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bloodfromthethorn · 3 years

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Misunderstandings

Their partnership might have gotten off to a bad start, but Mac has a good feeling about Jack Dalton - right up until he messes it all up, that is.

Or, the time Jack learns about Mac's fear of heights and it's still not the most important realisation he has that day.

Also on AO3

Mac had never really been sure quite what he expected from Afghanistan and now, six months in, he still wasn’t particularly confident on exactly what it was he had found. It certainly hadn’t been easy, and he’d already managed to experience the most profound loss he’d felt since the death of his grandpa, but there was still something undeniably… compelling about it all. The way he could fall into an uncomfortable bed at the end of the day exhausted but with the bone-deep knowledge that the work he had done was important, had made a difference. That there were people walking around out there, living their lives, because of the things that he had done.

It wasn’t good, precisely, but it wasn’t all bad either.

Jack was a wrench in the works. They couldn’t have gotten off to a poorer start and for a hairy moment there, Mac had been convinced that the next two months of his life were really going to be hell on earth. Jack was loud-mouthed, crass, opinionated, and had some of the worst taste in both music and film known to man. He had little to no regard for anyone else’s opinion of him and he was more than ready to settle a fight with his fists if he thought the situation called for it.

He was also probably the best soldier Mac had ever met.

It might have taken them some time to get traction but after the first few rocky missions, they’d both managed to settle down just enough to actually get a good look at one another. What Mac had found was nothing like what he’d expected.

For one, Jack was very, very good at his job. A crack shot, backed up with a keenly tactical mind that went far beyond anything Mac had been taught at basic. He’d never asked to see Jack’s file – and given that he was almost certain the man had been an Alphabet at some point, he’d probably get denied even if he tried – but he had a feeling that the record would be long, expansive, and impressive. He knew far too much about soldiering to not have been doing it most of his life and he handled a vast range of weaponry with too much familiarity to have always been saddled with Overwatch duties.

No, somewhere in his past, Jack had been crafted into an immense force to be reckoned with. He might tell jokes, laugh loudly, and act the fool, but buried underneath it all was something dangerous just waiting to be unleashed. It should have been scary – and in a distant, sort-of-intrigued kind of way, it was – but mostly Mac was just impressed. Whatever else he might have done, Jack had decided to use his extensive training to serve the purpose of protecting EOD technicians in a place where there were enemies at every corner.

More than anything, Jack made him feel safe . Safe in a way he hadn’t truly felt since watching Peña die barely twenty feet from him. After so long in the Sandbox, constantly having to watch his back as his hands took apart contraptions designed to kill him, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be out from under that constant cloud of dread. Jack gave him that freedom and Mac couldn’t help but be hopelessly thankful for it.

Of course, increasing familiarity aside, it wasn’t perfect. Two men trapped in very close quarters in a high stress environment were occasionally going to butt heads no matter what, and Mac wasn’t naive enough to think they’d be an exception.

Jack had been waylaid by a messenger as soon as the pair of them arrived back on base, both already worn out from a long, overly hot day in the sun. In an act of mercy, he’d waved Mac off to go on ahead in an attempt to spare him whatever bureaucratic nonsense was likely about to come his way – an assumption that was almost immediately proved accurate when three minutes later Mac saw him stalking off in the direction of the command centre.

He didn’t think much of it; Jack was perpetually being pulled in by the brass for reasons he was never particularly keen to explain. When directly asked, he’d always brushed it off with some sarcastic comment about how people just couldn’t get enough of his charm, but the hardness in his eyes had stopped Mac from trying to press further. If anything, it only added to his growing surety that Jack was a far more important person than he wanted to appear. Nothing Mac was doing was of particular note to anyone beyond what command already learned through his reports, but if someone with extensive training in observation and tactics was given free rein to roam the area under the radar for the sole purpose of watching what was going on – like, say, an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Overwatch – then that opened up a whole new avenue of surveillance.

If he’d had to bet, Mac would have said that according to the letter of Jack’s job description, keeping him safe was a secondary consideration at best. Fortunate, then, that the man himself didn’t seem like the type of person to do anything halfway.

Today, though, something was different. On the way back to base, Jack had been relaxed and easy, content as always to fill in Mac’s silence with a running commentary of his own about what he was most looking forward to when he got back to Texas, but clearly whatever had happened in the command tent had thrown that off. When he finally stomped into the dorm over an hour later, his brow was shadowed and tense, and he didn’t even acknowledge Mac’s presence as he grabbed a clean set of fatigues and headed for the showers.

Sitting cross legged on his bunk with his gear spread out before him, Mac watched him go with troubled eyes. Jack, as anyone in their situation did, occasionally had off days when he was less talkative and clearly wanted to be left alone, but Mac had never seen him turn on a dime quite so quickly.

Truthfully, Mac hadn’t thought him the type. But, he reminded himself forcefully, he still barely knew the man and regardless, it almost certainly wasn’t any of his business. Far better to just keep going through his kit, cataloguing anything he needed to replace or repair, and let Jack work through whatever his problem was on his own; if he wanted to talk to Mac about it, he knew where to find him.

Despite his preoccupation, Mac did end up immersed in his task. Kit checks were dull but important, and he was fastidious enough to make sure he did the job right every single time. As an EOD tech, he was lucky – everyone else had to do mandatory checks before and after any excursions outside of the FOB, no matter how frequent they may be. Officially EOD specialists were supposed to do the same but in deference to their unpredictable schedule and unique loadouts, command typically waived the usual report requirements and let them do their own thing. He was still liable to be disciplined should he get spot checked and fail, but he had a lot more freedom than most people on the base.

He was about halfway through when Jack made his reappearance, freshly washed but looking no happier for it. He dropped his dirty laundry in a heap next to his trunk and flopped down onto his bunk without a word, reaching out a few moments later to fiddle with the ancient radio beside him. He’d told Mac some time ago that he’d inherited it from his dad and it was clear from the reverence with which he spoke about it that it was deeply important to him. Important enough, apparently, that no one else sharing their tent complained when he had it blasting out whatever station he could pick up, even with the god awful crackle that all but drowned out any actual words that might try to come through.

The crackle that was evidently getting worse, going off the horrendous screech the radio let out the moment it was turned on. Mac flinched sharply at the sudden noise, but didn’t protest. Jack, if anything, looked more pissed off at the continued buzzing no matter how he adjusted the dials, rasping and hissing in turns but never letting any clear audio through. After listening to Jack cursing under his breath for a minute or two, Mac figured it was about time he offered a hand.

“That’s not sounding too good,” he pointed out unnecessarily, keeping his voice light. “Want me to take a look?”

“It’s fine,” was the short response, bitten out and frustrated.

Mac rolled his eyes, not catching the warning edge of Jack’s tone. “Look, I know I promised I wouldn’t touch any of your stuff again, but if you let me have a look, I can probably fix it.”

It was an honest offer – the radio was hardly a complicated bit of kit and Mac was pretty sure he already knew exactly what the issue was. If he was right, he could have it fixed inside of five minutes and he wouldn’t even need to cannibalise parts from anything else to do it. Sure the rule might have been that Mac couldn’t touch Jack’s gear again, but they’d been forced to relax that within a week of working together and recently it had felt more like an in-joke than anything.

Apparently, Jack didn’t feel the same.

“Or you’d just break it down for parts like you do with everything else,” he shot back acidly and for the first time, Mac realised the heaviness in Jack’s gaze wasn’t simple fatigue or irritation; he looked pissed . “Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Keep away from my stuff.”

Mac blinked. The words themselves were surprising, but it was the tone that really cut at him; sarcastic and unfriendly and mean . Mocking in a way that Jack often pretended to be when he was trying to lighten the mood, only this time neither of them was laughing. He looked dead serious.

“I-uh,” Mac said haltingly, forcing himself to suddenly adjust his entire perspective on the conversation. He really had just been trying to help. “Right,” he said after an awkward pause. “Sorry.”

He ducked his head and turned back to the gear spread out across his bunk, wishing fiercely he hadn’t bothered to open his mouth in the first place. Cleaning and sorting his kit had suddenly become a much less enthralling task – and it hadn’t exactly been the highlight of his day to begin with – but he kept his eyes down and vehemently forbade his attention from wandering back to his partner.

Less than a minute later, Jack let out a sharp sigh that might have included a curse, and stomped out of the tent. Mac refused to look up.

They didn’t talk about it. The next morning the pair of them loaded into their transport for the day – for once they’d been gifted an MRAP that in any other situation Jack would probably be crowing about – in stony silence that persisted straight through until evening. The only time Jack deigned to talk to him was for mission-critical comms, almost all of which was delivered via radio in a blank monotone that made it abundantly clear how little he actually wanted to be speaking with him. Mac surprised himself by how fiercely he found he missed the usual inane commentary in his ear.

None of it made sense.

Evidently he’d messed up somehow, done something that crossed a line he hadn’t seen, although he had no idea what it could possibly have been. Okay, yes, the radio was obviously important to Jack on some personal level Mac wasn’t allowed access to and maybe he really didn’t want Mac touching it. That was completely fair – Mac wouldn’t have argued against him at all if the man had just said ‘no’ and left it there. Instead his response had been- Well. There were a lot of words Mac could use to describe it and he didn’t really want to confront any of them.

It wouldn’t change the result either way. Mac had a sneaking suspicion that whatever it was he had broken had been something irreparable, especially if Jack wasn’t even going to let him talk it out.

The closest they came to it that day was during their last call-out for the evening, a surprisingly tricky little device some asshole had planted outside of a shop known to serve US soldiers. A bit of petty revenge most likely, but packing enough explosives to level the building and take out anyone unlucky enough to be standing within a twenty metre radius.

“Everyone within half a block of you is gettin’ out of dodge,” Jack reported about half an hour after their arrival. “No sign of whoever put that thing there.”

Mac digested that, doing a quick mental calculation to decide if the evacuation zone was large enough and ultimately deciding that it was. “Good. You set up somewhere?”

“Behind you, thirty metres back.”

There was a tell-tale tickle on the back of his neck that Mac had come to associate with Jack’s scope passing over him. At the start of their partnership it had made him uncomfortable; now, it was distantly reassuring. A part of him wanted to turn around to make sure of Jack’s position himself, but he knew that was sure to piss Jack off even more – he always got jumpy about Mac indicating his position whenever they were out in the field.

