Hoseok being alive!” Jimin cheers, bringing the mood up and everyone lifts their glasses, clinking it together obnoxiously. The lawyer being celebrated laughs as everybody drinks.
You finish your glass and in the blink of an eye, it’s replaced by something else that’s equally delicious and easy to swallow as the last one. “You should tell us about Hoseok then,” Dahyun leans over the table, all too playful and egging you on with a whisper. “You must have secrets about him, right?”
“Ooh.” Seulgi’s eyes are sparkling. “Did you ever hit him? Swear him out? Yell at him?”
Jin and Taehyung are laughing. Unfortunately, you might disappoint everyone, but Hoseok.
“I didn’t.”
Yoongi chuckles, playing with his paper straw and spinning the ice cubes in his water around. “It’s not like she would tell us if she did.”
“You’re actually lucky he doesn’t remember.” Lisa points to her boss. There’s no regard for authority or anyone’s positions at the moment. “You could’ve cursed his entire family and he would have no clue!”
“I really didn’t curse him or anything.” You laugh, finding the situation extremely hilarious and maybe it has something to do with the amount of alcohol that you’ve consumed. “There are no secrets to share either. We didn’t know each other that well.”
“There has to be some kind of dirt.” Jin pushes. “Just tell us anything about him.”
“You won’t get in trouble,” Jimin promises, amused too.
“Uh, you can’t say that,” Hoseok butts in.
He interjects. “Yes, I can. Go ahead, Y/N. You have full immunity.”
You giggle, feeling warm and light, giddy and too happy. Your head lolls to one side and you really don’t think you could lie if you wanted to. “Honestly, Hoseok was really outgoing and friendly.”
“Really?” Taehyung has his full arm propped on the table, slumped over to listen to you.
“Yes. I don’t get why that’s such a surprise.” You grin, sliding your empty glass toward Lisa who signals a worker who comes with another drink. “He was the one who talked to me first. We shared a class together and worked on a group project together. And I ditched him for my board game club and made him do all the work and he didn’t even hate me because of that.”
“Did he boss you around?” Seulgi asks. You don’t notice the way Hoseok is staring at your profile, hanging onto your every word, your every pause and breath. He doesn’t just hear you. He’s listening.
“Not really. Hoseok was really nice and kind.”
Warm...kind of like the sun. In fact, he’s still like that. Jung Hoseok hasn’t changed one bit.
Naul leans back, voicing her observations. “That’s a lot of compliments. Is there anything bad to say about him?”
“Well...he invaded people’s private space a lot.”
Jimin giggles infectiously, nodding his head and agreeing with you. “He did that with me too. He used to ki—”
“Ahem.”
Hoseok glares at his partner, still having a name to withhold and not wanting to ruin his image in front of his employees. Namjoon doesn’t dwell and asks a juicer question. “What was his dating life like?”
“I didn’t date.”
“Not true.” You grin, looking at the paralegal with the thick-framed glasses. “He was a playboy.”
“Ooh!” There’s a sea of hooting and hollering, everyone making a ruckus and being excessive in their reactions as if they just won the world cup. People in the bar turn to look before resuming their activities when they realize nothing exciting is actually happening.
“I was not!” He sulks, a slight dimple visible in his cheek and you resist the urge to pinch or poke it.
“Yes, he was,” you tell them eagerly. “He had a lineup of all sorts of people since he was friendly with everyone.”
“I can actually imagine that,” Inyoung points out.
You hum. “He was the type of person that made you think he was interested in only you when he actually only thought of you as a friend or a side-chick. So many people became pissed off, but you can’t really hate him when he treated everyone so nicely.”
“Ugh, I hate that kind of person,” Lisa says it from her heart, probably having first-hand experience in the type of person that you’re describing.
“It didn’t help that he was really confident too and that attracted a lot of people.”
“A cocky bastard from the start.” Yoongi lifts his tall glass of water towards his friend. Hoseok glares at him and he grins a gummy smile before sipping on his cold drink.
“His phone was always blowing up with messages and he knew at least one person from every crowd.”
“You sound like you were really good at networking.” Jin releases a wistful sigh, circling his wrist and letting the ice clink against the glass as the deep burgundy colour liquid sloshes around. “I’m jealous.”
“A playboy rich kid,” Naul sighs, adding to the dramatics.
“Who said I was rich?”
“And he danced,” Lisa muses. “Man, twenty year old Hoseok was thriving. I wonder what happened to him.”
“Hey!” He’s defeated, leaning back and speaking in his whiny voice that you know he uses when he’s pushed into the corner. It’s too cute. “I’m doing perfectly fine now.”
Jin is the one who makes a toast this time, feigned sadness and sorrow. “Let us take a drink for thriving past-Hoseok.” Everybody clinks their glasses again, downing their drinks while laughing at the same time. Hoseok is not impressed, and eventually the conversation diffuses into something else, morphing into a different subject. But the man beside you doesn’t let it go so easily.
Hoseok is quiet before he softly nudges you. “What were you like back then?”
You tip your head slightly, reserving a smile only meant for his eyes. “The same as I am now. So are you.”
It hurts. It’s unbearable. To recall the old days like they were happy days, and not days that you had come to resent. To speak so openly about someone that had caused you so much misery and bliss. You thought you were done doing things for his sake, but once more, you’re lying to yourself for him. You’re enduring it. You’re bringing up things that should’ve been forgotten. It hurts to remember. It hurts to look at him. And so you drink, and you drink, making the pain fade away, making it more bearable to lay your eyes upon his, to be able to look at yourself later on.
You don’t need him. Not anymore. The sheer proof of it is that you’re living, breathing, standing on your two feet without needing to lean on him. The two of you were never two halves of a whole, but two wholes that merely complemented each other. And you accepted that this was the way it was going to be.
You’re satisfied. Back then, you always imagined being by his side and maybe not in this way, but this is enough for both your sakes. For your sanity. For your own emotions. For his desires. For his dreams.
To just sit here next to him, being surrounded by other people, drowning out the conversations...it’s enough.
//
The night goes by with more drinks and shots being tipped back. There are numerous more toasts, tens more stories told, laughter and conversations exchanged. None of you realize that you’re the most boisterous group in the small bar, but it doesn’t matter. You listen to the banter and bickering, retelling of funny anecdotes while drinking like you’ve been dehydrated for years.
Soon, your head becomes numb from thought and you’re put in a dreamlike state, the room swirling and soul separating from your body.
“Let me tell you a long lost secret.” Jimin’s finger juts out, making random circles in the air. He’s slurring all his words, head bobbing up and down, having a hard time keeping it upright. Seulgi sneakily takes away his drink, replacing it with water instead. “There’s a reason why we’re named Jung and Park.”
“Why?!” Jin is noisy, shouting from across the table and Lisa groans in annoyance, cupping her ears and swearing him out.
“Cause….if we ever fail as a law firm...instead of Jung and Park...we’re gonna turn into Jungle Park.”
“What?” Yoongi chuckles softly, enjoying watching everyone become a mess. Sunyi has fallen asleep, head fallen to rest on his shoulder, and he stays completely still, letting the tired lawyer sleep her intoxication off.
“Jungle Park. Gonna make jungle gyms for kids…” Jimin pauses, hands moving slowly to elaborate. “But instead of it being a gym, it’ll be a park since that’s my last name. Jungle Park. Genius idea, right?”
“I like the backup plan!” Taehyung announces, chirpy and energetic, unlike Lisa who’s glaring at the amount of noise he’s making.
“So instead of dealing with clients who are looking for divorce, we’re going to make playground equipment?” Namjoon enunciates it slowly with a smile. Despite drinking lots, he appears to be the most sober and he hasn’t blacked out yet like Sunyi or Jungkook who’s slumped on the table, snoring away.
“Yes!” Jimin laughs and snickers, slouching in the comfortable booth seat. “If we fail...and only if we fail as a law firm, we’re gonna make the best damn monkey bars any industry has ever seen!”
“Is this true?” Namjoon asks Hoseok.
“No comment.” The still-sober lawyer smiles. “He was adamant about calling us Jung and Park and I have no problem with that. It’s a better name than Jiseok Partnerships. That sounds like a name for our son.”
“Our son would be so beautiful!” Jimin sniffles, becoming emotional and Seulgi scrunches her nose, shoving the glass of water in his face.
The bar is slowly emptying itself. Naul has already gone home, being picked up by her husband. Jin was in the bathroom somewhere, maybe throwing up or on the toilet. Dahyun and Inyoung were at the actual bar, chatting with the cute bartender. Around the table, there were only a few conscious folks who were capable of holding a proper conversation and it was getting late into the night.
“I’ve already drawn up plans. Not just monkey bars or climbing bars. They’ll be a tube where kids can go through...and they fall..but like….at an angle..so it’s safe.”
Namjoon frowns. “You mean a slide?”
“No.” Jimin drunkenly deadpans. “A tube. It’s different.”
Hoseok exhales in exhaustion, feeling his eye bags darken and his wrinkles deepen in his skin. Every blink was becoming heavier than before. “I think we should call it quits.”
“I agree.” Seulgi is already moving and Taehyung sighs in disappointment.
“Home already?”
Yoongi tries to shake Sunyi awake, but she doesn’t stir. He checks her breathing to make sure she’s not dead and he won’t get arrested under the suspicion of murder. Seulgi goes looking for Jin and tells both Inyoung and Dahyun that everyone’s heading home now. In the meanwhile, Hoseok looks over at you.
You’re sitting completely still, staring straight ahead. If he didn’t know better, he would think you’re sober or a statue. “Y/N.” Hoseok says your name gently, like he’s calling a baby awake. “Y/N? We’re heading home now.”
“’m not done.” You look at him, finding it too hard to keep balance and leaning your head on the wall. “Still drinking.”
He pries the glass out of your hold, exchanging it for water and you don’t even notice. His tone remains firm. “No, you’re not.”
Against your consciousness’ will, the small part that was dwindling, your bottom lip begins to quiver and tears flood your eyes, fogging up your vision. “You’re an asshole!” You cry out, screaming at the top of your lungs, what you’ve been meaning to tell him from the beginning.
Hoseok’s taken back, trying to calm you down when people have turned their heads to stare. He wonders how drunk you really are and can’t help but laugh while helping you put your jacket on and struggle to pull your arms through the sleeves. “You’re going to regret this later…”
“Already regret a lot of things. What’s one more gonna do, huh?” The conflict ignites in your head. Half of you wants to shove him away and dump the glass of water over him. The other half of you itches to smother him and you end up giving into the urge, hugging his arm to your chest suddenly. The rational side that would scream out in horror ceases to exist.
You cling onto the man and he’s surprised before melting into a soft smile. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you home.”
Yoongi piggybacks Sunyi who’s still dead asleep. He curses, but doesn’t seem to actually mind when he throws her in the backseat and bids goodbye to everyone else. Lisa and Dahyun are still well and sober and decide to haul their own cab instead since they can make it directly to their destination. Inyoung catches a ride from her brother and it leaves Seulgi’s vehicle open with only Jimin who’s annoying her to death. Namjoon and Jin join her considering they’re all going to the same vicinity and Taehyung gets picked up by a roommate, bringing Jungkook along since the kid probably won’t be able to get into bed with his own two feet.
The arrangement somehow works out and leaves only you and Hoseok together. He’s still not used to the way you attach yourself to his side, but when you do part away from him, it’s to bid a tearful goodbye to Jimin. It seems like the two of you are the kinds to become overly emotional and sentimental causing Seulgi and Hoseok to tear you both apart before you begin sobbing on the curb of the road.
The street lamps passing by casts light into the dark car, flickering in and making his skin glow. Hoseok takes a peek at you when he stops at a red light. It’s quiet when he doesn’t turn on the radio. “Are you sleeping?”
“I don’t wanna go home,” you murmur, words garbled with the intoxication of sweet strawberry cocktails and bitter shots of vodka that Lisa had passed to you.
“Well, you have to go home,” he explains patiently, treating you like a child and unintentionally making you become more upset. “Everyone else is going home.”
“Home is lonely. Can’t I go with you?”
“......No...I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“But I don’t have my house key.”
“What?!” Hoseok is driving, but whips himself to take glimpses of you. His hands tighten on the wheel, completely baffled at his position.
“Lost it!”
“Are you serious?” He can’t tell if you’re lying or not. More importantly, he doesn’t know why he’s bothering to argue with you when you’re obviously too drunk out of your mind.
So with the longest sigh, Hoseok drives towards his home instead. The last thing he wants is to make it all the way to yours and have to bring you back to his home anyways. It’s way past midnight and the pair of you should get some sleep as soon as possible. You’ve already succumbed to slumber by the time he gets to his apartment and he has to shake you back to consciousness. You only give a hum, stumbling over your own feet and Hoseok’s forced to help you, practically carrying your body with your arm looped around his shoulder.
He fishes out his keys, opens the door, flickers the lights on and kicks off his shoes. Hoseok sits you down and removes your heels carefully before bringing you to his bedroom. He peels the crisp covers and fluffs up the pillow, so you can get comfortable. “I’ll sleep on the couch, but wait here, I’ll get you water.”
You obey every word that he speaks. And you sit motionlessly on his plush mattress, staring at the blank white wall of the bedroom. The fatigue begins to catch up to you — the physical weariness, the emotional exhaustion. Your lids are heavy, lashes invading your line of sight and then all at once, something begins to drip on your cheek. It’s cold and you feel uncomfortable, especially with the thick lump in your throat, but you’re more concerned about how your once clear world has becoming blurred.
In the peaceful home, the sound of padding footsteps on the floorboards is a soothing lullaby.
The rhythm becomes louder and louder until the person in question is standing at the doorway. The once empty wall is now painted with his dark shadow, the yellow lamp on the bedside table illuminating his features. He sets the glass of water down, brows furrowing, at a loss as he stares at you.
He calls your name. And you stand.
Like an idiot, your feet stumble again, universe put off balance. But Hoseok catches you, hands wrapped securely around your shoulders. You hug him. Your arms open and you embrace his body in your arms, fulfilling the itch that has been driving you crazy for the past hour. “I-I...I missed you.” Your tears stain the cotton fabric of his shirt, his shoulder made wet with your pathetic sadness.
He doesn’t understand and can barely catch your soft, broken murmur. “I was only gone for a minute.”
“No.” You shake your head, pulling away and whispering to him. “You were gone for a really long time. I thought...I thought you’d never come back.”
It stays silent for thirty beats, breath held, heartbeat thundering to accompany the rain pouring from your eyes. The warm light of the lamp is a spotlight held on him. You gaze at Hoseok, gently, softly, locking your eyes into his brown irises.
“I miss you.”
Your throat hurts, constraining like the invisible shackles on your wrists. Your head aches, pounding hard against your rib cage to bruise and echoing in your ears. It aches from wounds that are not visible to the eye, that are underneath your skin. “I miss you so much.”
Your hands lift to cradle his cheek in your palms, words slurring together as your lips tug, tears shedding down your cheeks to try to let off the burden weighing heavily on your shoulders. “I’m so, so, so happy to see you again. Do you know how proud I am of you? All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
Hoseok calls your name. It’s not enough to interrupt.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough,” you tell him all the things you meant to say.
But he doesn’t understand. Your words are never enough to reach him. “....What?”
“I wasn’t enough to make you happy. I hope you can meet someone who can make you happier. Who you can spend the rest of your life with. Doesn’t matter if it’s not me. It’s okay...if it’s not me.”
Hoseok pushes you off of him, removing your touch from his skin, and he steps back, gaining more distance between both of your bodies. His brows are furrowed deep and he looks at you like you’re a stranger who’s wandered into his home. “What are you talking about?”
It hurts when he steps all over your wounds like this, when he decides to shoot you again, to slap you where the scars are. It aches and you don’t know how to fix yourself. You don’t know what to do but sob in humiliation, letting yourself weep in your own misery.
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
“Us.”
The answer is short and simple, but it means more than he can comprehend. It carries an importance of a past that could never be recounted by words and only be experience. You search his expression, choked cries leaving your throat against your will, teardrops continuing to flood down your face.
Silence — it kills you more.
“There is no us.”
Your sobs wreck through your body, harder than before and you stomp your foot, childish, but not knowing that else to do. “You don’t have to tell me that for a second time, asshole.”
“A...second time?”
“Yes, a second time. Do you really not remember?” Your eyes focus on each of his features, as if you’re examining him to see if he lies. But where there’s no trace of any sort of recognition, hatred and rage surges through you. You shove him away, making the man stumble back.
“Jung Hoseok, you can’t just pick and choose things from your memory and delete me!”
He remains quiet. “I—….I’m sorry.”
“You can’t just erase me like that.” The syllables choke out of your heaving lungs, past your crippled heart and breaking chest, through gritted teeth. There’s distance between you both, but it’s still too suffocating. You hate him. You hate him. You hate him. “It’s unfair!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why am I left with these memories? Why me?!” You’re yelling, screaming and you still hate every inch of him. You don’t know how he has the audacity to stand in front of you like this, how he’s not more embarrassed than you, how he can be so utterly shameless. “Why do I have to be the one to suffer after you threw me away?!”
“I’m sorry.”
It’s all he can say and he’ll repeat it as many times as he needs to, even if he has no idea what you mean...what you mean to him…
“Why can’t I be the one who doesn’t remember?”
“I’m...sorry.”
You cry. For a long time, Hoseok just stands there in the dim light of his bedroom, watching as you crumble in front of him, how you downcast your head, how your tears shimmer and drip to the floorboards. He watches as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, as you sniffle and hiccup, as you turn away and climb into his bed. He watches as you pull the covers over yourself, how you’re enveloped in his scent that has clung onto his sheets, how you turn on your side to face him.
Jung Hoseok stands there, brows knitted together, at a complete loss for words. He watches your anger dissipate from your bones and you’re left with too many regrets, too many burdens, and nothing but sadness.
And you ask him a question, a question genuine and so heartbreaking that he doesn’t have the courage to answer. “Do you think I’ll ever meet someone who will love me as much as I love you?”
Hoseok meets your eyes.
He still doesn’t know who you are.
//
When morning arrives, you stumble into his bathroom, throwing up in the toilet then brushing your teeth before sitting at his kitchen counter, waiting as he makes breakfast. You apologize and he tells you it’s fine, knowing that the hangover is enough of a punishment for making irresponsible decisions. Hoseok watches the news as you both enjoy a bowl of cereal on the couch.
He doesn’t ask about the details of last night, not when what you said felt so private, like he wasn’t meant to hear, to know.
And this time, you’re the one who doesn’t remember anything. Hoseok wonders if this is what it feels like to you — to have precious memories and important moments, only for the other person to wake up and forget, to have to bear the burden of those memories on your own.
It haunts him. The memories that you do not have, that only he knows, it stays on his mind no matter where he goes, where he turns to, every time you turn to look at him.
I miss you — Why me?! — You can’t just erase me like that.
You’re wrong. He can’t erase you even if he wanted to.
#Hoseok fanfic#bts fanfic#Jungle Park#bts scenario#hoseok fluff#SHIT'S GONNA HIT THE FAN SOON#but this chapter huge reveal of a little secret oooOOOOooOh
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To London, To London
This took a lot longer than I thought it was going to take to write--I kept wanting to do a proper casefic in the middle and getting stuck, but it wasn't to be. My brain does not like writing mystery no matter how much I try to force it. :/ BUT! This is finally done and hopefully is a satisfactory conclusion to the series. It's set a year from the start of Not Left To Stand Alone, so in March right before the new school year begins :) Appropriate that this story finishes here as well as surprisingly appropriate for me to end it the same time of year in real life. Here's to moving forward and new years and endings as beginnings of new things. Thank you everyone who's read along and all comments in the last year. It was one of the brighter things from last year. Hope to see you again with future writing projects ^_^
To London, To London
The walk up to the London flat was one Saguru could do in his sleep. He’d lived six years of his adult life in that flat, walking to a store down the road or driving to work down the crowded streets because the public transit was further than he wanted to walk with a bum leg. There was the coffee shop a block away that had a weekly music night he and Mel occasionally went to. There was the Indian restaurant that Saguru got takeaway at when neither of them felt like cooking. There was the neighbor who had a cat that liked sunning itself on Saguru’s balcony. The downstairs neighbor had plants on her balcony again this year, and window boxes just starting to have bits of green poking up.
The front door still had the ‘Welcome Holmes’ welcome mat in front that Mel got him as a joke. It was covered in a few months’ worth of dirt and debris, the person Mum had taking care of the apartment clearly not extending that to the outside very often. As he approached what had been his home, Saguru had to stop and take a moment to breathe past all the bittersweet memories around him.
A hand touched his elbow, and Saguru looked back at Kaito. Kaito who was out of place here, but also paradoxically fit in seamlessly. The touch helped, grounding him in the here and now instead of the past. “Nice welcome mat,” Kaito said lightly.
Saguru could kiss him. He didn’t since he didn’t feel inclined to public displays of affection at the moment. “It was a birthday gift. From Mel.”
“Impeccable taste,” Kaito said.
Saguru smiled. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Kaito. He might have left this go indefinitely, paying for a flat he never used and storage for things he no longer needed but didn’t want to let go. Starting things anew with Kaito... that made him want to resolve everything. It still took more than a few seconds to muster the will to unlock the door and let them in. Saguru ushered Kaito in before him.
He didn’t know what Kaito saw in the apartment. Saguru stepped in and he saw the walls with faded squares where photos once hung, the missing clutter and covered up furniture. He saw the scruffs on the baseboard from years of hasty vacuuming, the faint difference in the wall where it had been plastered over after being dented moving a new couch in. He saw the lack of shoes by the door and the dust trapped in the corners. He smelled the stale air of a room shut up too long and the slightly off smell old wood got when it wasn’t aired out enough. There was the flecks of paint on the light switch cover from when Mel repainted the entryway. Divots in the wood floor where they dropped a heavy jar of tomato sauce that had exploded all over the floor and walls. The lack of soft music playing in the background. The blinds closed and the rooms dim. A box with all of Mel’s recent playbooks next to the empty bookshelf because Saguru had decided not to take them to Japan in his hasty flight from London. Left with the distant thought that maybe Mel’s parents would want them even though they’d only asked to have some photos and the set of dishes Mel’s grandmother gave them at their wedding.
Saguru didn’t move from the doorway for long enough that Kaito had to tug him forward and close the door behind them.
The bedroom door was shut to their right, the office and guest room open across from it, followed by the bathroom and the kitchen/living area at the end of the hall. Kaito glanced at the open office and walked past it toward the living area where the empty bookshelf and some stacked boxes were visible. Saguru swallowed hard, forcing the messy tangle of emotions rising in him down. It had been a bit over a year since he was here; he could handle walking in his old home.
“It’s nice,” Kaito said as he turned in the middle of Saguru’s old living room. There was the sofa with a dust cover. There, the kitchen table with the chairs upside down on top. There by the wall an antique side table with a marble top that used to house plants Mum gave them, by the balcony sliding glass door so they would get sunlight and could be moved outside in good weather.
Knowing what the room once was, and all the things it was missing, Saguru found he couldn’t share the sentiment. Stripped of the majority of its trappings, the room looked too bare; a shell of what it once was. Too big as well, compared to where he was living now. Too big for Saguru alone. “It used to be nicer,” Saguru said after a moment that went on a beat too long. Saguru’s mystery collection, Mel’s Shakespeare collection, and the handful of knickknacks they’d collected over the years were in Japan, most still in boxes in Saguru’s childhood bedroom. The plants Mum had given to a friend and her cousin. All the art from the walls had been carefully packed and shipped to the mansion in Japan along with Saguru’s clothing, case records, important paperwork, and an odd assortment of things that Mum had deemed important to bring since Saguru hadn’t been compelled to go through Mel’s things when he was trying to run from everything.
He realized he’d once again stood too long, lost in his thoughts. Saguru shook himself, ignoring Kaito’s worried look, and moved to the kitchen. Cutlery in the drawers—could be donated, not of immediate importance and no sentimental attachment. Same to the dishes in the cupboards; Mel’s parents took the only sentimental dishware. Well, minus Saguru’s old favorite teapot. He took it down. It was nothing special to look at, antique but not flashy, just a squat cream colored teapot with orange and black and gold flowers around the top that they’d bought on a whim and kept because it didn’t drip like half the teapots Mel’s mother collected. It went on the counter for things to take back with him.
“Didn’t clean out your cupboards,” Kaito commented when Saguru opened one of the food cupboards. It was still stocked with non-perishables; boxes of pasta and spices and tea that Saguru only ever drank once in a blue moon. Kaito picked up a tin of sardines. “The dates are still good on some of these.”
