#disastrous call. he blew it day 2 when he just doubled down on his day 1 nonsense. which again that is the name of the game but yknow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pastelwitchling · 3 years

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Brother in Arms Chapters: 1/2

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It was past midnight at the Pony when Alex got the call.

Michael was at the counter, coming in and out of Isobel and Maria’s conversation as he scanned the bar, looking for one particular man who said he’d try to come in late. Because they did that now. Offhandedly mention whether or not they were likely to see each other. It was a nice change of pace.

Michael straightened in his seat when he saw Alex finally come in, his hair windswept, his shoulders scrunched against the cold outside. He caught his eyes, and Alex smiled softly, weaving through the crowd towards him.

“Hi,” Michael said.

“Hey,” Alex murmured, his cheeks and nose red from the cold. They held each other’s gaze for several long seconds before Alex looked down, tugging off his scarf. Progress.

Michael cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly on his chair, subtly scooting closer to Alex, to get a whiff of his vanilla scent, to feel the roughness of his jeans against his own. Alex seemed to notice and he turned slightly so that his left knee just barely grazed Michael’s.

Michael began to smile until he noticed the slight tension in Alex’s shoulders, the pinch of his brows, the pensive purse of his lips.

He looked back over his shoulder at Isobel and Maria, and when he was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, said, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said on a sigh. “Just feel a little off, don’t know why.”

“Maybe you’re just tired from work?”

Alex hummed, unconvinced. “Maybe.”

For the next half-hour, Michael tried getting Alex to smile in earnest. He kept close to him, listening to his day and telling him all about his own. He pretended to swoon (absolutely not actually swooning on the inside) when Alex mentioned his team following his orders, and made a sexual innuendo about Alex’s commands and authority. At one point, he even got a laugh from Alex that made his heart flutter in an embarrassing way that he swore never to mention aloud to anyone.

Michael was sure he looked like a lovesick idiot, smiling at Alex like he did when they were seventeen and he had managed to make the emo kid giggle, but he didn’t care. Moments like these, when they got to just be happy to have each other, weren’t as common as Michael wanted them to be. Some words were still too hard to say, and some confessions still stuck in Michael’s throat, keeping him frozen when he longed more than anything to cling to Alex and never let him go.

But if he’d known the kind of call Alex would get in the next few minutes, he would’ve held on and kept him on that stool, kept him from picking up. He would’ve taken him to the airstream, and they would’ve gotten lost in each other’s touch, a night they probably wouldn’t have talked about the next morning, if only to give him one more night of peace.

But how could he have predicted, when Alex’s phone had rung, the way Alex’s smile would dim at the sight of the caller on the screen? The way panic would cross his expression, however trained he was to hide it? The way his jaw would clench and he’d mutter an excuse under his breath to take his call outside? How could Michael have predicted coming out onto the Wild Pony’s back porch to see Alex sitting on the front step, numbly writing out a date and address in Nashville?

“Okay, Katie,” he said into his phone. “Yeah. . . . Eleven. . . . Mm.”

Michael heard crying on the other end of the line. Alex listened silently, staring at the address he’d written, mindlessly underlining it over and over, the pen tearing into the paper. Alex didn’t seem to notice.

Michael heard muffled voices, Alex responded with, “I’m going right now. I’ll see you in the morning,” and he hung up.

Michael swallowed. “Alex?”

Alex didn’t looked around at him. “Air Force buddy,” he said, and sniffled. “That was his sister.”

Michael’s shoulders fell. There was only one reason Alex’s military buddy’s family would be calling. He came to sit down beside him.

“Private –”

“I need to pack,” he said, standing. His eyes were dry, his tone calculating. “Get some things ready.” He was already typing something on his phone, and Michael followed to find a list of flights to Nashville.

“O-Okay,” Michael tried. “I can drive you –”

“If anybody asks, can you just tell them I’ll be out of town for a few days?” he said, eyes on his phone, his other hand stuffing the piece of paper into his pocket.

“Uh – yeah, but, Alex –”

“Thanks, Guerin,” he said, climbing into his car. Michael’s mouth hung open on a silent sentence as Alex drove away.

It was a freezing late morning in Nashville, as if even the weather was lamenting the loss of a great man. Alex sat a few chairs down from Katie and her mother, both pairs of blue eyes filled with tears. The sun caught off Katie’s blonde hair, turning it gold, just as Scott’s used to be.

Scott had joined the military a week before Alex had. He had been a ball of light and energy the day he’d arrived, catching Alex’s eyes with a smile and sticking by his side ever since. Alex, who had wanted to keep his head down and get the work done, to rise in ranks with the sole purpose of defeating those who thought they could beat him down, was taken hostage by this man’s piercing blue eyes and his kind voice.

“You and me, Manes,” he’d said that first night, taking the bed beside Alex’s, “we’re brothers.”

“I don’t need another brother,” Alex had murmured, glad for the dark that hid his blush.

Scott had smiled. “Then I’ll be more.”

And he had been. It felt strange to go through the months of basics, feeling like part of him was missing unless Scott was there. This blond, disastrous, one-man hurricane had been the same way; always a little more out of control, always a little easier to slip up, always scolded more by the sergeant unless Alex was there to reel him in. He’d been, in every way, Alex’s opposite. As they had lain on their stomachs one night, Alex had told him as much.

“Which makes it all the more incredible how much we connect,” Scott had said. He’d had a fondness in his eyes then that Alex had pretended not to notice. “That’s us, Manes, just like I’d said we’d be. More.”

When Alex had left, they’d kept in touch as much as they were able. A call here, a letter there. Neither of them ever feeling like they were separated at all. No “I miss you”s, just ventures relayed and heartaches confessed.

“Next time I see you, I’ll have a word with that cowboy of yours,” Scott had told him on their last discreet phone call. Alex had laughed and asked him when that visit would come.

“Soon,” Scott had promised. “I’ll come running home to you, brother.”

As Alex watched them lower the black coffin into the ground, those words echoed on repeat in his head. Scott’s team stood, saluting as the bugle played and Alex heard faint sniffles and cries behind him, all turned to background noise.

It felt wrong. Knowing a force of nature like Scott Mason rested in a wooden box, the American flag folded and handed to his mother who clung to it now as if it was her son himself. Alex didn’t take his eyes off the coffin until it was thoroughly buried. People around him began to disperse, but Alex sat there, his fingers quickly growing numb with the cold.

He buried his chin deeper into his scarf, Scott’s laugh in his ears. He would be returning to Roswell in a few hours.

Would that be okay, Scott? he thought, hoping his friend could read his thoughts as he always managed to do, and answer him. If I left?

He had yet to shed a tear, and felt a strange tingling in his chest, like something was building up to be released but couldn’t quite make it through the surface. He wondered if he should stop by his buddy’s favorite burger place around the street before he left, get a double cheeseburger with fries, and dip them in a milkshake.

“Try it,” he’d encouraged him on their first leave. “You’ll thank me.”

Alex blew a tiny breath, a white cloud forming before his face. He muttered, “Thanks, brother.”

“Alex,” someone gasped, “what’d you do?”

Alex looked up, blinking out of his thoughts. He realized almost everyone around them had gone, and Katie stood next to him now, her blue eyes looking down with worry. He followed her gaze and saw that he’d carved into the back of his hand with his thumb, a faint line of blood trickling down the torn skin.

“Oh,” he said. He wiped his hand against his jacket as he stood. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Katie searched his face. Her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth. “I –” she cleared her throat. “I can’t imagine what he meant to you.”

Alex nodded. It’s not real, he thought. Scott’s fine. He’s not the kind of man who dies. I’m just having a nightmare. I’ll wake up, and my brother will be fine.

Still, even as he thought so, he said, “Your brother loved you, Katie.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she sniffled as she roughly wiped her face. “He loved you, too.”

Alex held out his arms, and Katie fell in against him, hugging his waist tightly enough to bruise. Alex only wished he could feel any of it.

There was to be a reception. Alex had insisted he would help take care of things while Scott’s mother, Ashley, tried to relax. She’d been frighteningly quiet since Alex had arrived two days ago, but Katie assured him that she spent the nights crying.

“She’s letting it out,” she assured him. “Wears herself out half the time. I just don’t think she’s really processed it yet, but she’s getting there.”

Hours later, after guests had gone, Alex found himself sitting amongst Scott’s immediate family. His mother and sister, his uncles and aunts and a few of his first cousins who were able to fly back into town on short notice.

An untouched cup of wine sat in front of Alex on the table as his family laughed through their tears, recounting stories about Scott, memories of him as a kid, funny letters he’d send back so that none of them would ever worry about him.

“He was a good man,” his uncle said gruffly, keeping his head down to hide his glistening eyes.

Alex nodded, his heart still tingling strangely, not quite letting him breathe. “He was a hero,” he said, and was met with nods and “Hear Hear!”s and more tears. Alex wished he could cry. Why couldn’t he cry?

“I remember when he brought you home, Alex,” Ashley said hoarsely, her smile faint. “I was so sure we were going to get some big news.”

Katie scoffed half-heartedly, leaning her chin on her palm. “Mom made Scott’s favorite ribs and chocolate cupcakes. She was so proud he finally found someone. Then Scott told us you were just his friend, and she kept huffing through dinner.”

The corner of Alex’s lips quirked up. “Sorry.”

Ashley grasped Alex’s arm and gave it a tight squeeze. “Far as I’m concerned, sweetheart, you were the only one Scott ever really loved. I felt it in my bones.” Her smiled faded, and her chuckles turned to sobs. Her forehead came to rest on Alex’s shoulder, and he put a hand on her head, keeping her steady against him.

The rest of the group dissolved into sniffles for the next hour. When Ashley had worn herself out and fallen asleep on the couch, Alex stood and grabbed his jacket.

“You have a flight back to Roswell already?” Katie asked, stretching.

He nodded. “I need to get back.”

She managed a smirk. “To your cowboy?”

He scoffed. “Anything else Scott told you?”

“Just that you never wanted to go back to Roswell during your leaves,” she said. “Said you didn’t think anyone would care. You still think that?”

Alex considered it, and it gave him a headache. He exhaled a soft chuckle. “I can’t think of much right now.”

Her eyes were kind. “I understand.” She heaved a groan that cracked at the end. “Is it bad that I kind of want to fast forward to next year? When all of this is just a bad memory?”

“No,” Alex said, pulling her in for another hug. He sighed against the top of her head. “It’s not bad at all.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Alex,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You’re family, too.”

A lump lodged itself in Alex’s throat. Try as he might, he couldn’t swallow it down. He said nothing as he held Katie tighter.