“I’m going to be a while,” he said instead of cracking a joke. “This thing’s complicated.”

“Fast as you can.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There was a telling silence where a sarcastic retort would normally sit, and Mac had to pause for a second to remind himself that the IED in front of him needed his attention far more than his own unimportant tribulations. It wasn’t until another ten minutes had passed that he spoke again. “Okay, I’ve figured out what I’ve got to do, but I’m going to need some of your gum.”

He said it mostly without thinking, too used to being able to just state what he needed and for Jack to freely offer up whatever it was, albeit with some bellyaching about having to give up his stuff. The words were already out of his mouth before he remembered how vehemently Jack had been against Mac being anywhere near his personal possessions just yesterday.

Fortunately, Jack seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, because he simply sighed before saying, “Copy that. On my way to you.”

He didn’t offer any further protest when he appeared at Mac’s back either, handing over the stick of gum without a word, then hunkering down in the alleyway to keep watch with his rifle balanced on his knee. It was strangely normal for all that had come before, except for the silence that still hung over them like a cloud.

Exhausted, and with bigger things to focus on, Mac just went about his job and didn’t say another word.

Jack’s mood continued over the next few days, with little sign of abating. It would have been much easier to bear if Mac had any clue what exactly had triggered it beyond the vague sense that this was all somehow his fault, but it wasn’t like he could just walk up to the man and ask. Any time he’d even thought about striking up conversation or doing anything to try to make peace, Jack’s responses had been sharp and to the point. He didn’t want to talk, that much was clear, and Mac was nothing if not a quick learner.

After the first day of strained silence, he figured it was better to just keep his mouth shut and stay out of Jack’s way.

One thing he hadn’t really counted on was how strange it would feel now to be wandering around base on his own. Since being paired up with Jack, he’d hardly had a minute to himself – the man took his Overwatch duties very seriously even in the relative safety of the FOB – but now he was apparently free to roam as he pleased. Almost as soon as they returned to base each day, Jack took himself off to places unknown with a determined sort of look on his face and usually didn’t reappear again until he fell into bed beside Mac’s at night. Mac very firmly did not think about what that said about Jack’s newly-discovered ambivalence towards his safety. Now, after only a month of that partnership, it felt almost unnatural to be alone again.

At the very least it meant that he was free to go and eat whenever he felt like it, rather than having to bend around Jack’s schedule. It was that line of reasoning that had him heading towards the mess that evening, late enough to miss the main crowd who piled in at 7 but too early to run into the late shift teams who had a second run at things once the night had drawn in. The approach meant that he could count on getting a good table with minimal interference, but it did mean sacrificing any chance of getting decently hot food. The ‘buffet’, such as it was, would be topped up with fresh food at about 10, but for now Mac was stuck with the dried out, cooling remains that no one else had wanted earlier.

He nodded at the woman KP duty, earning an apologetic smile at the state of the food in return, then glanced around the marquee to find somewhere to sit.

A group of camp runners were huddled together in the corner, loudly engaging in a round of ‘I have it worse than you’, but otherwise the place was pretty deserted. With his pick of the tables, Mac settled himself down as far from the runners as he could get, hoping for a little bit of peace, but with no other nearby noise to drown them out, their voices washed over him all the same. They’d taken no notice of his presence beyond a quick check to make sure he wasn’t wearing officer’s stripes and in the absence of any authority, they seemed quite content to air their grievances to anyone close enough to listen.

For the most part he studiously ignored them – he had exactly zero interest in the minutiae of memos being passed around the base – and went about the business of choking down the cold food in front of him quickly enough to avoid its bland flavour.

It wasn’t until he heard a familiar name that he automatically tuned back into the conversation across from him.

“ Please ,” One of the runners was scoffing with an imperial hand wave, “As if Carter is anything to worry about. I’m the one who had to tell Dalton his reassignment request was denied. Thought he was going to take my head off when I said I didn’t know why.”

Mac froze in place, the rest of the discussion fading completely into the background as all the pieces of the puzzle he had been building snapped into place with painful efficiency. So that was why Jack had been so grouchy over the last week, why he’d been so sharp whenever Mac had tried to make conversation: he’d put in a transfer request to get away from him and been shot down. Jack wanted to leave and couldn’t. Of course.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Mac knew how he could come across, had seen how people reacted to all the weird quirks of his personality, and Jack would hardly be the first person in the world to take one look at him and start heading for the hills – hell, he’d barely crack the top hundred. And yet, despite all of that, all of his previous experience warning him that anyone could leave at any time for any reason, Mac still found himself caught wholly off guard.

He'd thought they’d been getting better. Sure, it wasn’t like they were close and half the time they could still barely stand each other, but more and more that had felt like an act they were putting on to avoid revealing they didn’t actually mind each other all that much after all. Clearly he’d been wildly wrong in that assumption. What he’d thought was increasing camaraderie was- what? Nothing but his imagination? Or maybe an attempt on Jack’s part to show the brass that he really had given their partnership an honest shot before trying to bail?

Worse than the simple rejection was how deeply unnecessary it felt. As Mac had so often been reminded, Jack only had twenty-eight days left of his tour before he was headed home for good and none of this would even matter anymore. Was he truly so unhappy with Mac’s partnership that he was going to go through the arduous process of reassignment for the sake of four weeks? He’d just had to stick it out for one more month and he would have been free and clear, and yet somehow that was still too much.

It might have been insulting if it hadn’t been so fucking painful.

But this wasn’t the place for that. None of these were revelations he should be having in the mess hall, in full view of anyone who cared to look in his direction. He shook himself forcefully, surprised to realise that his entire body had gone rigid while his mind raced in all directions, and made himself climb to his feet. There was still some food left on his plate but if it had been unappetising before, now it was positively nausea-inducing. Mac knew he wasn’t getting any of it down his throat without it making a reappearance sooner or later, so he quietly chucked the scraps in the bin, returned his tray, and retreated to the barracks as quickly as he possibly could without drawing attention.

Two of the guys were there, both camped out on their own bunks as they occupied themselves with whatever they got up to in their downtime, but neither did more than nod in acknowledgement as he made his way past them to his own bed. Truthfully, he was glad of the pseudo-privacy. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done if Jack had been there – most likely he would have said something regrettable – but in his absence, Mac was free to mull over this new information without interference.

A large, loud part of him demanded that he go and find Dalton right now so they could hash this out, get it all out in the open so that at the very least Mac wouldn’t have to feel so fucking stupid for ever thinking they might have been friends. He’d seen that Jack cultivated a very deliberate amiability with the other guys sharing their bunk, even if they weren’t all on the best terms, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought for even a second that his Overwatch might be turning the same trick on him. He’d been so goddamn stupid .

Another, much quieter and injured part of him kept insisting that he must have gotten something twisted, connected the wrong wires to the wrong ports, and really this was all some big misunderstanding because he couldn’t bear the alternative.

He ignored them both. As much as he might want not want it to be true, he knew what he’d heard and all the pieces fit together too perfectly for him to have somehow misconstrued their meaning. His own feelings did not affect the facts, and he’d do well to remember that. And fighting with Jack wasn’t going to solve anything, it was just going to upset what little balance they managed to actually maintain. Despite his best efforts, Dalton’s transfer request had been denied so he wasn’t going anywhere for another month – Mac could grin and bear the discomfort until then, even if it meant having to sit next to a man he’d thought a friend for every single one of those twenty-eight days.

The humiliation of it all was almost unbearable, and he knew just how easy it would be to let it become rage instead – but he wouldn’t do that. If Jack wanted to leave then he wouldn’t be the first, which meant the fault almost certainly lay with Mac and there was no point trying to punish the wrong man for it. Sure, Jack pretending they were getting along was kind of a low blow, but it was understandable; they were stuck together in extremely close quarters, might as well act like they were comfortable there, right?

Maybe Jack had had the right idea all along. Mac was the one who hadn’t gotten with the programme already.

Besides, he reminded himself firmly as he bit down on the emotions threatening to get away from him, he hadn’t signed up to be sent into an active warzone to defuse explosives to feel safe . It didn’t matter one jot that Jack had managed to give him that for a time – that wasn’t his job and Mac didn’t have any right to mourn its loss. He needed to grow the fuck up and stop looking to others to protect him – he was a soldier in the US army and it was high fucking time he started acting like it.

With a tight sigh, Mac forced his stressed body to relax and flattened himself against his bunk, glaring a hole in the canvas above him.

Just twenty-eight days, and he could be done with this mess. Four weeks. He could do that.

Despite the bedlam going on inside his head, the heat and the shade must have got the best of him because he was jolted out of a doze an hour or so later by Jack Dalton himself smacking at his foot. He twitched the limb out of range with a muffled grunt of disapproval before his brain caught up with him and he remembered everything that had transpired before he fell asleep. The faux-irritated expression he’d pulled on crumbled instantly into blankness.

Jack blinked down at him, a bemused smirk on his face. Cuttingly, it was the friendliest he had looked in days. “What happened to you?”

Mac frowned, tried to do a quick mental assessment of what he probably looked like. “What?”

“You look like someone kicked your puppy. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Did you wake me up for a reason?”

His Overwatch’s smirk faded somewhat, his eyes taking on that calculating look he normally got a few seconds before he said something much smarter and more observant than Mac would ever have credited him with when they first met. It was almost a relief – focused was a much easier expression to react to than a smile. “Seriously. What’s happened?”

“ Nothing ,” Mac stressed, trying and failing to keep a thread of annoyance out of his tone. “Do you need me for something or can I go back to sleep?”

It wasn’t the right answer, evidently. Jack’s face darkened and he thinned his lips against what was very visibly going to be an annoyed outburst, but in the end all he said was, “On your feet. We’re heading out.”

That was- unusual. He cast a quick glance at the clock. “Now? It’s going to be dark in a few hours.”

“Yeah well, tell that to the T-men. C’mon, get up. I wanna roll out in five.” With that he retreated to his own bunk to retrieve his equipment and resolutely ignored Mac.

Still confused and really wishing that he could just roll over and go back to sleep if only to avoid what was obviously going to be another uncomfortable Humvee ride, Mac obligingly scrambled to his feet and started pulling out his own gear. For all the little bits and pieces of equipment they had to keep track of, both of them kept their packs ready to go at a moment’s notice, so it was really only a matter of slipping on his jacket and vest, then stopping by the mess to refill his water bottle and grab a few energy bars before Mac found himself sliding into the passenger seat of the Humvee. Apparently more prepared than he had been, Jack was already waiting for him.