“I suppose that can be donated too.” He should start a list. Find a box or something to put things in and sort it out so that it could be donated, kept, or thrown away. He’d have to go get boxes because if he remembered correctly, they’d used all the empty ones lying around when he left.
“Please tell me you emptied the fridge.”
“I think Mum did.” A quick check confirmed it. Both the refrigerator and freezer were empty, the settings turned down low to conserve energy. Left like he might move back at any moment. Or so that it could be rented out should he ever want to, Saguru thought. “I don’t remember much about the packing,” Saguru admitted, closing the refrigerator. “Mum had some boxes and I know I threw clothing in them and put all my photos and keepsakes in another. Books. But Mum did most of it.”
Kaito nodded, understanding. “I did about the same when Aoko kicked me out. And when I moved into my apartment. Of course I went back and got more things from my mom’s house later and things add up, but at first I didn’t even have a bed or food, just a spare set of clothes and an electric kettle for instant noodles and tea until I pulled things together.”
Saguru nodded back. When life uprooted you, things got lost in the scramble or set aside, or forgotten. Now he was picking up where he left off now that he was at a better state of mind. “Three piles,” he murmured to himself. Boxes could be found later. The kitchen wasn’t really what he needed to go through though. There was the hall closet, the office, and lastly, the bedroom.
“It’s a lot bigger,” Kaito said, trailing after Saguru as Saguru wandered back toward the office, “than your apartment now. Or my apartment really. Easily half again as wide. And a balcony. Nice. I can picture you drinking tea out there and watching the sun rise.”
“Dinner sometimes,” Saguru said. “In the summer we’d get takeaway and eat outside.” The office had been left untouched beyond taking the paperwork from the filing cabinet. That left a collection of miscellaneous gifts given by his students on a shelf over the desk, Mel’s collection of musical posters—he’d had to pick and choose what to hang up after a few years of performing—on the far wall, held up with tacks instead of frames because they were kept for sentimentality, not value of the design that went into them. The framed photos were gone, but there was a lot of personal items scattered around. There were even tests he’d graded and never given back at the end of the school year sitting covered with a thin layer of dust. In short, the room was a mess, probably worse than the bedroom considering they’d stripped most of Saguru’s things from there already. Saguru knew he’d find a mess of Mel’s things if he opened the cupboard in the corner because he’d shoved most of them there when he got heartsick seeing them sitting untouched for months. “Kaito, this is going to take hours.” He wasn’t sure if the words were meant as a warning or an apology.
Kaito gave him an unimpressed look. “I figured it would. It’s not like I have other plans. Or anywhere else to go really. Unless you wanted privacy?”
“No.” Privacy would mean a better chance of getting lost in his head and memories. Kaito’s presence was helpful, grounding him to the here and now. “I appreciate you being here.”
Kaito smiled and clapped a hand on Saguru’s shoulder before wandering over to Saguru’s desk to look at the shelf of teacher gifts. Some of them, like the ‘element of surprise’ chemistry themed mug holding novelty pens, were amusing and thoughtful. The rock painted in an attempt of a molecular structure was well meant. The apple-themed paraphernalia was both tacky and honestly a bit of an eyesore. Saguru hadn’t thrown any of them away because they had been reminders of why he enjoyed teaching, proof that some of his students at least enjoyed his class. He had a file of letters somewhere too, along with a few news clippings of students he’d connected with and seen go on to success later in life. He thought Mum might have packed that with the rest of the files though.
“I suppose I don’t have room for most of that anymore.” He could get rid of the tacky things, and keep his favorites. He’d have to be choosy anyway; mailing things was expensive.
“You don’t have to stay in your matchbook apartment,” Kaito pointed out.
“Well, no, but I like being your neighbor.” Saguru started separating things on his desk into keep, toss, donate piles. “I intend to keep teaching, regardless of how detective work is infiltrating my free time, so I know I could afford to live somewhere larger, but really I would miss being able to walk around the corner to your home.”
Kaito handed him items from the shelf, idly juggling a growing assortment of odds and ends as he did so. “There is a solution to that you know.”
“Hm?” The ‘element of surprise’ mug went in the keep pile. “And what would that be?”
“There’s always the option of getting a place together.”
Saguru missed grabbing the next item handed toward him. The painted rock clattered its way to the discard pile. “Oh.”
“Too soon?” Kaito asked, a grimace on his face. He stilled his juggling.
“No. It’s not.” They all but lived together anyway, two apartments making up a home with how they left their doors open for each other. They ate most meals together and sometimes slept on Saguru’s futon together, and spent most evenings together... They practically co-parented Takumi when he was over. It wouldn’t be that big of a shift. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet is all.” Some days it still felt a little unreal where he’d ended up. Most days it felt right though, so he rolled with how his life had changed.
Kaito handed him the whole assortment of novelty pens. Saguru kept the one that gave you a shock, like the one he’d given Takumi, and tossed the rest.
“I know it would be a little weird,” Kaito said, handing more things over on autopilot. “And there would be the question of where, and how much space and the whole mess of moving... But I don’t technically need to stay at the apartment anymore for Kid reasons, and we practically live together with how your things keep ending up in my room and mine in your closet, and you did say you planned on staying...” He took a deep breath and Saguru listened, patient, for him to reach the end of his rambling. “So maybe we could find someplace nicer. Sort of like this kind of nicer. Room to live and work, and maybe allows pets.”
Saguru smiled picturing Kaito’s doves. They’d need a decent amount of space for keeping birds. And they’d need a room for Takumi, so that would mean at least two bedrooms and an office space. Perhaps two since both Saguru and Kaito had a tendency to take up a decent amount of space with projects. They both had lots of books to house as well. It would get expensive fast, let alone finding a place at a convenient distance from the school that met their desired criteria. Still... “That sounds nice.” He would love to wake up next to Kaito more often. And not have to decide which kitchen they were using that day. “We can think more on it when we get back to Japan, research for someplace we both like when the new semester starts.”
“Yeah?” Kaito smiled back. There was that bit of vulnerable hope in his expression, lacking in masks, and it never failed to make Saguru feel both sappy and a little heartsick when he saw that expression, because he knew how hard it could be for Kaito to hope with anything romantic. There would always be a little part of him that was waiting for a shoe to drop like it had with Aoko, just like a tiny part of Saguru would always be worried that this too would end in tragedy. Thankfully they were both people capable of facing their fears and strengthening trust.
“Of course. I did promise I was staying. The apartment I have now was never meant to be permanent anyway.”
“How do you feel about houses?”
“Depends on the location. I still have my leg to factor in.”
“Right. I’ll start looking for places. Do you think Takumi will be happy or upset if we move?”
“Both,” Saguru said. The piles in front of him grew fast. The desk was bare now, the shelf above it scattered into categories. “We should talk to him about it before we make any changes. It’s his home too.”
“True.” Kaito crouched down for a quick peck on the cheek before dragging open drawers. “Thanks, Saguru.”
No, thank you, Saguru thought as Kaito began pulling out papers, looking so much happier than a few moments ago. Kaito’d managed to cheer up both of them in the span of a few minutes, working his magic like always. Saguru returned to the task at hand feeling lighter. Not even going through Mel’s assorted belongings in the room brought him down, not with Kaito humming some pop song under his breath, or the random comments objects brought up. Saguru ended up with a large pile of trash—mostly paper—a much smaller pile of keepsakes and things like Mel’s laptop found dusty and forgotten under a pile of dog-eared screenplays for auditions he’d been looking through, and one full of things that could probably be donated along with his dishes and usable food items to some local charity group. There was always a need for school supplies.
He’d found at least two dozen note cards and bits of scrap paper with recipes scribbled on them in Mel’s cramped handwriting, some with notations about how to change the recipe for his tastes, and a slightly smushed packet of photographs from their last holiday trip together that Saguru must have stuffed in the cupboard during his quest to avoid reminders of Mel. Clearly he was keeping those.
“How is he not red as a lobster?” Kaito asked, peering at a beach photo over Saguru’s shoulder. Saguru was as topless as Mel in it, but of the two of them, Saguru clearly tanned while Mel didn’t.
“Sunblock. All over, every other hour. Otherwise he’d burn and be left with freckles everywhere after a week of peeling.”
“Ouch,” Kaito said. “I burn, but with a bit of sunblock I’ll tan instead.”
“Irish skin,” Saguru said, having met enough of Mel’s relatives that he could say that with some confidence. Mum wasn’t much better to be honest; somehow he’d lucked out in that genetic lottery.
“You both look happy.”
“We were.” That was a good memory. A day with both of them making fools of themselves in public, too much sand in awkward places, and not a hint of regret at any of it. “He tried to bury me in sand.”
“Please tell me there was a photo of that.”
Saguru flipped to it, the image a bit blurry because Mel had been laughing and that more than slowly being buried in sand had woken Saguru from a post-lunch nap.
“Perfect,” Kaito said.
They went through the rest of the photos together.
***
They took a break to eat some of the canned goods from Saguru’s cupboard before tackling the bedroom. It was pretty clear from the state of the room which was Saguru’s side and which had housed Mel’s things. Saguru’s things had largely been stripped from the room, but Mel’s side still had books stacked and objects poking from an overly-full closet.
“You were really neat and organized,” Kaito said as they opened up the closets, “back in high school. You still are, but with more clutter.”
“Mel’s influence.”
“I can see. How long did it take to reach an agreement about clutter?” There were only a few things left in Saguru’s closet, hung neatly. Mel’s closet was chaos, over-stuffed with things on hangars and odds and ends spilling all over the floor. Saguru knew that some of the things were left from stage productions where Mel had been required to get his own costume parts. Some things even Saguru wasn’t sure where they’d come from.
“It was a point of contention for the first few months. I relaxed my standards of cleanliness and he made more of an effort to reduce the worst of the clutter. Thankfully we both preferred clean common space and not having dishes piled in the sink for days.”
“Is that a sequin dress in there?”
“A Halloween costume. Although he did like to pull it out for laughs.”
“Wish I could have met him.”
“You’d have gotten along, I think. At the very least, I imagine he’d respect you as a fellow showman.”
Kaito took an armful of clothing hangers out and Saguru grabbed things from the pile in the bottom of the closet. A quarter of that mess was shoes for different situations and outfits. “It’s alarming how much a person can accumulate in the better part of a decade. And this is with considerably limited living space compared to what I grew up with. I don’t even want to think about going through my parents’ homes.”
“I thought they only had one home now?”
“There’s a summer cottage in England still. For when they want to visit England, but more affordable than the home Mum raised me in. It belonged to my mother’s father in his retirement and he left it to her in his will.” Saguru set the armload of things on the dusty, covered bed. Kaito was spreading clothing out across the floor. “It was actually a bit of a snub. Her siblings got the nicer property and the contents of most of the estate, but she was left with the summer home and the vastly smaller collection that went with it. Granmum and Mum had a wonderful relationship, but I don’t think Grandfather ever accepted that she married my father.”
“Well that sucks. At least you got along with your other grandfather, right?”
“Mm, he was less interested in propriety, and more in science. His wife was a bit the opposite though. It was a scandal on both sides that they got married honestly, but they did try to not let that affect me. Mum’s father did seem to approve of my detective work. He gave me my pocket watch.” Tap shoes from one of the musicals Mel was in. Jogging shoes. Sleek Oxfords that looked like they’d barely been worn. A shoebox full of—Saguru shut that quickly, mildly embarrassed because he thought that box had been under the bed, not in the closet. ...Not to keep, that would be too awkward in multiple ways.
Kaito glanced at him. “You found something naughty didn’t you.”
“Nothing I didn’t know we owned, just not where I expected to find it.”
Kaito laughed at him. “What do you want done with the clothes?”
“Well they won’t fit either of us,” Saguru said, eying them. Mel had been taller than Saguru and a bit slighter in the shoulders. Longer torso, longer legs, a size larger in general let alone anything that had been tailored. He’d taken good care of his clothing though. “The majority can be donated.” Although... He glanced through what Kaito had taken down before rummaging through the clothes hangers still in the closet. He pulled a T-shirt free. “I’m keeping this though.” It was a production shirt or the first play Mel had performed in professionally. The shirt was well-worn and soft, its screen printed lettering faded from dozens of washes.
“No judgement here. I still have some of Aoko’s stuff.”
“...Why would you have Aoko-san’s clothing?” Or how since Kaito was kicked out?
“Why do you think?”
Kaito should know better than to give an open-answered response because Saguru’s brain filled in a dozen possible reasons, half of them not fit to mention in polite company. “Actually I would rather not know.”
Kaito laughed at him again. “And people say I have the dirty mind.”
“You do.”
“That underrates your own brain, Saguru.”
Saguru ignored him and went back to digging through Mel’s things. Mel kept a lot of random thing that Saguru guessed were for sentimental reasons. Fake flowers squashed under a hat. A dozen belts fallen off their hanger. More scraps of paper, some with drawings, some with recipes, some of them just lists. Shopping lists, to-do lists, gift lists, dates to remember, a completely arbitrary list of ranking different flavors of pies versus cakes. It made Saguru feel nostalgic for Mel standing at the kitchen counter scribbling out one of those lists. Most of the to-do ones were only half checked off which explained why they’d never been thrown away, but Mel always got distracted and ended up writing new lists before the old ones were finished.
Most things didn’t have too much emotion attached. Clothing was clothing. But then there was the suit they’d been married in. There was a box containing the dried boutonnieres that Saguru hadn’t even realized Mel had kept all these years. There were letters back from when Mel was in college, some of them from Saguru before they started dating. Kaito gave Saguru space and kept making a clothing pile to donate. There was a professional stage makeup case Kaito could appreciate, clutter of lighthearted things like bottles of silly string that hadn’t been opened, a board game, handheld games from high school on the top closet shelf that hadn’t been touched in years, or a bent up hula hoop that Saguru didn’t know when it could have gotten in there.
Then there was the box. It was plain, just a white cardboard box with a sticky note on it with “Don’t Forget” written in black sharpie marker. On top was a silk scarf with “for Mum” pinned on it, a book on Spanish culture and cooking—Mel’s parents had been planning a trip to Spain—with a scribbled “for Christmas?” and below that... Tickets to the Body Works exhibit that had been showing. That had “surprise” written on the sticky note attached to that. The tickets were dated a few days before Mel was shot, for the week after. There was a list with ideas for Saguru’s birthday gift tucked next to it.
Kaito’s arms were around him before Saguru realized he was crying. “Damn it,” Saguru said, covering his face. “I thought I was going to be able to get through this without crying.”
“It’s fine. You’re going to be fine,” Kaito said.
“It’s really not.”
“Well, no, not right now it isn’t obviously.” Kaito rubbed circles on his back as Saguru tried to swallow his tears. “But I think we both know that these sort of things aren’t a ‘one-foot-after-another’ kind of path. Life has detours and backtracking and booby traps like boxes in closets to throw at you and it’s okay to feel shit when it happens.”
Saguru gave a watery laugh. “Hell of a booby trap.”
“At least it wasn’t a literal one. Imagine when I found Oyaji’s secret room.”
“Fair enough. That would be a pretty big shock.” This wasn’t a shock so much as an emotional sucker punch he hadn’t realized he’d needed to brace for. He should have realized; Mel was always good at keeping track of upcoming birthdays and holidays and had a habit of finding gifts throughout the year in advance. Saguru never went looking for where he kept them though, for obvious reasons. He closed his eyes and leaned into Kaito. Warm and soothing after their months together. He let go, and the tears stopped sooner by letting them happen.
“Need another break?” Kaito asked kindly.
“No.” Saguru didn’t move though, face still pressed against Kaito’s shoulder.
“So, who’s Anand?”
“Hm?”
“Box,” Kaito said, gesturing with his chin.
Saguru looked and it seemed there had been something else in the box because there was a gaudy-looking necklace with bright, multi-color prisms spilling from the bottom where Saguru had dropped the box. He snorted, amused and feeling lighter all at once. “Anand is one of Mel’s theatre friends. He likes things that glitter.”
“I’d say he has good taste, but that is a really bright necklace.”
“I am fairly sure there was a bet going on who could find the gaudiest piece of costume jewelry.”
“A good friend then.”
“Yeah. A good friend.” And one more person he hadn’t spoken to since Mel’s funeral. There was a twinge of old guilt. He was making more of an effort lately to restore some of the bridges he’d burned. Maybe that was another one he should attempt to fix even though Anand had been more Mel’s friend than Saguru’s. “Would it be kind or cruel to give these gifts to the people they were meant to go to?”
“Depends on the person.”
...Saguru might have a few more stops on his trip in that case. And a mother-in-law to possibly call, although he wasn’t sure that she would still view herself as such considering the circumstances. They’d never been close to begin with. “Maybe a break would be a good idea.”
***
Kaito convinced him to leave the apartment, and within half an hour of wandering London and stopping in at various places he used to frequent, Saguru was feeling closer to equilibrium. London would always be home in a way Tokyo wasn’t. His time in Japan had been vacations and trips, a place he was fond of and had a place in growing up, but not a place he knew in and out. Not where he spent most of his life or where most of his memories were centered in. Tokyo was a second home, but London would always be his first one, so it was nice to share it with Kaito.
“We should bring Takumi sometime,” Kaito said, as they sat at a café. Saguru had a cup of strong British black tea, yet another thing he’d missed. Kaito had gotten coffee as the time difference had him a bit jetlagged. “I always meant to take him abroad sometimes like Kaa-san and Oyaji did with me when I was little, but with everything going on it never happened.”
“Would Aoko let him out of the country?” Saguru asked. Takumi wasn’t grounded anymore, but considering he’d endured three months of restricted freedom and still had Aoko anxious if he was late checking in or somewhere other than he said he’d be, Saguru had to wonder if she’d let him go on a day trip let alone leave Japan.
“Maybe?” Kaito said, sipping at his coffee. He wiggled a hand in the air. “There’s a 50% chance she’d nix the idea outright just because it’s me—and you, actually, considering how trouble’s started following you around. She likes you, but that doesn’t really factor into keeping Takumi away from things that lead to police intervention. But I know she’d like Takumi to get to see more than just Tokyo and a trip here and there to Osaka. Paris is a higher chance of getting an okay than London just because it’s Paris.”
“While Paris is a nice city, I don’t see how France is a better choice than England. Especially considering that Takumi speaks English as a second language. I could swing it as a learning opportunity.”
“No, see it’s a nostalgia thing. We went to Paris once before Takumi was born sort of on our honeymoon. Very romantic. Couldn’t pass up the chance since that’s where Oyaji met Kaa-san.”
Saguru tried to picture Kaito and Aoko on a whirlwind romantic trip in Paris. It wasn’t terribly hard to do, but the image felt odd in his head. The idea of them performing typical romantic gestures just didn’t fit the image Saguru had of their relationship. Add Kaito producing roses from his sleeves every chance he could get and Aoko getting flustered until she tossed them back in his face maybe. Wining and dining under moonlight with the Eiffel Tower in the background? Not so much. He could see Kaito’s father sweeping Kuroba Chikage off her feet in a debonair manner though. He was the one that first established Kid as a charming gentleman thief after all.
“The angle of it being a learning opportunity is a good one though,” Kaito said. “I’ll be sure to use it when I ask next time we plan a visit.”
“Barely here a day and already planning the next trip?” Saguru said, amused.
“Of course. London is important to you. We’re obviously coming back.” Kaito smiled, his lips edging on Kid’s trademark smile. Saguru flushed, wondering if that was the same sort of smile he’d sent Aoko’s way on their honeymoon. “I’d like to get to know Saguru the Londoner a bit better too. You’re more confident here.”
“Between police work and my own exploration, I’ve been a little bit everywhere.”
“Exactly. And confidence is always a good look on you.”
Now Saguru was really blushing. Really, now, Kuroba, there was no reason to aim that smile his way in public! Saguru coughed into his fist. “I thought you found my confidence smug and grating.”
“Amazing how things change when it’s not aimed at me,” Kaito replied, grinning wickedly at flustering Saguru in a public space.
Two could play that game. “That’s odd, I seem to recall you enjoying it directed at you not too long ago.”
Kaito looked too happy at Saguru’s response for a split second before he faked scandalized. “Saguru, we’re in public! There’s a family right there!” He gestured to a woman with two small children sharing a crust-less sandwich.
“It’s a good thing we’re speaking Japanese, then, isn’t it?”
Kaito blinked. “You’re right. I didn’t even notice we swapped back.” He’d been trying to practice English since the plane took off. His accent still was fairly noticeable even if nowhere near so bad as in high school.
“I think we’ve been speaking Japanese since I found Mel’s box.” He hadn’t really registered the shift back either; funny how languages didn’t stand out. He was used to Japanese with Kaito though, so it wasn’t odd that he’d slid back into that language when distressed. It didn’t feel out of place to talk on about London in a language other than its native one either when it came down to Kaito.
“Switch back,” Kaito said in English. “I need more practice. I want to sound correct by the time this trip is over.”
“You’re still a ways off, but fine.”
“It’s annoying. American English is easier to copy.”
“You’re just more exposed to it.”
“True.” Kaito nodded and affected an American accent. It was a lot more passable than his British one. Saguru was willing to bet he’d modeled at least some of that British accent off Saguru. “Kudo speaks American English almost fluently. From all I’ve heard about Hawaii, you’d think it was a miracle place where you can learn anything, even some things questionably legal.”
“It’s America; I imagine there’s a lot of things that you could learn there that are of questionable legality elsewhere in the world.”
“Did you just diss America?” Kaito asked, laughing. He still had that awful American accent.
“I’ll take London and Japan over America. No offense to Americans of course.”
“Of course,” Kaito echoed in Saguru’s British accent. It was almost a spot on copy. Maybe Kaito would get that accent down after all. “Is there anything we need while we’re out?”
Saguru sipped the dregs of his tea. “Boxes,” he said after a moment of thought. “Lots of empty cardboard boxes.”
“Right-o. Let’s get on that after tea, yeah?”
“Please never say anything in that affectated accent again. It’s painful.”
“Aww, I thought I got pretty close that time,” Kaito said, grinning.
“My ears bleed at your butchery of British English.” Saguru smiled though. So easy to smile even when not long ago he was so sad. Kaito had his magic even when he wasn’t performing.
Out of the corner of his eye, Saguru caught the flicker of movement as a woman’s purse disappeared from beside her chair. “Purse snatcher,” Saguru said under his breath.
“I saw it. I’ll play distraction, you catch?” Kaito finished his coffee in one long swallow.
“Works for me.”
They got up at the same time, Kaito making a bee line for the cream and sugar counter as the purse snatcher made his way casually through the tables toward the exit. Saguru went the other way around the table making like he was going for the bathrooms near the door.
Kaito pretended to add sugar and cream into his empty coffee cup, before turning just at the right moment to make it seem accidental and bumping into the purse snatcher. Cream went all down the man’s front. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Kaito said in American English. He grabbed a napkin and started trying to dab at the mess.
The man batted his hand away. “It’s fine,” he said, moving toward the door as eyes turned toward him.
Saguru, now near the door, caught the arm holding the purse before the man could get to there. “I don’t believe this belongs to you,” he said at a loud enough volume to draw further attention.
The purse’s rightful owner gasped. “That’s mine!”
The man in Saguru’s grasp took one look at Saguru’s cane and went for the obvious weak point. Thankfully, Saguru was expecting him to, so it wasn’t too difficult to shift his weight and use the man’s momentum against him to flip him flat on his back in front of the restrooms. As he wheezed on the ground, Saguru plucked the purse from his hand and tossed it to Kaito to return. “Could someone call the police?” Saguru asked. He jabbed his cane in the man’s face as he made to get up. “The whole café has seen your face, sir. It’s better to just give in to the inevitable.”
For a moment the man’s face contorted in an unpleasant snarl before he realized that half the patrons in the room were crowding around and it really would be nearly impossible to run. He held his hands up in defeat.
“Thank you.”
“Fuck you,” was the muttered reply, but it honestly was mild compared to some of the things criminals verbally hurled at him.
“The police are on their way,” the barista said.
“Well, there’s your crime for the day,” Kaito said, meandering over to lean on Saguru’s shoulder. “Think we’ll be good for a few days?”
“On a scale of shoplifting to grand larceny, this is the small end of the scale.”
“Hmm, true. Probably doesn’t net you much leeway then.”
They really had to figure out if there was some sort of balance to these things or if the universe saved up sometimes before throwing larger crimes Saguru’s way. It would save him a world of headaches if he could figure out how his price worked enough to work with it rather than having it acted upon him. “At least no one was injured this time.” He eyed the man still flat on his back. “Well, not too much.”