Michael, Gregory, and Flint met Alex at his house the day he came back to Roswell. Michael sat on the back of his truck as Gregory and Flint leaned against Gregory’s car. Flint’s arms were crossed, Gregory was checking his phone for calls, and Michael was pretending not to be nervous about Alex as he’d been days ago. He tapped his finger on the trunk bench, remembering that morning days ago when he’d come to Alex’s doorstep at the crack of dawn to offer a trip to the airport, and found the airman had already gone.

He had no idea what to expect now. Isobel, Liz, and Maria had wanted to come see him, too, but Gregory had told them that it was better they not crowd him. Michael had gotten to come along for sheer insistence that he wouldn’t leave until he got to see Alex was safe and back in Roswell.

“You heard from him since he got off the plane?” Flint asked at some point.

“No,” was all Gregory said, and the brothers fell silent again. There seemed to be a weight that Michael couldn’t grasp, couldn’t touch and felt pushed down by anyway.

A familiar car rounding the corner into the driveway yanked Michael from his thoughts. He came down from the bench, putting it up as he kept his eyes on Alex behind the steering wheel. He couldn’t discern his expression, even as he parked, opened his door, and pulled out his suitcase.

“Hey,” Michael said, trying to keep his voice light. He was the only one to speak.

Alex managed a press of his lips, his eyes spacing out almost at once. Michael held out his hand for his suitcase, and Alex seemed to realize too late that it had been taken from him. He touched Michael’s arm in thanks.

Gregory and Flint seemed to know what to do better than Michael did, which apparently wasn’t much. Gregory patted Alex’s back with a sigh while Flint stayed behind them. Michael didn’t understand why until they’d gotten to the porch, Alex fishing for his keys, and his eyes suddenly fluttered. He swayed and Flint readily caught his arm, steadying him as if he’d been expecting it.

Michael opened his mouth in a gasp, but Flint shook his head minutely. Don’t talk about it, he seemed to be saying. He won’t be able to answer you.

Michael hesitated, fighting against every fiber of his being that longed to carry Alex inside himself so that he didn’t have to take another step on his own.

Flint released Alex as soon as he was on his feet again, and Alex opened the door and walked on inside as if nothing had happened. Michael stayed close and set the suitcase beside Alex’s couch as he took a seat. Flint went to open the windows, letting in the light, while Gregory said he would go make them some tea.

Michael sat down beside Alex, but Alex was staring into the distance, unseeing, his brows pinched slightly. Michael wanted to trace the path down the bridge of his nose, hoping it would ease whatever storm was raging in his head, but didn’t dare touch him.

Flint leaned against the wall, looking out the window as rustling sounded from the kitchen. When Michael risked speaking again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you hungry? I – I can go get you something.”

But Alex was already shaking his head, waking with a deep inhale. “No, no, thanks, Guerin.”

Flint tilted his head. “If you want him to stay here, Alex, I can go grab –”

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” Alex said, and went back to staring at nothing.

Flint nodded, unsurprised. “Yeah.”

Gregory came back a few minutes later, holding a tray of four mugs.

“Thanks,” Michael muttered as he handed him one. Alex hugged his with his hands.

“Hey, hey,” Flint said, setting his cup down and gently prying Alex’s fingers from around the steaming ceramic. “You’ll burn yourself, brother.”

“Hm? Oh.”

Gregory sat down in the armchair across from the couch. He rested his elbows on his thighs, tapping a finger against his own mug. A few minutes of silence, then –

“Alex,” he said, “do you want to . . . talk about –”

“No,” Alex said at once. “I don’t, I – I can’t.” He didn’t seem angry or upset. Just tired. There was a numbness to his expression that almost scared Michael.

He hesitated, then put a hand on Alex’s back. Then he dared to rub soothing circles, letting his eyes roam the airman, reassuring himself that Alex was okay. That was when he saw the line of dried blood on the back of his hand, his skin carved into and torn.

“Alex,” he breathed, holding up his hand. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Alex muttered, his brows furrowed as if just now remembering that this injury was here. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Michael gaped. “You did this to yourself?”

Flint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave it alone, Guerin.”

“Manes –”

“He’s fine,” Gregory said, his voice calm and intent. “It’s fine.”

Michael wanted to argue, to demand if they were crazy, if they weren’t seeing what Michael was seeing. But Alex just let his hand fall from Michael’s and patted his shoulder consolingly as if he was the one that had lost a friend. And Michael’s words caught in his throat.

Alex’s head fell back. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as he heaved a deep breath. “I . . . uh . . .” he sniffled, “you guys should go. I know you have work, I don’t want to keep you.”

Michael frowned. “Alex . . .”

He thought Gregory and Flint would definitely argue, that they’d refuse to leave their brother like this, but Gregory asked, “And you? You sure you don’t want one of us to get you something from the Crashdown?”

Alex shook his head. “No, I’m just gonna . . . head to bed. I’m tired after the plane.”

Flint nodded. “Okay. You have our numbers.”

“I know.”

“What? No,” Michael said, moving closer to Alex on the couch. “I’m staying here.”

“Guerin,” Alex said. “I already told you, I’m –”

“You’re not fine,” Michael nearly yelled.

“Guerin –” Gregory tried.

“He carved into his own skin! I’m staying!”

“Okay,” Flint said, nudging his chin at the door. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

Alex watched, only half-there, as Michael stood and followed Flint, hesitant to leave his airman at all.

The second the door closed, Michael demanded, “He’s not okay.”

“No kidding,” Flint frowned, a lot quieter than Michael was. “His brother just died, how do you think he’s doing?”

He smirked humorlessly. “And you two just wanna leave him. Let him fend for himself. After all this time, you still don’t care about what happens to him, do you?”

Flint tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Who do you think Alex is? Some defenseless kid? You do realize he’s an Air Force Captain, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Big tough military man, I get it.”

“No,” Flint said easily. “You don’t.” He pressed a finger to Michael’s chest. “Don’t pretend you know what losing a brother-in-arms is like, especially for someone like Alex. Someone like us. You have no idea the kind of weight that’s on our shoulders.”

Michael faltered. He licked his lips. “All the more reason,” he said, “to stay with him.”

Flint considered Michael, and began to chuckle. “Wow,” he said. “You really think that little of him?”

Michael frowned. “He hurt himself.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Flint said, like that was supposed to be a reassurance. “You have no idea what he’s going through, but Greg and I do.”

“But this guy –”

“Yeah,” he sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. “Looks like this one was important. But he learned to live with it a long time ago. He’s not as broken as you think he is.”

Michael couldn’t let it go so easily. He remembered too well a conversation he and Alex had had months ago, in his bunker.

“I need to believe in a reason to stay.” What if this was it? The last straw? What if Alex was on a countdown?

He swallowed. “I’m going back inside.”

Flint grabbed his arm. Michael glared at him, but he was unrelenting. “Listen to me. I know you care about him –”

“I love him,” Michael said fiercely. Flint’s gaze didn’t waver. Always as prepared for battle as Alex.

When he spoke next, his words were quieter, but no less commanding. “Then let him breathe. I know Alex doesn’t always say what he means, but he means this. That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”

Michael glared. “I know Alex is strong.”

To his surprise, Flint’s gaze slightly softened. He shook his head, as if Michael had completely missed the point. “That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”

Alex woke at twilight to find he’d fallen asleep on his couch, his clothes and prosthetic still on. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and rubbed his eyes. He looked around, the pale light behind the blinds casting the house into dark shadows.

He shouldn’t have, but Alex lied back down, staring at the ceiling with one hand covering the other on his stomach. He heard nothing but his own breathing, and then not even that.

“Hey, Manes, have you ever been in love?”

Alex closed his eyes against the memory, and immediately, his mind filled with images of himself and Scott laying on opposite sides of his bed, staring at another ceiling.

He forced himself up again, furiously scrubbing his face. He sat there a second longer, staring at nothing and thinking of a mess of things, from what time he had to wake up tomorrow to errands he had to calls and texts and emails he probably had to answer –

“Guerin,” he called faintly, and was answered with silence. His shoulders fell. Oh yeah . . . He had asked them to leave. He knew it was for the best, there wasn’t really anything he thought he could say to any of them, but just saying Michael’s name brought him a slight peace that he couldn’t explain and which vanished as quickly as it came when Alex couldn’t find him. That had happened a lot in the past decade.

Scott’s smile came back to him. “That the cowboy I should be jealous of?”

Alex exhaled shakily, and pushed past the memory. He changed into his sweats, took his prosthetic off, and curled up in bed. He lay awake under the covers for several minutes that felt like hours, cramming a million other things into his mind to force out the one thought that he knew he couldn’t handle right now, and eventually, the darkness had mercy on him, and sleep took over.

Michael wanted to be useful. He’d spent the past two days wandering the junkyard, finding things to do that didn’t really need doing, if only to keep moving. He may have broken down several cars and driven Sanders crazy, but he was losing his mind.

At one point, he’d snapped, gotten in his truck, and made it halfway to Alex’s house before he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road and hit his forehead against the steering wheel.

“That captain in there is so much stronger than you think he is.”

“I know Alex is strong.”

“That’s not what I just said, Guerin.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “What does that mean?” he growled through grit teeth. Michael knew who Alex was, what he was. What did that matter?

Michael all but slammed the gearshift back again, and turned a corner to the Project Shepherd bunker instead. If he couldn’t take care of Alex, he could at least get through some of the files they had waiting there, look into a few leads so Alex didn’t feel like he had to himself.

The last thing Michael had been expecting when he’d pulled up to the hidden entrance was to find a familiar car parked there already. His heart leapt into his throat, and he almost stepped out of the truck without turning it off.

He wrenched the door open, and came down the stairs to find the white lights already on. Alex was at the far end of the bunker, typing at a computer. Michael stopped, staring.

Alex glanced up and gave him a quick, small smile. He was surrounded with open files, more than half of them marked. He shrugged a shoulder. “They gave me a week leave,” he said. “Figured I’d get something done.”

Michael didn’t know where to start. Are you any better? Have you slept? Did you want me to stay?

In the end, he managed a quirk of his lips and a light, “Don’t you military men ever rest?” He pulled up a chair next to Alex. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me. ‘I don’t know what rest means, Guerin. I can go for weeks, Guerin. I don’t actually need to be on leave, Guerin.’”

He smiled, but Alex did not seem amused, his eyes unmoving from the screen. “No,” he said simply. “I definitely need it. Way I’m feeling, I might just end up shooting anybody in a uniform.”