“Got a bit of a situation a few klicks out,” He announced once Mac was settled. “Looks like someone’s trying to sabotage our communications – a scout team thinks they’ve found an IED on one of our radio towers. Shouldn’t be anything too complicated for you, but there’s a lot of visibility and no cover so we need to get this done ASAP, understand? The scouts are patrolling the area and I’ll have your back, but someone might try to get lucky with a sniper, so keep your head down .”

There was a lot there to work through – most importantly just what Jack meant by on the radio tower – but he didn’t bother voicing any of those questions. He’d see the situation soon enough and his priority needed to be elsewhere. “Did the scout team say what type of device we’re dealing with?”

“Negative. Couldn’t get a good look without approaching and they figured that probably wasn’t a good idea.”

They had likely been correct in that assumption, but it didn’t make Mac’s job any easier. Approaching an unidentified device was nothing new to him, but it wasn’t something that gelled well with the speed at which Jack was evidently hoping this was going to go. If he rushed anything for fear of being shot, he ran a much higher risk of blowing the pair of them up and doing the terrorists’ job for them.

As promised, it wasn’t a long trip and within ten minutes they came to a stop in the gathering gloom, about a hundred metres away from the tower in question. The 150-metre-tall tower. God, this was not going to go well.

“When you said the device was on the tower,” He started slowly, his eyes darting around the ground supports he could see and coming up blank, “You actually meant on , huh?”

Jack snickered, either not noticing or not caring about the thread of uncertainty Mac could feel in his voice. “Hope you’re ready for some climbing.” He paused, then relented slightly by adding, “We don’t have to go the whole way. Report said it was about half way up. There’s a platform for maintenance work.”

If he had noticed the apprehension, evidently he was assuming that Mac just didn’t feel like climbing up there with all his gear dragging him down. Technically he wasn’t wrong about that – he’d just missed the why. Mac wilfully held in a shudder.

“Now, normally I’d say you should wait down here while I go up and see what I can see, but given how open this is, neither of us can risk being up there that long,” Jack said, catching him with one of his no nonsense looks. Dalton might act the fool, but he was still a highly trained army sergeant and despite everything, when he gave orders, Mac would listen. “So we’re going to go up together, okay? You’re going to keep your head down and you’re going to get that device handled as quickly as you can. We’ve not got much daylight left to work with and torches are going to be a dead giveaway of our position, so unless you desperately need more light, you keep it off. Understand?”

“Got it.”

This would really be the time to tell Jack that the very thought of going up that tower was enough to make Mac feel physically nauseous – the man was his Overwatch, he needed to know when Mac couldn’t do his job – but he bit his tongue. There was a bomb somewhere up there and he was the only person in a ten klick radius who had any chance of defusing it. His personal discomfort was nothing against the lives that could be lost should their communications chain fail.

With that in mind, he slipped out of the Humvee and shadowed Jack as he strode towards the tower, not letting himself pause to think before putting his foot on the first rung of the ladder and hoisting himself up.

Here goes nothing .

Something was off with Mac. Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on it, exactly, but he was good at reading people and he’d been watching every single move his bomb nerd made for a solid month now so he had a pretty good idea when something wasn’t right. Right now, hunched over a bomb 250 feet in the air, something was very definitely not okay .

The kid had been quiet for days, wrapped up in his own head about something or other judging by the deeply thoughtful face he’d been wearing, but it had meshed well enough with Jack’s own pisspoor mood that he hadn’t bothered to question it. Mac hadn’t seemed anything more than a little subdued, something any soldier downwind was bound to encounter now and again. Their work was hard and the constant threat of danger could weigh anyone down given enough time. Now though? Now it seemed like more.

Admittedly, the whole bomb-250-feet-in-the-air situation might have been a contributing factor, but Mac had faced down hundreds of IEDs in their time together and he’d never once flinched. Whether he was the bravest man Jack had ever met or he just genuinely had no regard for his own wellbeing was something Jack was still trying to figure out, but the point was, he shouldn’t be acting like this. The situation was far from perfect and every second they spent on that tower had Jack’s anxiety levels ratcheting up, but Mac had always kept a level head.

“How’s it coming over there?”

Mac let out a low grumble of sound, his usual stand-in for when he had too many things going on in his head to worry about actual words.

“That well, huh? Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re running out of daylight so if you wanna-”

“Rushing me isn’t helping,” Mac interrupted before Jack had a chance to finish, carefully pulling a now-disconnected wire from the bundle he had been examining.

“Ain’t trying to rush you, just letting you know-”

“Yeah, well, it’s not helping.”

Jack had worked with plenty of EOD techs who would have given him that response and it would have been the most normal thing in the world. With Mac, it was a glaring red flag. Well, that, as well as the fact that Mac hadn’t even bothered to correct Jack’s repeated assertions that they were perched on a radio mast, when he knew good and well it was actually a telecommunications tower. Momentarily lifting his head away from his rifle scope, trusting that the scouts could hold the fort for the next minute or two, Jack turned to stare at his partner. “What’s going on man?”

“I’m concentrating .”

“I’ve seen you concentrating plenty. That’s not what this is. C’mon, you’ve been weird since this afternoon – is this about the other day? ‘Cause I didn’t mean to snap at you and I’m sorry about that, but right now I need to know that you’re good to do this job.”

Mac huffed a sharp breath out of his nose in frustration, his eyes not leaving the place where he was carefully prying apart the panels of the device’s container. It wasn’t until then that Jack finally noticed the way the kid’s shoulders were up around his ears, his whole body rigid where he was hunched over. His hands didn’t shake in the slightest – a necessity in his line of work – but the rest of him was shuddering with fine tremors.

“Mac-” Jack started, alarms blaring to life in his head. He’d known something was wrong , but clearly he had deeply misjudged just how wrong until he’d actually taken the time to look. Goddamn, he was supposed to the kid’s fucking Overwatch! “I need you to talk to me man.”

There was no response so Jack put his eye back to his scope for another quick scan of the surrounding landscape – still as barren and unoccupied as before – before sliding the rifle strap back over his shoulder and turning fully to face his partner. He was far too well versed in working with EOD to ever touch Mac when he had his hands on an IED, but he only had to wait a few seconds before Mac backed up to fiddle with the tools on his knife and he was free to snatch him by the shoulder and forcibly turn him around.

“Jack, what-”

“Something’s going on with you and we are in way too dangerous a position right now for me to not know what it is so start fucking talking to me Mac.” The shoulder under his hand was rock solid with stress and the kid’s face looked bone pale in the fading light. What really grabbed his attention though was the way Mac had shot out his free hand to snatch blindly at the handrail beside him, anchoring himself where Jack had pulled him off balance. Coupling that with the sudden dart of Mac’s eyes to the yawning chasm of the drop beside them, it wasn’t exactly complicated math. “You’re afraid of heights,” he murmured with sudden realisation, his grip on Mac faltering in the face of his own surprise.

Mac’s expression twisted with some combination of resignation and guilt. “I’m doing fine. Just let me get this thing defused and we can all go home, yeah?”

“You’re afraid of heights and you didn’t think this was important information for me to know before now?” If he hadn’t still been sitting half an inch from an active explosive device, Jack would have shaken him.

“ Jack ,” Mac said, apparently also running to the end of his patience, “I’m fine. I’ve almost got this done and I really, really want to get down from here, so can you please just let me do my job while you worry about yours?”

“Looking out for you is my job, dumbass,” Jack snapped back, but he did at least let go of him and return to his post. As much as he might hate everything about this, the fact was that Mac was already here and there was an IED in desperate need of attention right in front of him. Getting that fixed and getting Mac back on the ground pronto had just become priority uno. “Work fast.”

With the dusk drawing in, it made sense to switch out his scope for the thermal one he’d thoughtfully decided to bring with him, though it did mean he’d have to zero the thing before it would be of much use to him. Then again, any shots ran the risk of drawing attention and from so high up, the sound could travel for miles without hitting anything. He held up the loose thermal scope to his eye while he mulled over the problem, making note of the scouts’ positions and checking any obvious spots for potential shooters. Still nothing.

“I’m not rushing you,” he said lowly, “But do you know what kind of timeframe we’re looking at here?”

Mac hummed absently. “Couple more minutes I think. Starting to need light though.”

Which really only meant they needed to get this over with as soon as possible, for Mac’s sake if nothing else. Jack slid the thermal scope back into its slot on his vest and tugged free the square of tarp attached to his pack. Its official use was to give him something to lie on should he need it when settling into a sniper nest, but right now it was of far more use to both of them as a light break.

“This thing isn’t going to go off if I tuck this around you both, is it?” He asked, holding the tarp where Mac could see it.

Even scared out of his mind and all but shaking with it, Mac caught onto the idea in a heartbeat. “No, we’re good. Just make sure you don’t jostle it.”

Jack did as he was bid, carefully constructing a makeshift tent around Mac and the device so he could use a torch without broadcasting his exact location to anyone in a five-mile radius. It wasn’t perfect, certainly, and from the way Mac’s breathing hitched ever so slightly the confinement was doing nothing for his nerves, but it would have to do for now. That taken care of and trusting that Mac could get on with things without further assistance, Jack returned to his rifle and performed another sweeping check of the area.

Still deserted. A quick check-in with the scouts reaffirmed his conclusion.

It was strange that someone had felt the need to climb up here to plant an IED and then hadn’t even bothered to hang around to see the fruit of their labours, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. It would hardly be the first time a would-be bomber had seen the US army rolling in and got the hell out of dodge. Regardless, Jack couldn’t help but count the seconds until he was free to get his infuriating EOD technician back into actual, honest-to-god cover.

“How’s that vertigo treating you?” He asked, more to distract his own mind from the sudden, crippling mental image of Mac being taken out by a sniper bullet Jack had no chance of stopping than out of any genuine curiosity. Mac wasn’t going to be happy until he had his feet back on terra firma, that much was clear.

“If you’re trying to help, stop. It’s not working,” was the irate reply.

Despite the gravity of their situation – literally – Jack snickered. “You’re mean as a snake when you’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?”