The officer that arrived to arrest the purse thief was one Saguru hadn’t worked with often, but she was familiar enough that they recognized each other on sight. Her partner, however, Saguru had never met before. He turned to the officer he knew.
“Officer Rostov,” Saguru said with a nod.
“Saguru Hakuba,” she said in return, neutral. “It’s been a while. You’re back in London then?”
“Just until I can clear out my old flat. I intend to stay in Japan.”
“Huh. Long way away to uproot yourself to, but if it works for you. You caught the suspect?”
“I was having tea with my companion and we noticed this man take that young woman’s purse. My companion distracted the thief and I caught him before he could leave out the front door.” The suspect and woman he’d stolen from and the barista were the only people hanging around the front of the shop; most of the people who’d been there for the theft attempt had moved on. The remaining people gawked like they were stocking up on gossip fodder. Kaito, leaning against the display counter, gave a little wave when Saguru referred to him.
The process of the arrest was quick, as were the statements. Saguru found himself under scrutiny from the unknown officer as Officer Rostov talked with the barista.
“You’re the freelance detective that used to live around here,” the man said, “aren’t you?”
“Yes, though technically I’m not sure if I can be considered a detective still.” He didn’t have a license for it in London anymore, and he was still jumping through hoops to get one in Japan since he wasn’t a citizen anymore.
“I’ve heard about you. Especially when things got shook up half a year ago. Colquhoun is still working with the rest of the British police force in finding rats in the system. He speaks highly of you.” The way it was said wasn’t the tone of a compliment. Saguru took that to mean other people had a lot less complimentary things to say. “You’re not here to cause more trouble?”
“Just passing through.” Saguru didn’t like the intent look on the man’s face. There was something in his stare that bordered aggressive, like he was waiting for Saguru to do something he could react negatively to. It had Saguru moving toward Kaito a few steps before he could even piece together what felt off.
“I lost a partner because of—”
“Burling,” Rostov said, cutting him off as she lifted a note pad in his direction. “It sounds like the suspect had a bike outside. Can you check the type and color? I have a feeling it might match up to some other purse snatchings in the area.”
Burling’s jaw tensed for a moment before he nodded. “I’ll do that.” He took the notebook and shot Saguru one last dark look before moving out the door.
Kaito let out a quiet whistle. “Wow. Someone doesn’t like you.”
“I lost a partner,” Saguru’s brain echoed. He supposed it didn’t matter if Burling’s partner had been crooked or if they’d been lost to injury or death; a loss was a loss. There would be those who hated him for stirring up the status quo even if it was the right thing to do. And there were still others who disliked him because of the fallout with Mel, and neither one was something he could control. “I’m sure there are a lot of people who don’t like me,” Saguru said.
“Not your fault though. You didn’t make people join crime organizations, and you didn’t lead the effort to uproot corruption here.”
“No, I just lifted the curtain enough to reveal all the problems.” People would always blame the messenger.
“Well I’m sure you have friends because of it too. Officer Rostov doesn’t seem to hate you.”
She didn’t seem to like him much either, Saguru didn’t point out, but she had never been one of the officers he was particularly friendly with.
Rostov, done with talking to the barista, wandered back over to them. “I think I have everything I need from you both, so you’re free to go if you’d like,” she said, still as neutral and professional as she’d been from the start.
“Thank you for your time,” Saguru said.
A small smile ticked up the corners of her mouth, the first positive emotion she’d shown so far. “If the guy you caught is who I think he is, you should be the one getting my thanks. I hope Burling didn’t bother you two. He is still learning to be professional sometimes.”
“I don’t take it personally.”
“Good.” She nodded to them. “If you’re in the area for a while, maybe stop by the precinct. Colquhoun would be happy to see you, and a few others.” She glanced at Kaito. “Introduce your friend.”
“We’ll do that,” Saguru said. They did plan to meet up with Millard at some point on this trip after all.
“Don’t get into too much trouble,” Rostov said, giving them a wave as she escorted Burling and the thief out the door.
Kaito sent Saguru a wry smile. “Do you think we should have mentioned that you’re a magnet for trouble these days?”
“Somehow I doubt that would endear me again to the police department,” Saguru returned, equally wry. Their tea was still at their table. Thankfully they’d mostly finished before the incident as it was undoubtedly stone cold by now. “Back to the apartment?”
“If you’re ready,” Kaito said, easily agreeable. The tension around his eyes belied his smile, worry that only Saguru knew to look for. He was right to worry but Saguru would have to go back eventually. There was no point in going to a hotel when he had a flat to return to.
“I’ll manage.” At the very least, there shouldn’t be too many other surprises like the box in Mel’s closet. The rest he could brace himself for.
Kaito bumped Saguru’s shoulder with his own. Saguru caught his hand and curled their fingers together.
“We’ll manage,” he corrected.
He wasn’t alone. If nothing else, he wasn’t alone.
***
It was like catching a glimpse of something through a curtain. Kaito wondered if this was what Saguru had felt back when he first stepped foot into Kaito’s apartment. Kaito wasn’t a detective, but he knew people and even though most of the objects in Saguru’s home were missing, there was more than enough left behind to give a picture of what Saguru’s life here had been like. Busy, full of work and casework and individual passions, but also shared interests. Little intimate overlaps in Saguru’s life and his husband’s seen in such simple things like a shared study and wall hangings or how the remaining books had been mingled subject matters. There were couples that kept their own interests distinct, but that hadn’t been Mel and Saguru. It must have been a healthy relationship and in its own way it felt funny because once Kaito would have said he wouldn’t be able to recognize healthy if it was staring him in the face.
Being here felt like trespassing just a little. They’d stopped to buy boxes and with each one they filled that feeling grew a little more. This was Saguru dismantling what remained of that past. Objectively, it was him moving on, but as someone who had always had trouble letting go of things he cared about no matter how broken, dead or gone they might be, it was hard to watch.
Kaito didn’t say a word though. The last thing Saguru needed was to know that Kaito wasn’t as comfortable here as he was pretending to be.
The English helped. The act of forming sentences and sorting through meaning served as a focus.
It was too quiet during most of the boxing up though. After the disaster in the bedroom, they’d taken the boxes to their piles sorted out in the office and just dealt with that. Manageable, slightly less personal, and held no surprises by that point.
Kaito stretched after putting one more awful teacher-themed mug into a donate box. Saguru was methodically fitting the recipe cards into tiny spaces they’d fit in the single keep box. He’d spent most of Kaito’s boxing up time shredding documents that were no longer relevant with a noisy old paper shredder in the corner. Kaito was just about to suggest calling it a night since it was getting dark out and they should at least get another snack as the tea was a long time ago when there was a knock on the door.
They both froze. “Expecting any visitors?” Kaito half joked.
“No. Perhaps it’s a concerned neighbor?” Saguru struggled to stand up and Kaito offered him a hand, ears straining for hints of sound. Voices, maybe, two of them. No, three, he corrected.
He followed Saguru to the door, for all appearances calm as could be, but familiar tension coiling in him. It had been half a year but there was some part of him that still waited for the other shoe to drop. That paranoid little part of his brain was convinced that it was a trap. It was truly ridiculous because what sort of assassin would knock on the door? That was trauma though; twisting perceptions of reality because sometimes anyone could be an enemy and he couldn’t let himself slip. Kaito plucked at a button on his shirt, fingers close to hidden pockets and smoke pellets he kept there. Old habits died hard.
Saguru was less cautious but that didn’t mean he was careless as he reached the door. He glanced around the barest crack of a gap before pulling the door open, interrupting what looked to be some sort of hushed argument on the doorstep. “Millard,” Saguru said, surprised. “And Jones and McLuhan. What are you doing here?”
“Ha!” one of the women said to the others. “Told you he’d be here! Where the hell else would he be? Hakuba you prat, you didn’t even call to say you’d be in the country. Had to hear it from Rostov as she’s leading in a bloody purse snatcher!”
The man, Millard, rolled his eyes. “What she means is, hullo! Great ta see you, we’ve come bearing gifts.” He held up a plastic bag.
“Is that...ice cream?” Saguru asked, squinting at its contents, blurrily visible through the translucent bag. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here? You didn’t call ahead to check.”
“We’d have had ourselves a bit of a party on the step,” the woman said. “And you’d be out some fuckin’ amazing caramel fudge gelato, mate.” She held up a bundle of metal spoons and disposable bowls.
“Did you steal those from the station?”
“Borrowed. I borrowed them from the station. No one’s going to miss a couple of spoons anyway.”
Despite still being keyed up for disaster, Kaito couldn’t help snorting at that. Three sets of eyes turned his way. He gave a little wave and put on a friendly face. “Your London friends, Saguru?” Kaito asked like he didn’t already know.
Saguru nodded and stepped back to let them in. “Millard Colquhoun, Inez Jones, and Carita McLuhan.” He nodded at each in turn—Millard, who looked like a Scottish stereotype minus a kilt, in his forties with a lot of stress lines in his face, currently counteracted with a smile; Jones a thirty-something woman, dark skinned, hesitant to be here; McLuhan a short, tan woman with a wild pixie cut and a wide smile with a bit too much teeth showing. Kaito filed the names and faces away, fitting them with times Saguru mentioned one or another. “Friends from the London Metropolitan Police, although I didn’t know Jones too well back when I was involved with them. And this is Kaito Kuroba,”—so odd to hear the Western name order—“my friend and boyfriend.”
There was no hesitation in addressing Kaito that way, even if he’d used companion earlier at the café. Kaito hid his surprise. They’d still never really talked about how they’d address their relationship with friends because most of the people who mattered already knew. Kaito didn’t miss the surprise on the Londoners’ faces before they covered it up. He also didn’t miss the flash of concern in Millard’s expression. Saguru, looking at Kaito in that moment, didn’t see it or he’d probably have added something else to that statement, Kaito thought wryly.
“We knew each other in high school for a year or so,” Kaito said, giving context they could build off of. “We weren’t close then, but he ended up my neighbor and, well, we clicked a lot better this time around.”
Saguru shot him a raised-eyebrow look that practically screamed understatement as he ushered guests toward the kitchen.
“Funny how things work out,” Saguru said. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that no one took their shoes off. Kaito didn’t view himself as much of a neat freak, but it irritated him even though it wasn’t like it would harm anything. Not with how dusty the apartment was to begin with. “I was planning to stop by the precinct tomorrow. I came back to go through things before putting the flat back on the market.”
“So you are staying in Japan,” McLuhan said, eyes flicking to Kaito and away. “A hell of a far way to go.”
“But a second home,” Saguru said. The kitchen was a mess with the piles of things they’d pulled from the cupboards. Saguru moved to get tea things on automatic. Kaito pulled chairs from the kitchen table so they’d have a place to sit. “It is also where my parents are so I am closer to family than I was before.”
“But on the other side of the bleedin’ globe!” McLuhan complained. “And you only call for business.”
“Mostly my fault,” Millard said with a chuckle. “We catch up and that means he only needs to call to talk about the case.” There was a pause, a shadow of the still ongoing dismantling of the group that had haunted Kaito’s nightmares and waking moments hanging over all of them. “Which we’ll hopefully get over and done within the next few months.”
“Ugh, don’t talk about the fuckin’ case,” McLuhan said. “I’m seeing profiles in my sleep. Gimme the goods, Colquhoun. It’s gonna melt and that’d be a damn shame.” The ice cream was passed over and dug into and Saguru was clearly debating whether or not to make tea considering they’d be eating something cold, a container of tea in one hand and one of the ceramic mugs from the cupboard in his other hand. McLuhan solved the problem by pulling out several bottles of...Kaito squinted at the exaggerated font. Ginger beer?
Kaito shot Saguru a look and Saguru, seeing the label, said, “It’s not alcoholic.”
“Wasn’t sure if you were still avoiding the bottle,” McLuhan said, gruff and backhanded as she ripped into the package of disposable bowls—seemed silly when they had bowls. Four spoons and bottles and five of them, Kaito noted.
The mugs from the cupboard went on the table, solving one problem. Kaito leaned against the back of a chair, tuning out McLuhan complaining about how Saguru missed both her Christmas party and her party in May. McLuhan, Millard and Saguru had fallen right back into a familiar pattern of interaction, the odd ones out... were Kaito and Jones. Kaito glanced at the woman on his right and found her sneaking looks at him.
“So you knew each other in high school...?” Jones offered.
“Yeah. We butted heads a lot. I was always playing pranks and Saguru was—”
“Oh, you’re that guy!” McLuhan cut in. Kaito hadn’t realized she’d been paying attention. From the way Millard rolled his eyes, she tended to do that sort of thing often, not even finishing her previous thought. “The green hair and glitter bomb guy.”
“I take it Saguru mentioned me.”
Saguru looked embarrassed. “We were exchanging stories and your pranks...”
“My pranks are next level,” Kaito said with a smirk, just the right amount of smug and casual to come off as comfortably teasing. “Not that you ever appreciated their genius back then.”
“They were disruptive and frequently targeting my person,” Saguru said, though he was smiling a little.
“But they sure were fun. Green hair suited you.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you weren’t a little too fixated on making Aoko and I stressed.”
“You both had the best reactions. Ah, the expression of someone as they charge at you with a mop... Not that you ever swung a mop at me like Aoko. If looks could kill though...”
“You’re lucky you made it past twenty,” Saguru joked, then froze up a bit because it hit a bit too close to reality for a joke.
Kaito grinned and let it roll off him. “I’m always lucky.” True, except for when it wasn’t. The eyes of the others on him were just a bit too analytical. Surrounded by police, Kaito thought ruefully. Somehow he always ended up back in the same position.
A bowl of ice cream was shoved at his face. “Here,” McLuhan said. “Everybody eat before this melts into a puddle of chocolate goo.”
Kaito retrieved an extra spoon with an absentminded flourish. Their eyes followed that too. Keep smiling, he thought.
The ice cream was delicious, chocolatey enough to practically give him a buzz and smooth enough to make his inner child practically weep at how perfect it was. Saguru clearly also liked it; he did like darker chocolate and with the bitter-sweetness of the ice cream and the salted caramel bits it probably fit his preferred sweet profile. McLuhan had good taste. Kaito let them talk and catch up, anything but the case they’d been working on from the sound of it, just happy news and reconnecting over old memories.
Saguru looked Kaito’s way a few times, probably worried at his abnormal silence. It was fine. Kaito wanted to let them talk. Saguru, a year ago, had been sure that his friendships were broken beyond repair, but it was clear that this hadn’t been the case. The past, whatever had happened, was forgiven.
If only Kaito could get his own life to fall back into that kind of easy interaction. He and Aoko were trying, but... They had a long way to go.
Kaito was glad Saguru was happy to see his friends, really, he just also was jet-legged and had had too many emotions happening in a couple hours. He just...needed a minute. “Be right back,” he said, in Japanese. He flashed a smile when Saguru looked concerned and headed into the bathroom.
A splash of cold water on his face and the silence of being behind a closed door helped. “You’re out of practice,” Kaito said to his reflection. He usually was able to push emotions into their compact boxes and get on with life better. Not to mention be social even when he wasn’t feeling it. “They’re going to wonder what the hell Saguru sees in you.” He’d charmed Saguru’s parents and Japanese friends, his British friends couldn’t be that much harder. Kaito’s smile in the mirror turned wry. He always had that part of him that wanted to be liked.
Kaito made his way back, pulling on his friendly expression only to pause, some instinct telling him to wait before he just walked in. Kaito listened to his instincts.
“No, he seems nice!” Millard was saying to Saguru. “It just seems a bit quick, considering.”
“It’s been almost two years.”
“But you started dating him when exactly?” A beat. “No, never mind, it doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s just a surprise,” McLuhan said, subdued. “We all saw how bad Mel’s passing tore you up. You went half a year on the edge of reason trying to find who did it and then you just broke, dammit. He makes you happy?”
“Yes,” Saguru said emphatically. Kaito leaned against the wall and tucked the warm feeling that gave him in close.
“Then good. Still a bit annoyed he’s keeping you in Japan, but hell, anywhere’s up from where you were.” McLuhan’s knuckles popped. “And if he hurts you he’ll bloody fuckin’ regret it.”
Kaito steadied himself and made a deliberate sound to let them know he was coming back. The conversation in the next room abruptly turned to Jones’s recent vacation. Kaito sent a grin Saguru’s way when he entered the room, a bit less of a mask than earlier at least, and brought a pack of cards to his hands. He was going to charm the hell out of these people and send them on their way confident that they didn’t need to worry about Saguru’s relationship. The cards bridged between his hands showily. “Anyone like card games?”
***
The door shut behind Saguru’s police friends and Kaito finally could take a moment to breathe. Saguru, for all that he’d been engaged and cheerful for their visit, let out a sigh at Kaito’s side.
“Thank you for being patient,” he said. “I’m jet-lagged and I’m used to world trips; you must be exhausted.”
“It’s not that bad.” Compared to being Kid, a bit of jet lag was barely an inconvenience. But Kaito could admit that he was out of practice, spoiled by a regular sleep pattern after years of doing without. “It’s good that you got to see your friends.”
“I should have expected something like this,” Saguru said, moving to put the mugs they’d used in the sink. “Really, I was intending to visit them at some point tomorrow, but I suppose it’s more personal this way instead of catching them on the job.”
Kaito hummed agreement, watching Saguru’s shoulders shift under his shirt as he scrubbed.
“I think they were a bit worried what they were going to find with me here. Honestly, without you here I’d probably be a mess.”
There was a little strip of skin between Saguru’s hairline and the collar of his shirt that got covered up every time Saguru lifted his shoulders. It was distracting. Kaito let it be distracting because if he was paying attention to it, to how Saguru’s body filled the space, he wasn’t thinking about the ghost that had filled the air between them since the plane set down.
“Well, more of a mess.” There was a self-deprecating chuckle that Kaito wanted to shake away. “So thank you for being here,” Saguru said, so sincere and heartfelt.
There was a twinge of guilt in Kaito’s gut because yes, he was here to support Saguru, but there was a part of him that wanted Saguru to look at him through all of this instead of thinking too hard about the man he’d lost for selfish reasons. Kaito spent a lot of his life measuring up to dead men. It wasn’t a contest or a replacement here, but there was still a measure, and every second with Saguru’s friends had made it apparent, even if Saguru and his family rarely made Kaito feel like he was standing in Mel’s absent shadow.
Saguru turned off the water, flicking it from his hands in an absentminded way that he’d picked up from Kaito in lieu of a dish towel. Kaito’s breath caught in his chest from that one, tiny motion, one little sign here in all of this that Kaito had left a mark in Saguru’s patterns.
Saguru turned. “Tomorrow we can take the boxes with donations to the—”
Kaito stole the tail end of his sentence in a kiss. Saguru caught himself on the counter, unresponsive for a moment in surprise before letting Kaito pull him into a passionate kiss. Kaito pressed into it, drawing a tiny sound from Saguru like a victory.
Saguru met that kiss for a moment before cupping Kaito’s cheek in one hand and taking control, slowing it down and turning the passion to something gentler, sweeter.
Kaito couldn’t even be upset when Saguru pulled back, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, before studying Kaito’s expression. It was too gentle and caring to be upset about, or take as rejection.
“Talk to me,” Saguru said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Saguru’s eyes narrowed. “You’re upset. You’ve been uncomfortable since Millard and the others showed up. No, maybe before that. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Kaito tried to keep his smile, but he didn’t really want to hide from Saguru. That was the whole point of what they had between the two of them after all. It didn’t make covering things up any less of a habit though. Kaito slumped forward a bit, leaning a bit more on Saguru. “It’s hard on you being back here and I don’t want to be another problem.”
“You’ve been nothing but supportive,” Saguru said. “But that doesn’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m feeling a little insecure,” Kaito muttered, looking away. “It’s stupid.”
“Is it...because of Mel?” Saguru asked, clearly a little uncomfortable to ask.
“No. Yes, a little,” Kaito said, letting a bit of the self-directed frustration he felt show on his face. “Like I said, stupid. I know in my head just how much you care, and usually my heart gets that too, but being here...”
There was understanding in Saguru’s eyes when Kaito risked a glance. It wasn’t like Kaito’s situation with Aoko, but how did Saguru manage watching the two of them try to figure things out again with that past looming there? Aoko’d never died, but their relationship was as much a lingering ghost of memory in Japan as Hakuba’s husband was here.
“And I might want your friends to like me more than I’d usually care about random people’s opinions of me,” Kaito added.
“You overheard Millard,” Saguru said, a statement not a question.
Kaito shrugged. “I get it. Concerned friend making sure you’re not just diving into something you’re not ready for or being taken advantage of. It’s fine.”
“While I’m glad he cares, it really isn’t any of his business,” Saguru said. “That’s between you and me. And between you and me, I am glad I’m with you. Yes, I loved Mel. Yes, I still feel sad as today clearly demonstrated. But I love you as well and what we have is entirely separate from what I had with Mel and always will be. Just like how you feel toward Aoko,” Saguru said, echoing the parallel of Kaito’s thoughts. “I look at you and I will forever and always only see Kuroba Kaito, magician, thief, and keeper of obscure knowledge.”
Kaito surprised himself by laughing and Saguru smiled back. “I love you too, Saguru.” He leaned in and kissed him again, heart lighter.
Saguru pulled away before it could get any further than chaste. Kaito raised an eyebrow at him. Saguru’s cheeks went pink. “I love you, but we are not doing anything more than kissing in this apartment.”
“Nothing?” Kaito asked, thinking of that brief moment where Saguru matched the passion in his kiss.
“Nothing,” Saguru said firmly. “My emotions are all over as it is; I have too many memories here to add to them in that way.”
“...So does that mean nothing more than kissing the whole time we’re in London?” Kaito asked, feeling a bit disappointed. Sure, London wasn’t the romantic getaway city like Paris, but he was in a foreign country, alone with his lover for the rest of the week, no child to possibly interrupt them...
“Not in the apartment,” Saguru said.
That wording... “Does that mean out of the apartment is okay?” Kaito asked, a grin spreading across his face slowly. “Why Saguru, how daring. Were you thinking of a bathroom tryst? Do you have a kink for the danger of being exposed?”
Saguru went bright red. “Kuroba! No, I was not thinking about...about that! If either of us has an exhibitionist streak, it would definitively be you!”
“You got me,” Kaito sighed, playing it a bit dramatic because it was fun. “We both know I like to flirt with danger. Although I’d totally be up for a tryst if you were interested—”
“Stop.”
“Toilets are kind of cramped here, aren’t they? We could find one that’s meant for one, lock the door—”
Saguru’s hand covered Kaito’s mouth before he could get any further in that little fantasy scenario. The blush had spread to Saguru’s ears. It was cute, a reason that Kaito enjoyed riling him up. The interest buried under that embarrassment made it worth it too. “No borderline public sex. Or public,” Saguru added like he could read Kaito’s thoughts before Kaito even finished having them. “...We are getting a hotel the last day here when I turn over my apartment keys.”
Kaito grinned wider under Saguru’s palm. Then he licked it, snickering at how Saguru’s face twisted in disgust.
“I guess that will have to do,” he said, leaning all his weight on Saguru for a second, taking advantage of how close they were to give a tiny taste of intimacy. Platonic or sexual, at least Kaito didn’t have to worry that Saguru didn’t want that intimacy with him. It was gratifying hearing the tiny, unsteady breath Saguru took when Kaito pulled away. “Until then, I guess I’ll just have to make do.”
“What is that supposed to—”
“I’m going to take a shower and sleep,” Kaito continued, heading to fetch a towel from the linen closet. “We are using the bed, correct?”
“...Yes.” Saguru grimaced. Ah, more complicated emotions. Lovely.
“You could always join me in the shower,” Kaito said with a wink.
“You’re incorrigible,” Saguru complained.
He was smiling though. Win for Kaito.
“Kaito,” Saguru called before Kaito could get to the bathroom.
“Yeah?”
Saguru still leaned against the kitchen counter, something between fondness and concern on his face. “I love you.”
Kato smiled, true and relaxed. “I know. Love you too.” He let the smile tick up to a grin. “Offer’s still open~!”
“I’ll make the bed,” Saguru said with a roll of his eyes.
Everything would be fine.
***
It took about two days to properly go through everything and either donate or dispose of what Saguru wasn’t keeping. Saguru put the furniture up in an ad for a low price, and already had the couch, table and chairs, and two of the bookcases gone. There hadn’t been any more emotional breakdowns from either of them and Saguru was cautiously optimistic about how the rest of this trip would go. They’d made a short trip to the police station yesterday and they were planning on dinner with Saguru’s maternal aunt and cousin that evening.