Michael faltered. Alex’s tone was light, but something in his eyes darkened, something frightening that Michael wasn’t used to seeing on his airman’s face. He hesitated, then, because he wanted to do something and didn’t know what, he reached out and covered Alex’s hand with his own.

Alex didn’t smile or look at Michael. Instead, he turned his hand over in Michael’s and gripped his fingers so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Michael tilted his head, trying to discern his thoughts. “Alex?”

He blinked. “Hm?”

“About . . . uh . . . that Mason guy –”

“Shh, shhh,” he shook his head, his eyes shut tight. “We don’t have to talk about that, I don’t want to talk about that.”

Michael stared. If he wasn’t so aware of Alex’s every move, of every inch of the airman’s skin that touched his own, he might’ve missed the way Alex’s fingers slightly trembled in his. But he was, so he didn’t.

He swallowed and nodded. He pulled Alex’s head in towards his with his other hand, and kissed his forehead.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

Alex’s grip did not loosen, his eyes did not open, his breathing did not calm for two whole minutes. Michael raised his other hand to rest between Alex’s shoulder blades, running up and down his spine, turning his nose into Alex’s hair and inhaling his scent.

Alex turned his head slightly so that Michael’s lips hovered above his. Michael’s eyes fell to Alex’s mouth, his own falling open. He could feel Alex’s hot breath against his bottom lip. His own breathing quickened as he thought about fitting his mouth against Alex’s, tasting his tongue, running a hand up his shirt and feeling his naked skin as he hadn’t gotten to do in over a year.

Michael wanted to be useful, and Alex always seemed able to breathe better when they were together. Maybe this would be useful. That, and Michael just really, really wanted it.

Somehow, as he always did, Alex was able to read his mind. His dark, hooded eyes looked up at Michael through long lashes. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You want to help me feel better, Guerin?”

Michael’s eyes fluttered as he nodded, entranced. He leaned in, their mouths open. His breathing turned more and more ragged as the soft press of Alex’s lips against his own filled his gut with a fire. It had been too long since he’d gotten to touch.

Against Michael’s lips, Alex whispered, “Then help me,” and slowly closed their mouths in a kiss.

Michael’s eyes fell shut and a moan escaped his lips as he kissed Alex again, then again. He reached up, taking Alex’s face in his hands as he tilted his head, devouring his mouth.

“Baby,” he breathed against Alex’s lips between kisses, unable and unwilling to keep it in.

Alex whimpered at the nickname, and the sound spurred Michael on. Alex took Michael’s wrists, as if silently begging him not to leave. As if Michael would ever go anywhere.

“I,” Alex managed, “I want more. Touch me, Guerin.”

Michael looked at Alex then. His expression was filled with lust, his lips kiss-swollen, making Michael’s cock twitch in his jeans. He bit his lower lip, kissed Alex again, and nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, let’s get back to the airstream –”

But Alex was already shaking his head, moving out of his chair. He worked on the buttons of his jeans, and without any hesitation at all, pushed them and his underwear down, revealing his half-hard length. Michael’s mouth fell open, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, imagining the taste of Alex on his tongue.

“Now,” he panted. “I want you now.”

Alex climbed onto Michael’s lap, his naked, smooth, hairy skin against the hard fabric of Michael’s jeans. Michael was fully hard now as his hands slowly rose up Alex’s thighs, reveling in the touch of his warm skin and imagining his body against his own. Then Alex undid the first two buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the ground. He was now completely naked as he straddled Michael, down to his toes. Michael was sure he would die.

Alex took Michael’s face in his hands, crashing their mouths together. He moaned against Michael’s lips as he grinded into his hardened, clothed cock.

“C’mon,” he breathed, his nimble fingers working on Michael’s belt. “Take them off. I want you to fuck me hard.”

“Alex,” Michael groaned, and in one rough tug, managed to tear off his belt. He pushed his pants and underwear down, releasing himself. As soon as his cock rubbed against Alex’s, his eyes rolled back into his head and he all but screamed.

“I’m ready,” Alex said between hard, wet, open kisses. He ran a hand up Michael’s stomach, his chest, scratching through the trail of hair and digging his nails into Michael’s nipples. “Please, Guerin. Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed. “Yeah.” And he did as he’d fantasized doing for the past year. He aligned his cock to Alex’s hole with one hand, his other coming around to grab Alex’s ass, feeling his soft skin in his hands.

Alex choked on a scream as Michael took him in all the way, his hands gripping Michael’s face tightly against his neck where Michael got to bite and suck and lick and kiss as much as he wanted. When the airman was ready, Michael thrusted softly, not wanting to hurt him.

But Alex pressed his lips against Michael’s ear and commanded, “Harder, baby. I want to feel you for days.”

The thought was enough to erase all other from Michael’s mind, and he wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist, his other still gripping Alex’s cheek as he thrusted up hard, Alex coming down just as roughly, as eagerly.

Alex came a split second before Michael, and only through Michael’s sheer force of will that Alex enjoy it for as long as possible that he managed to keep himself from letting go in those first few seconds. They breathed heavily into the small space between them, and Michael leaned in, taking Alex’s lips in long, lazy kisses.

Alex was still running a hand through Michael’s curls, making his eyes flutter. When their breaths evened and Alex’s movements slowed, Michael looked up to find his airman staring at his chest, his brows pinched together slightly. His eyes were unfocused.

Michael felt a fear he’d almost forgotten about climb into his throat now. He swallowed it down, and put his fingers under Alex’s chin, lifting his gaze.

“Hey,” he whispered, moving his hand to cup Alex’s jaw, his thumb caressing his cheek. “Look at me, baby. Look at me, I’m right here.”

“Um,” Alex said and cleared his throat, closing his eyes as if trying to wake himself from his haze. His fists laid curled against Michael’s chest. He brought his head down, his forehead against Michael’s chin as he exhaled shakily. He looked around. “My clothes, I –”

“I’ve got ‘em,” Michael said immediately, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. He’d wanted to stay with Alex like this, naked and holding each other, a little longer. Instead, he used his powers to bring Alex’s clothes right up to him.

But before he got dressed, Alex curled in against Michael, pressing his nose to Michael’s cheek, his lips brushing the cowboy’s jaw. Michael wrapped his arms around him, taking his chance to press light kisses to Alex’s bare shoulder.

Alex seemed to need a second to straighten his spine and brace himself before he grabbed his clothes from midair and pulled them on. He gently moved off Michael so that he could do the same, and when they were both dressed, Michael grabbed a file, not knowing what else to do. He kept glancing at Alex who was staring at his computer screen, his fist against his lips as he seemed too distracted to keep doing whatever he was doing.

Finally, Michael couldn’t take it anymore, and he said, “Tell me what to do.”

He knew he sounded desperate, his demand more of a plea, but he didn’t care. Because Alex wasn’t acting like Alex, and he was breaking, but he wasn’t breaking, and it was all very scary and not where Michael wanted his airman to be.

Alex frowned. “Do?”

“To fix this,” he said, and winced at how stupid it sounded. But he couldn’t stop himself. “O-Or make it . . . I don’t know, easier. Tell me what I have to do, I’ll do anything, Alex.”

Alex’s look was unreadable as Michael held his gaze. Then something shifted, something turned sadder, and suddenly, it was Alex who held Michael. “I feel like there’s a hole in my chest, Michael. And it’ll never heal.” His lips quirked in a soft, helpless smile. “And there’s no fixing that.”

Michael watched, speechless and unable to do anything as Alex closed his laptop with a sigh, put his hands in his pockets, and made his way out of the bunker.

Alex finished scrubbing down his counter, and looked up, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. The kitchen, like his living room, bedroom, guestroom, and bathrooms, was spotless. The sky outside the window was pitch black, the wind still rustling through the empty branches and the yellow, dead grass. The world still turning, and not turning at all.

Alex’s phone on the table behind him buzzed, the screen lighting with new messages. Alex picked it up, scanning the texts. Flint said he would meet him at the Pony tomorrow night after they were both done at the base for drinks, Gregory said he’d be bringing over lunch so they could eat together, Clay left him a voicemail, telling him to call when he had the chance. It was Liz and Maria who asked if he was okay, if he needed them to come over right away.

Alex asked them not to. His brothers hadn’t asked if he was okay. He was grateful; he didn’t have an answer right now. He felt like he never might.

“Miss me already, Manes?”

Alex shut his eyes. The edges of his phone dug into his palms. The last phone call he and Scott had had, what had they said? He didn’t remember the exact conversation. Shouldn’t he have remembered?

But no. There was a moment from their last meeting that stuck in his mind.

“Start counting down, brother,” Scott had told him, a whispered eagerness in his voice. “I’m coming to Roswell next. You just tell me who I need to beat up.”

“What’re you coming here for?” Alex had said. “I’ll come see you wherever you want. Just pick anywhere else.”

“No,” Scott had said more softly. “No more running, Manes.”

“A drive,” Alex said, hoping the sound of a voice, even if it was his own, would keep the memories at bay. “I need a drive.”

The drive wasn’t helping. Alex had the window open, the icy wind biting his face and burning his eyes. Alex’s hands were clenched painfully tight around the steering wheel, his fingers numb with cold. His jaw was clenched, that small trickling in his chest turned to painful hammering now.

Scott’s letters. I’ll never get them again. His secret phone calls. That phone will never ring now. And he had been planning to come to Roswell. I should’ve brought him sooner. All the days on leave, I should’ve brought him. Roswell would’ve been better with him here.

“I should’ve brought him,” Alex said, his words breaking in his own ears.

Alex clenched his jaw, and pressed harder on the gas pedal. Scott would never see Roswell now, would never meet his friends, or know Michael. Places Alex could’ve taken him, the stars he could’ve shown him. They were brighter in Roswell than anywhere else in the world. And now his brother would never see them.

Headlights. Alex saw a pair of headlights far ahead, the large truck driving, for some reason, on the wrong lane. Or was Alex on the wrong one? It didn’t matter. He didn’t move. The gas pedal was on the floor of the car now.

As the truck neared, the headlights growing larger, brighter, the thought kept coming to Alex; if he could see Scott again, if all the pain and loss would finally end, it would all be okay. That was what he wanted, right? To stop the pain?

BEEP BEEEEEEP!

“No more running, Manes.”

Alex gasped, the realization of what he was doing hitting him like an explosion, and he wrenched the steering wheel aside at the last second. The car slowly came to a stop as the angry trucker’s honks faded into the distance behind him.

Alex’s trembling hands fell off the steering wheel as he slumped in his seat. Tears streamed down his face, his own ragged breathing like thunder in his ears in the silence around him.