Mac didn’t bother responding to the dig at all. It could be down to his discomfort at their current predicament, but Jack’s instincts were warning him that there was something more going on here and he’d long since learned to trust his gut when it was trying to tell him something. Another anxious look over his shoulder revealed nothing more than that his tarp tent was mostly doing its job of stopping light spilling out into the growing darkness.

His normal go-to technique for prompting Mac to open up was teasing, but evidently that wasn’t going to get him anywhere this time. Certainly not when they were still so high in the air. Perhaps this was a conversation better saved for when the device was defused and they were back safe in the Humvee on the way back to base; at the very least, Mac couldn’t escape him that way.

Right on cue, the faint glow of Mac’s torch snapped off and his blonde head poked up out of his mini tent. “We’re good.”

“Defused?”

“Yeah. Explosives are still a risk though – we can’t leave them up here.”

Jack eyed the bulky shape still hiding beneath the tarp. “Getting that thing down isn’t going to be easy, kid.”

Mac might have scowled at that, but in the dwindling light it was hard to be sure. “I know that, but no clean-up crew is going to be getting out here until tomorrow morning and a well-placed incendiary round could still set this thing off. I can’t leave it.”

“Okay, okay, I getcha,” Jack soothed. “How’re we doing this then?”

“I can take it apart. Split the weight and the bulk between us. Nothing’s motion or impact sensitive any more so we don’t need to be that careful.”

Jack obligingly slipped off his pack and pushed it in Mac’s direction, trusting him to have a better idea of how they could get everything down safely and instead using the time to dismantle the makeshift rest he’d constructed. Attuned to each other as they were, it was the work of mere moments.

In the interests of getting Mac out of the line of fire – and back on the ground – as fast as possible, Jack ushered him down the ladder ahead of him while he radioed the scouts to fill them in. They returned a chorus of relieved gratitude and promised to maintain their position until Mac and Jack were well on their way out of there, making sure that whoever had set the device in the first place didn’t come back to try again. Already feeling exhausted and knowing he had a debrief waiting for him back on base, aside from whatever the hell was going on with his bomb tech, Jack wrestled down a sigh, and started making his way down the ladder.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Mac waiting for him at the bottom. Jack had long ago implemented a rule that Mac was to stick to his side like glue whenever they were moving in potentially hostile territory, but with whatever was going on with the kid, he hadn’t entirely expected it to hold. That it had was encouraging.

“Alright, let’s- get out of here,” Jack announced on reaching the ground, only just managing to cut himself off from saying ‘blow this joint’ . Mac might normally appreciate the gallows humour, but now was almost certainly not the time.

As if to demonstrate that point, Mac just nodded silently and fell into step just behind his Overwatch without a word.

One of the scouts had been keeping watch over their ride to make sure no one left them any nasty surprises while they were otherwise occupied, though he melted into the shadows of the night as soon as they reappeared. Comforted in the knowledge that he didn’t have to waste any more of his evening waiting for Mac to do a trap check, Jack gratefully folded himself back behind the driving seat and heaved a great sigh of relief. Mac twitched at the sound, but said nothing.

In deference to their shared fatigue, Jack let the silence reign for a solid minute before he broached the subject. “So,” he started slowly, “I get the feeling you and I need to talk.”

Mac’s eyes flicked to him too quickly to be casual, but still he stayed silent. Well, if that was the game he wanted to play, he was damn well going to have to listen, wasn’t he?

“Let’s start by saying that you not telling me about the heights thing was reckless as all hell man, and I mean really, really stupid.” He did what he could to keep the anger out of his voice, but did nothing to soften the seriousness of his tone. For their partnership to work then they needed to be able to trust each other with their flaws and weaknesses; without that, they wouldn’t stand a chance. “You gotta tell me when there’s something going on that’s going to affect your ability to do your thing, no matter what it is. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s something small or unimportant, you have to fill me in. I’m not going to judge you for it if that’s what you’re worried about, but the only way I can do my job is if you’re honest with me. You get what I’m saying to you?”

The blonde was back to his usual sullen trick of staring straight out of the windshield, seemingly seeing nothing, but he did at least incline his head. Even when they’d first been starting out, he hadn’t been this difficult.

“Right. Well. If that’s out of the way, you planning on telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Something’s been bothering you since this afternoon and clearly it’s important. Fill me in?”

Mac’s forcefully blank expression momentarily fractured into a frown before he got it back under control. “I’m fine Jack. Just tired. I wasn’t expecting to get called out again tonight.”

That was a reasonable excuse, except for the fact he was clearly lying. “Yeah, I’m not buying that. Didn’t I just get done telling you that you needed to let me know when something was going on with you? Whatever this is, I’m pretty sure it qualifies.”

The frown reappeared and didn’t immediately melt away again. Annoyance wasn’t exactly what Jack was aiming for, but at least he was getting a response. “I think I just proved that I’m perfectly capable of doing my job.”

Jack couldn’t help the sharp sigh that escaped him as frustration started to seep into his bones. Clearly he’d miscalculated just how far from alright Mac really was in that moment. Maybe he should have been paying better attention over the last few days after all; well, lesson learned, at least. “I know you are man,” he tried as gently as he was able. “That’s not what I’m getting at. But something’s clearly thrown you off your game and I want to help if I can, okay? This job’s rough enough at the best of times; you don’t need t’be adding to the pile.”

If Mac recognised that for the olive branch it was, he made no sign of it. His only outward reaction was to return his eyes firmly to the windshield and clench his hands together to keep himself from fiddling with a piece of wire he’d been worrying at since they started driving. There was a long, strained pause; Jack desperately wanted to press the matter, but he knew Mac well enough to know that trying would only shut him down further. If Mac didn’t want to share whatever was going on in his head, then he wouldn’t – it was as simple as that.

Fortunately for Jack though, Mac had never seemed all that comfortable with expectant silences. “It’s nothing. I’m just working through something in my head. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mac… Is this about the other day? ‘Cause I meant what I said up there; I’m sorry I lost my temper. It wasn’t ‘cause of anything you did-”

“Look,” Mac said with sudden force, dispensing of his heretofore unconvincing meekness and turning to put Jack directly into his sightline. “I get it. It’s fine. I’m sorry your request got denied but it’s- We’re both stuck here, okay? We’ve got four weeks left and then you can get back home and put all of this behind you. We’ve just gotta get through one more month.”

For the first time in a very, very long time, Jack was stunned into utter silence. Mac apparently took his frozen expression for one of acceptance and turned back to stare straight ahead with a sharp nod, as though they’d come to some sort of arrangement. Jack, for his part, did his best not to crash the Humvee into a ditch as the bottom of his stomach dropped away.

Then he rethought quickly; to have this conversation he definitely needed to be able to keep his eyes on his partner and driving wasn’t exactly conducive to that. He hit the brakes and pulled over. Mac chirped in surprise.

“Okay, woah, hold on,” Jack started, turning bodily to face the man beside him. “Let’s slow it down real quick because I think I’ve missed something here. What are you talking about man?”

Mac blinked at him like he was the one acting weird. “What?”

“What what?”

The blonde scowled faintly, but it wasn’t entirely clear if it was actually directed at Jack. Regardless, he relented with a sigh. “I heard about your transfer request getting shot down. I’m guessing that’s why you were so pissed off? Well, I’m sorry about it. You shouldn’t be stuck with me if you don’t want to be.”

A lot of things suddenly made a lot of sense. Jack could have kicked himself – he would certainly have deserved it. “That’s not- You’ve not heard the whole truth there, man. Shit I’m sorry, it’s-” He bit down hard on his tongue and forced himself to get the words in order. Mac seemed willing to take his stumbling apology as an embarrassed confirmation of the story he’d so readily believed and to be honest, Jack could hardly blame him.

“It isn’t what it sounds like, I promise you,” he said carefully. “I didn’t tell you about the request and that was stupid, but I swear I wasn’t trying to get away from you.”

Mac snorted very softly, a grim smile playing at the corner of his mouth for a moment before he choked it down. In all their time together, Jack had never seen him look so bitter.

“I mean it. I don’t know what you heard, but the request was for both of us.” That got Mac’s head snapping up to stare at him in visible confusion. Jack’s chest clenched painfully with emotion he didn’t want to put a name to. “I heard a rumour we’re being shunted to Paktia to shore up the EOD team in Gardez. They’ve taken some heavy hits lately and want more hands on deck.”

Mac’s brow was furrowed, clearly not entirely trusting what he was hearing but at least willing to listen. Given the circumstances, Jack was surprised he was even allowing that much. “And you didn’t want to go?”

“Hell no,” Jack said instantly. “The Gardez boys might need help but I don’t want to put you within a hundred miles of that place. Ghazni ain’t been kind to you, but at least it hasn’t blown your fool head off; worst we’ve had to deal with here is individual cells trying to make things difficult. Paktia’s crawling with T-men.”

“All the more reason we should be there, helping.”

“Yeah, and what happens in a month when I ship out and you’re stuck there without me to watch your back, huh? I don’t know who your new Overwatch is gonna be and if I can’t be sure they’re gonna have your back, I want to at least try to keep you as safe as I can while I’m here. I put in the request to shift us to Wardak instead. It ain’t safe there either, but it would have given you a cleaner run at things.” He huffed, remembering the raging argument he’d had with the Captain when his request had been denied. Looking back, he’d been lucky to walk away without disciplinary action but he didn’t regret it for a second. “’Course, none of that matters now, since we’re heading to Gardez regardless.”

He forced himself to meet Mac’s eyes and tried not to flinch at the calculating look being shot back at him. Evidently his partner needed a moment to work out whether or not Jack was lying to him to try to save face and that-

-That hurt. It was fair, completely fair , given that Jack had given him exactly no heads up about what was happening before going behind his back to try to rearrange his life without permission, but it was still crushing to realise how badly he’d fucked up. Their start together had been rocky, to say the least, but Mac had a kind of honest goodness about him that made him impossible to dislike after about thirty minutes of knowing him. Put together with his dry humour, endless patience, and his literal, honest-to-god genius, and Jack hadn’t stood a chance of not befriending the kid. It was somewhat convenient that it was Jack’s job to watch Mac’s back, because he had the sense he’d want to spend every second he could trying to protect him.

Then again, that’s what the transfer request had been about and look how that had all turned out. God, he was such a fucking idiot.