With any luck, they’d get rid of the rest of the furniture and could turn over the keys by the end of the week with no extraneous items for the landlord to deal with. That just left mailing the items Saguru was keeping and taking the rest of the mess to donate. It would take a few trips, but it was wonderful to be through with the worst of it.
“So,” Kaito said sifting through his luggage, “how nice should I dress to meet your family?”
“You don’t have to dress up.” While it was nice that Kaito cared, Saguru had hoped he would be more comfortable meeting his family.
Kaito looked down at the old t-shirt and worn jeans he currently had on. “I don’t think what I have on will go over well. If your family is anything like you, I’ll be way underdressed.”
“Just put on something clean and respectable. You don’t have to wear a suit.”
“You’re putting on slacks and a dress shirt.”
“I wear slacks and a dress shirt on the regular.” The old and casual clothing he’d worn the past few days had been for cleaning and dealing with potentially unknown messes and objects while they sorted through things. “Just be yourself. They’re not stuck up. That’s my other aunt and uncle. Henrietta’s lovely, and so is Jean.”
“Remind me, how big is your mother’s family?”
“She’s the youngest of three, one older sister and a brother. Uncle Gregory is married with two children—we don’t talk much to Uncle Gregory.” Saguru fixed his cuffs while Kaito pulled out a shirt and slacks folded into what seemed to be impossibly small bundles. “Everything is cut-throat and backhanded around him and his wife and he’s a bit of a racist to boot. My cousins aren’t too bad, but sometimes they fall back on unfortunate behavior patterns they learned from their parents. Aunt Henrietta was married and divorced—a minor family scandal—and just has Jean. Jean’s married, but her husband travels.”
“Okay, so that makes three cousins, two aunts and an uncle. Your grandparents have passed on?”
“A few years back, yes. Well. Grandmum a few years ago. Grandfather passed closer to eight years now.” He would always have mixed feelings about his grandfather. His grandmother though, he did miss her. “Anyway, Aunt Henrietta and Jean aren’t anyone you need to worry about.”
“Good to know.” Kaito shook out his clothes and pulled out something that fit into the palm of his hand with a cord...
“Is that a tiny iron?”
“It’s useful,” Kaito said. “And takes up very little space. I’m surprised you don’t have one.”
“Most places have one you can borrow if you need it these days. Why do you have a tiny iron?”
Kaito held up his shirt which had dozens of square creases from being folded very tiny. “While I can fit just about anything I could possibly need by packing tight, it leaves a bit of a mess in presentation.”
“What on earth did you pack?” Saguru asked. He hadn’t paid much attention to Kaito’s luggage before since he’d only brought it out to dress when Saguru was coming or going from the bathroom, but it had dozens of tightly folded and packed clothing, all in neat segments with each type in its own place. It was far more organized than Saguru was expecting, more organized than Saguru’s own bag. It was also far more clothing than Kaito could possibly need for a week trip.
“I wasn’t sure what I’d need so I brought whatever I thought might be useful.”
“Is that a dress?” Saguru’s eyes caught on a floral print bundle he could swear he remembered seeing in Kaito’s closet once.
“Old habits die hard, ‘Kuba. What if I need to wear a dress?”
Meaning a disguise. Probably. And now Saguru had a picture of Kaito wearing said dress as himself in his head. Lovely. Not the time. “I should hope there isn’t any pressing reason to need a dress anytime soon, though if you ever feel like it for the hell of it, go right ahead.”
“Is that interest I hear?” Kaito teased, ironing his clothing right there on the bedspread with his impossibly tiny iron.
“Ask me when we’re in Japan again and find out.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I live to be a killjoy.”
Kaito laughed. “So your dad’s side of the family?” He moved on to ironing his slacks. Saguru finished straightening his own clothing to his preferred level of neatness.
“My grandfather had an older sister, and she had a son, who had a son and a daughter, and who I view as cousins. My grandfather technically adopted my one cousin back into the Hakuba name as heir to Hakuba laboratories. He was a researcher for a few years until Ojiisama passed on and he took over running the facility...” Saguru was almost ten years younger than his cousin though, so they’d never been close. “I have a more or less formal relationship with my cousin. Hirakichi-san is married, and I think he has a child in elementary school, but I am afraid I didn’t keep up with him since I was living in London for most of the last two decades. Most of the memories I have of him are from when I was younger and he was always a bit imposing. But I suppose most relatives would be when you’re a decade apart in age.” His sister, Rin, was less intimidating, but they’d both been serious people raised in a strict household with high expectations held in them. If Hakuba hadn’t grown up in London with Mum giving him significant free reign to pursue his interests, he could have ended up the same way. Many people would have said he was intimidating back then though so perhaps it had been a matter of perspective all along.
“I doubt you’ll be meeting them anytime in the near future,” Saguru continued. “We aren’t close.”
“Good to know though. It gives me a better picture of your life.” Kaito finished ironing his clothes and had them on in the blink of an eye. Saguru was a bit envious at how Kaito could manage to get everything to fit correctly in that amount of time.
“Do you have relatives I don’t know about?” Saguru asked because it was something he’d never considered beyond Kaito’s mother.
“All my grandparents died, and my parents were only children. Dunno about further back than that really—Kaa-san’s mother was French though.”
“Really? I thought she was more than half Japanese.”
“She inherited more of her dad’s looks. Genetics,” Kaito said with a shrug.
Which meant Kaito was a quarter French, which was baffling in a different way because genetically speaking, he was much closer to Saguru’s situation than expected, but culturally, he’d never been seen as anything but Japanese. Something to think about when they weren’t on their way out the door though. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Hmm,” Kaito said flicking his hands and making items appear and vanish off his person. “Wallet, passport, spare apartment key, phone, cards, emergency second phone, smoke pellets—”
“I’ll take that as yes, you have everything.”
“That’s only half the list.”
“When did you even manage to fill your pockets?”
Kaito gave him an innocent, wide eyed look that no one who had known him more than ten minutes would actually believe.
“Never mind, let’s go.” As always, it was better not to think too hard about where Kaito managed to hide half of the things he tended to carry. There were only so many places to hide extra pockets on the human body and Saguru didn’t need to start running a mental list when he was going to see relatives.
***
“Guru!” Jean said, pulling Saguru into a crushing hug the moment she opened the door. “It’s been ages!” Saguru patted her back as his aunt leaned in the doorway. To his right, Saguru could practically feel the suppressed laughter vibrating off Kaito.
“Jean, it’s good to see you.” His cousin had cut her hair since he last saw her, wavy brown hair a bit above her shoulders instead of down her back. She looked happy and healthy. “Aunt Henrietta,” Saguru said, giving her a hug as well. “You look well.”
She did, solid and warm. She was stockier than Mum and Saguru, round where Mum had inherited a more delicate structure, but it suited her. As a child, Saguru thought she had a face made for smiles with how her round cheeks had dimples and her eyes would turn into crescents. Both dimples were showing at the moment as she smiled widely.
“I’m glad you could make it,” she said. “I was starting to wonder if I should plan my next vacation to Japan. I think I might still. Can you believe your mother hasn’t visited since she came to help you move?”
“I have the impression that she and Father are rediscovering some of their old passions lately. They’ve been on trips often the last few months. If I remember correctly they went to relive some of their honeymoon stops.” He was glad his parents were still in love, but it was a bit baffling why they seemed to be rediscovering it now. He’d have expected this more when Mum retired and moved to Japan, not four years later.
“Well she should take a few of those trips out this way. Goodness knows they did some of their courting out here.”
“I’ll pass that along.” He stepped back and set a hand on Kaito’s shoulder. “Jean, Henrietta, this is Kaito Kuroba, my boyfriend. Kaito, this is my cousin and aunt.”
Kaito had a perfect charming smile on his face, accepting getting pulled into a hug by Jean with good humor. He was probably expecting it with how Mum was a hugger.
“Aunt Elaine’s told us all about you,” Jean said. “Which we should have been hearing from Guru, but he’s barely called.”
“I called you,” Saguru protested.
“Yes, and you talked about work, not a bit about how your life was going or how you’d started dating again. I had to hear it all second hand.”
Kaito was pulled into a gentler hug by Aunt Henrietta, and it was probably only Saguru who could tell he was a little uncomfortable with all the touching.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” Kaito said, his English copying Saguru’s accent as close as he could get it. “It’s a pleasure to meet more of Saguru’s family.”
“He’s even polite,” Henrietta said, eyes crinkling with good humor. That was in reference to how Mel had tripped and fell when Saguru went to introduce him the first time and their first impression had been of him swearing in panic, then in mortification. He was fortunate his aunt had a good sense of humor.
“Oh, he’s polite for the moment,” Saguru said.
“Saguru, I’m always a gentleman,” Kaito said.
“Of course you are. Except eighty percent of the time when you aren’t.”
“Maybe I’m just not a gentleman to you?”
Jean laughed. “Come in, come in, we shouldn’t keep standing on the front step.”
“Guru?” Kaito teased, under his breath as he leaned in close to Saguru’s side.
“That’s a nickname only Jean is allowed to use and if you use it, I’m going back to calling you Kuroba.” It wasn’t much of a threat and the sparkle in Kaito’s eye said he would use this new knowledge at some point. Saguru resigned himself for potential future embarrassment without much actual resignation.
“Don’t worry about your shoes,” Henrietta said when Kaito bent on reflex to take them off. “It’s perfectly acceptable to leave them on and we’re not staying in long anyway.”
“We’re eating out?” Saguru asked, surprised. He’d assumed they were eating in with the invitation.
“Our treat,” Jean said. She glanced at her phone as she led them to the lounge. “I’m waiting on a message from Donny. He got back in the country today and he wasn’t sure if he’d be free in time for our reservations.” With a quick smile in Kaito’s direction, she added, “Donny’s my husband. Gordon.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait?” Saguru suggested.
Jean just waved a hand. “If he doesn’t make dinner, we can always stop back here after to talk. I’m sure he’ll be in before bed. I thought he wasn’t going to be back for a few days, but business finished early. He’s probably going to be exhausted though.”
“As someone still a bit jet lagged, I sympathize,” Kaito said, earning a smile from her.
“I think he’s always a little jet lagged, to be honest,” Jean said. “He showed up to our wedding half an hour late because he still had his watch set to another time zone.”
“And he’d forgotten to charge his cell phone so no one could even get in touch,” Saguru remembered. “You were close to having me call the police and stage a manhunt.”
“Well he wasn’t going to leave me at the altar. I didn’t think he had cold feet, but if he’d had them he’d have gotten a talking to. Thankfully that sorted itself out.”
“At least your in-laws didn’t try to talk your husband out of marrying you right before the ceremony.”
“Seriously?” Kaito said.
“I did say we didn’t get along,” Saguru said. “Mel’s grandmother ended up pulling his mother away and talking her down from trying to stop the ceremony. It was a bit of a mess.”
“Never could have noticed once it got started though,” Jean said.
“They do like their public faces.”
“Huh. The most exciting thing at my wedding was Nakamori-keibu crying and getting horribly drunk,” Kaito said. “Meanwhile Aoko and I were both sober and there were maybe ten other guests and it was a bit rushed and awkward even if we were really happy at the time. I’m divorced,” he added for Jean and Henrietta’s benefit.
“So am I,” Henrietta said. “There’s no judgment here, dear.”
They sat on comfortable couches in a room that looked like it came out of a designer’s portfolio—and likely was in some designer’s interior decorating portfolio. Henrietta liked having up to date décor though the private areas of the home were a less picture perfect. Kaito looked perfectly at ease, but Saguru was willing to bet he was at least a bit uncomfortable. Kaito’s mother’s house was well decorated, but unlike this, it was an unchanging finery—like a museum, or like time had stopped, no time or interest in decorating once she started traveling. Kaito’s own tastes were eclectic and full of little cluttered signs of his life and personality everywhere; picture-perfect lounges weren’t part of his daily life.
“Now, Saguru. You’re back to teaching I hear?” Henrietta said, initiating conversation as Jean tapped at her phone.
“Yes, actually back to teaching Chemistry once the semester starts up. I was teaching English for a while, but the teacher who was on maternity leave returned and so I ended up applying for a different job.”
“And you met Kaito here because of one of your students...” There was a bit of humor in his aunt’s eyes. Between having tutored Mel before they were dating and now dating the father of a student, Saguru supposed she would find humor in how awkward a situation that could be.
“Actually we knew each other in high school,” Kaito cut in. “And he’s not Takumi’s teacher at the moment.”
“But I was when I started dating you,” Saguru grumbled. “Yes, before you say anything that wasn’t exactly something that the board would have been happy with. Somehow that never reached them despite how widespread the rumor mill is.”
Jean glanced up from her phone. “High school. As in that boy you all but stalked? The one you kept notes on in your case diary along with the thief you were chasing? That guy?”
Saguru flushed and Kaito started laughing silently, struggling to conceal a grin.
“Ah, yes, Elaine did mention something about that,” Henrietta said, looking even more amused.
“Is that how all your family remembers me?” Kaito asked.
“No.”
“You turned his hair green!” Jean said suddenly, pointing at Kaito. “That was you, right? He hadn’t got all the dye out when he was visiting and it took ages to get the story out of him.”
“One, I had a casebook, not a diary, and two,” Saguru lost his train of thought as Kaito started laughing against his shoulder.
When Kaito sat up again he was genuinely relaxed. “Wow. I hadn’t realized it took that long to wash out.”
“You dyed it before a school break.”
“So I didn’t get to see how long the result lasted. For the record, I no longer dye people’s hair without warning.”
“And yet so many other habits are still there.”
“Hush,” Kaito said, patting him like he was placating a dog.
Jean’s phone trilled. “Oh, that’s Donny.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, scrolling through the message. “He says he can meet us at the restaurant, but he’s going to be a bit late—better than not at all I guess.”
“And that means we don’t need to wait for him here,” Henrietta said with a sigh. “Well, I guess we can continue catching up at the restaurant.”
“Are we dressed nice enough?” Kaito hissed in Saguru’s ear, lips not moving, for all appearances just taking a moment to lean on Saguru’s shoulder.
“We’re fine. They’re not dressed for somewhere fancy,” Saguru murmured under the guise of helping Kaito to his feet. Both his relatives were sharp dressers, but between Jean’s slacks and Henrietta’s comfortable sleeveless summer dress, they were in their version of casual wear. They’d likely be going somewhere nicer than Saguru normally frequented, but nowhere that required a dress code.
“I am so glad I decided on the button down shirt and slacks,” Kaito said through a relaxed-looking smile. “Bet you something goes wrong.”
“I’m not taking that bet.” They both knew that if something didn’t go wrong tonight, that probably meant something really big happening before the week was out. “Help me make sure they’ll be okay if something does happen?”
“Of course.”
“What are you whispering about?” Jean asked.
They’d dropped into Japanese without meaning to again. “Ah, just assuring Kaito that no matter where we end up, there will be something that isn’t sea food.”
“Not a fan?” Jean asked.
“Not a fan of fish,” Kaito said, managing to keep a straight face at the thought of his phobia.
“We’re getting Indian, so you should be able to find something.”
“Not going to take me somewhere with traditional fare?” Kaito joked.
Jean patted his arm. “Enjoying good Indian food is part of the British experience. And I know Guru likes curry.”
“I’ll admit, Indian food isn’t something I’ve had much of. Is the curry anything like Japanese curry?”
“Very different,” Saguru said. “Japanese curry isn’t as spicy and has a simpler savory taste. Indian curry builds off a variety of spices and a broader range of protein and vegetable combinations than the average Japanese curry. And more bread and less rice.”
“Huh.”
“It’s an adventure then,” Jean said, grinning.
Henrietta brought around a car and they piled in.
Saguru supposed that at least they would be having an interesting night out regardless of his karma.
***
The restaurant was very different from the place Saguru frequented with Mel over the years, dim lighting and mirrors instead of wide windows, and plush sand-colored chairs and booths instead of pale wooden chairs, but the scent of curry and spices was familiar and the dimmer lighting made the atmosphere more intimate than it otherwise would have been. There were only two tables with patrons at the moment, one toward the front door, the other close to the kitchen doors in the back. On the ride over, Saguru had been filled in on what had changed in his relatives’ lives over the last year or so, and some of the latest gossip on his uncle’s family. Apparently one of his cousins had gotten engaged to someone the family didn’t approve of and there was an ongoing argument that Henrietta kept getting pulled into whether she wanted to be or not. Saguru wished his cousin and her fiancé luck. Considering how Uncle Gregory never really warmed up to Saguru’s father though, it wasn’t likely that this would blow over.
“Well,” Kaito said when they were seated at a table in the far corner of the room, “so far it smells great so that’s off to a good start.”
“How are you with spice?” Henrietta asked, opening her menu.
Kaito wavered a hand in the air. “I can tolerate spice, but not too much. I like to taste my food, not get burned by it.”
“Burn is another flavor profile,” Jean said cheerfully. She would happily eat things that would make Saguru’s tongue burn for hours.
“Try the butter chicken, it’s not spicy,” Saguru suggested.
“What are you getting?”
“Lamb Roganjosh.”
“You’re eating baby sheep?” Kaito said, looking exaggeratedly sad. “How could you?” He squinted at the menu. “Yeah, I’m going to go with your suggestion, Saguru, I don’t know what half of this says. I know conversational English, but some of these words I’ve never seen before.”
“Well some of them aren’t English, so that covers some of what you don’t know.”
“Well that’s entirely not helpful.”
Saguru smiled. “Point something out if you want to know more or just ask when the waiter comes.”
“How about you teach me, I like to learn.” He said it with a smile that made Saguru pause and wonder if it was a serious request or an innuendo, which considering the company, Saguru would hope it wasn’t currently an innuendo. With Kaito it very well could be the case.
He was saved from answering that by the waiter, arriving to collect drink orders.
“Mango lassi all around,” Jean said, “and an order of mix pakora and a bread basket! Might as well take our time since Donny will be late.”
Kaito looked at Saguru. “You’ll like the lassi, it’s sweet,” Saguru said. “The rest is flatbreads and fried finger food; probably not very spicy but filling. Jean, we’re not going to want our meal if we fill up on all this.”
“The joy of leftovers is that you don’t have to cook for a day,” Jean said.
“We might not have a refrigerator by tomorrow.”
“Leftovers make a decent breakfast?” she said, smiling.
“Well, it allows for a full experience...”
“I have had Indian food before,” Kaito said, “it’s just been a long time and everything was written in katakana, so it doesn’t exactly translate to knowing the word in English lettering.”
“So you have an idea about what you’re getting,” Jean said. “Now, so long as we’re on the topic of spicy things...” She grinned at Saguru.
Kaito, clearly sensing an embarrassing story, leaned forward. “Oh?”
“Did Saguru ever tell you about the time with the peppers?”
“No, do tell.”
Jean’s grin had teeth.
“Must you?” Saguru sighed.
Both his cousin and boyfriend ignored him entirely. “So,” Jean said, “back when we were kids Aunt Elaine had this whim to do a vegetable garden. And she doesn’t do things by halves so she got a whole bunch of plants and put in raised beds and everything in the back yard and put in pretty much anything you can think of. There were so many plants. Anyway, Guru and I got a kick out of seeing them grow and picking the ripe things. We were what? Eight or nine?”
“You were seven, I was eight, almost nine,” Saguru said, resigned to let the story unfold.
“Right. Kids. So Aunt Elaine had more produce coming out of that garden than she knew what to do with, but her peppers were all a bit behind everything else—peppers can be slow I guess? And Guru and I kept watching and waiting for them to be ready. Only we got impatient and decided to snitch one. Just one to share between the two of us.”
“Oh no,” Kaito said, clearly seeing where this was going.
“Yes,” Jean said, telling the story with relish. “I chose the pepper—and mind you Aunt Elaine didn’t label the plants, just shunted like plants off in the beds—took a big bite, and handed it to Guru. Who also took a big bite. From the top. Now I realized my mistake about a half second after I handed the pepper over, but by then it was too late. My mouth was burning and Saguru took a bite and then both our mouths were burning. And this was when we had no spice tolerance to speak of, so we were both standing there with mouthfuls of hot pepper and burning mouth, caught completely off guard.”
“Oh no,” Kaito repeated, grin matching Jean’s. “You must have been upset.”
“That’s an understatement. We both spit the pepper out and ran to the house because Saguru remembered something about milk and bread making things less spicy. Only by that point we were crying and Guru had the worst of it since he ate from the top.” Jean wiped a mock-tear from her eye. “Our mouths were burning for hours and Aunt Elaine told us we should have just asked.”
“To be honest, we’re lucky we didn’t get anything in our eyes,” Saguru said.
“True.”
“They were over it by the end of the summer and entirely willing to try the spicy food Elaine made,” Henrietta cut in.
Kaito laughed. “You should hear about the time I first had mapo tofu—”
Toward the back of the restroom, a woman screamed. Saguru turned. One of the two women from the table near the kitchen stared in horror through the bathroom door. Saguru’s mood sunk like a lead weight. Just past the door, in the thin strip of tile floor he could see from this angle, was a woman’s hand, pale against dark green tiles.
Saguru, Kaito and Jean stood up at the same time.
“I’m a doctor!” Jean said, making her way to the bathroom. “And he’s a detective,” she added with a thumb in Saguru’s direction. “Everyone stay calm.”
Of course something would happen; he was overdue. Kaito and Saguru exchanged a look and got to work.
***
The woman in the bathroom was still alive—Saguru’s luck wasn’t Kudo’s level of bad yet thank goodness—but she had a concussion and had had her research stolen. Research that by all logic should have been safely in her lab instead of on her person, and definitely should have had more than one copy of it. Between the suspicious gap of people using the restroom outside of the woman’s group—with the exception of one woman from another party who had left the restaurant almost half an hour before Saguru’s group got there—and the abnormal lack of backing up important files, their handling aside, there was something fishy going on. Why would anyone take the research, research on the effect of a certain species of plant extracts on the metabolism at that? How would they have known she had it on her? And, if the rest of the woman’s party was to be believed, why would they steal research that hadn’t had breakthroughs in months and had had its funding cut to the point where the woman, Amelia, had been working on it out of her own home after hours in hopes of finding something she’d missed?
Nothing added up for a theft case, but it did point to potentially a fraud case—unless there was something else at play. Kaito had chatted up the members of Amelia’s party as Saguru and Jean took care of Amelia and examined the surroundings. He’d found grudges in some of her coworkers and a worry that her failing research would lead to funding cuts for the rest of them. Saguru had found minimal signs of a struggle.
He’d handed most of the case over to the police since he didn’t actually have his detective license in London anymore, but the questions ticked over in his brain as he watched paramedics carry Amelia out and police officers photograph the restaurant bathroom.
“There’s something that doesn’t quite add up,” Saguru murmured to himself.
“Besides how weird the timing is?” Kaito said at his side. “It sounds like one of the women in the group and the man both used the restroom at some point after Amelia went in there, but neither one says they noticed anything.”
“And none of the staff used it in the interim. That leaves either one of them lying or the person who left earlier.”
“Which isn’t likely based on when they used the bathroom,” Kaito said. He looked at Saguru, one brow raised. “They both have the motive. The woman was working with Amelia on her project, and the man was convinced budget cuts were coming to him next because her research was failing.”
“And the angle of the head wound...”
“Leaves only her female partner,” Kaito finished. “Did you check the bathroom trash?”
“No, but I’ll go do that. Do you think she would keep evidence on her?”
“It’s possible. What about the weapon?”
“...The doorstop,” Saguru said. “It wasn’t in use, but there was a stone doorstop in the shape of an elephant.”
“Yeah, that could cause blunt force trauma.” Kaito clapped him on the shoulder. “You check the trash and talk to investigators, I’ll point the officer in charge in the right direction to check the woman’s pockets.”
Saguru glanced at the investigator who he was acquaintances with. “If he gives you problems, use my name.”
“Got it.” Kaito grinned and Saguru was glad he was here. It was so much simpler working with someone that had his back.
He hurried back over to the officers documenting the crime scene. “There’s reason to believe the research might be somewhere in the room.”
An officer who knew him from his detective days tossed Saguru a pair of gloves. “You know procedure.”
“Thank you.”
The elephant doorstop was already being noted as evidence, so Saguru took his search to the rubbish bin. There were plenty of wadded paper towels, but no memory stick. Nothing in the stall rubbish either, but in the second stall in the water reservoir to the toilet he found what he was looking for; one memory stick carefully sealed in two separate plastic bags, submerged under the tank float. Saguru brought it to the officers.
“I think it’s safe to say this isn’t an ordinary mugging,” he said to them.
“No shit,” one officer said, shaking his head. “Who hides something electronic in a toilet tank?”
Someone desperate to keep suspicion off them. The plastic bags showed forethought though. This was definitely planned. “We should go ask the woman who did it,” Saguru said.