He didn’t want to do this alone. Not this time. His hands still shaking, Alex turned the ignition back on.

Michael couldn’t sleep. He’d been tossing in his bed the past several hours before he’d given up on the idea of resting, and he went down to his bunker to tinker instead. He kept running into dead ends there, too.

When he’d tried and failed to solve a calculated projection for the eighth time, he’d had enough. His mind was flooded with thoughts of Alex, his dark eyes, his quiet words, his naked body and the way he’d curled against Michael, eager to stay close.

Michael let the pen fall from his hands. He needed to go to the Pony. Maybe he could get really drunk and forget that, somewhere in his house, Alex was probably locking himself out of his own mind, breaking apart and unwilling to let anyone near him. Because that was what it meant to be a military captain, right? Weather the storm alone? Prove that you were tougher than everyone else? Alex just didn’t need anybody because he’d been through so much worse, was that it?

The thought had him shaking. He pulled his shirt over his head as soon as he’d made it up the ladder. He thought he’d throw any somewhat clean clothes on and go drown his sorrows in a glass . . . then a car pulled up into the junkyard.

The low beams dimmed as the driver’s door opened. It was Alex. The lights turned off, and the moonlight revealed his tear-streaked face, his lower lip trembling, his chest rising and falling as if he could barely breathe. And Michael could see and think of nothing and no one else.

A sob escaped Alex’s lips, and Michael exhaled sharply before running to him. They met in the middle, Alex’s arms around Michael’s shoulders as he cried into the crook of his neck. Michael held him tightly enough that it should’ve hurt, but he didn’t care. He brought a hand up Alex’s neck to rest in the soft strands of his hair, his body trembling. Michael held him tighter.

“I’m right here,” Michael whispered into his neck. “I’m right here, baby.”

Alex wept as Michael had never heard before, his nails clawing into Michael’s back. Michael closed his eyes, reveling in the sting. Because it meant Alex was here, with him, safe and far away from what had taken his brother-in-arms.

“I – I want to see him,” Alex cried. “Just one more time, I want to see him.”

“Shh,” Michael said, rubbing his back soothingly. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Alex buried his face against Michael’s skin, the sounds of his cries in the dark, silent night shattering Michael’s heart, one crack at a time.

In seconds, Michael had the bonfire started. Long after Alex had turned silent, Michael swaying them left and right, he led the airman to a chair and let him soak in the flames. He had his elbows rested on his thighs when Michael came back out, after hurriedly shoving a shirt on, and handed him a bottle.

Alex took it with a murmur of thanks and downed half of it in one gulp. Michael pulled his chair closer and sat down next to him. And he waited.

After a long while of staring into the fire, the gold and orange flames reflected in his dark eyes, Alex quietly said, “I never know what to say. When this happens.” He shook his head. “It’s a repeat, but none of them are the same. You know? Scott wasn’t . . .” he faltered, and closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

His eyes glistened and he wiped the back of his hand against his nose before he went on, “They’re not lumped in together, you know? I remember each of their faces, I remember everything. And I felt it, I – I felt it coming. I know you don’t think it’s possible, but I did. Because he was part of me, I felt it.”

Michael swallowed. “He sounded special.”

Alex’s eyes filled with tears that fell before he could stop them. “He was so good. So brave.” He huffed a sad chuckle. “You would’ve liked him. I mean –” another sniffle “—he hit on me all the time, so I don’t think you would’ve loved him, but . . . you would’ve really liked him, Guerin.” He shook his head. “I should’ve introduced you, I should’ve done so much more for him.”

Michael reached over, gripping Alex’s forearm. “Hey. That’s not on you.”

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, it is, Guerin. You live with that. Knowing that your family’s on a time limit that’s usually a lot shorter than most people’s. And when it comes, all you can think of is the time you wasted. You don’t know what the good side is anymore, and eventually, they all become enemies because they all kept you apart.”

He huffed, ducking his head as another tear fell. “It’s . . .”

“A lot of weight to carry,” Michael finished, remembering Flint’s words. How much Alex had on his shoulders . . .

And suddenly, as Michael watched this beautiful man, carrying himself only by the memories of the people that had become a part of his heart, by the love he had for this family he’d created for himself, he realized how far apart he and Alex actually were.

He leaned in as a tear rolled down Alex’s cheek, as he was too weary to wipe it away. Michael kissed it, and Alex looked up.

“You’re so . . . grown up,” he whispered. “Tell me what to do. Please, Alex, tell me what to do.” Tell me what to do to keep you.

Alex’s considered him. Then he tugged at Michael’s arm until Michael was against him. Alex rested his head against his shoulder. “Just let me touch you,” he breathed, “for a little longer.”

Michael wrapped Alex in his arms and held him tightly, one hand going up and down his arm, his other hand sliding into his hair. Alex’s hand came up Michael’s chest, as if eager to feel under his shirt, to have that skin-on-skin contact that reassured them like little else did.

“Let me keep you,” Michael whispered into Alex’s hair.

Alex turned his face into Michael’s shoulder. His grip tightened on the cowboy’s body, and for a second, Michael thought he would say yes. Then –

“I should get back.”

Michael’s face fell. “I – I take it back,” he said quickly, “I just want you to stay the night –”

But Alex kissed his jaw softly, then the corner of his mouth, then his lips, effectively silencing him.

When he pulled back, he was cupping Michael’s cheek. “I have work tomorrow,” he said. “All my things are back at the house. Okay?”

Michael nodded, and kissed Alex one more time before letting him up. “I’ll drive you,” he said.

Alex managed a smile. “My car’s here.”

“Then we’ll go in yours.”

“Then you’ll be stuck with me.”

“Yes, please,” Michael breathed, taking hold of Alex’s waist again.

Alex huffed a laugh which quickly turned to a cry. He turned away, covering his face with one hand. When he looked up again, his smile was weak and his eyes were rimmed red.

“I – uh – think I just need to be alone.”

Michael wished he could be angry, frustrated. But instead, all he felt was fear. Alex didn’t seem stubborn to him anymore, just . . . far away. Why? What had changed?

“Hey,” Alex said softly, and pulled him in for another kiss. “I’ll be back. I need you, too.”

Michael swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he whispered. But I have no idea how to help you. I don’t even think I know who you are.

“Alex, I . . .” I love you. He’d almost said it. He’d wanted to. But Alex was heartbroken and lost, and that wasn’t what he needed to hear right now. Instead, Michael pulled Alex in one more time, kissing him hungrily.

“I’d do anything for you,” he panted against his lips when they pulled apart again.

Alex nodded, his forehead pressed against Michael’s, and he roughly wiped at his eyes with his forearm before he turned to leave. Michael watched him walk away, already freezing at the loss of his touch. What was wrong with him? What was it that felt so off this time?

“Because he was part of me, I felt it.”

Was that what this was? No, it was different. Michael couldn’t begin to list the ways, but it was different. Alex gave him a soft smile before he climbed into the driver’s seat and disappeared.

The man that made music and smiled blushingly whenever Michael kissed him, and the man that held the world on his shoulders, always one crack away from shattering completely. They’d always been the same to Michael, but something had changed now.

He had once confessed that he couldn’t get used to seeing Alex in his uniform. At the time, he’d played it off as a joke, though something in his heart had stung at the image. And he’d never understood why. Now he did.

“He’s mine,” he said before he could help himself. The silence of the night threatened to engulf him, to keep him quiet. Alex, after all, belonged to a different world. He had a life and identity outside of Roswell, outside of Project Shepherd and music and aliens that had no place for a temperamental, telekinetic cowboy.

Michael didn’t care. He didn’t know where he fit in with all of this, and the painful thudding of his heart served to betray his true fears of never being allowed to belong to the airman, but he didn’t care.

“He’s mine,” he kept repeating, hoping that the words would be enough to make it real. “Alex belongs with me. He’s mine.”

***

I’m exhausted! I might be sharing an IG with y’all soon for my writing/reading. Just in case anyone would like to follow something like that 💖

#michael guerin #alex manes #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tw: self harm #tw: brief suicidal thoughts #malex angst #malex fluff #michael vlamis #tyler blackburn

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just-some-random-blogger · 4 years

Text

One Million In One Day | 8

GOT7 SugarDaddy!Jackson Wang x Reader + Park Jinyoung x Reader | Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ? Characters: GOT7 Summary: His mother’s final wish is to see him be happy in a relationship, knowing that Jackson would be fine when she left him. But, damn, he didn’t have time for relationships, especially not since he was busy running his father’s billion dollar empire, thus the compromise: you. Word Count: 4k+ Warnings: Stalking, fighting, cursing, mentioning of illness, TYPOS, etc.

Preview | Alternate Moodboard | Chapter 8 Teaser

A/N: i made a moodboard for this chapter because i needed the will to keep going cough cough but made it into a teaser cuz i write slow

Yall this is also the longest chapter ive written for anything lololl

"Hey Jackson," I mutter and turn from the ice cream cone in my hand to his clear smooth face, "not to sound greedy-- purely out of curiosity and to prepare myself..."

Jackson looks at me, brown eyes widening in expectation.

"Am... I gonna get paid again?" I said speaking lowly at one particular word.

He gives me a blank expression, and I follow it up quickly, raising a hand, "Can I just... not?"

He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, "Baby," he cuts himself of by licking the dripping the melted ice cream on the side of his cone that was trickling its way down to his fingers. I found myself gulping. He takes a bite and turns back to me, "a deal's a deal. I don't want to come off as a cheat."

"No but you won't cause it's-it's my request!"

He thinks as he eats his dessert. I purse my lips, "I honestly don't know what to do with it anymore. I paid my loads, have a whole new wardrobe and a whole fridge of food. I even payed my rent for the rest of the year and that still wasn't enough to get rid of it all. I had to get my friend help me burn the money and keep my sanity in check. I bought him a laptop and everything."

"Oh," Jackson pulls his head back and knits his brows, "you told Jinyoung?"

"What?" Part of me panics when I hear him say that name.

Once the question registers in my head I shake my hands, "No, no, no. I told Mark, my other friend. And well, my roommate Nari, because there is no way she wouldn't find out about it anyway." I turn to Jackson and finish the rest of my ice cream. "You remember her, Nari? She was with me, uhm, when I was fitting that green dress."

Jackson's poker face shifts into a smile, "Ahhhh, yeah."

For a moment, we finish off eating and throw away our trash without words.

"Who else did you tell?"

I turn to Jackson who starts walking off again. I follow after him and purse my lips in realization of what he could possibly be insinuating, "Oh, uhm, just them. And I may tell Jinyoung after this. Am... am I not supposed to? I mean I didn't really-- they don't... I trust them..."