“I should have told you all of this before I did anything, I know that. I’m really sorry for it, and I’m even more sorry that you ended up finding out the way you did. That was shitty and you didn’t deserve it for a second. But I promise you, none of it had anything to do with me not wanting to be here.”

There was a pause while Mac’s face did something complicated, then he asked quietly, “You weren’t trying to get away from me?”

“Not for a single second, kid. I would never.”

It was the honest truth and yet Jack knew instinctively that it wasn’t going to sink in in the way he wished it would. Mac hadn’t talked about home all that much in their time together, and what he had let slip had some gaping holes where family should have been; Jack was good enough at hearing what people weren’t saying to understand that at some point, someone had let the kid down badly. Now, apparently, he had to add his own name to that list.

This was all such a goddamn mess .

Whether or not he bought Jack’s attempt at reassurance, Mac did at least appear to accept the truth of his account with a small, thoughtful nod. To be honest, even if he hadn’t believed it, this was something Jack could easily prove once they were back at base by digging out the request file, but it was comforting to know that he hadn’t screwed up so badly Mac couldn’t take him at his word.

“Okay,” Mac said softly, still frowning thoughtfully but no longer twisted up with bitterness and hurt. “Okay. I understand. Sorry for leaping to conclusions, I guess.”

“You ain’t got nothing to be sorry for,” Jack replied instantly. This was not the kid’s burden to bear. “I should have told you. You have every right to be pissed as hell about it, even knowing the truth.”

“That’s not- It’s fine,” Mac said haltingly, not meeting Jack’s eyes. “I appreciate you looking out for me.”

Jack watched him for a long minute as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking in all the tiny little signs of distress he should have noticed days ago. It was only now that he was really looking that he could see how fucking exhausted he looked. Like the whole world had come crashing down on him and he was still trying to soldier on under its weight like nothing was wrong.

“Man, I really fucked up, huh?” He murmured quietly. Mac’s gaze twitched to him and away. Louder, he said, “I let you down and I’m sorry for that. I promise, no more secrets.”

There was a pause, then Mac seemed to decide something because he turned to look at him properly again. “That mean you’re going to tell me what you’ve been up to the last couple of days?” At Jack’s blink of surprise, he actually managed the shadow of a smile, despite everything that had happened. “What? You think just because I’m not Overwatch I’m not paying attention?”

Jack couldn’t help but grin at the spark of life returning to his partner’s tone. Of course he’d noticed when Jack had made himself scarce around the FOB. “I watch you and you watch me, huh? Should have known.” He shook his head ruefully. “Well, in that case, if you really want to know, I’ve been hitting up my contacts.”

Mac’s eyebrows rose. Jack rubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m just a grunt but I know some people okay? I figured that if I couldn’t get us reassigned from Gardez, at least I could rope in someone I trust to replace me when I’m gone. No one’s as good as me, o’course, but it would be something at least.”

It took Mac a moment to digest that, as if trying to work out what he should react to first. In the end, he settled on, “I don’t think you’re a grunt.”

That was news to him. “No?”

Mac’s smile was a careful thing, like he wasn’t sure this was something he was allowed. “You play a good game, but you know way too much about- well, everything to not have been through something more than bootcamp.”

Jack should have known that he couldn’t get anything by a kid as smart as Mac obviously was, but he was still struck with a quiet swell of pride at how easily his EOD had figured him out.

“Plus, you know you’re by far the highest ranked Overwatch sniper on base? There can’t be many sergeants electing to watch bomb nerds day in and day out.”

There was an obvious question in there, but Mac was still too unsure of the situation to ask him straight up who he’d managed to piss off to get lumped with babysitting duty. And, honestly, that was a whole can of worms that Jack really didn’t want to dig into right now – or ever, really. Instead, he deflected. “Oh? That almost sounded like a compliment. You been checking out my record?”

“No. But if I did, I’d be surprised if most of it wasn’t redacted. Am I wrong?”

He definitely wasn’t. Jack’s smile was sharp as he started up the Humvee again. “You sound like you have some idea already.”

It was a clear invitation and, with only a slight hesitation, Mac took it. “You’re observant in a way that has to be taught. You seem too well travelled for it to not have been international, so I’m guessing CIA. Then there’s the tactical stuff – command wouldn’t ask for your opinion unless you’d been involved in something important. Putting that with that team of yours you sometimes mention without meaning to, I’m guessing you were special forces of some description. That’d explain the rank too.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re stuck watching me though.”

Jack whistled in surprise. Evidently Mac had been paying much more attention than he’d given him credit for. “I’m not stuck doing anything,” he protested lightly. “I like working Overwatch; it’s more relaxing than most gigs.”

Mac shot him a wry smile. “So I’m right then?”

He chuckled easily, letting the strain of their earlier conversation start to bleed out of his shoulders as they settled back into their usual patter. He hadn’t realised until right then just how much he’d missed it and from the way Mac was leaning back in his seat, he was thinking much the same. “About pretty much everything,” he confirmed. “You’re far too smart for your own good, you know that right?”

There was a pause. “You aren’t going to tell me what branch of the special forces you were in, are you?”

“You’re a smart kid,” he said with a broad smile. “You’ll work it out.”

The scene I didn't write is in a few weeks, after Mac's done some thinking and some very careful asking around and he sidles up to Jack one afternoon and very quietly says 'Delta'. Jack smiles, says 'Hooah', and neither of them mention it again.

#MacGyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #sandbox fic #sandbox #army days #fanfiction #my fanfic #Everyone's OOO but it's for the angst #let me have my angst #Mac and Jack

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rent-a-friend-au · 2 years

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Scene 4. North Star

LEARN ABOUT THE RENT-A-FRIEND AU → Summary: Superstar "Tartaglia" had everyone in Snezhnaya on their knees - whether in worship or in defeat, well... that's a matter of differences in opinion. At the very least, his work ethic was something to be admired. [Flashback] Scene Rating: M (some non sfw language) Scene Length: 1.2k words

“Me?” Tartaglia flashes a surprised grin, laughing at the question.

The hall is filled to the brim with fans, reporters, television broadcasters, and agency employees alike. Two or three other stars of Snezhnaya are also here taking questions, but the crowds flocking around them are nothing compared to the hoard of people congregating around Tartaglia. He is number one; their light, their sun. People can’t help but be attracted to his sheer presence, the gravitational pull of his existence. They hang onto his every word, eyes glued to his every expression as he speaks and smirks and flashes the occasional sharp look as if goading someone - anyone - to try and take his place.

“I had a wonderful childhood,” he answers, grin turning boyish in its youthful appearance. “Doting parents, a big family - you get the gist, I’m sure. It’s all thanks to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa that I can help provide for my family and repay my parents for all their efforts.”

It’s the perfect answer that has fans swooning at the concept of this devil-may-care superstar having a softer, respectful side that is endeared to his loved ones. The interviewer that had asked the question by shoving a foam-capped microphone into his face looks to be in awe at his response, eyes shining in admiration. Tartaglia gives them a wink, and then laughs bashfully at his own behavior, a sound that quickly infects the rest of the crowd.

“What was it like growing up in a large family?”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Do you feel not receiving enough attention from your parents led you to become a performer?”

The expression on Tartaglia’s face swiftly changes from one of a cheerful, friendly sort of confidence to something akin to confused offense. “Now now, comrade, let’s not make any assumptions here. My family was, and always will be my first audience. They’ve shown me all the support I could ever dream of and I’m grateful.” He looks at the rest of the crowd as if to ask, ‘Why would you even say that,’ earning a round of quiet giggles and secretive snickers. It’s not his first time dealing with crass questions from reporters, but he dislikes them all the same.

The reporter flushes and retreats, and his fellow ‘investigators’ immediately rush in. Before they can ask any other questions, however, Tartaglia holds up a hand and the hoard of people quiets. “I’m sorry, everyone; I would love to stay and chat longer, but my manager is giving me the stink eye… which usually means I’m going to be late for my next appointment,” he admits, head tilting back to laugh at his own carelessness.

It’s incredible. Whenever Tartaglia laughs, everyone else laughs. Whenever Tartaglia speaks, everyone else falls silent to listen. They part for him like they do for Her Majesty’s annual parade from the main palace of Zapolyarny to the spring-summer palace of Romashka, none daring to touch him in an insane invasion of personal space like they used to back when his fame was a novelty. Things are different now; in this city, he is a young god.

His manager shoots him a withering look when he approaches, crossing her arms in that stressed manner he has learned to recognize over the years. “I suppose those occasional nuggets of information you give them are exactly what allows us to twist your penchant for violence into one for swift justice,” she sighs quietly, having convinced herself that the benefits of his little chat outweighed the consequences of their being late to his next appointment. “Then again, none of these efforts would be necessary if you behaved yourself in the first place.”

Tartaglia only laughs, the sound light and melodic. “Goodness, Katya, must everything be calculated with you?” He smirks, extending an arm to slyly wrap it around her waist before sharply tugging her in close. “Don’t you ever stop thinking?” he murmurs into her ear, blue eyes alight with mischief.

Now these efforts are instantly rewarded with sudden pressure on his toes - heavy with intent - and Tartaglia releases her with a pained chuckle; she had stepped on his foot in retaliation. “I’m sure life is easy when you only think with your dick,” Ekaterina hisses, shoving him out of her personal space with an irritated smile. “Especially when you have zero consideration for the people cleaning up your mess.”

“I’ll have you know I always tip the hotel maids handsomely.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” she squeals, face finally flaming. It takes some effort to work Ekaterina up, but that is exactly what makes it so fun! She begins pushing him out of the hall by the shoulders, and he goes willingly because he really does care about her health and stress levels, somewhere deep down. “What are you planning to do if I actually say ‘yes’ someday?” she asks in a sharp tone, indicating that she has absolutely no intention to actually do so.

“After all these years, you would have me find and train another manager?” Tartaglia returns, wounded. They step out of a backdoor, and then she’s pushing him in the direction of the well-hidden limousine. “Katya, was it something I said?”

The irony of that question is what finally makes Ekaterina crack, and she chuckles as they slide into the car, letting the driver close the door for them. “You’re ridiculous,” she huffs, settling in and rummaging through her bag. She pulls out a small book shortly after, the one he has seen her use to organize and keep track of their schedules.