“Already have it figured out?”
“The exact motive, no, but there are a few too many coincidences.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Saguru returned to the main room to find their suspect getting a pat-down with a very uncomfortable expression on her face. Kaito and Jean stood a few meters away while Henrietta sat in a chair looking out of her depth. Jean still wore her crisis-response calm. “It was in a toilet tank,” Saguru said coming up to them.
“Hmm, then this is completely unnecessary,” Kaito said with a nod toward the suspect.
“I have to wonder how she intended to get the thing back. Return days later?” Saguru shook his head. Their suspect’s discomfort was edging toward anxiety; though the other members of their party were having similar pat-downs to cover up that she was the main suspect, she had a guilty conscience. She was the sort who would confess with a bit of pressure and Saguru intended to hand that last bit of leverage to the officer in charge.
“Maybe she didn’t think that far ahead,” Kaito offered. “Or maybe this was really badly planned all around.”
Saguru suspected the latter. “I’ll just be a moment.”
The officer in charge was listening to one of the officers who had been investigating the crime scene, but he gave Saguru his attention as he approached. “So the missing research hadn’t even left the building,” he said.
“The files would have to be checked to be sure, but it is rather suspicious to have a memory stick in a toilet conveniently when one was missing.”
The man snorted. “With how things have been of late, it’d be my luck if we found a smuggling drop instead. But thank you for finding it. You must have worse luck than my team though; this is your second crime scene this week if I remember right.”
“I have a poor track record of stumbling into things lately,” Saguru said. “The one who committed the assault here was clearly Amelia’s research partner,” he said watching her turn out her pockets. “Between the angle of the attack and the timing, she’s the only one who could have. She would have known Amelia had the research with her and have been able to surprise Amelia.” But. “Although I don’t think it was a surprise attack.”
“Your theory is that the victim’s in on it?” the officer said. He sounded surprised, but he didn’t seem disbelieving.
“There wasn’t a struggle. Amelia had the only copy of her research on her which is fairly ridiculous as a researcher would know to have backup of their work. It’s common sense because if a computer fails or something else goes wrong, you have to have some sort of failsafe or else months of work would be lost. It’s almost as if...”
“She wanted it to be lost or destroyed,” the officer finished, his mouth a grim line. “They did say the research hadn’t had results in months, didn’t they?”
“I’m not sure if she hoped to get an out to her situation by scrapping her project in a way she seemed less responsible for, or if there was some other goal here, but either way there is enough evidence to take her partner in.”
“There is,” the man said. “And I’ll get to the bottom of it.” He held out a hand for Saguru to shake. “James Yule, by the way. Already know you; you have a bit of a reputation.”
Saguru snorted, shaking his hand. “Of course I do. Best of luck with the rest of the investigation.”
“Not tempted to see it to the end?” Yule joked.
“Believe me I am,” Saguru said, watching an officer lead the suspect a bit away from the others to read her rights. They’d found something in their search of her person, though what, Saguru had missed it. “But I am pushing the legality of helping here as it is.”
“Best of luck to you then, Hakuba.”
“And to you.” Saguru returned to Kaito’s side as the suspect was escorted out.
“That was anticlimactic,” Kaito said. “Did you figure the motive?”
“Not really, though it’s probably an attempt at scrapping the project.” There was a tiny part of him that wondered if there had been a breakthrough after all, something that made the project worth stealing, but nothing pointed to that. It was a failing project with cut funding, a cloud hanging over both researchers that they hadn’t been able to fix, nor had they been able to just call off. Making it seemingly disappear was an understandable desire. With the research gone, the people funding them would have called it a loss and canceled it, probably in favor of some other more lucrative seeming project. Maybe a project that could have put Amelia back into a better standing in the research community.
“Are you okay?” Kaito asked too quiet for Saguru’s relatives to hear. “It’s stolen science research...”
And a similar situation to the case he’d investigated when Mel died. But unlike that case, this was a very sloppy job. It wasn’t so similar that it had him on edge. It was nice of Kaito to notice though. “I’m fine. I highly doubt this is anything darker than two people feeling trapped by a bit of bad luck.” He would privately admit that part of the reason he wanted to hand the case over stemmed from the similarity though.
“Good.” Kaito squeezed his hand before turning to Saguru’s family. “So, that sure was a way to start the evening.”
Jean laughed drily. “Yeah, nothing like finding someone with surprise head trauma in a bathroom. At least it doesn’t look like she’ll have lasting damage. It was a minor concussion from what I could tell.”
“I’m so sorry this had to happen when we were taking you to dinner,” Henrietta said, still a bit pale.
Saguru and Kaito glanced at each other—it was more Saguru’s fault than anyone’s with his luck pulling at the universe around them, but it wasn’t like he could explain that. “At least everyone will be alright,” he said neutrally.
“Do you think we could get our food boxed up to go?” Jean wondered. “At this point it’s a bit of a question whether we should even stay.”
“Nothing is wrong with the restaurant itself,” Saguru said.
“True.”
Of course it was then that her husband finally showed up. Gordon was wide eyed as he wandered over, pushing past the last officers as they left. “What on earth happened? Did someone hold up the restaurant?” he asked.
“Nah, just an assault in the ladies room,” Jean said with fake nonchalance.
“The hell?” Gordon glanced back at where the police had been. “Is everyone okay?”
“Oh, we’re fine, Donny,” Jean said. “The lady was hit in the head but she’ll be fine. You have terrible timing, darling.”
“You don’t say,” Gordon said, shaken. “I always have run late.” He hugged Jean on automatic, looking her over before looking at the rest of their group. “Oh. Hello, Saguru, it’s been a bit, yeah?”
Saguru smiled at his cousin’s husband. “Gordon. It’s good to see you.”
“Pity about the...” He waved a hand. “I was expecting to show up for dessert, not a crime scene. This is a bit more your speed though.”
Saguru snorted. “Unfortunately. Gordon, this is my boyfriend, Kaito Kuroba.”
Kaito gave a little wave. “Hi! How was the flight?”
“Long,” Gordon said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Guru, I’m going to see if I can get our food to go,” Jean said, patting Saguru on the arm. “I hope you don’t mind a bit more of a wait.”
“We’ll live,” Saguru said with good humor.
“So,” Kaito said as she wandered over to the woman at the register who had yet to stop looking alarmed since Amelia had been found unconscious. “How do you guys feel about card tricks?”
“I... Neutral?” Gordon said, bemused.
Kaito grinned. “I promise that by the time our food comes you’ll have a stronger opinion.”
Saguru laughed, sitting next to Henrietta as Kaito started in on an impromptu performance.
“I think I like him,” Henrietta whispered.
“I like him quite a bit,” Saguru said, not hiding his enamored smile in the slightest. His aunt patted his arm.
Kaito sent Saguru a wink and pulled them all into his performance.
***
The next morning found Saguru and Kaito sitting on the bed eating leftover curry for breakfast as Saguru went through his emails on his phone. “There’s one from work,” Saguru said to Kaito, who of course couldn’t eat normally, but was sprawled half off the bed doing what could be considered upper body exercises between bites of curry where it sat on a box on the floor. “It sounds like Kate is trying to get together a group of faculty to go to the beach in the name of work bonding.”
“Over summer break?” Kaito asked. He did a push up to take another bite of food. “Sounds a little optimistic to expect people to want to be around coworkers for the longest stretch they have an option of not being around them.”
“She does seem to like everyone getting along as much as possible.” Saguru eyed Kaito. “How are you able to eat like that and not get indigestion? Or fall off the bed?”
“Practice,” Kaito said with a sparkling grin. “So are you going to go?”
“She’s suggesting the second weekend in July, and if that’s the case, I was hoping to see if I could visit London again around then. If it gets moved to a later date, I’ll consider, but I don’t ordinarily enjoy beaches.”
“You showed me a picture of you and Mel on a beach just the other day,” Kaito pointed out.
“That was carefully planned with my disability in mind, not a trip with a dozen other people.” Saguru took a bite of curry, scrolling further in his messages, most of it advertisements and the occasional social media alert (he’d blame Kaito for convincing him to get some of those accounts, but admittedly several of them were Mel’s past influence despite Saguru’s habit of rarely using them). “There’s also one from the landlord. I sent him an estimate for when we’d be dropping off the keys, and he said not to worry about any leftover furniture as he’d take care of it.”
“That’s convenient.”
“He probably either intends to keep it as a perk for renting the flat or sell it himself, but I’m not going to complain.” If Saguru didn’t have to worry about the rest of the furniture, that just meant taking the donations away and mailing the rest of the boxes. Which actually meant they could take care of it today and have a day or so to relax at a hotel or something until their scheduled flight back. “What do you think of a trip to France?”
“What, like in the future?”
“I was thinking tomorrow. It’s not cheap, but we could take a train to Paris for the day if you wanted.”
Kaito gave a shove of his arms so he was upright to stare. “Seriously?”
Saguru rubbed the back of his head, feeling a little self-conscious at the sudden scrutiny. “Well, you did say that you found Paris romantic and I’m familiar enough with the city that an unplanned trip isn’t that big of a deal. We’d just have to be back in London in time for our flight...”
He found himself with a surprise lapful of grinning Kaito. “I love you,” Kaito said.
Saguru hugged him back, holding his takeaway container out of elbow range in one hand as he held Kaito with the other. “I love you too. I take it that’s a yes?”
“Saguru,” Kaito said, his eyes glinting the way they did when he was either very happy or plotting mischief, “I am one hundred percent onboard with romantic spontaneity.”
“Good,” Saguru said as words seemed to leave his brain in favor of all his mental capacity taking in Kaito’s happy face. Not for the first time, Saguru was struck by how attractive his boyfriend was.
“So. Would France be a good place to seduce you?”
Saguru blushed to the tips of his ears. “Kaito.”
“Mm, that’s a yes, right?”
If Kaito kept looking at him like that, Saguru was going to break his own rule about not getting up to anything in the apartment. Regretfully, he pushed Kaito back so he could get a bit of breathing room and perspective as to why now was not the time or place. ...Mostly just the wrong place. “Save it until we’re in Paris.”
“One kiss?”
“...one kiss.”
“Mwah!” Kaito gave him an over-exaggerated kiss on the lips before sliding out of his lap. He dropped back down to eat half off the bed again.
“You know you could eat up here.”
“I could,” Kaito said. “Actually, if you sat on my feet, I could do sit-ups and eat whenever I was upright.”
“That sounds even more uncomfortable.”
“I have to get exercise in some way. I’m getting out of shape,” Kaito lamented. “It’s awful. I spent so much time keeping in shape before, but there’s nothing challenging anymore. So I just have to fit exercise in where I can.”
“During breakfast?” Saguru asked. He was more or less used to the fact that Kaito had trouble keeping still without something holding a good portion of his attention, but this was both a bit ridiculous, and a relatively new development of the past two weeks.
“Wherever I can fit it in.”
He handed Saguru his food and Saguru took it, giving Kaito counterweight on his legs so he could do crunches that should honestly make him not want to eat with how he kept using muscles around his stomach.
Kaito, of course, didn’t seem bothered at all. “I should take up parkour.”
The image of Kaito throwing himself off buildings in civilian wear had Saguru wincing. “Wouldn’t that draw attention?”
“So I’ll find a group to do it with. But really, it would satisfy my inner adrenaline junkie and keep me in shape.” Kaito did a few sit-ups, taking a bite of his leftovers. “It wouldn’t be all the time, but it seems fun.”
“You’re thirty-five.”
“So I have a few good years of it before I’ve pushed my body too far. I’ve been thinking it over and parkour seemed the better idea than going hang-gliding every other weekend. Cheaper too. I tried sports the last few months but...”
But none of them had kept Kaito’s interest, Saguru knew, though doing some gymnastics workouts every now and then had helped. “Please don’t do anything that could get you killed.”
“I wouldn’t. I know my limits. And the limits of an average person, so I won’t push too much.” Kaito did a few more sit-ups before pausing. “I bet I could take some pretty cool footage doing it though. Think Takumi or Shiemi would be interested?”
“If Takumi thought it would help him with his lacrosse, maybe. I think Shiemi is more interested in your sleight of hand than the athletic side of your tricks.”
“I’m a little sad that I probably won’t get to pass on some of my harder tricks...” Kaito sighed and apparently decided he’d done enough exercise for one morning because he wiggled his feet free to sit cross-legged. “I’m definitely going to have to write a book with how I did all my tricks and have that be a legacy.”
“Inside the family of course.”
“Of course.”
“I’m sure Takumi will appreciate that even if he never learns to do all of your tricks.” Like Kaito had appreciated his own father’s notes.
They finished their breakfast in companionable silence, Saguru’s mind half on plans to get to Paris and half on what was left to do. Besides the boxes, he still needed to get Mel’s forgotten gift to Mel’s mother...
It was a bit of a coward’s way out, but Saguru thought Mel would forgive him if he mailed it instead of meeting his mother-in-law face to face. He wanted to end this trip on a high note, not have old problems weighing him down. And this way she could be honest in her emotions instead of hiding them in front of Saguru.
“You alright?” Kaito asked, nudging Saguru with his elbow.
“Mm.” He shook off his discomfort, instead turning his mind toward perhaps visiting one of his favorite cafés in Paris. They had pastries Kaito would love. “I’m fine. I just remembered Mel’s box of gifts that needs taken care of.”
“Ah.” Kaito gathered up their empty containers. “Are we taking a side trip after the post office or...?”
“No, I will be mailing what I’m sending along... It’s probably for the best that way.”
“Okay,” Kaito said. He gave Saguru a kiss on the cheek. “You know them best. I’m going to shower real quick then we can start in on taking those boxes where they need to go.”
“Thank you, Kaito.”
“Anytime,” Kaito said with a wink and a parting wave.
***
There was a time, Saguru reflected as he followed Kaito aimlessly along Paris streets, when Saguru had been in Paris, contemplating Kid and feeling possessive of the thief. He’d called Kaito, been smug about it too like his emotions weren’t transparent, and gave him a warning about the French thief, Chat Noir. He’d never asked Kaito what he’d thought about that call, though perhaps the irritated tone one the other end of the phone line and repeated assertion that Kaito wasn’t Kid was answer enough for what Kaito felt back then. Here and now, the person Saguru had been wouldn’t have recognized the person he was now. But he’d probably understand how Saguru’s eyes were drawn more toward his boyfriend than the city streets around them.
Kaito, of course, didn’t seem able to keep still, flitting back and forth between street stalls and up to shop fronts with enthusiasm, occasionally practicing rusty French on the vendors. He always bounced back to Saguru’s side with an interesting thing he’d learned or to point out something of interest and frankly it was refreshing to see Kaito so enthusiastic. It had Saguru taking interest in things he wouldn’t have thought to notice let alone appreciate too.
“You know,” Kaito said, their hands linked together and swinging as they walked alongside the Seine, “when I was here with Aoko, we didn’t do anything like this, just walking around. We went to a bunch of tourist spots and looked up high rated restaurants and had most of the trip carefully planned out. Aoko likes structure like that, and me being, well, me, I provided any spontaneity on the trip by interacting with our surroundings. But it was still controlled. I think I like this more.” He grinned at Saguru, sidelong. “Not that there’s anything wrong with carefully planned trips or tourist attractions. I just like seeing how people live. Of course I’m enjoying the company too.”
“Of course,” Saguru said, mock serious.
“If there’s any place you like here, we should go,” Kaito said, a bounce in his step.
Saguru thought about that long-ago phone call. “If it still exists, there’s a café I used to frequent in high school.”
“You came to France a lot as a teen?” Kaito asked.
“Often enough.” Saguru shrugged. “Mum has friends in Paris, and I’ve had quite a few cases that led me out of England over the years. A few of the times I left Japan was actually to come here because I was asked to look into some things. During one of those times I happened to hear about Chat Noir.”
“Huh.” Kaito stared off into the distance for a moment, thinking back. “Wait, that phone call where you gave some cryptic warning and got weirdly possessive about Kid.”
Saguru rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you remember of it.”
“Well what impression did you expect me to have back then?” Kaito said, amused. “I mean I hadn’t ever given you my phone number either, so you were kind of having a stalker moment, Saguru.”
“I took the time to warn you!” Saguru protested. “You would have gone in blind!”
“I’d have been fine,” Kaito said, confident in his skills as ever. Or maybe he was remembering with the same arrogance he’d had back then, thinking he could pull off anything with enough bravado and sleight of hand. “Chat Noir didn’t actually want to hurt anyone. She was just trying to right a wrong.”
Saguru paused. “You know I don’t think anyone ever figured out what happened with Chat Noir.”
“No, they didn’t.” Kaito grinned.
Saguru narrowed his eyes as Kaito’s seemed to sparkle with mischief. “You’re going to make me work for that story aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Kaito said, sing-song. “Either way, Chat Noir is a nice lady. We still send each other letters sometimes.”
“Of course you keep in touch.” What was Saguru expecting really?
“It pays to keep connections,” Kaito said. “So this café is someplace you went to when all that was going on?”
“It’s where I called you from,” Saguru said.
“Sap,” Kaito teased. “You want to visit there because it’s connected to a memory of me, don’t you.”
The blush on Saguru’s cheeks gave him away despite ignoring Kaito’s words.
“You do,” Kaito said, draping himself on Saguru’s shoulder. “Aww, you love me.”
“I’m dating you, so I would think it was obvious at this point,” Saguru said. Kaito just grinned wider and Saguru cracked, laughed. “Fine. Yes, I love you and want to go see if that café still exists because I’m feeling sentimental. Anything you wanted to see?”
“The Louvre,” Kaito said immediately. “I know it’s a tourist spot but one, it is one of the most famous museums of the world, and two, I now have a professional interest in it outside of my old night job. I didn’t have near the appreciation of museum work the last time I was here.”
“Done,” Saguru said. “We’ll grab something to eat at the café, or someplace close if it no longer exists, then head to the museum.”
“Are the two even close to each other?” Kaito asked curiously.
“No,” Saguru smiled, “but that’s part of the fun, getting from A to B, right?”
“We’re ducking into any store that looks fun and taking pictures to send to Takumi.”
***
“You know,” Kaito said later, “I always forget how small the Mona Lisa is. Like it’s built up so much but when you actually see the painting? Tiny compared to most famous portraits. I would not want to be in charge of the preservation for that either. Da Vinci was not the best with ensuring his works would actually be well preserved for the long run. Genius technique and skill or not, that’s really something that bothers me about his work.”
Saguru laughed. “That would bother you.”
“Hey, as a museum worker I totally feel sorry for the conservator that has to deal with things like that. That said, I have a much higher appreciation for their ceramics and pottery collections than I did the last time I was here.”
“Professional appreciation,” Saguru said with a nod. He gave Kaito a sidelong grin. “Although I noticed you eying the eagle brooch.”
“What can I say, old habits die hard.” The brooch had a nice sized garnet in it. Kaito had eyed several other gems in other exhibits too, but since he was retired, Saguru didn’t dwell on it. Kaito wasn’t going to be stealing anything these days. “Their security is pretty tight though. I am more than happy that I’m never going to try and take anything from there.” Kaito hummed as they meandered back toward their hotel. “We should come back sometime. There wasn’t nearly enough time to look at everything.”
“Of course. Perhaps a trip to London, then here, with Takumi along?” Takumi would like London, but he could appreciate Paris’s streets the same as Kaito did, taking in their unique storefronts and anything that caught the eye.
Kaito squeezed Saguru’s hand where their fingers were laced together. “Sounds fun. Ooh.” He stopped walking so fast that Saguru kept going a step or two past him until he was stopped by the tug of his wrist. Kaito’s eyes were riveted on a park across the street where a magician was doing tricks. “...Would it be rude to join in? It would probably be rude to join in.”
There were only a few people stopped to watch. Saguru saw Kaito’s hand twitch toward his pockets that he kept full of tricks even now. “How well could you incorporate yourself into his act without taking it over completely?”
“Mm...” Kaito tilted his head. “Depends on if he played along. My French probably isn’t good enough to get a conversation across...”
He fidgeted and Saguru gave him a little push. “Oh, go on. If you’re so worried about it, leave him any tips people hand out.”
“You’re the best,” Kaito said in a rush, untangling their hands to head directly over.
Saguru took his time following. The distance let him appreciate how Kaito seamlessly integrated himself into the group of watchers and waited just the right moment to add a complementary trick to the one the magician was already performing. The man, to his credit, paused for only a split second of surprise before rolling with it like it was all part of the original show.
In a matter of minutes it was much more spectacular than anything the original magician could have pulled off. And yet Kaito somehow managed to make it look like it was the street magician’s skill coming to the forefront. Saguru shook his head fondly as people started to gather, pulling out cell phones to watch Kaito got a juggling arc started between him and the magician. Only the objects being juggled kept mysteriously changing.
The street magician started laughing with the edge of incredulity when objects started changing color too, but he had a remarkably good stage presence in keeping himself together while being blindsided by so many surprises. The tricks escalated until Kaito dropped a smoke bomb and used the distraction to reappear at Saguru’s side.
When the smoke cleared, the other magician had his hat in his hands, quickly turning surprise into a theatrical bow. The crowd—because there was a crowd now—clapped and tossed money his way. A few tried to give some to Kaito too when the noticed where he’d vanished to, but he waved them off. Showing his skill in escaping and working crowds, he whisked him and Saguru away before anyone could pin them down to ask questions about the performance.
Two blocks later and Kaito broke down giggling into Saguru’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have done that!” he said after a moment. “But that was so much fun!”
“I think the crowd agreed with that,” Saguru said. “And I don’t think the magician was complaining with the results.”
“He was pretty skilled,” Kaito said cheerfully. “Not just anyone could keep a performance going like that. That’s probably the most fun I’ve had doing that kind of thing in a while.”
“Good.” Saguru looped an arm around Kaito’s waist, pleased when Kaito leaned into the touch as easy as breathing. “Dinner before heading back to the hotel?”
“Something romantic and French?” Kaito suggested with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Saguru rolled his eyes but squeezed Kaito’s waist a bit tighter. “I’m sure we can manage that.”
“Because this is Paris.”
“Right.”
It wasn’t terribly funny, but they both laughed anyway. Everything was a little bit funny and great at the moment. Saguru was thirty-five and in love all over again and very glad in that moment to be alive.
***
Kaito stepped onto the balcony. Saguru was showering in the little hotel room he’d rented for them, and Kaito couldn’t stop smiling because it had been a fantastic day. His arm muscles were pleasantly stretched from his juggling show and his heart was light. They’d had a whirlwind, impulsive vacation day in France and it had honestly been everything Kaito could have hoped for, including getting to indulge in simple public affection like hand holding and flirting and even a few over-dramatic kisses that had Kaito blushing almost as much as Saguru. He just couldn’t do things like that in public in Japan and while it normally didn’t bother him too much, it was so nice to just... be for a bit here.
He held up his phone to snap a photo from the balcony; not a super photogenic location like some of the places they wandered today, but it was still France and that alone added to the interest of the shot. He’d send it to Takumi over the internet later. For now he took a moment to close his eyes and exist and feel happy.
Something landed next to him.
Kaito jumped half a meter to the left and banged his elbow into the railing. “Shit, ow, what?”
Ruby Jones crouched on the balcony railing looking way too amused. “I see retirement is treating you well,” she said in English, the shared language they both spoke best.
“Retirement is great,” Kaito said fervently, rubbing at his elbow. “Where the hell did you come from? I thought you lived in America.”
“I’m visiting relatives,” Jones said.
“Yes, but how the heck did you end up here?”
She grinned. “Someone saw your little show earlier and recorded it. Did you know you’re currently trending?”
Kaito blinked. That still didn’t really explain how she’d found his balcony when they could have been staying pretty much anywhere in Paris—or not at all—but okay. “Okay. Hi. How’s life been?”
“Pretty good. I have my routine and a good enough paycheck to take trips like this once a year. Can’t complain. Although it’s hell to keep in shape these days.”
“Ah, yeah, retirement and aging are hell on the body.”
Jones gave him a cool look. “Are you calling me old?”
Kaito put a hand on his heart. “Of course not, I’m talking about myself. You, a lady, are ageless.”
She laughed. “You’re just about as much of a flirt as I remember. Speaking of flirting...” She grinned. “How long have you been interested in men?”
“Almost as long as I’ve been interested in women,” Kaito said with a mirrored grin.
“Boyfriend or husband?”