Jackson shakes his head and breaks into a nervous laugh, "No. No. It's just... no offence, I don't doubt the fact that they can't use this against me. It's just," he chuckles, "usually the fake dating goes both ways. I dunno, it's a first that I don't have to worry about seeing your family too."

I can't help but break out in a laugh, "yikes. Sounds like a nightmare."

"Gosh, you have no clue."

We trail off for a while. I break the silence this time, "So... do we have a deal?"

Jackson turns to me and lets out a breath, "Oh no, absolutely not."

I do a double take and pull my had back, "What?"

"Hearing myself say that aloud makes me realize how unfair this arrangement is to you. And it's making me feel uneasy, like I want to punch myself." He knits his brows and stuffs his hands in his pockets, "you have go around meeting all these people in environments you're not used to, in clothes that aren't yours," he lifts his thumb and point behind him with it, "having strange men follow you around." He releases a breath and turns to me, "and all you get out of that is paper."

I can't help but frown at his conclusion. It was plain to see how opposite our worlds were, with the mere way we value money. It made me feel lucky, honestly, that even though I wasn't rich, I had friends and family, their love around me, something this lonely billionaire evidently lacked.

"Listen, sweetheart. I don't mean to make you feel bad because of this, but, you have a lot of money, I don't. I don't have the need to focus on a massive business and to hear people around me nag about my love life, you do. The other gives what is needed and takes what the other has in excess. I don't know about you, but that seems like an awfully beneficial deal to me."

Jackson snickers after I spoke, "smart."

I smile upon hearing that.

"One of the things I like about you."

Wh- one of the things he--

"Alright Ms. Business Major. I see you learning in your classes."

I release a laugh at that and so does he. "But if anything, sweetheart," he stresses and leans down. I feel my neck and ears burn, "what? You can call me baby, but I can't call you sweetheart?"

He laughs, "No, no, it's cute. Please do." He turns his gaze forward, "this just further proves that I need to take care of you in the only way I can."

I groan and screw my eyes shut, "Jacksoooon." And here I was thinking that I actually got through to him.

"Ya. Why are you so rude? Are we same age?" He playfully glares and barks, "Oppa. Oppa."

I groan again and glare at him, "Oppa!"

He smiles and nods, "That's better."

I whine and stomp my feet, "Ahh! But I don't need it! I still have job!"

"What?" Jackson snaps, "you haven't quit your job?"

"Uh, no duh? How else am I gonna get pocket money?" I say, knowing he'd understand the fact that not everyone accepts a black card. Also, it was empty.

"The how'd you pay for your taxi?"

"I borrowed money from Mark."

Jackson's eyes blew in shock. He mumbles lowly and raises his hands, "my sugar baby needs a part-time job and borrows money."

"Okay, listen," he starts, tapping his chest with his finger tips, "just let me do my thing." He, out of the blue, takes my hand and we continue walking. "I have to go back to work after this, but later I'll come pick you up because you need to meet my mom."

I nod slowly up heaing this, "Oh."

"And clearly now, you've made me realize this is two dates-"

"Jackson-"

"-shut up or I'll kiss you."

My jaw is left hanging.

Jackson turns to me and holds back a laugh, lips curling into a smirk.

"As I was saying, you have also pointed out that I really haven't being fair to you. Up, up, up-" he raises a hand and cuts me of before I could even begin. He lets go of my hand and links my arm with his. "Right. So, I've been used to having arrangements with women with excessive tastes that can blow off a million in one day. And more, who am I kidding. Which is why," he turns to me.

I turn to him and he smiles, "I'm letting you cash out."

"Cash... hold on, wha-- cash out?"

Jackson seems confused and knits his brows for a second, and then bursts into laughter when he realizes, "Oh, no. Not like end this. No way! I still need you." He tugs on my arm and pulls it to his chest, embracing it as if he meant it personally.

He giggles, "I mean like, I'll let you withdraw money."

I gasp and turn to him, "Oh my gosh, really?!"

"Yeah," he nods, "I mean you can only withdraw anything from that one bank, but yeah. You deserve that at least."

"Oh my gosh thank you!" I grin and pull away from him, only to be able to hug him tightly. I hold him for a few seconds and smile brightly when I let him go, "I could send my parents money. I could-- I could-- WOW!"

Jackson breaks into laughter.

"Okay, now, come on, I'll drive you home."

With that, Jackson and I retrace our steps and find our way back to the car. The men following us seem to have gone away, to which I am relieved. We walk hand in hand, and he's doing all the talking. I watch as he laughs and wonder how he could talk about such stories, like getting his foot stuck in the toilet one time when he was younger, and still look so poised and handsome.

Jackson is playful all the way to my apartment. It made me happy, as I remember the last time I drove with him, back when we went to a party, he was pretty glum.

"You shouldn't let them get to you too much, Jackson." I speak up after our conversation about whatever popped up into our heads.

Jackson knits his brows and spares me a glance, "What do you mean?"

"Remember last time, after going to the party? You were pretty quiet, and it was kinda concerning."

He doesn't reply for a moment. When he does, he speaks half-playfully, "you're concerned about me?"

"No duh, Wang-Wang. You've been nothing but kind to me, and I'm the type to take care and check up on my friends."

He nods his head, "Well... thank you for... the concern, but that wasn't why I was quiet on pur drive back. I couldn't give two shits about whatever those rich bozos think. I just want them out of my business, babe."

I knit my brows, "Huh. Then why were you?"

Jackson chuckles and pulls on the collar of his top. "It's kinda complicated.” He turns to me, then back to the road to chuckle, “To a point where I'm not even really sure yet about it. But, uh, for what it's worth, if I figure it out, I'll tell you."

I hum, "well, are you sure you can figure it out by yourself? Sometimes all it tales is to say it aloud, y'know."

Jackson turns to me and offers a smile, "I know. But I don't want this to become real, and I'm pretty sure if I say it aloud, it will."

"Oh... well, I get that."

Soon after, we arrived at my place. I turned to give Jackson a smile goodbye, but I was shocked when he moved in to give my cheek a kiss. He pressed his lips against skin, and I immediately felt the area burn, as if he was scorching hot. I’m glad I didn’t move yet, cause if I had moved any sooner, Jackson and I would've had to a disastrous lip lock--or teeth lock at that..

"Thank you for today," he says simply, close to my ear. I could smell his cologne.

My cheeks burn. Once he pulls away, I turn and gape at him for a second, "shouldn't I be the one saying that?"

He purses his lips and chuckles, "Not at all."

For a moment, I just sit there, not knowing where to look and where to place my hands. Jackson smiles, and proceeds to cackle. It’s pretty obvious that he is pleased with how obviously I'm affected.

I feel my face redden, but I can't help myself and growl. I shove him and glare, "Next time, a little warning will suffice."

The man across me seems baffled by my action and tenses up only to burst out laughing all giddy "Mianheeee."

He shuffles in his seat, “Before you go,” and pulls out his wallet, “here... pocket money.”

He pulls out all the cash in his wallet and my eyes widen. I raise my brows, “That won’t be necessary, oppa.”

He shoots me a look and grabs my hand, “Oppa thinks otherwise.”

“But you’ll be paying me later!” I protest, trying my best to to actually grab hold of the money. “You’re even going to let me cash out, so this is all unnecessary.”

Jackson huffed, “Consider this as a bonus.”

“I don’t want a bonus!”

“Well, you either take it... or... or else I won’t talk to you again.”

For a moment, I look at him with a dumbfounded expression. I ask, “You do know that is worse for you than it is for me right!”

“Ugh! Just take it! I don’t have any leverage! I never thought I’d ever have to force someone to get my money.” Jackson whines and shakes his body in annoyance. “Just take it!” he groans, “It’s not like it’s a bribe. Just use it to pay Mark.”

“That is way too--”

“TAKE IT!” he screams, successfully planting the money in my hand, as his shout took me off guard. I awkwardly look around and Jackson shakes his head expectantly. I purse my lips and fold the paper, shoving it to my pockets.

Jackson smiles in content and pats my head. I scoff. I proceed then to remove my seat belt.

He watches as I do so and then asks, "You want me to walk you?"

I shake my head, "Oh, no need. I can manage."

“You sure?”

I turn to him and nod, “I’m sure, Jackson.”

“Jackson oppa.”

I roll my eyes, “I never should’ve voluntarily called you that.”

He chuckles.

I exit the car and wave him off dismissively the moment I'm out. He waves goodbye and drives away.

By the time he's gone, Nari is running towards me like the fumbling mess she is. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, was that him?! I can't believe I missed him! GASH!"

I scowl at Nari and nudge her, "stop being such a loud mouth."

She huffs and turns to me, hands on her waist, "You have no clue how jelly I am."

I roll my eyes and walk inside. She follows quickly, "What are you gonna do about Jinyoung?"

I whip my head to her, "What about Jinyoung, Nari?"

"I mean, you have Jackson now! Jinyoung deserves to know."

"You say this, as if I like Jackson."

Nari looks mortified, "Bitch don't tell me you're gonna be like one of those dumb protagonists that's in denial and then has their world comes crashing down around them."

I scoff, "No, Nari, because I don't like Jackson-"

"bITCH-"

"-I like Jinyoung."

"... ...ohmygosh, did you actually say that aloud?"

I dismiss her, but her squealing and iron grip prevent me from getting away. "EEEEEK I KNEWITIKNEWITIKNEWITIKNEWITTTTTTTTT!"

"Shut up! You're gonna wake the dead," I hiss and cover her mouth, "Or even worse, Mrs. Kim. "

Literally, the moment I said that, there was a yapping old woman resounding curse words against the wall. Nari and I scrambled to hide from her wrath.

"YOU FUCKING KIDS, I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP WHEN JEOPARDY IS ON!"

Alright. Yes. We managed to survive the terror in apartment 16, which was why I managed to brush up on my studies and the drama I had in the sidelines waiting for me.

I leaned back in my cozy attire, with shorts and hoodie, stuffing popcorn in my face as Lee Minho beat Kim Woobin up, and vice versa.

I don't mean to sound like a brag, but damn, there really is a difference with the cheap cotton shorts and these freakin 10,000 dollar ones. Would I ever recommend these to a friend? Helllll no, but damn they're realllly soft.

"Moron your phone is blowing up in your room," Nari screams from her own room. I scramble to my feet, shit is that Jackson?

I push my popcorn off and run to my room. I see there's ten messages from Mark. I knit my brows.