“No one knows me like you do,” he justifies, giving her a well-timed puppy-dog look. Ekaterina rolls her eyes, but her expression is fond. She turns back to her book after shaking her head at him.

The truth of the matter is this: between the two of them, Tartaglia is the calculating one. He stopped to talk to those reporters and fans because he felt that he needed to, and to this day, Ekaterina has never seen his social skills nor his intuition fail him. Whenever the winds blow with the scent of conflict, Tartaglia knows just how to prepare a failsafe and protect his reputation once the storm has unraveled itself. It is as if he is the only one who can see the chaos that is this industry and place himself in such a way that he remains in the eye of it, where it is calm. Very few stars take their publicity and reputation into their own hands once they can afford professionals to do it for them, but Tartaglia does both: he hires skilled publicists while knowing exactly how to behave in the public eye, and his predictions are chillingly accurate.

Honestly, despite all their teasing and banter, Ekaterina knows working with Tartaglia is easy enough and especially rewarding - that doesn’t mean his schedule isn’t hell to keep up with, though.

“You do a great job keeping stories about your childhood consistent,” the manager praises, looking through search results about this topic on her phone. There is already a brand new article detailing Tartaglia’s statements today, posted a mere two minutes ago. “These people work fast,” she murmurs to herself.

Tartaglia only smiles at the compliment, gaze directed to his casually intertwined hands. “It’s the truth,” is all he says, shrugging.

Ekaterina looks up from her phone - watches him with a searing, knowing stare - and bites her tongue.

NEXT → ← FIRST

#rent a friend story #genshin fic #genshin modern au #genshin childe #zhongchi #tartali #non sfw

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adorehs · 3 years

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12/12/12

Here’s my spooky-ish Harryween fic (a day late, which I apologize for!) This is one million percent not proofread and definitely very rushed and for that I am sorry.

Summary: Detective!Y/N has trouble cracking Suspect!Harry. But he seemed to have cracked her. (4k words)

Warnings: violence at the end (this includes blood), mentions of death and murder, angst if you could call it that. I am probably missing some but PLEASE do not read this if you are not comfortable with the themes that are portrayed above.

They tried to pin a murder on him, little old Harry who couldn’t swat a fly. Not in his right mind, anyway.

He was quite confused when they called him in with the intent of asking him questions regarding the night of December 12th. He doesn’t remember anything about that night at all, in fact. He was seemingly blackout drunk in the corner of his best friend’s apartment with a bottle of vodka in his hand and a hat fell on his face as his mouth fell open and soft snores fell out as everyone around him danced into the early morning.

December twelfth.

The day his mom died, the day he tries to forget every year, the day he takes off from work, the day he does everything but think.

He sat silently in the room- the walls a bleak grey and the lights dim. There were no windows except the small piece of glass that sat at the top of the textured door and in each corner of the room there sat a small security camera that followed Harry intently.

His fingers tapped in a calming rhythm of threes and his leg bounced lightly in anticipation for his interrogation. His eyes darted from his hands that were splayed out in front of him to the camera directly across from him as he leaned father back into his chair and stretched his legs out fully.

He let out a sigh as he sat in silence- he was bored and ready to go home. It was an utter waste of time in his mind- there was nothing he could give away. He wasn’t there, as much as he could match the description of a white male with brown hair with a few extra inches off the top of his head.

The door squealed as it opened, a woman scurrying in with a folder of files in her arms and a navy pantsuit hugging her figure as she sits down at the table across from him, “Hi, Harry, I’m Detective Y/N Y/L/N,” her hand reached out calmly to meet Harrys.

He watched her as they shook hands and he pulled his hand back and folded it into his harm, “Uh, just to be clear, there’s a microphone right there,” she gestured across from her where his hands once rested, “It’s quite small and you should refrain from putting your hands over it, unless you want to come back for a day of interrogation,” she chuckled softly.

Harry nodded silently as she continued to stumble through her opening lines, “There are cameras in each corner so this is being recorded. Do with that as you will,” she sighs before opening her file and sitting up straighter than before.

“Well, uh, Harry, I appreciate you coming in today. I know it’s a bit harder with cases like this… we try to refrain from declaring someone as, uh,” she paused to find her words.

“Mhm,” Harry hummed in understanding.

“As not being alive until we have evidence that they’re not, so we uh, we’re treating this case as an emergence.”

“Absolutely, yeah,” Harry commented with a small frown falling onto his face.

“Okay so, uh, we’ll be fast forwarding through some details that we would finalize later and we will have this be a bit more thorough of an interview so we don’t have to keep calling you back again,” she trailed off into silence. “Theresa read you your rights earlier and I just want to reiterate that you can walk to the lobby if you ever feel uncomfortable and I will treat you with respect and have the same expectation for you.”

“‘Course,” he nods in understanding.

“So uh, would you agree that there is a, a connection, uh geographically, with you and your mother Anne’s death and her, uh, supposed murderer Russell Williams?”

Harry’s face fell slightly, “Uh, sure, yeah, geographically,” he was in a state of shock. He didn’t expect his mother to be brought up.

“Alright so to be quite frank, uh, that’s a bit of why you were more of a suspect- matched the description from Miss Canaue, uh, Mr. Williams’s neighbor, and uh, your obvious connection with the man,” Y/N informed the man before him. Her eyes met his for the first time since she walked in and he appreciated the contact. He nodded as a response, urging Y/N to continue.

“So, uh, let’s backtrack. Why did you miss work on the tenth? Your log reported you called in as sick, is this true?”

“Yes, that is true. I had been getting over a stomach bug that weekend. Called in sick to finish my recovery,” Harry confirmed.

Y/N nodded in confirmation, “And had you contacted your doctor because you had felt, uh, sick that weekend?”

“Not necessarily,” Harry trailed off, “I called so I could have him prescribe me more promethazine… but besides that, I did not speak to him about my symptoms.”

“Alright,” Y/N glanced at the file that was open before her, “Were you bedridden for the majority of that day?”

“No, I went to the grocery store that night and I picked up my prescription from the pharmacy round the corner from my apartment,” Harry explained. He stretched his legs out further, a nervous tick he had developed when in school. Y/N’s demeanor intimidated him- he felt his body trying to move at every opportunity to create distance between himself and the woman before him.

“And do you remember the route you took to the grocery store?” Y/N asked with a slight quirk in her eyebrow.

Harry’s brows furrowed at the odd question, “Probably went down Main Street and went to the Publix off 86th.

“And you’re aware that Mr. Williams lives off of 86th?”

“Sure,” Harry nods.

“Alright, and I’m assuming you’re unaware that Miss Canaue saw a man with a similar appearance the night of the tenth?” Y/N’s eyes watched Harry’s carefully as he decided his next words carefully.

“No, I did not know that, but I go down that route every day. Don’t see how that makes me a suspect.”

“Yes, but you were sick,” Y/N pressed.

“Yeah, had a bug,” he repeated.

“Right, so you were sick and left your apartment once- possibly twice- that day and still managed to be around his home?”

Harry let out an obnoxious groan and ran a hand over his face, “It’s the fuckin grocery store off the largest street here. If that makes me a suspect better get everyone who has brunette curls,” he argued.

“Harry you’re not the only suspect. And you’re not on trial.”

He let out a scoff at Y/N’s ironic comment, “Yeah but if you don’t believe me, I will be,” he said, “Falsely,” he muttered.

It was a wonder that he hadn’t taken up the offer to leave whenever he felt uncomfortable considering Harry was repeating a string of curses towards the poor girl in his mind like a mantra.

He had been sitting in the uncomfortable fold out chair for two hours and Y/N’s posture has deteriorated significantly in their time- though she was just as scary as the first moment she strode into the room.

Harry was deciding if it was the confidence that surged from her body or if it was the navy pantsuit she wore that made her seem like a lawyer going into the courtroom with a billionaire- she just had a way about her that screamed power and Harry loved it- he was intrigued and distracted by her, though he also wanted to shove her out of the room.

“Mr. Styles?” she asked with a sharp tone, “On the twelfth you were out partying?” she asked, confused.

Harry nodded, “Correct.”

“Then why did you take off work?”

“It was the day my mum- Anne died. Take it off every year and go to my best mates house. He throws a party and I get drunk.”

“Mr. Horan, yes? He’s a suspect as well,” Y/N mumbled.

“What did he get too close to 86th? Is it because he’s embracing the natural brown of his hair? Told him he should’ve stayed blonde,” Harry snapped back. He was impossibly tired and more than ready to be headed home- he didn’t do anything- that he was certain of.

Y/N’s eyes trace her file and slowly find Harry’s, “If you don’t want to continue you are more than welcome to come back another day but I do not appreciate the tone you are using. You are not on trial and Mr. Horan is not on trial. We are just trying to find information.”

Harry’s eyes diverted quickly. He felt like he was being scolded by his mum after getting a bad grade on a math test; ‘It’s not my fault my teacher sucks!’ he would defend.

“It just seems like I’ve been here for ages and we aren’t getting anywhere- am I really just a suspect or are you lot convinced I’m the murderer of another murderer?”

“It seems you have strong feelings towards Mr. Williams and it seems as though we are not reaching when we assume you had something to do with it- whether that be hiring someone or doing it yourself we don’t know,” Y/N sighs out.

She uncrosses her legs and folds her arms above the table. Leaning into her own body, she comments with just low enough of a volume to be deemed seductive, “Am I incorrect with my assumption, Mr. Styles?”

Harry mirrored her body language, “Extremely. I had nothing to do with this. Wasn’t even conscious.”

“Am I incorrect in my reasoning?”

Harry takes a long pause knowing he has to choose his words carefully, “No but that reasoning can be applied to far too many people for you to make a definitive conclusion.”

Y/N tuts softly while reading over her evidence, “Alright fair enough.” She maintains eye contact with Harry for a short moment before putting the papers back into the manila file folder.

“What’re you doing?” Harry perks up, straightening his posture and pushes his chair back slightly.

“We have been going in circles for two hours. I think we are in need of a break, no?”

“Uh- sure yeah,” Harry left a pregnant pause before he spoke again, “Do you- uh- do you want to get food?”

Y/N stood from her chair with a relieved sigh. She checks her watch before looking at Harry, “I think that’s a conflict of interest,” she sent him a soft smile.