“Boyfriend, but in a way that isn’t like I’m a teenager for goodness sake. We’re both serious about it, but marriage is a... complicated issue with us.” They hadn’t talked about marriage. It was too soon really. But also... well, between Mel’s memory and Kaito’s failed marriage, the topic was a bit of a loaded subject to touch upon. Kaito didn’t care one way or another, but maybe someday he’d bring the topic up to gauge how Saguru felt about it. Granted, they couldn’t marry in Japan anyway, even if it was a possibility in the UK.
“He’s cute. I take it it’s a romantic getaway?”
Kaito snorted. “The trip? Not really. Being here in Paris, yes.” And if she was here too long he’d make it clear that she was intruding on said romantic trip, but he could talk a little bit. Saguru liked long showers when he was relaxed enough to enjoy them. “Now that I’m retired, I have both the funds and time to actually take vacations. Shocking. I’m not even injured this time.”
Jones snickered. She had to know how much it cost to upkeep phantom thief gear and how easy it was to get hurt in the process. “I can’t say I ever regretted the thief life, but it is nice to come out the other side. And civilian life is treating you well?”
“I work in a museum, ironically enough. It’s quiet, I like my coworkers, and the job is fulfilling. What more do you need?” It would never be how he’d expected himself to end up but... “Okay, I admit I miss having an audience sometimes.”
“So you pull stuff like you did in that video to fulfill the need.”
“Exactly. It’s like you understand too well.” They shared a look. One ex-phantom-thief to another. “Not to be rude, it’s lovely to see you face to face after such a long time and such a scattered acquaintance, but I have a boyfriend to return to and a romantic evening to indulge in.”
“Of course, Kid.” Jones smirked. “You have fun.”
“Oh, believe me I plan to.” Kaito matched her smirk right back.
Jones stood up on the railing, reaching up toward the balcony above her. “To answer your earlier question,” she said positioning herself, “I saw you by chance from my window. I’m staying in a room two floors up and a bit over.”
“So entirely by luck.”
“Luck, fate, casual whims of the universe...” She shrugged and gave a hop to catch onto the balcony above them. “You take care.”
“Enjoy your visit with family,” Kaito said, giving a little wave.
Jones was up and climbing almost as fast as Kaito could have. Not bad for a lady almost two decades in retirement. Maybe it was just second nature for people like them to want to keep hard earned skills sharp and muscles strong. Behind him, the balcony door opened.
“Were you talking to someone?” Saguru asked, looking soft and rumpled in a robe with a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair was still dripping a bit. “I thought I heard voices.”
“An old kind of friend popped in for a visit, but she’s already gone.”
“Old friend?” Saguru frowned. “Do you have friends in Paris?”
Kaito smiled and tugged at a lock of Saguru’s wet hair. “Sometimes. I think she mostly wanted to congratulate me on my retirement. Well, that and be nosy, but that’s to be expected.”
Saguru nodded like of course any friend of Kaito’s would have a tendency to not mind their own business and have boundary issues as a given. “Wait, were they on the balcony?”
“My turn in the shower,” Kaito deflected.
“Kaito—was that one of your underground connections?”
“If I don’t say, you can’t feel conflicted over it!” Kaito said. He pressed a quick kiss to Saguru’s jaw as he danced past him into the hotel room. “I’ll be out in a tick and we can order in for dinner and make out like we’re sixteen again.”
“I wasn’t making out with people at sixteen.”
“Like we’re twenty then.”
Saguru snickered and Kaito slipped into the bathroom to take a very fast shower—he had all the time in the world to indulge in hygiene on some day he wasn’t in Paris with his boyfriend.
***
Later, much much later to Kaito’s immense satisfaction, he curled up under the sheets with Saguru by his side, already halfway to sleep with his face mushed against Kaito’s collarbone. It was adorable. Kaito took a picture with his cell phone, one for his private photo collection. A lot of those photos were candid ones with Saguru missing most of his clothes, asleep, or otherwise unaware and open. He’d gotten a few of them this trip, like one of Saguru talking to his aunt and cousin and grinning openly at whatever they were talking about. Saguru looking at a street sign. Saguru ordering lunch. ...Saguru changing, from multiple angles... Kaito was glad that he had his phone locked or there could possibly be some potential issues if someone got ahold of it. Still. He took another with himself in the photo too, grinning at the camera honestly. He wanted proof of these little happy moments. Needed them for when his head wasn’t in the right place to help get him back to normal.
He flipped back to the other folders with photos from the trip and started attaching his favorites to an email to send to people back home. “Paris is looking pretty nice this time of year” was all he wrote for a caption. He... wasn’t going to include Aoko for this particular photo collection. There was starting to rebuild their friendship by sharing parts of their lives, and there was blatantly poking at old bruises, and that would be a bit too close to the latter.
The message sent and Kaito felt warm inside. He’d gotten a message from Jones with a photo of him kissing Saguru on the balcony. He’d saved that photo too. He sent back one of a stray cat he’d found when they were eating lunch. There were a few other emails on his phone, from his mother and one from Kudo that sounded like another of the puzzles they’d been sending back and forth from the subject line.
Saguru patted his arm rubbing his nose into Kaito’s shoulder. “You should sleep,” he mumbled.
“Just sending a few emails.”
“Kaito,” Saguru grumbled, curling around him. He was a bit bigger and heavier than Kaito and it was definitely noticeable when he did things like that. Saguru rested his chin on Kaito’s chest where he was currently squishing most of the air from him. “I know you act like you still never sleep, but we have an early trip back to London to catch our flight home and it is very late.”
Kaito flushed; he hoped he’d never stop reacting like this to having Saguru holding him down and being bossy. Granted his brain tended to skew it more toward much less platonic moments of this sort of thing. Gah. Bad brain.
Saguru snorted. “Your brain is still in the gutter isn’t it?”
“Okay, I’m still recovering from years of repressing and you are still naked and less than an hour ago you were—”
Saguru cut him off with a kiss. “Shush. Sleep. Or I will take your phone and toss it wherever you threw my shirt.”
Kaito pouted, but Saguru merely raised one eyebrow at him, eyelids still droopy with sleep. He was annoyingly good at ignoring Kaito’s pouts. But that was something Kaito liked about him whether he’d admit it or not. Kaito liked people who didn’t let themselves be pushed around and stood by lines that they drew. And at the moment it seemed that getting rest was one of those lines. “Oh, fine,” he said with a sigh. He set his phone back on the charger, having to stretch and twist to get it with Saguru weighing him down. “Better?”
“Yes.” He got another kiss as a reward.
Kaito wound his fingers in Saguru’s hair and kept the kiss going. “Mm, sleep now?” he said after he’d kissed Saguru thoroughly.
“...sleep. Right.” Saguru stared at his lips. Kaito grinned and got a light smack on the arm for it. “Stop being distracting.”
“Stop letting yourself get distracted,” Kaito said in return. Saguru rolled off him and Kaito curled around his back, happy enough to be the big spoon this time. “Okay, now we can sleep.”
“Goodnight, Kaito.”
“Night. ....Guru.”
“Okay, that’s it, I’m smothering you with a pillow,” Saguru said, grabbing one of the extra ones to hold over his shoulder in a very pathetic attempt at suffocation. “How many times do I have to say that only my cousin is allowed to call me that!”
Kaito laughed, warding off the pillow with one hand.
“I’m sleeping on the floor,” Saguru threatened.
Kaito wrapped around him with arms and legs. “No, you’re trapped.”
“We are grown adults, this is ridiculous!” Saguru said, squirming, but he was laughing too. Kaito squeezed him tight until they were both breathless from laughter and exhaustion.
“Goodnight for real?” Kaito whispered against Saguru’s neck, arms and legs going loose into a cuddle.
Saguru’s hand found his by their hips and pulled it across his chest, fingers linked. “Goodnight. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
***
Morning was a rush of early alarms and hastily gathered clothing. Saguru wanted to laugh at Kaito’s caffeine-deprived pinched expression when the alarm went off, but he wasn’t much more awake. And he definitely empathized with the desire to stay up later last night. Regardless, it was morning and it was time to go.
“Can we get coffee on the way? Or tea?” Kaito asked, barely bothering to look presentable though it would take him a few seconds to do so if he wanted to.
Saguru made a point to straighten Kaito’s shirt for him before he finished buttoning his own. “Something quick, yes. Nothing so nice as sitting at a café.”
“Ugh.” Kaito rubbed at his eyes. “Pity they don’t have hot tea in vending machines here.”
“There’s still convenience store coffee.”
“Saguru, we’re in France, I’m not getting shitty coffee from a convenience store in France.”
“No? It has all the caffeine you require.”
“And none of the taste. I can have bad coffee any day.”
Saguru snorted. “Come on. If we’re quick we should be able to get drinks and something to eat on the way.”
“Thank you.” Kaito gathered their bags in a quick sweep of the room, catching anything they’d missed in their scramble to get ready to go. “Caffeinate, eat, catch our train to London, get to the airport, take a horrifying amount of time to get home.”
“At least there’s plenty of time to nap during the flight and layovers?” Saguru offered.
“Very true. C’mon, I want a croissant. I should have a proper French croissant. You should have one too.”
“And if I don’t want a croissant?” Saguru asked, following Kaito out of the hotel room.
“Well it’s not like you’re short on other options, but why wouldn’t you want a croissant?” Kaito tossed a hand up, compensating lack of energy with dramatics.
“I have nothing against croissants, I just wondered what you would suggest otherwise.”
“Haven’t the foggiest. Right now my brain’s stuck on croissants and all other French baked goods have fled out of my vocabulary.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Thank you. Now come on, we’re wasting time we could be caffeinating.”
***
They were almost to the station back to London when Kaito stopped, croissant and coffee in one hand and bag in the other. “Saguru, we forgot something.”
“What?” Saguru glanced at their bags and all they’d packed, mind coming up blank for what might be missing.
“Omiyage.”
“What?” It took a second for Saguru’s brain to switch back to Japanese since they’d been using English almost the whole trip. “Wait, shit, you’re right. Souvenirs.”
“They’ll expect something from France since I took pictures here.”
“And we never got anything in London.”
“Yeah, but we can get something at the airport, but we have....” He glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes to get something and get on the train to London.”
They looked around but most businesses weren’t open just yet unless they dealt with morning crowds like cafés. “So long as it’s something from France, it doesn’t have to be a nice something,” Saguru said.
“Convenience store snacks and candy?” Kaito said.
Saguru pulled out his phone and typed rapidly. “There’s one a block out of our way.”
“Thank goodness for technology.”
***
Stepping off the plane into Japan again was a moment of déjà vu. He’d done the same thing so many times in his life, stepping into Narita airport with its familiar architecture and Japanese signs. The annoying process of walking through quarantine and immigration checks. And he could walk to the baggage claim in his sleep regardless of which gate he came in at by this point. Thankfully he’d actually managed to get some rest on the last flight so he didn’t have to do that.
What set this time apart from the others was Kaito at his side, yawning and just inside Saguru’s personal bubble enough that their shoulders brushed, though not enough to draw attention. It was a world of difference to how they’d started out the first flight from London. Saguru decided the world could just learn to live with a bit of impropriety.
Kaito blinked at him when Saguru caught his hand and tugged him to get their bags, but he linked their fingers like he’d only been waiting for Saguru to reach out. Like he didn’t mind how it could draw stares or displeasure.
For the first time, Saguru wondered if the lack of obvious affection in public in Japan had been for his sake, not because Kaito didn’t want it.
“At least your bags aren’t hard to spot,” Saguru said.
Kaito’s bright blue bags were practically lit up against the myriad of nondescript black, brown, and navy travel cases. Saguru’s merely had green ribbons tied to the handles to make them stand out.
“I should text Mum,” Saguru said while Kaito retrieved their luggage. “She’s probably already seen the notice on the travel board that we arrived but—”
“I think she definitely has,” Kaito said nodding in the direction of the arrival lobby. Just past the customs inspection counters was Mum, a sparkly ‘Welcome Home’ sign made out of poster board and what had to be an entire container of glitter held up in the air. Surprisingly, Takumi was at her side. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t holding a sign and was a few steps away from Mum like he was worried he’d catch the glittery mess. Knowing glitter, it was unavoidable.
They made their way through customs as quickly as they were able, and as soon as they were clear, Takumi was at Kaito’s side. “Okay, so I saw the pictures you sent but you have to tell me everything and what you did and if you ate anything cool and Shiemi wants to know how you ended up in France.”
Kaito snickered and pulled Takumi into a hug. Takumi flailed with all the embarrassment of a teenager having affection poured on him in public.
“Tou-san!” Takumi complained. He was smiling though.
“Not even a welcome back?” Kaito asked, ruffling Takumi’s hair until it was a mess.
“Ugh, hi, glad your plane didn’t crash into the ocean. How was your trip?”
Saguru left them to it and gave Mum a hug, careful not to brush up against the glitter monstrosity. “Did you make that intending to shed glitter everywhere or...?”
“Actually, Takumi and Shiemi made it,” Mum said, eyes sparkling with humor. “I, of course, was willing to track glitter everywhere to use it. Flight in okay?”
“It went fine except for the layover in Hong Kong. We almost missed our connection.”
“Because of your bad luck,” Kaito said. “A child went missing and we ended up walking almost the whole airport looking for them. Thankfully it was not a kidnapping but that was a mess. We only made our flight because they held the plane an extra ten minutes for us to get there from the other end of the airport.”
“But the child was reunited with their family and no one was harmed so it’s all well,” Saguru said. “I slept the whole last part of the trip from the moment we took off until we landed though.”
“Anything we missed while we were gone?” Kaito asked Takumi.
Takumi shrugged. “Nothing big. Had lacrosse practice. Babysat the Kudo girls. Aaaand maybe kind of set up a date for Shiemi.” He grinned. “It went okay so she didn’t kill me.”
“Ooh, spill! Blind date or what?” Kaito leaned on Takumi’s shoulder. “Because she didn’t mention this at all in her emails.”
“They’d met a few times but didn’t realize they both liked girls. Only Amari-chan mentioned she thought Shiemi was cute—wait, uh, Amari-chan is on the girl’s lacrosse team for clarification—and I know Shiemi has checked out the girl’s team practice before so...”
“So you played matchmaker,” Kaito finished.
“Yup. They’re going on their second date on Tuesday. Either this will go great or I will have to apologize to both of them when it erupts in flames, but either way it’s nice to see Shiemi be happy.” Takumi smiled softly, affection for Shiemi shining through.
“I think it’s cute,” Mum whispered to Saguru. “Though if anyone set you up at that age you would have been mortified.”
“I was just settling into the realization I was gay at that age so, yes, mortified would be about what I would feel. Along with horror and probably fear,” Saguru said drily. Thankfully Shiemi wasn’t the type to let public opinion shame her; if she ever did get outed before she was ready, she wouldn’t let it upset her life.
“Oh yeah,” Kaito said as they all meandered toward the exit in their huddle of baggage and people. “Takumi, what would you feel about moving?”
“You’re asking now at the airport?” Saguru said with a sigh. “We haven’t even started looking at anything. We’ve only just brought it up.”
“No time like the present to introduce the idea,” Kaito said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So?”
“Wait, like moving out of the apartment?” Takumi glanced at Saguru. “And moving into someplace with Hakuba-sensei?”
Mum smacked Saguru’s arm with so much giddy enthusiasm one would think Kaito had just proposed he marry Saguru in front of her. Saguru rolled his eyes. “Yes, move in together. Honestly, we’re just talking about the possibility at the moment and if it would be uncomfortable to you, we don’t have to. The arrangement we have now has been fine.”
“But you’d like to,” Takumi said, seeing through to the heart of the matter.
“Well we’re practically cohabiting right now already,” Kaito offered. “Just with a few extra doors between us. You’d get your own room of course.”
“If I didn’t I’d be pretty annoyed,” Takumi said, “since I live with you a third of the time.” He was silent for a while as they passed a group of tourists trying to find somewhere, a map tugged back and forth between hands as they argued in what Saguru thought was some Slavic language, though he didn’t have the ear for what. “It is a little weird,” Takumi said finally just when Saguru was starting to worry that he really did hate the idea. “But that doesn’t make it a bad weird. All of this last year has been a little weird, but in a good way. Mostly. Like I wouldn’t want to be around you guys being super romantic or anything because that would be weird in a bad way, but I don’t mind how you usually are and it wouldn’t be too different from how things are now. Just a new space. The new space part would be weird though.”
“You know I never thought I’d spend almost a decade living in that shoe-box apartment,” Kaito mused. “It’s home. But honestly I would not mind something bigger. With thicker walls. Takumi, we’d both get bigger bedrooms.”
“That is a selling point,” Takumi said. “Are you thinking house big or larger apartment big?”
“We are not doing logistics in an airport,” Saguru said.
“I’ll have to think on that,” Kaito said, ignoring him completely. “It depends on whether I want a workroom space or not and how much room Saguru needs. Or if I want to move my doves from Kaa-san’s place. Hmm. Two adult incomes leave more possibilities, but honestly despite living in a cheap apartment for years, I’m not all that rich. Committing crime out of your own pocket and not keeping the spoils is actually a really expensive hobby. Don’t recommend that.”
Saguru sighed. Mum giggled at him.
“It has to be close enough to school,” Takumi said. “And I want proper furniture in my room.”
“Yeah, location is probably going to narrow things down a lot. And might be what takes the longest finding someplace.” Kaito’s hands moved like they wanted something to fiddle with, but he’d taken his magic props off his person for the plane ride. “Preferably ground floor or no higher than one set of stairs...”
“It has to be a good neighborhood or Kaa-san won’t let me visit.”
“Well obviously.”
“I take it we’ve decided that this is happening instead of hypothetically happening,” Saguru said.
“Duh,” Kaito and Takumi said in stereo. Kaito turned to him. “We have Takumi’s blessing and we definitely have your Mum’s with how she’s smiling. And we want to be domestic with each other, so yep, it’s happening. But,” Kaito added holding up a finger, “probably not for a while yet. Logistics.”
“And I have to be there picking the place since I’m going to live there too,” Takumi said. “I call veto rights if it’s awful.”
“We all get a say,” Kaito said.
Saguru looked between their equally serious expressions and had to laugh. “Okay, yes, we’re going to make this happen then.”
“Wonderful,” Mum cut in. “And now that that’s decided, I’m taking you out to lunch to celebrate and you can tell us all about your trip. How exactly did you end up in Paris anyway?”
Saguru followed them out the building as Kaito enthusiastically started up a story about the various mishaps with theft-related crimes they’d brushed into and how everyone on the police force still seemed to know Saguru’s face and name, chiming in when the moment called for it. In front of him Mum still had the glittery sign shedding all over Kaito’s bright blue luggage as they walked shoulder to shoulder, Takumi tagging along a step behind. He had his phone out, texting Shiemi from the look of it, and listening with the rest of his attention. The air was heavy with the threat of spring rain, as familiar as the muggy springs in London. London had been home, but this... This was home too, as much for the people as the place.
Ahead, Kaito tipped his head to the side to include Saguru, holding out his free hand.
Saguru took it. Home.
#detective conan#magic kaito#not left to stand alone#not left to stand alone extra#saguru/kaito#this is the epilogue to the epilogue#THE END#:')
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Never Going Back
We’re only two months into the US version of the coronavirus era, but it is only in the last week that things started to get serious. For those who understand simple math and exponents, it was obvious long ago that the growth rate for new cases would stumble along for weeks, until one day the exponents kicked in and growth took off. With that growth and the passage of time came deaths.
As of Tuesday morning 24th March, there have been 46,158 cases and 583 deaths in the US alone, a drop in the bucket compared to 395,744 cases and 17,234 deaths worldwide. But since the graph of US cases is still pointed straight up, it’s only going to get worse before it gets better. Our mortality rate is 1.26%, which is still 12.6X the mortality rate for the common flu. Globally, the mortality rate is 4.35%, no doubt bolstered by nations like Italy and Spain, where death has become a disproportionate reality.
Those who believed the dire predictions are saying “I told you so.” The disbelievers have become noticeably silent, aside from a few who still cling to their conspiracy theories and wishful religious thinking. Thankfully, those people are shrinking in number.
And just one week into what I will call peak pandemic, it is already safe to make this one general assessment: We are never going back. So much has changed in so little time, and all because of an enemy we cannot see, much less even begin to understand. We are isolated in place, frozen aside from the need to go to market or druggist. Travel is restricted in a growing number of states. Sixteen have complete statewide shelter-in-place mandates, while four others have similar such rules but only at the level of specific cities and counties.
Panic buying and shortages are so last week. Now we are stuck at home. Were it not for the internet and Netflix, we might just go crazy. Even my dogs are wondering why the humans are hanging out at home so much. We had all grown a little lax, a little too casual, a little too let’s-take-everything-for-granted. After all, it felt good, and we are social animals. Damn the bacteria and viruses, full steam ahead. Except now it is all painfully apparent that maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. So now we sit in quiet repose, watching the clock tick and the sun arc across the sky in slow motion.
It’s the end of the world as we knew it.
Presently Rethinking The Future
Once this is all over, whenever that is, I’m sure that many people will be more than happy to hop back on the Same Old, Same Old train. But then again, my hope is that everyone will at least give pause to consider that our response to the current crisis may in fact be the new world order—not that insidious plot some people think of, but a better, safer way of doing old things.
And I know that we cannot all become germophobes, trying to live inside bubbles of our own manufacture, because that would only decrease our immune systems’ abilities in the future to ward off infections. We still need to get out and soak up some bacteria and viruses, if only to increase our chances of living a bit longer. We don’t want our civilization to be wiped out like when Europeans came to the new world.
But there’s no reason we can’t add some order at the same time.
I find myself doing things very differently, starting first about two weeks ago, but ramping up in the last few days. It’s not that I am paranoid. It’s just that I have realized how careless I had become. For example, I now keep gloves in my vehicle so that I can pump my gas and make my payment without any viral or bacterial contact. Of course, I am hoping that the very air I breathe while doing so is not infested with nasty little buggers waiting to take up residence in my airways. I’m doing the best I can, and I cannot find any N95 respirators these days.
The gas pump nozzle is one of the dirtiest things we touch, and we do it at least once a week without thinking. Adding germs to injury is the fact we push all the buttons on the little keyboard as if an attendant had just been by with disinfectant, when we know in fact those things haven’t seen moisture since the last time it rained.
No more! I’m keeping my gloves handy from now on.
Now let’s carry this a little farther. Most of us pay with debit or credit at the store. Once again, buttons to push. Or the ATM. Or the Ziosk tabletop payment system at Chili’s or Red Robin. Heck, what about the menus at those place? All teeming with germs. If…and I mean if…I return to restaurants, I’m using their online menu. At least I keep my phone clean. As for the rest, I can see a lot of gloves in my future.
Which brings me to another thing: self-check at the grocery, DIY store, or wherever. Sure, I know a lot of people have complained in recent months about these things taking jobs away from people, but all of a sudden they are looking pretty good. If you wear gloves, you can do your entire shopping trip without human interaction, assuming you can safely navigate between other shoppers and hold your breath for 30 minutes.
Sure, it’s still quaint to engage in a little chit chat with the cashier from time to time, and self-check does require a human to push a button if you are buying alcohol, but I’m thinking there’s a lot more self-check in my future.
And what about cash? For many years I have hardly used any cash at all, but I can honestly say I have not touched a dollar bill now in at least 10 days. I don’t want the germs that come along for the ride on a fiver or sawbuck, and the same goes for coins, all token carriers of the deadly things hanging out inside of us. I will use plastic wherever I can, and even if I act like a teen, I will use it to pay for a measly $2 cup of coffee. Take that, you creepy little killers! Stay in your cash drawer.
I have started toting a spray container of Spic-and-Span with me, along with those durable blue shop paper towels. I’m spraying and scrubbing everything along my way. I am the father in next year’s My Big Fat Chinese-American Wedding when daughter Becca and Corey get married, making sure everything is safe. When it’s OK to travel again, you can bet I will be disinfecting my hotel room before I ever sit down.
Remember when family vacations included picnics at roadside rest areas? If you are old like me, you have faint memories, but if you are young, you probably have no idea what a picnic is or the ants who came running as soon as you set out everything. Recently on a day in which I had occasion to be behind the wheel, I had to come to grips with the new reality. I did what is now practically unheard of: I packed a cooler with beverages, snacks, and sandwich makings. Not only does this save me money, it’s also a lot healthier. I can control portion sizes, and once again, make no human contact.
This thinking translates into our broader lives. I for one have long loved going out to eat. It’s something my parents instilled in me when I was a child. While we were not rich by any means, Mom set down her foot and declared the kitchen closed on weekends. So we ate out. Many times we would drive up to 80 miles just to go to a favorite of my Mom and Dad’s. Skip forward to the present, and I was easily spending $125 per week on dining, usually at Asian and Progressive American restaurants with spendy and trendy items on their menus. Do the math. If I do not resume those ways, I have effectively given myself a $6000 a year raise.