STFU MARK: ok so i went to jinyoungs place

STFU MARK: i mean like at his job and the place is super packed and he looks super miserable i feel so bad i wanna help him woth the register

STFU MARK: Where are you even???? I swung by your place

STFU MARK: LOL RIGHT UR SUGAR BOYFI IS UR WITH HAHAHAH

STFU MARK: man this lady ordered ten burgers and i wish i could do that on the regular

STFU MARK: ok imma talk to jinyoung and order lunch too i hope he doesnt kill me cos if he does he'll lose his job too and i dont want that

STFU MARK: OKAY HE TOOK MY ORDER AND PRETENDED I WAS NO ONE BUT A CUSTOMER I DIE WHAT DID WE DO

STFU MARK: HE EVEN SMILED AT ME LIKE AN ACTUAL GENUINE PERSON HE LOOKS SO TIRED I FEEL SP BAD HELP MEEEEE GET OUT OF YOUR DATE RIGHT NOW

STFU MARK: ...... r u hetting paid again omg???? Also jinyoung wouldnt poison my food right

STFU MARK: I WANTED TO TALK TO JINYOUNG COS IT LOOKED LIKE HE WAS GONNA CLOCK OUT BUT YUGYEOM TOLD ME TO SCRAM WHAT IS THIS HE SAID JINYOUNG IS SUPER TIRED AND NOT IN THE MOOD

I wipe my forehead and cuss.

I give a quick reply to Mark, saying that I'll try to contact him. I then proceed to call Jinyoung. I call him five times before giving up and sending a text.

I open my conversation with Jinyoung and send three messages.

Me: Jinyoung

Me: i know like im legitimately dumb for not knowing what angered you, but mark and i arent mind readers

Me: please call me back and tell me whats wrong

I sigh and pull my phone to my chest. I walk back out to continue watching my show. My heart leaps out of my chest and I squeak when my phone starts vibrating. I smile widely when I realize it's Jinyoung calling. Except it's not. It's Jackson. He's gonna pick me up.

---

My feet is clad with a golden pump. My dress is cascading with hundreds of delicate white beads upon bright violet fabric. I feel like a dewy star with the glowy makeup all over my skin. My hair is pulled back to make room for a crown-like headband and curled perfectly behind me.

While Hani did my makeup, part of me wondered why I looked so dressed up, when, as far as I knew, I would only be meeting with Jackson's mom. But then I realized it was Jackson's mom; she was probably born drenched in gold. This probably looks pathetic to her.

Hani was so kind and so enthusiastic as per usual, and she made me look like a princess with her magical touch.

We didn't take as long as I hoped we would, for now I am holding onto Jackson's hand as we walk down this large lawn, lit with garden lights and lights from fountains. The sun had just set, and so the residual sunshine in the sky made it look both orange and lilac. On my other hand, I held a bouquet of violet flowers that strangely reminded me of the day I met Jackson.

As we drove here, I thought at first we were going to Jackson's house, or his parents, but as it turns, her mother is checked into some extra hotel.

Automatic doors opened, and a beefy but kind looking security guard greeted us, and Jackson by his name.

The place reeked the finesse of a museum. It was so large and spacious that I started thinking maybe it was a hidden museum of some sort. The minimal pieces of art make me think otherwise.

There were very few people going about, and most of them were wearing white.

I fell conscious after. Was this hotel themed in white? I moved closer to Jackson. The echoing of my heels against the marble floors only magnified my fumbling mind. Okay... maybe this wasn’t a hotel.

We walked and walked down this seemingly never ending hall, up until we reached room 19.

Jackson released my hand and turned to me. Clearing his throat, he asked, "How do I look?"

He looked like a billionaire. His body was given complete justice in his velvet suit that matched the color of my violet dress. His shoes were shiner than my future. His skin was more flawless than my grades. Jackson looked like he always did, handsome and charming. But his big brown eye seemed nervous.

"You look amazing, like always," I offer with a smile.

Jackson lets put a soft sigh, "I'm glad you think I always look amazing."

I nod at him, not because I agreed but because he seemed like he had something much more to say. Though he was trying to play off this worry by joking, it was too clear he was worried.

He inhales sharply. "You may hate me for not telling you sooner, but..." Jackson points to the door of room 19 and screws his eyes shut.

I bit my lower lip and think about what Jackson could tell me next. He was agitated. This place makes him agitated. Well, everyone here is wearing white. Everything is quiet and spacious. His mom was staying here. I don’t think it’s a hotel anymore. Was this a spa? A wellness center?

... or was this a clinic? A hospital?

Why didn’t I just ask?

"The main reason why... I hired you is because of my mom." Jackson turns to his side then back to me, "She's... not doing so great. Not in a long time."

My jaw slacks once I realize my guess was right, "Your mom is sick?"

He sighs, "terminally ill if you need the right term."

"And... you want her to think... we're together?"

Jackson purses his lips, "It's all she wants from me now.”

A shiver runs down my spine. I clench my bouquet. Part of me can't help but feel betrayed. He had all these chances from then til now to speak up but he was nothing but silent. All Jackson told me I was here to push away his nosy relatives. I huff in frustration. Really though I was here to lie to a dying lady.

I scoff at my own thoughts.

That very thought made my heart clench.

How hard must it be for Jackson to talk about this?

I want to wipe my face so badly, but I didn't want to ruin Hani's hard work.

"How could you only tell me this now?!" I heave sharply. "Do you know how wrong and messed up this is?"

"I know, I know," Jackson sighs. He takes a step forward and grabs both my hands, pushing the bouquet in the middle, "but please, you're my only hope. You're the only woman I've ever brought to my mom." He closes his eyes and raises his hands, shaking it around, "It's not as bad as it is. I made her think that I'm still pursuing you and so you're not really my girlfriend."

I knit my brows at that. Jackson steps even closer, "then I'll say it didn't work out because you like Jinyoung from..." he thinks and scoffs, "your Algebra--business math class."

His mention of Jinyoung makes me chest contract. I look at our hands then Jackson's expression. The flowers seemed a lot less pretty to me now. I wonder what they think about my predicament.

"Please, you are honestly innocent in all this. No matter what happens it's on me. Please. My mother doesn't get to meet new people. You won't even have to say anything, I'll do all the talking."

I want to throw the flowers at him and run away. But I don't.

I want to tell him all the reasons why this so called solution of his isn't a solution. But I don't.

I want to offer his comfort and give him another way. But I can't, cause it would take too much time and the clock, I can feel it ticking.

So what I do say is, "alright."

Jackson's face brightens. He repeats, "Alright," and with that wastes not time in going inside.

"Finally!" a voice exclaims into the high ceiling. There is a large bed with a woman in the center. “I thought you’d never come.”

Jackson, hand holding mine, walked towards the woman and smiled, “Mama. I’m sorry we’re late.”

Once we’re close enough, Jackson lets go of me to hug and kiss the woman on the cheek. I was close enough to see how pale and dry her skin was. She was thin and had her thin hair combed behind her. It was plain to see that she really was sick. But the way she smiled and greeted her son, made you think otherwise.

Jackson pulls away and turns to me. Her mother does the same. I take this moment to give her the flowers, “Mrs. Wang.”

“Oh, are these for me? Thank you so much, darling.” She smiles ear to ear and gets the bouquet from me. “You may be wondering why you were forced into violet. Well, it’s my favorite color.”

I nod, “Jackson told me that.” At the very least.

“Have you eaten, mama?” Jackson asks as he sits next to his mother.

“You silly boy. You know I don’t have an appetite at night.”

Jackson narrows his eyes and shakes his head, “Mama... the nurses told me you had an apple for lunch.

“Kure, an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” she speaks in a light tone. Jackson breathes in heavily, clenching his jaw. He looks like he wants to go off, but at the same time, he looks really tired, like he doesn’t want to have this conversation again. And so I frown deeply.

“Mrs. Wang, you should really eat more than that... Jackson is really worried about you.” I speak for the upset man.

His mother turns to me and beams, “Ya, has Jackson been talking about me. That’s a first. Honestly, I still can’t believe your here! My Jackson always claims to have a girlfriend, but this time around... he really does.”

“Mama... she’s not my girlfriend, I told you.”

“Aiya!” she says, “you should try harder, then!” The woman gives her son a scolding look, then turns to me in a completely different manner, “Mianhe... ... My brother told me he had his men follow you to see how real you are just earlier today. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Mama,” Jackson says slowly.

She tuts her son. With a breath, she looks at me, “Oh, why are you still standing, please sit on my bed. It’s quite big enough for all three of us.”

With this I smile, nod, and sit down. She then slides to the far left side of the bed, where Jackson sat facing me. Mrs. Wang pulls me by my arm, and so I hop over to come closer to her.

Her hand is still on my arm when she pouts into a pleased smile, “You are far more beautiful than Jackson let on.”

My brows raise and my lips pull into an awkward smile. I nervously laugh and shake my head. She shakes her head too, “He won’t shut up about you!”

“Mama,” Jackson says, placing his hand on his mothers, releasing her grip from me, “That’s because you keep asking me about her.”

“Well how can I not, child! The most exciting thing that happens around here is when a new patient comes along and that’s horrible to think of considering this place is a hospital.”

Jackson once again feels and looks so defeated.

“Mrs. Wang,” I say to divert her attention.

“Oh, please, call me Mama. All of Jackson’s friends do that.”

I clear my throat and turn to Jackson for a split second. Nevertheless, I obey, “Mama... do you happen to watch k-dramas?”

Both Wangs seem to be surprised by my sudden question.

“Why of course! What else am I to do but watch all those dramas?” she chuckles.

“Did you happen to watch The Heirs?”

She gasps, “Of course I did! Lee Minho and--”

“Kim Woobin!” I squeal. “Ooooh, he is so good looking and I wanted him to get the girl so bad!!!!!”

Jackson pulls his head back at my words. Da hell is Kim Woobin? His mother laughs in glee. Once she catches he breath, she begins to fuel our talk. From then on, we begin our long conversation about wanting ‘the other’ love interest get the girl in the story. It escalates and the next thing Jackson knows he’s no longer part of the conversation, nor existent in the room.

He watches as the two women interact and laugh, making his heart clench. Mama had neither been this talkative nor cheery since Bambam visited and got drunk on champagne, and that was months ago.

I throw my head back in laughter. Jackson can’t help but laugh as well, even though he honestly didn’t follow the conversation anymore.

Mrs. Wang turns to his son and smiles, seeing how concentrated he was in the one thing in the room. She nudges him, and Jackson panics, turning to his mother with wide eyes.