“What if we just conveniently end up at the same restaurant?” Harry asks, “Then maybe our tables are right next to each other so we just decide to sit at the same table to save space.”

Y/N lets out a soft chuckle and glances at the microphone that sat at the table. Harry eyes the microphone and stands up, his jacket dropping on top of it.

“I’ll be at the café down the road in ten minutes- please don’t be late,” Y/N whispers. Harry sends her a smile before nodding slightly and picking up his jacket, making his way to the door, leaving in a hurried motion.

Y/N smiles to herself before following him, leaving at a leisurely pace. “We’ll be back in an hour, Theresa. Keep the room open, please.”

Y/N was purposefully vague with her location- she didn’t know if he was just fucking around or if he genuinely wanted to have lunch. So, she settled on telling him it was a café- one of four that was down the road from the station. She said not to be late so she knew that if he found her, he was being serious.

It was an odd precaution to take, but she was not going to allow Harry, a supposed murderer, seduce her into relieving his suspect status. She was careful and calculated for that reason. She wanted to ensure that he wasn’t using her in the many ways he could.

Y/N was a beautiful woman and Harry was not blind to that. She sat prim and proper and wore clothes that fit her body just right. Her face, though seemingly free of makeup, seemed to be the most attractive one he’s seen in ages- though he would never let that slip. As much as he could deny his involvance with the case, he was a suspect and getting lunch with his interrogator is all too suspicious to begin with.

“You found me,” she smiled once she saw Harry’s curls in her peripheral vision.

“Honest to god, it was the first place I looked. And I used to come here all the time. Food’s the best,” he said, settling in across from her.

She looked up from the menu she held in her hands, “Used to?”

“Am I still under interrogation?” Harry asked while setting his coat across his chair.

“Are there still cameras here?” Y/N countered.

“Probably,” Harry shrugged, “You can never be too sure.” He nodded in appreciation as a waiter passed him and handed him a menu of his own. “I stopped coming when my mum passed. We would come here for brunch every Sunday with my sister. Haven’t really been here all too often in the past few years.”

Y/N hummed in understanding, “Makes sense. I only come here after a long shift. Not exactly my favorite place to eat but it’s close. And good enough.”

“What do you mean not the best,” Harry’s jaw dropped dramatically.

“What have you not been to the diner downtown? Maybe three blocks from here?”

“Uh, no?”

“Well that’s why this is sufficient for you,” she jokes, “Nothing compares to that place.”

“What does it have sentimental value to you?”

“A bit. Used to go there all the time when I was in school. I did everything there- studied, talked,” she paused, “ate.”

“Yes, the most important. Eating.” Harry countered.

“Okay, so what do you recommend from here?”

“Well, for breakfast, I’d say the tofu scramble, for lunch I’d order the meatball sub- marinara and melted cheese of course,” Harry looked up at the girl in front of him to see she had a wide smile.

“Of course.”

“For a snack I’d get any pastry- they have new ones all the time so I just try what sounds good. They’re always unbelievable. And for dinner,” Harry hums while scanning the menu, “For dinner I liked the french onion soup,” Harry concluded.

Y/N’s face scrunched together in disbelief, “French onion soup? God, you are crazy.”

“I’ll be honest I don’t like it from anywhere but here. It’s just done so well,” Harry confesses.

“I won’t take your word for it. Sorry,” Y/N says, “But I will try that meatball sub. Can you order for me? I don’t know what exactly to say,” she trailed off, her lower lip jutting out slightly with that request.

Harry hummed a yes before getting up to fulfill the request. Y/N’s eyes followed his body diligently. He walked with a sense of purpose and carried his body easily- it was almost scary to the girl who sits across from his empty seat. What was his purpose?

He stood watching the chef make their two identical sandwiches in a comforting silence. He was taken back to his youth where this was a regular occurrence- watching the older man as he puts the subs under broiler so the cheese could melt just right- something he always found fascinating. He could probably make the sub from memory after watching it be made so many times.

He nodded in appreciation, paying for the subs in exact change before bringing them back to their table, “Two meatball subs with melted cheese and marinara.”

“Of course,” Y/N smiled, beginning to eat the (surprisingly) amazing sandwich.

Harry ended up going back to a station for another hour before leaving back to his studio for the night. He had a great lunch with Y/N and was filled with a lifetime of regret for not getting her number. He knew if he called the station for it, the call would be recorded and she would get in trouble. So, he was stuck.

It was less than a day since their last meeting and there he was, sitting in front of a bare wall with his eyes locked on the texture that could be seen over the white paint. He found himself in a fit of fury with himself- maybe he should say he has more information so he could see her again? But he knew that wouldn’t bode well for the case.

He had no way to contact her, but then again, he wasn’t in a position to speak to her outside of the case anyway. He was still a suspect and she was still his investigator, even if she was a funny, uplifting girl who he had found himself thinking about constantly.

The only way they could make contact would be if she went into his file to find his number, or in other words, their reconnecting lies on the flimsiest threads. And that devastated the man.

He was apprehensive to go out drinking again. He always seemed to black out; not remembering a single detail from his previous night's adventures. But, he found that not remembering was the key to getting over the girl in the navy pantsuit, so he decided to forget.

He had gone out with Niall, going bar hopping for a few hours before Harry couldn’t stand anymore and he passed out in a bar bathroom. Niall was busy with a girl he had seen when he walked in so Harry was alone. He felt the world revolving around him as he laid against the bar countertop with his head on his arms.

Y/N didn’t notice it was Harry when she walked into the bar. In fact, she didn’t even see him. His back was slumped over his body and the poor guy seemed to be out of his mind. It was a wonder that she had a feeling she knew the man.

She stood next to him as she asked for a scotch on the rocks with a twist- her usual. She glanced at the man a few times, trying her hardest to not be rude, “I’m sorry, is he okay?” she asked the bartender who just shrugged in response before moving to another customer.

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh before gently bringing a hand to his shoulder, “Sir?” she called to him.

He let out a few grumbles before moving his head up slightly, “I’m alright,” he slurred together before dropping his head back down.

“I don’t think you are,” she muttered to herself before sitting down in the seat next to his, “Do you have someone who can take you home?”

“I have two working legs.”

“I don’t think they are working very well tonight,” she chuckled at him.

He groaned before moving his head to look at the girl who was sitting next to him, “My friends somewhere ‘round here,” his eyes shut even tighter than before.

That’s when Y/N recognized the man who sat next to her. Her eyes widened in realization, “Harry?” she asked in shock.

Harry’s eyes opened instantly at the sound of his name. He let out a sigh when he saw it was just Y/N. “Thought I heard my mum’s voice. Don’t do that to me,” he tells her.

“Why are you here?” she asks as Harry sits up.

Harry paused before answering, “I have my reasons.”

Y/N chuckled, “Well alright. I’m going to head out. Stay safe tonight, Harry,” she told him.

Harry was quick to reply, “Wait!” he called after her.

Y/N turned around, slightly unimpressed with his timing, “Yes?”

“Can I- can I get your number?” he asks, his syllables hardly pronounced.

Y/N glanced at her friends who were off dancing before looking back at Harry, “Sure,” she responded.

Harry’s face was quick to become one of pure excitement, looking exactly like a kid in a candy shop, “Alright,” he fumbled a bit while handing her his phone.

It was routine for Niall to be gone into the night with a random girl- truly it was routine for Harry to be gone too. But, he had a change of heart recently so he began wandering the streets on his own before finding his way home in the depth of the night.

He wasn’t fully sure of where he was going but he knew he would find his way back eventually- just an overpriced uber ride away from his home. He began by walking to his mother's grave. It wasn’t a new thing that he did but it hurt just as much each time. He would go sit with her and grieve silently as the night washed away from him.

Old habits die hard and there he was at the graveyard’s entrance looking to see if anyone was there. It was three in the morning but he knew the night was just beginning. People were still out and people, alike from Harry, were grieving.

He sat there at his mother's grave for a while, his thoughts racing. He felt as if he wasn’t in control of his own body. The whole world was speeding by and his legs carried him in circles around the town, always leading back to the graveyard, as Harry’s brain was extremely detached from his actions.

That probably explains why what he did next was so shocking to him.

He wasn’t fully conscious- he couldn’t tell you anything that has happened since he left the bar. Harry was out of it. That was a fact. He stood at his mother's gravestone, a knife in hand (the one he kept hidden under a pile of slowly rotting flowers that he would bring once a week).

He stood to his full height when he saw the headlights approaching the lot next to him. Out stepped a young man white rich, red hair. He was tall, taller than Harry, and he had a devastated look on his face.��

Harry guessed the man was in his very early twenties. He looked like a university student who got to go off campus for the weekend. There seemed to be another person in the car but it was hard for him to see properly, ‘If I can’t see them, they can’t see me, right?’ he told himself.

Harry watched the man approach a grave a bit farther from where he stood. He waited exactly two minutes before walking towards him with a sinister smile masked on his face.

The man’s eyes flickered to Harry’s before going back to the grave, “I’m sorry for your loss,” Harry speaks lowly to the man.

He looked directly as Harry and mustered up a small smile before his eyes widened in realization. Harry’s hand made contact with his chest, the knife slicing through his body readily. The color of the crimson blood made him grin- he felt justice when he saw the blood oozing off another human: first his mum, then her murderer, and now an innocent.

Harry was very satisfied, ready to walk back to his home and wash the blood off his hands, quite literally, when he heard a few footsteps crunching the dead leaves that had fallen on the ground in the dead of winter.

And that’s when he heard her angelic voice calling out his name. He could only imagine the expression on her face while her voice, as smooth as honey, called out to him, “Harry?”

He turned expectantly to the woman he had grown infatuated with, “Hello, Y/N.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #Harry Styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles oneshot #harry styles oneshots #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry imagine #harry imagines #harry styles imagines

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quinncupine · 3 years

Text

Obscured Chapter Two: Back To Work

Chapter Word Count: 2,952

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Link: AO3

Previous Chapter: One

Next Chapter: Three

MASTERLIST

...

It didn't exactly surprise Izuku when the hoard of journalists jumped him once he arrived at the hero agency. They surrounded his car as soon as he parked. We wasn't sure how they could pop up that fast with all that heavy camera equipment. They probably trained for it, it seemed they literally chased leads these days.

He stepped out, wearing his signature smile he'd perfected years ago for the public. Camera's and microphones were shoved in his face as they hit him with all sorts of questions. So many talked at once that they drowned each other out.