By buying groceries and eating at home, I have given myself the opportunity to add to my modest cooking repertoire, eat exactly what I want and in which amounts, and save money.
I call that a win. The economy might not think so, as would restaurant owners and waitstaff. But this is a new world, and we have to find a new way to order things. Meanwhile, I have enough non-perishables to get us through a month, if necessary, and as per guidelines for someone in the—ahem—over-60 category.
Speaking of ordering, now that most non-essential shops are closed, how else are we to buy things? Easy. E-commerce is the solution. I am ready to buy an indoor bicycle trainer so I can maintain fitness at home; it will be delivered to my door. I’ve been shopping online for more than 20 years, and I am pretty sure that coronavirus is only going to reinforce those habits. I’m betting you’re in the same boat as me.
Just don’t get too close, you know.
To know me is to know I am a concert junkie. I love music regardless, but live performances are sonic ecstasy to me. I quit counting at 100 how many concerts I have been to. Of course, today there are no concerts to look forward to, at least not on the horizon. I had hoped to go see Bob Dylan in Amarillo this summer, along with Styx in September, but I have my doubts the former will happen, and who knows if we’ll be out of this mess come autumn.
Think about all the humanity at concerts. Even if we are all seated, like so many concerts aimed squarely at Baby Boomers like me, we’re still in proximal relation to dozens of people, if not hundreds and thousands if the air is circulating. Now factor in concerts with no seating, like some Blackberry Smoke shows I have seen in honky tonks, or the Stryper show I took in at the now-defunct Midnight Rodeo in Amarillo. Good grief, I was three feet from the stage, packed in like so many human sardines wasting away the last vestiges of our hearing. Yeah, those were good times, but I wonder how many hitchhiking germs I brought home, and how many I shared.
The same goes for movie theaters and sports arenas. I may never go to a theatre again, although I absolutely love visiting restored vintage venues like the Mulkey in Clarendon Texas. I am certain that no theatre in America takes the time to do more than just sweep up the popcorn and trash. Disinfect the seats? Are you kidding me? Just shut up, sit down, and try to enjoy the show while knowing you are living dangerously. Suddenly everything from concerts to films and sports are sounding a lot better on my 65” TV.
Let’s go a bit farther. While the lure of Las Vegas long ago wore off for me, I still have occasion now and then to be in Sin City only to find myself racing through the casino to reach clean outside air. I don’t gamble, so that’s not a problem, but what about the people who—gasp—touch those machines, deal those cards, and roll those dice? Knock yourselves out, folks. If I find myself in a casino again, I will also be doing my best sprint to get to the other side.
There’s one other thing that won’t change for me, and that’s the likelihood of my going on a cruise. More than 30 years ago, the ex and I had occasion to do a one-day mini cruise in the Gulf of Mexico with my parents, my brother, and his wife. I hate not being in control of my destiny, and knowing that someone else was steering that thing bothered me. Even more, I could see that the purpose of a cruise was really just to stand in line at decadent feeding troughs, then recline on the deck like beached whales. No thanks. Ain’t got time for that.
But in the coronavirus era, we now must consider the plight of a couple of cruise ships recently stuck at sea because suddenly people have realized them for what they really are: giant floating Petri dishes on which thousands of people mingle in tight quarters. Hey, what a great idea. Concerts and sporting events are one thing since they last only a few hours; now imagine spending a week or more with the same sneezing, coughing, dirty-handed fools.
Nope, nope, nope. You can keep your big boats.
And what about the religious and civil ceremonies we all attend at one time or another? Although there are still a small number of churches defying the Rule of 10 for public gatherings, a growing number has decided to perform their masses and services to empty pews, instead relying on technology to make them available to everyone. What an excellent idea! I realize this goes against the grain of many world religions. “Communion” is something to be celebrated together, hence the prefix. But the dirty chalice and shared loaves of bread are throwing caution to the wind. We can commune even if we are not commingling.
A friend I know who is a pastor recently conducted a wedding in the Phoenix area, and the only people in the church were the bride, groom, him, and a couple of witnesses. I even heard of a live-streamed funeral. Yeah. We can do this, and maybe going forward, churches and other places of worship should consider just doing everything online for those who no longer wish to take their chances in public, yet still allow people to congregate as per their choice when the pandemic is over.
I could certainly go on, especially with regard to online courses, but I would be beating the same drum I have for the last 23 years. Suffice it to say that today I feel very justified in all that I have done and promoted in this area, and will double down on my efforts going forward. While there is still a future for courses held in classrooms, we all need to prepare each and every class so that it could be online if we had to. It’s a lot like the emergency preparedness those in hurricane-affected areas already know: police can reverse the flow of traffic on freeways at a moment’s notice to handle people trying to evacuate. We educators need to be able to turn on a dime as well.
There’s more to rethink, of course, and for the vast majority of us who have turned on a dime in the last week, we may very well never return to other things we once did. Think about how suddenly major companies have turned into thousands of people who are working remotely, who connect via Zoom Video and Microsoft Teams when meetings are needed. Do we really need elaborate corporate campuses anymore, paeans to the profits they have enjoyed through the years? And do we really need more meetings, and meetings to schedule more meetings? I think not.
Other professions are finally figuring out that we can leverage technology not just for convenience, but for public safety. Telemedicine is suddenly OK and in fact desirable, but it hasn’t always been this way. Counseling can and should be done electronically as needed or desired, and not face-to-face because that’s how we’ve always done it.
To The Future And Beyond
Where it all goes from here is anybody’s guess. There are many voices in the woods, from Texas Lt. Governor Dan Patrick suggesting that grandparents should take one for the team and be willing to die for the sake of the economy, to Governor Cuomo of New York saying this could go on for another nine months. President Trump is hinting he would like to see us get back up on our feet and be rarin’ to go by Easter, while medical experts say not so fast.
As for me, I know I am never going back. I’m never going back to the way things were. Too much water has gone under this bridge, and even though it has only been a week or so since we all got serious, I have had a lot of time to think.
Maybe Michael Jackson was right all along. Being the gloved one was rather prescient, don’t you think?
Dr “But No Sequins For Me“ Gerlich
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There are many beautiful and attractive birds
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Salvini Remains at the Eye of Italy’s Political Storm
ROME — Chaos once again reigns over Italian politics. The government is adrift. The political parties are cratering and cracking. But there remains one center of gravity around which everything revolves.
Matteo Salvini, the tough former interior minister and leader of the anti-migrant League party, is that organizing force, despite having lost his powerful position and grip on the government in a dramatic shake-up last summer.
Any semblance of stability comes from coalitions awkwardly forged to prevent him from prompting early elections and taking what he has called “full powers.”
But on Sunday, Mr. Salvini will have an opportunity to apply what he hopes will be unbearable pressure on the tenuous bonds between his enemies in the fragile governing alliance.
Polls show that his hard-right League party is well positioned to win in regional elections in the northern region of Emilia-Romagna, which has for decades been synonymous with the Italian left, and in the region of Calabria — in the country’s south, from which Mr. Salvini not so long ago advocated secession.
If the rabble-rousing nationalist can win in these places, he will solidify his centrality and his case that he can win anywhere.
“That’s the goal,” he said in an interview this month in Emilia-Romagna after a long day of posing for selfies and campaigning in front of a floating Nativity scene, and dictating, quite literally, the day’s news cycle to reporters. “It would be a clear sign on a national level, but also on a European level.”
Sitting under an “Italians First” banner and surrounded by 400 party activists at a dinner in Lugo di Romagna, he ate pasta, sipped local red wine and spoke about how a victory in this traditionally left-leaning region would “absolutely” demonstrate that he should be the one leading the country.
Mr. Salvini predicted his victory would “open an enormous problem” between the governing coalition of his former allies the Five Star Movement and the center-left Democratic Party, and make its collapse, and early elections, more likely.
Some damage had already been done. On Wednesday, it was widely reported in the Italian media that Luigi Di Maio, the embattled political leader of Five Star, would step down from his political role. (Mr. Di Maio’s representatives did not return a call for comment.)
But Mr. Salvini’s problem is that the stronger he gets, the less incentive his opponents have to face him in new national elections. “They can’t delay forever,” Mr. Salvini said.
In the meantime, liberals worry about the national significance of Mr. Salvini winning in Emilia-Romagna, long the Communist buckle of Italy’s Red Belt.
A victory “would mean that society has different values from before and wants an alternative,” said Elly Schlein, a liberal candidate for local office, who took part in a tiny demonstration outside a Bologna theater where Mr. Salvini was warmly greeted at a holiday celebration for the children of police officers. “A nationalist turn.”
A victory in Calabria would also clearly signal the national reach of Mr. Salvini’s League, a party born as a northern secessionist movement that exalted an imaginary region called Padania.
For years, the party denigrated the south as a thieving leech on the resources of the more prosperous north. But as Mr. Salvini has shifted his ire to migrants coming illegally from Africa, he has expanded his base to the south.
“Calabrians and Italians first,” he now says. “Then the rest of the world.”
In Emilia-Romagna, he has tirelessly campaigned for his candidate, the League politician Lucia Borgonzoni, seeking to turn out his base in rural districts with his usual recipe of anti-migrant language and nostalgic appeals to the Italian good old days.
But Mr. Salvini has also sought to convince frustrated workers in the cities that the traditional left had abandoned them for big banking interests and that he was the working man’s choice.
Above all, Mr. Salvini has sought to nationalize the election.
“It’s not a regional election. Because for the first time in 50 years we can win,” he told supporters in front of an enormous bonfire in Terra del Sole, referring to the left’s longtime dominance of the region. “And it’s in your hands.”
Nationalizing the race is a strategy that makes particular sense in Emilia-Romagna, a wealthy region governed by the Democratic Party, where unemployment has shrunk, health care services are admired and the quality of life is high.
“The region has always been governed by the left, also governed well,” said Claudio Casari, a 64-year-old carpenter who cheered Mr. Salvini as his “captain” outside a marine museum in Cesenatico.
But he said that a general Italian malaise had led young people to leave the country and the region, and that Italy needed a strong leader like Mr. Salvini to restore faith. “He brings hope to Italy,” Mr. Casari said.
Mr. Salvini’s many detractors argued that he used his time in government to draw attention to himself and increase his political support with publicity stunts rather than help get Italy out of its slump.
But national leaders of the Democratic Party are loath to make that case on the ground in Emilia-Romagna, and have largely steered clear of the region to keep the race local and play down the consequences if they lose.
Enthusiasm there has largely come from the Sardines, a liberal grass-roots movement created to stop Mr. Salvini.
The Sardines packed Bologna’s main square with tens of thousands of people on Sunday night and plan to close out the race with a rally in the beach club where Mr. Salvini spent most of the summer. They have repeatedly taken credit for infusing the candidacy of the region’s incumbent governor, Stefano Bonaccini, with life.
Mr. Bonaccini has himself urged voters to recall that Mr. Salvini is not on the ballot and that Ms. Borgonzoni, who picked fights with France over Leonardo da Vinci paintings as a Ministry of Culture under secretary and who struggled to name Emilia-Romagna’s bordering regions in a radio interview, was the “ghost candidate.”
“After Jan. 26, Salvini will leave,” Mr. Bonaccini, who has not included his party’s symbol in campaign posters, has repeatedly said. “But Borgonzoni will stay in the region.”
Instead of delving into local issues, Mr. Salvini, who often dressed in the uniforms of Italy’s law enforcement during his time in power, has fully immersed himself in the corduroy pants and jackets, sweaters and suede shoes associated with the liberal intellectuals and Communists who long held sway here.
He sings the folk song “Romagna Mia” at events. He waxes poetic about tortellini and elevated Parmesan cheese to a moral value.
But for Mr. Salvini, the substance of the remarks is often Matteo Salvini. He has developed a knack for victimization, a tactic in Italian politics perfected by former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, who Mr. Salvini has fully eclipsed as the central player of Italy’s right.
In the interview, Mr. Salvini clearly relished the attacks of his opponents.
“Surely it doesn’t scare me, or do me harm,” he said, adding: “When there are protests against the League and Salvini, it only makes me happy. Because the regular Italian chooses — either Salvini or that other stuff there.”
Most recently, Mr. Salvini has identified Italy’s judicial system as his preferred foil in an effort to motivate voters.
Specifically, Mr. Salvini talks about the efforts of Sicilian magistrates to prosecute him for “abduction,” related to his refusal as interior minister to let a Coast Guard ship full of rescued migrants dock in Italy.
By trying him, he told the cheering crowd in Cesenatico, “they will put the entire Italian people on trial.”
On Tuesday, he kicked off a “FastForSalvini” campaign, in which he urged his supporters to show solidarity with him in a daylong hunger strike. He began it with a cup of ginseng and vitamins.
More broadly, Mr. Salvini has managed to remain the object of obsession for Italy’s varying political parties and media. His Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and TikTok posts reliably generate articles in the country’s politically obsessed, and clubby, media.
At the marine museum in Cesenatico, when Italian reporters pleaded with him for a sound bite, he used the moment to decide just what the day’s subject of conversation would be.
“I haven’t even read the papers today,” Mr. Salvini, a little glassy-eyed, said as he popped some mints into his mouth. He opened up Il Corriere Della Sera newspaper on his cellphone and took a minute to scan through while the reporters waited silently.
A reporter of the state broadcaster RAI gave his microphone to a local Salvini supporter who stood next to him.
“Let’s do it on the trial and the road deaths,” Mr. Salvini said, pausing to collect his thoughts. “And go.”
Then, they asked about the trial and the road deaths.
from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/event/salvini-remains-at-the-eye-of-italys-political-storm/
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A Designer Fat-Shamed Me on Instagram After I Criticized His Show
No need for the flu shot use The Hydrogen Peroxide Ear Treatment
I’d arrived at the Manhattan restaurant formerly known as the Four Seasons, dressed in black-tie attire, as instructed on my invitation to the Fall 2019 Philipp Plein show and dinner — which was and then wasn’t going to come with a Kanye West performance — to find a line of dozens of attendees outside. I’d been sent to review the collection for the site Fashionista.
I didn’t expect that I would be reviewed the next day. Review may be putting it mildly: Philipp Plein dug up a year-old photo of me on the BFA image site, and fat-shamed me to his 1.6 million followers on Instagram, mere hours after my article was published.
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After the show, I wrote what I saw, that his looks contained a “regurgitated tasting of other designers' hits from recent seasons past.” And that, judging by this and other recent shows, “Plein's muse is an urban cowboy futurist with a trust fund and a coke problem.” I wrote that though I had been assigned a seat, I ended up relegated to a standing-room-only balcony sardined in with 100 other people (who also thought they’d get a seat at the seated dinner). I wrote that I thought his collection was vapid, and its “billionaire” theme in poor taste.
I can see how this would be upsetting to the designer, but I was being honest, and doing my job to be the eyes and ears for Fashion Week fans and readers who came to me and that site for a report on what went down.
Rather than begin a discourse with me, the fashion writer, about my review, Plein came after me, the person. In an unexpected and cruel social media blitz, Plein posted images of me (this really isn’t about whether I looked good or not, but I’m not fond of the ones he found) with the Spongebob Squarepants cartoon character Patrick Star shoveling hamburgers in his face. He fat-shamed me, saying he’d make sure I got a free meal next time, and apparently confused me with a photo of Amanda Bynes. (That, or he was somehow using her to denote a person who had gained weight? Truly, one can never know.) What is clear is the he thinks weight, and eating, are things women should be ashamed of. It was bizarre, mean, and incredibly unprofessional.
RELATED: Mom Body Shamed By a Stranger at the Supermarket: 'How Are People So Rude?'
I don’t follow Plein on Instagram, so I learned about the attack via trolls who came straight to my DMs to echo his harassment. “LMAO Plein ROASTED your fat ugly ass!” one person said. I was shattered.
I am acutely aware of the Internet’s power as a breeding ground for vitriol and hatred. I just didn’t expect it from a professional designer, one who himself is no stranger to a bad review. (Strangely, Plein has not used his Insta story to personally attack Vogue’s Luke Leitch, who last year wrote that his “braggadocio/balls cocktail” gave way to “meh” clothes and “hilarious” shows.)
RELATED: Women Strip Down to Their Underwear to Protest Outside Victoria's Secret Store in London
I’ve actually written about Philipp Plein before, too, after spending nearly an hour with him in his Upper East Side townhouse in 2017. That was for a reported piece about Plein and his business, in which I glossed over the bad things people had said about him in the past — including admonishment for his “Alice in Ghettoland” show, for example — and included a relatively positive review. This time, clearly I struck a nerve.
I have no delusions about who I am in the fashion world — I am not an influencer with hundreds of thousands of followers, or an editor-in-chief who deserved a front-row seat. I am not an industry-revered critic like Robin Givhan (who herself didn’t attend the Plein show.) I am a writer and reporter who did her job with integrity and professionalism, and expected to be treated the same.
RELATED: Victoria's Secret Model Slammed for "Fat-Shaming" After Exercising and Eating Fruit in Front of In-N-Out Customers
As I was writing criticism of Plein’s work, I welcome criticism — harsh or otherwise — on my own. That’s the kind of dialogue that fosters rewarding conversations and deeper thought. It’s what any of us hopes to do when we challenge a designer to do better, by writing that their collection fell short. But to lash out at a review and attack my body? It’s hurtful, but also neither here nor there. I was deeply ashamed of the photos he’d posted of me, before realizing it is Plein who should be ashamed. And perhaps he is; Plein deleted the Instagram stories about me by the next morning, though I’ve heard nothing from him nor the PR team that handled the event.
Fashion has come a long way in terms of promoting body positivity and changing beauty standards, and I hardly think individual designers behaving badly are worth allowing us to regress. As the industry continues working toward being a more inclusive and celebratory space, it is they who will be left behind.
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An Ode to Transport
If you don’t already know me, you wouldn’t know that I was born with a pre-existing condition. I’m not sure when my family realized it. It may have been, when practicing driving before age 16, I drove straight by my grandmother’s house in Stamford, Texas—a place I had practically grown up in and been hundreds of times before. The evening was dark and my parents and I had just left a different grandmother’s house. I was driving the red Chevy Blazer that would later be bequeathed to me on my 16th birthday, and my mom was in the front seat and my dad in the back. I reviewed my responsibilities behind the wheel continually: hands at 10 and 2, gaze far down the road, speed limit kept to a reasonable crawl, car kept between that line and that line, and obviously attention focused on looking for my Memaw’s driveway. I knew where it was, and having not seen it yet, I continued down the dark country road, thinking to myself, it sure seems a lot farther when you’re driving instead of riding.
That’s when the silence in the car took on a different flavor. It was like I could sense the energy of my parents’ stifled laughter. “Uhh, Kenzie?” My mom began, “Where are we going?”
It would not be the last time a phrase such as this was uttered. The stories my family can’t seem to forget frequently involve my terrible sense of direction, the condition I have been afflicted with since birth.
Needless to say, moving to one of the largest cities in Europe probably gave a few family members a good kick. I, however, didn’t see what there was to worry about. The public transportation system in Spain is one of the best. Things run on time and there are options, some I didn’t even know about prior to coming. There is an intricate, thorough and punctual bus system, another rail system outside of the metro called Cercanias that more or less makes a big circle around the outside of the city, taxis, Uber, a company similar to Uber called Cabify, and of course the metro (aka in America—the subway). I would say picking the right mode of transportation is similar to picking a boyfriend. Well, if you have a group of men already open to your advances and accepting of the money you give them…but you get where I’m going. Looking at this metaphor too literally could take a turn. So, we’ll keep it simple. Like picking a life partner, when picking your mode of transport in Madrid, you need to assess: What meets your particular and unique set of needs? If it may help, I’ll share the sordid details of my public-transportation-dating life so far.
Not to spoil the dramatic reveal, but the frontrunner of my motor dates is one I see every day. I wake up and am all over that mode of transportation for the entirety of English teacher business hours (that’s the whole day). I have spent half of my waking hours on it. It is simple, effective, and allows for thousands to commute to areas all over this large city daily, down to the minute. It’s affordable and relatively clean…to the naked eye at least. I never have to wait long for it, and it will criss-cross and cut the butter of Madrid’s city center like a seasoned baker slicing her apple pie. Effortless. Experienced. Maybe it’s because my mother was never much of a pie maker, and they say you often want what you never had, but boy have I never had anything like this first suitor—the metro. The glorious, glorious metro. There isn’t a system like it where I’m from, and because of this new experience, I was quite enamored my first couple of months here, but like so many, I couldn’t commit just yet.
The first week following the TEFL course, my life was like a version of the movie Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, only swap busses for planes. It was engine speed dating. In the mornings, I would take the metro with two connections to bus 518 out of station Principe Pio for my first teaching job. I know, I know. I woke up with metro but had coffee with the bus. Side note: I literally had coffee on the bus that week. After waking up late and grabbing a coffee at the station, I placed the cup in my backpack’s side pocket. A few forgetful and hungover ridden minutes later, I went to tie my shoe ostrich-style. Gravity took that coffee from its cup to my white shirtsleeve instantly. What can I say—courtin’ two at a time is messy and it ain’t easy. I know…jezebel.
Another afternoon early on, I also fumbled through a Cercanias ride that was later deemed unnecessary. While the Cercanias is a lot faster and cleaner than the metro, you also have to pay a small amount extra to ride, and at first, its routes and destinations can be quite difficult to decipher. So while that piece of my day was full of rides, there was certainly no afternoon delight for me! Nevertheless, we’ll call that first experience first date jitters as the Cercanias has come through in recent weeks, so I won’t completely knock it. It just scared me after the first encounter, so I avoided it for quite a while after. I’ve never been too inclined to the clean-cut and dependable types. Where’s the style there?
Then there was the day I really slummed it. I woke up late for my Empadronamiento appointment, and I needed a convenient lift that would save time and get the job done. Fourplay be damned! That morning, I had a dalliance with a cab. It was the means to my end, as I mentioned, but it also cost me much more than another mode of transport would have. Regret and shame flashed across my psyche. That’s dating for you, you know? And as you must when dating actual people, I had to reflect on each experience those first few working weeks independently and comparatively.
Which one made me feel the best? Through each transportation avenue, I never felt like such a cosmopolitan woman, like Mary Tyler Moore in her opening credits, as I did when riding the metro. Walking down those steps into the tunnelled city below, every other commuter had a motive behind their step—they had to get somewhere important—business people, old folks, tourists, kids going to school. Not a lot of things can fit so many people’s needs. It’s the renaissance mode of transport options! Not only that, it is heaven if you enjoy people watching, as I do. It’s smooth, runs on time, and connects you to basically everywhere. Working Week One: The metro was winning me over. Insert heart-eyes emoji here.
Working Week Three: My rose colored glasses, complementary of the Novelty Office for New People to the Big City, shattered and clattered to their demise in the metro tracks’ guiding turret. The honeymoon was over. Alas, I’m getting ahead of myself. Before that, it was the bus that did me dirty and smudged up my pink shades.
With my pre-existing condition, if I didn’t know exactly which bus to take pre-trip (thank you Employer #1), I was less than confident in my abilities to determine my path forward. For me, it was quite difficult to determine which bus would take me where, so I leaned on the crutch that is the only reason I was born to be an adult in the 21st century: Google Maps. Sadly, when Google maps intersected with the small signs at the bus stops in the neighborhood of Villaviciosa listing destinations and times, t’was a recipe for sitting at a bus stop for an hour in the sun without going where I needed across from another bus stop that sat innocently empty while multiple busses came more frequently to it without anyone boarding and a gut feeling in my belly that that bus was heading straight to where I needed to be. So, I left the throng of folks who knew exactly which bus to be on and took the crosswalk less traveled by hoping it would make all the difference. Then that potential bus I so bravely sought out never returned and after walking to a completely new stop and loading onto the first one with ‘Madrid’ on its scrolling marquee, I ended up at the front of a sardine can on wheels that secretly wanted to be a tilt-a-whirl. When this bus pulled up, it was completely full of people. Thinking the driver wouldn’t allow me on, I hesitated, but the conniving woman behind the wheel smiled a smile I naively took as kind and beckoned me to board. Immediately I found myself in the front standing on the stairs out of reach of a proper bar to hold as Miss Driver drove like she was the source of conflict in Sandra Bullock’s Speed. I remember actually laughing out loud at the comedy of it all and the futility of trying to stay balanced, but I also realised as the smell of body odor emanated from the guy standing in front of me, I would be dumping the bus. Next!