Catching this, I settle down and turn to Jackson’s nervous expression. His mother breaks into a soft laugh. I knit my brows, “What happened?”

Jackson turns to me then to his mom. The latter speaks up, “Oh. Jackson’s just really lucky to have you that’s all.”

Part of me expected Jackson to whine in protest again. But when there’s only silence among us, I feel awkwardness envelope me.

Mrs. Wang coos and caresses her son’s cheeks, “Your handsomeness won’t be put to waste.” She then turns to me and pinches my cheeks, “You’ll have beautiful children.”

My cheeks immediately burn upon hearing this.

Jackson breath hitches when he sees my reaction. I turn to him and gives me an awkward smile.

Jackson scratches he back of his nape when it dawns to him that he is utterly fucked. Why? Because he likes the idea his mom presented. The man mutters a curse word under his breath and stands, “How about we get some food, yeah?”

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junker-town · 3 years

Text

When MLB’s best team also blew a 12-run lead

Here’s what it was like to watch one of baseball’s biggest comebacks ... from the wrong side

I am a Mariners fan, which has led to many bad sports nights. The worst began with Dave Burba slopping what I can only assume was his take on a cut fastball a few inches off the plate away. Ichiro was at bat, Mark McLemore on deck, the twilight was falling on a beautiful Ohio evening, and the Cleveland Indians were hosting the 80-31 Seattle Mariners.

I’d never seen the Mariners on television before. I moved to Seattle when I was 10 and was a boring enough child to fall in love with baseball after my first visit to the Kingdome. Thanks to the vagaries of cable, however, I had to follow my team via radio and once-yearly excursions to the ballpark. That’s not necessarily a bad thing when you have Dave Neihaus guiding you through your favorite team’s golden age*, but it did leave me starved for non-aural baseball.

*As it turns out, 1995-2003 was also the Mariners’ only non-fecal age.

So starved, in fact, every time Seattle made it to a national broadcast, I would try to watch. And every time, for literally years, I’d get notified that, so sorry, your game has been blacked out. Until, suddenly, on Aug. 5, 2001, it worked. I was baffled by this turn of events, of course, but decided to take it as a note of benevolence from a higher power, and settled in to watch.

Pitch number two was in more or less the same place as Burba’s first offering. Three was an 84-mph fastball down the middle that Ichiro apparently thought would be too embarrassing to hit, a decision which cost him when he was called out on strikes a few pitches later. So far so bad, a younger, more innocent me must have thought.

The 2001 Indians were a good team and could pitch. A little bit. Bartolo Colon was in his intimidating pomp, and the arrival of rookie left-hander C.C. Sabathia helped give their rotation a one-two punch which was entirely irrelevant when Burba (or anyone else — Cleveland essentially ran a AAA rotation beyond the big two) was on the mound. At his best, Burba was slightly better than pure filler, but at 34 he was no longer at his best, and he was going up against a Mariners team that was set to absolutely torch him. Now he was up against Mark McLemore, who struck out too. Then Edgar Martinez chopped out to third.

If you follow baseball, you’re probably aware of this game, at least tangentially. And therefore you’re aware that this was something more disastrous than what was threatened in the top of the first: a mediocre pitcher chewing his way through a very good lineup. That’s a bad day, but not a traumatic one. Four batters into the game, when Kenny Lofton cracked a ground ball single back through the box, and hard, I feared a bad day. How disappointing it would be to have my first televised Mariners experience be a frustrating loss!

Aaron Sele wriggled his way out of the bottom of the first, which gives me a good opportunity to drop in this still from a between-innings commercial:

I think Pontiac would have been proud of how they’ve shaped modern society.

The Mariners scored four times in the top of the second. Two ill-considered dives produced a pair of hustle doubles, sandwiched around a Mike Cameron blast which bounced off the wall but would have gone about 20 rows deep if he’d been hitting the 2019 baseball. Ichiro then plated a pair with a delicate lob to left. Seattle was rolling, and I was happy.

I was still happier after the third. That inning went something like this:

Single Single Single Double Single Single Hit By Pitch Sacrifice Fly Walk Error Single Strikeout Lineout

It was worth eight runs and took the score to 12-0. No baseball team in 75 years had come back from a 12-run deficit. The Indians, who’d already been beaten twice at home by Seattle that weekend and were starting to look in trouble in the AL Central race, were staring at a blowout. No baseball team in 75 years had come back from a 12-run deficit.

Then one did. This game is in the record books as the greatest comeback of all time, the one in which Cleveland clawed their way back from a ludicrous deficit to win the game in extras. Blowing a 12-run lead over any length of time is difficult enough, but the sheer scope of the Mariners’ collapse is extraordinary. The teams each scored two runs in the middle innings, leaving the score at 14-2 during the seventh-inning stretch. The Indians had to compress history (and, for me, misery) into three innings.

They did so without the heart of their fearsome batting order. By the time the comeback began, both lineups had seen a slew of changes. Ichiro, Martinez, and Olerud were on the bench, as were Alomar, Juan Gonzalez, and Ellis Burks. The only really dangerous bats left available to either team were Jim Thome and Bret Boone, and the latter had been given the day off anyway. Despite the two clubs sending seven hitters to the 2001 MLB All-Star game, only Mike Cameron played the full 11 innings of what was to prove one of the most memorable games of the decade.

Anyway. By the middle of the seventh, I was in a pretty good mood. I was getting to watch (not listen!) to one of the greatest teams of all time kick the ever-loving shit out of some pretty capable opposition, and although it was a little annoying that most of the big bats were out of the game, all the Mariners needed to do to ensure my evening finished happily was not blow a 12-run lead.

AN ASIDE: Whatever happened to this dude? Did we lose him during our difficult transition to being a civilization of Mango Freaks?

END ASIDE

Through six innings, Sele had given up six hits, a walk, and two runs. Russell Branyan, on for Burks, greeted him with a screaming line drive into the right centre field seats. 14-3. The comeback was on. Only, it didn’t really look it. Two batters later and the Indians needed 11 runs to tie the game, and had seven outs to do it. Solo home runs weren’t going to do it.

If we had to pick a turning point, the plate appearance which made all that followed possible, it might be Lofton’s walk. With two outs, Einar Diaz smacked a two-hopper up the middle and well out of Carlos Guillen’s reach, but Sele was still cruising and quickly got Lofton 0-2 thanks to a generous called strike and a foul ball. One more strike would have sent the Indians into the eighth inning in an (even more) impossible hole. Sele threw exactly zero more strikes.

Lofton took four straight fastballs away. None of them were close. Omar Vizquel followed that up with a four-pitch walk, and suddenly Sele, who averaged just 2.1 walks per nine innings for the entire 2001 season, had walked the bases loaded. The clouds were gathering. Lou Piniella seeded them further by going to blowout specialist John Halama.

Halama, part of the return for Randy Johnson in 1998, was a terrible pitcher, AAA no-hitter aside. He somehow logged 110 innings for the 2001 Mariners, which is remarkable considering he didn’t strike anyone out and got absolutely blitzed by opposing hitters. The ‘01 Mariners had one of the strongest bullpens ever assembled, headlined by Kazuhiro Sasaki, Arthur Rhodes, and Jeff Nelson. Even the best bullpens, however, have their fair share of dreck. With an 11-run cushion and someone named Jolbert Cabrera at the plate, dreck should have been fine.

It was not fine. Cabrera took a big swing on a changeup away, and yanked the ball into left. That fooled Martin, who froze, took a step backwards and then charged in, allowing the ball to drop a step or two in front of him. Two runs would score, and the seventh inning ultimately ended, 14-5.

The Mariners’ bats seem to have considered their job done. After the fifth, they went a combined 3-18, with three singles. Having scored 14 runs in that early blitz, they quite reasonably went into cruise control. They’d never come back out.

Meanwhile, the Indians were treating Halama like a piñata. Thome, whose two-run home run in the fourth got Cleveland on the board, flipped a 2-1 “fastball” into the left field corner for another homer. 14-6. Marty Cordova joined him in the home run parade after a Branyan hit-by-pitch — 14-8. Suddenly the game was within reach, and after a pair of singles Halama was done. Norm Charlton was called in from the pen.

Charlton wasn’t one of the big three Mariners relievers, but he wasn’t bad either, and Piniella would have been expecting him to hold down a six-run lead even in a tricky spot. He probably should have, too. Vizquel was jammed on a 95-mph fastball away, but he somehow kept it fair and the ball looped down the left field line for a double and a 14-9 score. The Mariners then got a break in this breakless of games — Lofton misread a ball which bounced off Tom Lampkin’s right leg and was thrown out trying to score, which allowed Charlton to escape to the ninth with a five-run lead.

I didn’t yet know to be nervous. Eighteen years ago, the Seattle Mariners were not the Seattle Mariners™. They had not yet become the unbridled force for misery which has shaped the way I look at sports. Their playoff drought was zero years. They had reached the ALCS in 2000, they would again in 2001. They were phenomenal, and I expected them to win more or less whenever they played, whatever the situation. And when they lost ... well, that happened. I suppose. Infrequently.

Ed Taubensee led off the bottom of the ninth with a single. With Thome and Branyan next up, the situation looked perilous, but Charlton made quick work of them. Two outs, down five, and a runner on first? That should have been game over. Then the wheels really came off.

I hadn’t watched this inning since I saw the calamity unfold live, but it’s seared into my memory regardless. Cordova absolutely crushed a pitch off the left-field wall to knock Charlton out of the game. Nelson was summoned. He got Wil Cordero to 3-2, then struck him out looking on a wicked slider:

Well, he should have struck him out with that slider. Instead was called ball four. Missed calls have been more egregious, of course, but this one had a profound effect on my young psyche, for six pitches later Nelson himself was knocked out of the game by a line drive into left off Diaz’s bat — 14-11. Suddenly it was a save situation, and it was clear to teenage me that something had gone terribly wrong.

I was ‘watching’ with my hands over my eyes as Lofton scooched a single past David Bell to bring up the go-ahead run in Vizquel. Not a soul in Jacobs Field was sitting down. This was it. Sasaki started Vizquel off with a splitter that he swung over for strike one. A second splitter followed, well out of the zone. The battle would end up lasting some time.

Baseball is a sport devoted to tension. Stress is the soul of the game and has been since the foul-ball rules were finalized. In a sport with a clock, key moments are just that: moments. They come, they go, they are finished with and done in a flash. Baseball stretches its moments and its fans to a breaking point. I am reliably informed that during Vizquel’s at-bat I was having what looked like a small seizure. All I really remember is the creeping horror, every pitch promising redemption or catastrophe but only serving to prolong the moment and ratchet up the stress.