I returned my focus to the convenient metro—my transportation mode…until I found Cabify peacocking my way from Greener Grass Avenue. Think of Cabify as a dressed up Uber. It’s always a black car—fancy. The driver is always in a jacket or tie—fancier, and they offer water and a smell-free experience. After arriving at your destination, feeling like the fanciest, you may then have time to look down at your phone and realize one trip costs as much as 20 entrances to the metro. I knew right away: this mode was simply out of my league.
The metro never knew I had used another mode, but like any man that starts to get comfortable and stops doing those lovely things that won you over in the first place, small annoyances became more frequent and there was less charm to make up for what I once dismissed as minor, and I found myself pressed against the side of the packed metro car. Due to my lack of height, my nose was inconveniently and unavoidably stuck in the vicinity of some man’s undeotarized armpit (body odor is frequent here) as his hand held the overhead bar and I fought for balance again with my backpack between my feet fifteen stops away from my connecting stop.
To extend my metaphor even further, the metro stopped showering as frequently and became a petri dish for every germ that is coughed by a person without covering their mouth, every bit of booger residue that is left on someone’s finger after picking their nose then using a hand rail, every sneeze that is directed at the unlucky recipients sitting in its trajectory. I am convinced I became sick and remained that way for 2 months because of the metro. The germs have nowhere to go. They sit and fester waiting to latch on to an organism so they can reorganzie become the worst cold you’ve ever had.
A dread of disgust started building every time I entered the metro car. Put yourself in the moment: nose completely stuffed up, you navigate from the freezing outside to hot metro car with other sick people so far inside your bubble you almost can smell what they ate for lunch, all you can do is close your eyes and wait for space. Then a seat opens up. JOY! You weave to sit, at least it will be a bit more space, AND. IT’S. WARM. Don’t gag, you tell yourself. At least it isn’t a warm toilet seat, but there is just something about sitting in the aftermath of some stranger’s (probably also ill) full, spread out fanny that hasn’t moved for 30 minutes. Uncomfortable yet? Well it gets worse, because as you’re sitting there, in someone else’s bottom burn, you hear the smooching. People in Madrid kiss so loudly. I have never heard so many audible pecks in my life. Friends kiss loudly, families, couples. It doesn’t matter. You hear the cartoon kiss sound and you must look to figure out the details of the relationship: friends kiss multiple times on the cheek, family may peck on the lips or cheeks, and couples—on the lips 10x in a row and may even add a bite at the end in this germ-mecca only inches from you. For all its faults, the metro is not afraid of intimacy.
Metro not only stopped caring about its own health and hygiene, it began to not give any hoots about my safety, too. There was the time I experienced my first truly scary moment in Madrid. It was on my way home from my Friday night class and it involved nobody else except myself and the metro. I can still see it: my hands and backpack outside the doors of the metro and my body inside. I had waited too long to figure out to get off or not. As the doors began to close and the resounding departure beep started, I thrust my bag and forearms through the vanishing opening with the thought that it would be like elevator doors and open upon sensing human parts. The doors weren’t retracting, however. SHIT. Then the beep became even louder. I saw my life with the use of thumbs and fingers plus a really nice backpack flash before my eyes. FUCK! Fight kicked in then and I wrenched those doors clean open with the blaring beep piercing my brain like a warning of my own flat line.
Drama aside, that same week my pride also suffered a blow as I was running late on my way to work. I figured if I hipped it through the station to my connecting metro at Tribunal station, I would make up for the few minutes I was behind. A few minutes determines nearly everything. I’m in athletic clothes that day since it is a Tuesday and one of my long days, a fashion faux-pa here, but I cared not. I ran through the people, darting here and there, with flashbacks back to my cross-country days. But why stop there? I thought, I could go even faster if I take the stairs two at a time! The pathway was clear. Two steps, four. Two more to go and the most dreaded thing occurred. The tights I was wearing underneath my sweatpants constricted my movements and I didn’t extend my leg the centimeter more that I should have. My toe caught the step. Gravity grinned then and toyed with me like a cat with a mouse. The fall began but I fought it, and while taking steps my head lowered underneath gravity’s heavy foot. I slow-fell in the metro during rush hour in front of everyone and landed at the feet of some middle-aged man. Trying to ignore the gasps I heard all around, I laughed because it had to be damn funny to see and say ‘shit’ aloud on the metro for the second time that week, highlighting my foreignness even more. All I saw of the man was his shoes. I couldn’t bear to look at him, but that didn’t stop him front picking me up hands under armpits like one does a child. I uttered a rushed ‘gracias' and continued my race against time as my hip complained at my clumsiness.
I’m venting, clearly. With all of the discomfort, the transportation here will get you where you need to go. At the moment, the metro is my mode—my main squeeze. It’s the only transport option that can fulfil what I need in this city, and like any relationship, it takes two. I’ve found if I make sure to leave early, the metro cars aren’t as crowded in the mornings nor at night. I know when to avoid it if it’s had a long day. The last trip of the night is NOT for me, and sometimes if I ensure I make an effort to be early, remember tissues, bring something to distract me, it can be quite nice. In the afternoons I have fallen asleep on the metro so many times, it’s now not an accident. It’s a planned nap between day job and night job. I take my backpack and place it in my lap if I am lucky enough to find a seat. I lay my chin in the centre of top and hug it like a pillow. I both listen to the announcer (if there is one) and enter into REM. Seriously. I dream and everything. At those times, I’m reminded of it’s good qualities rather than its flaws. It’s quiet. Everyone is minding their business, reading actual books mind you—or watching videos on their phones.
I can count on it, too. I haven’t been de-railed from a destination yet. It’s affordable—right in my league, and it’s convenient—always there. It’s also is a lovely glimpse at humanity—germy as we can be, every day I see someone jump up from their seat to allow an elderly or disabled person to sit down. It’s also a wonderful way to listen to Spanish and continue that learning journey. It’s not all bad, my metro. So, let me know when you want to make its acquaintance. I’ll make sure to warm you a seat.
If you are coming to Madrid for a spell, I’ve included the link below with information about metro and personal transportation cards. It’s super user friendly, and if you’re below 26 you get a major discount.
https://www.metromadrid.es/es/viaja-en-metro/tipos-de-tarjeta#panel0
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NaPoWriMo #28: The Sexiest Man Alive 1966: Walter Matthau
after Amber Nelson
I remember when I first went on the stage,
when there were three or four people on stage,
people were looking at me almost automatically.
I’m six foot three, but I never weighed more
than a hundred and fifty pounds. I was a natural butt—
every guy who walked around who was five ten
was over a hundred and fifty pounds.
I'm not a Socialist. I'm a Vegetarian.
It’s very satisfying. Doing a good play on the stage
is like eating a good meal at home—
assuming your wife is a great cook,
or that she’s hired a great cook.
Doing a movie is like eating five hundred canapés
at a cocktail party—you’re never really full.
You’ve had a little hot dog here,
and you’ve had a little caviar there, and a fish here,
and a sardine. It’s almost as though
it were tennis and Ping-Pong, movies being Ping-Pong
and the stage being tennis. They’re different strokes.
Some people can get into the swing of both of them,
but a lot of people can’t.
I think I work much better on the stage
because I have things to offer a stage that don’t show up
in movies. It really puzzles me
because I never had the stuff that was necessary
to be a movie star. Billy Wilder in 1953
had me do a test for The Seven Year Itch.
And when I finished the test Wilder said,
Look, as far as I’m concerned the part is yours.
Eighty-three percent is the number he used.
Wilder must have sensed something or other.
I used to think when I did a comedy in the movies
that if I made the stagehands laugh
that I was going over well, but that’s not the case at all.
If you make the stagehands laugh, you’re talking too loud.
I watch a lot of old movies on television,
and some of the scripts were not to be believed—
and some of the actors. Maybe it was the scripts
that made them so unbelievable, but I don’t think
the actors were all that good, the leading actors,
thirty years ago, twenty years ago.
In any case, I don’t know how you can tell a good actor
in the movies, I really don’t. I think you simply
just do the part and hope to God that the director
has a good cutter and a good editor, and it’ll all get cut
and put together so that you look good in it.
The best way to operate, I think, in a movie,
is to do it for yourself, or for six or seven people around
maybe, or three people. A movie is a whole different number—
it’s really almost totally dependent on the director.
I think you’ve got to be very lucky to become a movie star.
You have to do something.
Yeah, getting famous is nice.
There’s a nice feeling about it.
Everybody knows me—I go to visit my mother
in a hospital and all the patients know me.
I go visit all the patients. They all say hello.
All the nurses are smiling. It’s gotten to the point now
that if a telephone operator doesn’t know my name,
I insult her. It’s terrible.
For example, today a telephone operator
didn’t know my name—she said,
Are you with the William Morris office?
I was calling my agent and he wasn’t home
and his answering service at home picked it up.
And I said, No, not really.
I said, I used to be Vice President of the United States,
but see, I resigned in disgrace,
so I’m giving this name of this movie star.
She said, Oh…Well, I don’t go to the movies much.
I said, Well, I understand that.
And then I felt kind of stupid.
Because there are people who just don’t go to the movies,
or they don’t watch television. They read.
She was probably a very intelligent woman.
I’ll have to send her a letter of apology.
There’s pressure and there’s pressure.
You get demands on your time, on your money,
on your energy—and you have to budget all of it in such a way
that you can function. You don’t give everybody
all your money, you don’t give everybody all your time,
and you don’t give everybody all your energy.
Well, I remember the night of the heart attack
I was talking to Elizabeth Burton—Elizabeth Taylor,
Mrs. Burton—and I remember my heart
reacting rather strangely as I was talking to her,
and I thought, that’s a strange sensation.
It happened during the making of the movie
The Fortune Cookie—and I don’t know that “preordained”
is the right word for it. But what I was trying to say
was that everyone thinks of a heart attack
in terms of tremendous stress. But it wasn’t
after I became a movie star, which comes with a lot of stress,
that I got the heart attack.
Well, I stopped smoking, which immediately gave me
an entirely different image, in terms of the public
and in terms of myself. I no longer regarded myself
as a cigar-smoking comedian. Somehow
when you’re smoking a cigar, people react to you
in a certain way—the same way they do
if you’re a person with a big mustache.
I am Hepburn and Lemmon is Tracy.
Although when I asked Jack
he told me he always thought I was Tracy
and he was Hepburn. Oddly enough,
I'm told that Tracy had the same problem.
When I was about eighteen I saw myself
as a rather sensitive, delicate, poetic, romantic figure.
And then I got into the Civilian Conservation Corps,
and into the army, and I started smoking
and drinking and being tough and getting muscles,
and I had a whole different image of myself.
For example, if a guy would say to me,
Hey, schmuck-head, what’re you looking at?
I’d say, I’m looking at a stupid asshole.
And that would start a little fracas. That was all it took.
I wouldn’t go out of my way to avoid it.
As a matter of fact, I was sitting with an actor recently
and he galled me to such a point
that I invited him out of the car—
I was sitting in a car with a crowd of ten thousand people
around up in San Francisco—and I invited him out of the car.
We were discussing something and I said,
Well, please don’t do that anymore.
And he said, What if I do?
And I said, Well, then I’d have to kick the shit out of you.
I never thought of myself as a fist-swinging fellow.
If I’m cowardly in any way,
it stays with me a long time
and makes me not like myself,
which I don’t like to do. I don’t like to walk around
not liking myself. I always like to have a good opinion
of myself. That’s all. My God, look at Frank Sinatra—
he’s fighting all the time. He’s older than I am.
Yes. Tell me I've been an actor for fifty years
and ask me where the time has gone.
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Stories from Irma: Feeling powerless as the storm finally arrives
By Patricia Sullivan, Leonard Shapiro, Perry Stein and Joel Achenbach, Washington Post, September 10, 2017
ESTERO, Fla.--The forecasters had fiddled with the storm track for days, nudging it to the east and then pulling it back to the west, but when Hurricane Irma finally blew in Sunday, it reminded everyone that when a tropical cyclone reaches a certain size, it simply can’t miss.
This storm was nearly as big as the state of Florida, which is why everything but the Panhandle was under a hurricane warning. Irma’s broad wind field also meant that when the winds picked up, they stayed up as the storm howled northward.
Even cities far outside the eye of the storm found themselves caught in an atmospheric blender that had no off switch. Patience suddenly became as important as a sturdy roof and reliable drainage.
“Anyone think we overreacted with the evacuation order?” Michael Hernández, spokesman for Miami-Dade County, asked late Sunday morning at the county Emergency Operations Center.
As he spoke, one TV monitor showed a huge, collapsed construction crane downtown, draped on a building as though it had melted in the rain, and another showed a wide river of floodwater racing down Brickell Avenue, Miami’s financial district and once the neighborhood of pop star Madonna.
The storm’s westward shift was good news for South Florida’s Gold Coast but very bad news for Key West, as well as Naples, Fort Myers, Port Charlotte, Sarasota, St. Petersburg and Tampa--table-flat waterfront communities that have boomed in recent decades with millions of new residents but haven’t gained more high ground.
In Estero, Dianne and Riley Abshire, who moved to Florida six years ago from Ottawa, Ohio, waited for Irma in a home darkened by hurricane shutters. Winds at the time gusted to 45 miles per hour. Hibiscus trees bent to the ground. Tornado watches and warnings flashed across their television screens. They chose to stay in their home because they worried about traffic getting out of the state and because Riley Abshire is recovering from surgery.
“I feel like I’m in a sardine can, and I don’t like it,” said Dianne Abshire, 62. “My husband said he’ll duct-tape me to a chair if I try to open the front door.”
In Bonita Springs--between Naples and Fort Myers--on Sunday morning, streets that were empty but for a few emergency vehicles started filling with runoff that was not running off. Officials announced they would pull everyone off the roads at 11 a.m.
More than 30,000 people flocked to Collier County’s shelters, including about 4,000 in the massive Germain Arena, which was still accepting people at 10 a.m. But a wild rumor spread on social media that the arena was unsafe, and that set off “mass hysteria,” according to a Lee County spokesman. Tim Engstrom, communications specialist, said officials were trying to reassure residents that the venue was hardened against hurricanes. “We don’t have much information, but this is absolutely false,” Engstrom said as the hurricane approached steadily.
In Pasco County, north of Tampa, sheriff’s officers warned citizens not to shoot guns into the air after a Facebook page that suggested shooting Irma out of the sky went viral.
The lower half of the nation’s third-most-populous state went into lockdown as residents rode out the big blow and wondered when it would end. The storm took its time rolling in from the Caribbean. When it arrived, there was no mistaking what this was--not an ordinary line of storms but a true-blue hurricane, the powerful winds interrupted by even more powerful gusts and rain coming down in blinding quantities.
Everyone watched the slow-moving, ominous green blob that represented Irma on more than a dozen computer screens at the National Hurricane Center overnight Saturday. A handful of journalists, federal government workers, hurricane specialists: Everyone monitored the radar maps of the monstrous storm’s snail-paced path as it prepared to batter Florida.
Figuring out what the outskirts of the storm were doing right outside the building in Miami, however, was harder to determine.
“You hear the rain on the roof?” a videographer inside asked on Friday evening.
“I think that’s the AC,” someone responded.
“No, it’s the rain,” he said, this time pointing to the ceiling so everyone would listen more carefully.
“Yeah, it’s the AC,” the room decided.
The steel-clad National Hurricane Center was the best place to track the storm on a digital radar system but the worst to actually see and hear the storm in real life.
As soon as tropical storm-force winds kicked in Saturday evening, steel shutters closed over the building’s doors. No one was allowed in or out. Total lockdown.
Reporters slept on the floor as National Hurricane Center employees worked through the night, delivering updates on the top of every hour and answering the same questions over and over from television and radio hosts on the phone.
“How big will the storm surge be on the southwest coast of Florida?” the journalists would ask multiple times each hour.
“Ten to 15 feet,” Ed Rappaport, the acting director of the National Hurricane Center, would calmly respond, stressing again and again that this was a life-threatening hurricane.
As Rappaport addressed the nation, he said he had no firsthand knowledge of what the weather was doing outside his office.
“There are no windows here. I rely on the media to know what’s going on,” he said with a smile as he pointed to a local TV newscast playing above him.
The lights began flickering on and off at about 8 a.m. Sunday morning in the Pompano Beach High School cafeteria, which was serving as an evacuation shelter for about 225 people. An hour later, the building plunged into darkness, causing many people to gasp. But then the lights came on again, thanks to a generator that performed the way it was designed to.
Laurie and Steve Trinkle, their 12-year-old twin sons and Laurie’s 85-year-old mother, Mildred, went to the shelter shortly after noon Saturday but decided to vacate the crowded premises about 12 hours later. “I think we’ll be more comfortable at home as long as the power stays on,” Laurie Trinkle said.
It did not, at least at the shelter, and according to one of eight police officers on duty 24/7 in the building, it was lights out all around Pompano Beach and nearby towns.
The school generator was designed to keep the lights going, but that was all. The two big-screen televisions keeping evacuees informed about the storm went black. The scores of electrical outlets around the room were no longer working, nor were the microwave ovens and the refrigerators storing food. Perhaps most significantly, the air conditioning was out of service, as well.
Despite a sign on the front door warning everyone to stay inside, several people wandered into the wind, protected from the rain by an overhang, just to watch the palm trees swaying and palm fronds littering the lawn out front. Some just wanted to sneak a smoke, forbidden inside.
In much of South Florida, residents had been furiously preparing for the hurricane since Tuesday, if not earlier. The virtue of improved five-day hurricane-track forecasts is that people have more time to get ready. The downside is that a city could effectively shut down for the better part of a week.
Saturday was so off-and-on stormy, with such long patches of calm weather, that a person could easily have been lulled into thinking that Sunday would be easy. That illusion was punctured by raging weather before dawn.
A return to normalcy could take a while given that the storm knocked out power to nearly 2 million Florida Power & Light customers in South Florida alone.
A reconnaissance of the area by car Sunday morning revealed an eerily empty city, with stop signs flattened, palm fronds littering the streets, tree debris blowing around like tumbleweed.
The front doors were locked at the Aloft Hotel, which had a full house, including stranded international travelers.
But the hotel still had power: Breakfast was served; the coffee was fresh. The hotel has large windows, for excellent viewing of the storm.
“No fear, no pain,” said Sergio Pallette, 58, of Argentina. He and his wife were supposed to fly out Friday, but their flight was canceled because of the weather.
When will he go home?
“When they finish the hurricane,” he said.
Also up and about: storm-chasing journalists.
“I’ll be back in Guam by next week,” said Caroline Graham, a Los Angeles-based reporter for the United Kingdom’s Mail on Sunday, who had been covering the tension between the United States and North Korea before winding up at the Aloft to cover Irma.
She noted the dizzying pace of crises hitting the United States.
“Nobody’s talking about Harvey now. America’s crazy right now. Between Trump, Mother Nature and North Korea, I haven’t stopped.”
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8 Primal Grilling Tips and Techniques
First off, let’s settle one thing right away. Grilling is not the same as barbecuing. Barbecue means big cuts of meat cooked low and slow. Depending on the animal, it can be an all-day affair with hours of preparation and plenty of leisure. In other words, it’s an actual event. With the time and labor intensity, barbecuing (as Michael Pollan put it so well recently) is the stuff of primal ritual, the site of social cohesion in our evolutionary story. Grilling, on the other hand, offers the smoke and fire experience without the bigger doings. While not as idyllic a prospect, it’s convenient. It means throwing a steak on the grill after work and eating it 20 minutes later. That’s the beauty of grilling. It’s relatively quick, requires very little clean up, and let’s you kick back outdoors while cooking dinner.
In order to relax, however, it’s good to be confident that dinner won’t go up in flames. Luckily, what separates someone who burns dinner from a real grill master is simply practice, plus a few tips and techniques.
Most of the smaller cuts of meat at the meat counter cook well on a grill, like steaks, short ribs, pork and lamb chops, and chicken pieces. A good butcher can guide you to the best cuts for grilling in your price range. Then, of course, there’s seafood, burgers of all types, sausage and veggies. You can throw almost anything on a grill—even fruit.
No matter what you’re grilling, these tips and techniques apply:
Preheat, Clean, and Oil the Grill
Just like pre-heating an oven before cooking, a grill (both gas and charcoal) should be good and hot before the grilling begins. If the grill isn’t hot enough at the start, your food won’t cook properly.
A clean, well-oiled grill also reduces the chances of sticking (especially for fish). To clean and oil the grill, brush the grates with a steel grill brush, then wipe with a damp cloth or paper towel. Finish by rubbing a dry, lightly oiled paper towel over the grates.
Fat is Flavor
When grilling beef, lamb and pork, buy cuts with lots of marbling, which is the white fat throughout the meat, not just on the edges. More marbling indicates more flavor and it means the meat is less likely to dry out on the grill.
For chicken and fish, skin provides a fatty barrier between the heat and the meat. Even veggies need fat, so coat them liberally in heat-stable oil before grilling, then drizzle a little more oil on the vegetables when they’re done.
Don’t Forget the Salt
Marinades and rubs are great (more on this below), but the most important seasoning for anything you grill is salt. In the absence of a marinade or rub, sprinkle enough salt on all sides of the meat, chicken or fish so that the salt is easy to see, like a light snowfall. Salt adds flavor, helps meat retain moisture, and breaks down muscle tissue to tenderize the meat.
The best time to season with salt is a subject of intense debate among chefs and hard-core grilling aficionados. Some swear by salting days or hours ahead of grilling; other swear by salting at the last minute. In the end, it’s a matter of personal preference.
As a general rule, you can’t go wrong seasoning meat, chicken and fish thirty-five minutes ahead of time. This gives the salt a decent amount of time to penetrate the outside of the protein and work its way towards the middle, boosting flavor all the way through.
A secret weapon: sea salt, sprinkled on after grilling. Sea salt boosts the flavor of anything—meat, seafood, vegetables—that’s been grilled.
Monitor Temperature
There are several ways that paying attention to temperature results in better grilling.
First, let protein sit out on the counter 35 minutes or more and come toward room temperature before grilling. This promotes even cooking and makes it more likely that the middle and outside of your steak will reach perfection at the same time.
Second, whether using a gas or charcoal grill, create hot and warm zones, so you can move meat from high heat to lower heat as needed.
Finally, don’t guess when meat is done. Use a digital thermometer to gauge.
Let Meat Rest
Always let meat and chicken rest 10 minutes or more before slicing to retain juiciness and flavor.
Try New Marinades and Rubs
When you’re in the mood for a certain type of flavor, say, Korean short ribs or Cajun chicken, marinades and rubs are the way to go. More to the point of health, marinades and rubs can also mitigate the effects of carcinogenic compounds associated with high-heat grilling by reducing the formation of toxic compounds like HCA and AGE.
The key ingredient is antioxidant-rich herbs and spices. The more herbs and spices, the more protective (and better-tasting) your marinade and rub. What also helps is quality, antioxidant rich fat, like avocado oil. In a marinade, a splash of acidic vinegar or citrus juice will also add protection against toxins, boost flavor, and tenderize.
Tips for Fish
Grilling fish is intimidating, only because it’s all too easy to lose half your meal when it falls through or sticks to the grates.
The most important thing you can do to prevent fish from sticking is to put the fish down on hot, clean and well-oiled grill grates. Use a wide, long metal spatula to flip the fish. If the fish is still sticking to a clean, well-oiled, hot grill then it might not be ready to flip yet. Let it cook for another few minutes and try again.
Thicker fillets or steaks (salmon, halibut and tuna) are easiest to grill. Also, oily, skin-on fish tend to stick less because of the high-oil content. Try grilling sardines, mackerel, skin-on salmon or an entire fish.
Finally, Add the Vegetables
Grilled vegetables make a perfect side for grilled protein—not just for flavor but also because any plant food you eat with your meat, especially the colorful ones, will have a favorable impact on the total meal’s lipid oxidation or mutagenicity.
Vegetables need their own section of the grill, or their own bamboo skewer, to cook in their own good time, so don’t crowd veggies with meat or put them on the same skewer with meat.
If the heat is too high, veggies will quickly burn, so keep vegetables over a medium flame. Cut the vegetables into the same size, so they’ll cook uniformly. Harder vegetables (beets, carrots, etc) can be briefly parboiled before grilling. Before grilling, coat vegetables generously with oil or—for more flavor and healthy antioxidants—a vinaigrette (I have a deal going on for Primal dressings and vinaigrettes now), and season with salt. Then plan to add more flavor after grilling, with additional oil, vinaigrette and salt as needed.
How’s everyone’s grilling season this year? New creations you want to share? Tips I missed? Share your thoughts below, and thanks for stopping by today.
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