Sasaki’s fifth pitch to Vizquel was a 91-mph fastball down the middle and at the knees, called a ball for reasons I suspect are related to the will of some malevolent deity. Pitch six was just about fouled off, an emergency swing sending a splitter trickling off behind home plate. Pitch seven was popped into the stands on the third base side. And then pitch eight was guided by the despotic hand of fate onto the label of Vizquel’s bat.

The subsequent weak grounder was perfectly placed, right down the first base line. Ed Sprague was a) playing in and b) not John Olerud, so his desperate dive ended in failure. Lofton was 34, and not as fast as he once was, but the ball was so well-placed — and the Mariners’ defense so thoroughly depleted — that he scored from first with 40 feet to spare. 14-14. Tie game.

For some reason I watched to the bitter end, even though extra innings were essentially and entirely denouement. Cleveland had already won the game by drawing level, and the Mariners had already lost it by blowing the biggest lead in MLB history. Cabrera’s walk-off single in the bottom of the 11th marked only the final blow in a disaster that had already unfolded.

Eighteen years later, this still haunts me. Not like it did then, when it was merely a humiliation, a nationally televised scandal of a game in what was otherwise an enormously successful season. But now, with the Mariners mired in year after year of pain, when the organization considers mediocrity aspirational, it’s hard not to see this as a harbinger of the misery to come, an early visitation of the Mariners in their true colors.

Sometimes I wonder if the current incarnation of the team, the one slowly draining the hope out of my fandom since 2004, is somehow inhabited by the ghost of Aug. 5. It’s ridiculous, of course — a single game, record books or not, has no bearing whatsoever on the standings 18 years later.

But. Still. What if?

Correction: This article originally stated that no team in history had ever come back from a 12-run deficit. In fact, it had happened twice prior to 2001, most recently in 1925.

This article originally ran before Secret Base launched, but it’s a very us story, and we like to think it’s worth reading. So here it is again!

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fullmetalgrigori · 7 years

Text

so like 2 months ago i promised @l0chn3ss a bday fic and uh ta-da? im sorry ilu bae <3 it can be a happy new year fic?

also i took the prompt (which was something to do with A catching B dancing with glowsticks?) and hijacked the fuck out of it -- i present to you a modern fantastic beasts au

it’s been forever since i’ve actually written something forgive me and my growing pains as i try to fufill my new year’s resolution to Write, Goddammit

Bowtruckles, Soul decided as he took one more swipe at the branch, were much more trouble than they were worth. Especially when they decided that the benevolent wizards who looked after them, fed them, and provided them with a perfectly suitable habitat weren’t worth listening to.

“Wendell,” he hissed for the seventeenth time, “I swear on Merlin’s left pinky toe, if you don’t get down here this instant…”

The bowtruckle in question blew a raspberry and ducked deeper into the branches that he had, apparently, claimed as his new home.

“That’s not even a wand tree,” Soul muttered through gritted teeth. “It’s a stupid birch, nothing magical about it, so why don’t you come over here and I can take you back to the nice little elm I gave you and all your much more well behaved friends, and you can get as territorial as you want over that tree.”

The bowtruckle chittered at him angrily, but didn’t move.

Soul gave a close-mouthed scream of frustration and shot the creature a narrow-eyed glare down the barrel of his wand. “We can have this conversation later, Wendell, and I promise to hear you out, but please, for the love of Merlin, get down from the damn tree.”

“Excuse me, sir, are you alright?”

Oh, perfect. If getting Wendell to behave on his own was hard, it was going to be well-nigh impossible with a Muggle around.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Soul hissed, stuffing his wand away in a panic. “Drawn attention to us and it’s all your fault.”

Wendell shook his head and ducked behind a branch in protest.

Taking a deep breath in to try and calm himself (and failing miserably), Soul turned around and pasted the best semblance of a close-lipped smile he could manage. “Hello, yes, everything’s alright…” The words died on his tongue as the Muggle in question stepped into the pool of yellow light cast by the streetlamp nearby, revealing a petite build, smooth blonde hair tied into twin plaits, and an expression caught between amusement and curiosity.

“Are you looking for something?” she asked, eyes leaving him to scan the trees behind him.

Soul’s mind raced, trying to find any kind of explanation that would get her out of the park as quickly as possible. A distant memory from his Muggle Studies had him blurting out, “My phone. My friend thought it would be funny to chuck it in the woods, only now I can’t find it. But I’m close, so no need to worry about it.” He made an attempt at a light-hearted chuckle, only it came out sounding more hysterical than he’d have liked.

The Muggle’s eyebrows shot up. “Some friend. Why aren’t they helping you?”

“Because he can’t handle the consequences of his actions.” Soul turned his head slightly to shoot a glare at the tree behind him.

“Wait,” the Muggle said, drawing his attention back. Her brows were furrowed in confusion. “If you’ve lost your phone, where was that light coming from? I thought you were using the flashlight on your phone before, but that can’t be right if you’ve lost it.”

Soul swore colorfully in his head. He hadn’t followed her train of thought fully, but understood enough to know that he’d fucked up with his previous answer. He wracked his brain, struggling to call up anything he could remember from Muggle Studies. What else did Muggles use that generated light?

Unfortunately, his mouth reacted before he could think his answer through. “Glowstick! I was using a, uh, glowstick.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “You just happened to have a glowstick on you?”

Well, this was going even more disastrously then he could have imagined. “Um… yes?”

“Alright, let me rephrase – why do you happen to have a glowstick on you?”

Shit, where did Muggles get glowsticks? Something his friend Blake had said a while ago floated to the surface, and he seized upon it with fervor. “My friend went to one of those, uh, what’s it called… a rave? And gave one to me?” It didn’t come out sounding nearly as confident as it should have. Which seemed to be how a majority of this conversation was going.

“A rave,” the Muggle girl said flatly. “You’re looking for your phone, which your friend threw in the woods as a joke, and you’re looking for it with a glowstick, which your friend got at a rave and gave to you.”

“Yes?”

“You have very interesting taste in friends.”

Soul caught a glimpse of Wendell scurrying to another branch in the corner of his eye and growled, “Oh, he’s something, all right. I’m definitely going to give him a piece of my mind when I can.”

The Muggle girl chuckled suddenly. “You know,” she said mildly, and as Soul turned back she looked at him with undisguised amusement. Soul wondered if he’d missed a joke somewhere. His stomach flipped uncomfortably, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to panic or the way she smiled. “I’ve always thought that you caught more bowtruckles with wood lice, instead of insulting them. But I was sick that day in Magizoology, so I could be wrong.”

“He deserves it, he’s being a prick,” Soul replied automatically, before giving her a rather violent double take. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about, what are those nonsense words, should you maybe see a doctor?”

“Very smooth,” she said dryly.

About a million questions buzzed through Soul’s mind, but he only managed to ask, “Who are you?”

“Maka Albarn, Senior Auror.” She flipped out a badge as she approached him, the gold lettering winking in the lamplight. “And you’re Soul Evans, magizoologist. I’ve been looking for you.”

“You could have mentioned that bit before I made a fool of myself,” he grumbled, turning back to the tree to hide his burning cheeks. Glowsticks? A rave? What the hell had he been thinking? He’d never hear the end of it.

“I wanted to see how well you thought on your feet. Not very, by the way.”

Soul huffed petulantly. “You caught me by surprise. Why are you looking for me, anyway? I have a license, I haven’t broken any laws.” He extended one hand toward where he’d last seen Wendell, the other pulling out his wand.

“I know,” Maka said, stopping by his side. “I was looking for you for a different reason.” Instead of elaborating, she peered into the branches of the tree. “What happened with your bowtruckle anyway?”

“He’s pouting. Thinks I don’t like him as much as the others.”

“Does he do this often?” She poked at a leaf, sending a wave of rustling down the branch. Soul pulled out his wand and lit it, sending watery shafts of light between the twigs.

“Not really.” Soul shrugged. “He’s younger than they are, so he’s probably just feeling needy.”

Wendell’s beady black eyes glowed as he sulked in the crook between two branches. He didn’t resist as Soul gently reached in and plucked him from the tree. The little bowtruckle chittered a brief retort, turning away in the palm of Soul’s hand. “Come on, it’s not going to be as bad as you think. It never is.” He turned his hand to look Wendell in the eye. “If you keep hanging around with me, it’s not going to get any better.”

The bowtruckle simply scuttled up his arm and ducked into the folds of his coat, worming his way into an inner pocket.

Soul sighed, shaking his head. “Let the record show that I tried, alright?” When he glanced back up, Maka was looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“What?” he said defensively, thinking back to the comments he used to receive during particular Care of Magical Creatures classes. He was perfectly aware that he was often more comfortable with animals than with people, but that didn’t mean he liked to hear it pointed out to him, thank you very much.

Maka smiled. “Nothing. I was only thinking that I’d found the right person for the job.”

“What job? You haven’t told me anything yet,” he replied, a little exasperated. “All you’ve done so far is manage to make me look like a right idiot.”

“You did that all on your own,” Maka pointed out. “But fair enough. We’ve had a case come up that we think could benefit from your expertise.”

“An auror case? Sorry, but you’re the one with those particular skills, not me.”

Maka ignored him. “We’ve had a string of disappearances that have gradually shifted to killings. We don’t have many leads, but there is evidence suggesting that some sort of magical creature is involved. We can’t figure out what, though, or how we might be able to track whatever it is. Our hope is that you might be able to assist with that.”

Soul frowned. “Magical creatures don’t tend to attack unless provoked.”

“That’s why we need you. To figure out what’s going on.” Maka’s gaze was earnest. “You came highly recommended.”

“Really? Who?”

“Professor Stein said you were one of the best magizoologists around, and that if anyone could solve this, it’s you.”

Soul snorted. “Liar.”

A corner of Maka’s lips turned up. “Alright, so maybe not in those exact words…” She trailed off, waiting for his reply.

He didn’t have to think about it too hard, honestly. If someone was using a magical creature to carry out their dirty work, he wanted them to pay. Another, very small part of him may or may not have wanted to spend a little more time with this auror, whose smile made his stomach flip. She intrigued him, just a little bit, perhaps in the same way he intrigued her. So no, the answer wasn’t too far from his lips.

“Yeah, I’ll help you. Lead the way.”

probably not gonna continue this, but i have a few headcanons i’d be happy to share -- feel free to ask!

#fmg writes stuff #soul eater #soma #soul eater evans #maka albarn #fantastic beasts au

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