"Deku, Deku!" Once of them shouted. "Tell us, what have you been doing these past two weeks?"

Deku didn't see a way out of the little crowd that formed around him.

"Have you been investigating the murder of Kanaye Tatsuya?" Another asked.

He gently pushed his way through, he really didn't feel like answering any questions.

"What about your wife?" Someone stubbornly blocked his path. "How is she handling all this?"

"Yes," Another added. "Where is Y/N Midoriya? What precautions are you taking to protect your family?"

They were rapid firing questions too fast for him to think of any safe answers to give.

"Do you think villains will continue to target your family?" Someone yelled above the rest of the chatter.

Izuku glanced around him, nervously flexing his hands. He'd forgotten how...persistent these reporters could be. Camera's flashed in his face. They were waiting for him to show some sort of emotion, not that they didn't know he was the emotional type, that was public knowledge by now. They were waiting for something juicy to gossip about, but he held firm, keeping that soft smile on his face as he tried to think of something to say that would satiate them for the time being. It was a hard thing to do when surrounded by wolves, ready to rip apart their prey.

"Well, I, uh..." Yeah, he was great with words. "Mr. Tatsuya's death is under police investigation. They will do everything in their power to find the one responsible."

"Are you saying that you're not involved in this case anymore?"

"I-"

Someone cut him off. "Are you happy Mr. Tatsuya is dead? He kidnapped and attacked your wife, you must hate the man."

Izuku frowned. They were trying to lure him into a trap, to get him to say something he'd eventually regret.

"Some are saying you had a hand in this?" A man shouted from somewhere within the crowd, holding his mic over a few heads. "Is that true?"

Izuku's calm façade faltered for a moment, ready to counter him, but he froze. He couldn't let himself get bested by some hungry gossipers. He looked for another escape route, but they had surrounded him with a wall of people.

One of the reporters stepped too close to Izuku, a cheeky looking redhead with a wide grin. "There are a lot of rumors out there. Some are saying a diehard fan killed him for you, yet there are others that say it was a plot devised by a drug ring based in Tokyo." She stuck the mic in his face. "What are your thoughts Deku?"

Woah, that information was not supposed to be public knowledge and based on the reactions of the others, they didn't know this info yet either. How the hell did this woman know about the Kobaruto? Someone was feeding her information.

The others went wild, tossing crazy and speculative assumptions around, waiting for him to answer the question.

"Uh..."

Fortunately, he was cut off when someone roared behind him.

"Buzz of vultures!" Bakugo yelled. "This is private property."

The reporters took one look at Bakugo and scrambled away as he stalked over. Even they weren't dumb enough to mess with someone like Katsuki Bakugo, especially if he appeared to be in a bad mood, which was most of the time. They learned early on that the now number two hero doesn't take ambush journalism kindly.

"Kacchan?" Izuku blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think dumbass?" Bakugo grabbed Izuku by the collar of his jacket and dragged him into the building.

Once they were inside and out of prying eyes, Izuku freed himself, straightening out his jacket. Bakugo was wearing civilian clothes which surprised Izuku, he was supposed to be working today.

"You found something, didn't you?" Izuku's eyes widened.

Bakugo growled and kept walking. "Office, now."

Izuku caught up to him and they walked together through the building. Every time they ran into an intern or sidekick, they were stopped as they welcomed Deku back. Bakugo looked irritated, but kept his mouth shut. The entire place seemed to buzz with excitement now that Deku had returned. It had been a strange two weeks without him there.

When Izuku finally made it to his office, he saw Shoto waiting inside, leaning on one of the couches.

"Shoto," Izuku paused at the open doorway. "Is everything alright?"

Shoto straightened himself, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, things are fine."

Bakugo pushed past Izuku and sneered at Shoto. "What's this bastard doing here?'

"I could say the same for you." He crossed his arms.

Izuku glanced outside before shutting the door. "Kacchan is helping me with the investigation."

"I came to offer my assistance as well."

"Pass, we got enough losers on this case as it is." Bakugo stuck his thumb at Izuku.

"Midoriya, I want to help."

Izuku looked at Shoto. He valued him as a close friend and comrade, probably his closest friend, and yet these past few weeks were strenuous on both parties. Shoto was still holding that anvil of self-hatred over his head and it was getting heavier and heavier to carry.

He blamed himself for almost seriously injuring you when they had all come to your rescue. Since then, Shoto seemed to only be distancing himself from the both of you. He barely talked to Izuku, who had tried several times to get through to him, and completely avoided you altogether, as if that would somehow fix things. Poor Momo was acting as middle-man between the two of you since Shoto refused to talk.

"Alright," He said after a long moment of debate. "But you can't keep avoiding...people. This case revolves around her."

Shoto lowered his head. "I apologize. I realize that I've been acting-"

"Like an asshole?" Bakugo supplied.

"Childish." He finished. "There is a lot of unresolved issues that I hadn't realized were still there." He looked up. "But I want to help now."

Izuku studied him. He was standing taller, a more confident shine to his eyes, something he was seriously lacking these last few weeks. Between the cracks of that old familiar wall Shoto had buried himself behind again, he saw remnants of his friend.

Izuku beckoned him to follow as he went behind his desk. He set his bag on the top and pulled out a large stack of folders. It was a mess of sticky notes, tabs, and a few coffee stains. His handwriting was scribbled in every blank space he could find, all his thoughts put in pen.

"These are the case files." He handed them to Shoto. "Everything Tsukauchi gave me."

Shoto leafed through them. "Are you sure it's the Kobaruto behind this?"

"I know they're connected somehow." He crossed his arms. "Tatsuya was dealing with them, and they're the only known suppliers of Trace."

"Trace. It's fairly new, right?" Shoto pulled out a crumpled paper and looked it over.

"Yeah, started showing up a little over six months ago." He nodded. "It's reminiscent of Trigger. They share similar traits. I wouldn't be surprised if this is some variant of it."

"Trigger. The quirk enhancing drug." Shoto looked up. "I haven't seen that in a while."

"Apparently, Trace is the new drug of choice now." Izuku narrowed his eyes. "But they're careful who they sell to. We haven't been able to catch any of the dealers yet."

"And we can't rely on the druggie's." Bakugo said. "Trace degrades your mental state." He shook his head. "No, more like shreds it. Even if Tatsuya wasn't killed, he was never going to recover after months of that kind of abuse."

"What do you know about the Kobaruto?" Shoto asked.

"That's the problem." Izuku frowned. "We know next to nothing about them. They appeared out of the blue one day with a brand new drug. They might be small, but they know how to evade us."

"That's because I wasn't looking for them before." Bakugo punched his hands together. "I'll find them and destroy every last one of those bastards."

Shoto placed the files back inside the folder as neatly as he could. The colored tabs stuck out at various angles looking like the entire might explode any second.

He tapped the top of the folder. "I'll follow up on some of these leads. I'll let you know what I find."

"Shoto," Izuku called as he turned to leave. "Don't talk to anyone else about this. For now, it's still technically in Tsukauchi's jurisdiction. There is no official co-op on this."

He nodded and left quietly, closing the door behind him.

As soon as they were alone, Bakugo rounded on Izuku. "You sure he's up for this? The bastard's been flakey as of late." He narrowed his eyes. "I can beat some sense into him."

Izuku stared at the door. "You know he's always been insecure about his fire. What happened just pushed him over the edge." He shook his head. "He won't talk to me about it and he won't even look at Y/N."

Bakugo rested his palms on the back of a chair. "He's an idiot, that's nothing new."

Izuku plopped in his chair behind the desk and rubbed his head. "You found something right?"

Bakugo glanced at the door before sitting in front of the desk. "Yeah, about that imposter at the police station. I've been looking into it."

Izuku sat up. "What did you find?"

"Nothing much." He grumbled. "If this guy was good enough to impersonate All Might, in front of Tsukauchi no less, then he's good at covering this tracks."

Izuku leaned back, folded his hands and stared out the large windows that covered half his office. The first sign of the sun was just coming over the horizon and cast gentle waves of light through the office. It usually calmed him down, but today, it seemed like his nerves were ready to break straight through the window.

"This isn't good."

"No, it isn't." Bakugo agreed. "But I did find one thing."

Izuku looked back at him.

Bakugo pulled out his phone and set in on the desk. The screen showed a grainy picture taken in the dark. It was hard to make it out, but it was clearly a figure that was running across what looked to be a rooftop. The only distinguishable trait was the blue Kabuki mask underneath a black hood.

Izuku picked up the phone and examined the picture closely. "Who is this?"

"Don't know." Bakugo crossed his arms, a deep frown on his face. "This is the only solid picture I could find. Guy's a ghost."

"You think he's connected to the Kobaruto somehow?" Izuku zoomed in on the mask.

"There's been rumors spreading around the underworld, about a man in a mask." Bakugo took the phone back.

"So how's he connected?"

"Eyewitness reports put him in their territory." He leaned forward. "I don't have any solid evidence yet, but if I had to guess, I would say he's one of their runners."

"If we can bring this guy in- Izuku stood up. "-then he could actually give us some answers."

"Now that sounds fun." Bakugo smirked. "He likes to roam the Maridun district, but he only seems to come out at night to play."

"Then we'll wait for night to head out."

"No way, this is my lead." Bakugo stood up.

"But-"

"No. Besides, you have other things to take care of." He narrowed his eyes, daring Izuku to argue.

They had a glaring contest before Izuku huffed and looked down. Again, he felt conflicted. He really wanted to track down this guy. The sooner they could solve this case, the sooner everyone could get their lives back on track. On the other hand, he didn't want to leave you alone for so long, not when there were so many serious dangers still lurking out there. He ran through all the scenarios in his mind, trying to find a way to do both, but Bakugo was right.

"Fine," He relented. "But at least bring someone with you. Shoto wou-"

"Hell no!" Bakugo yelled. "I'm not going anywhere with two face."

"Kacchan..."

Bakugo ground his teeth and looked away. "I'll bring Kirishima in on this. I trust him."

Izuku nodded. "Fine. Keep me updated."

"I'll let you know when I bring this fucker in." Bakugo pocketed his phone and turned to leave.

"Thanks," Izuku said quietly as he reached the door. "Kacchan."

Bakugo looked him over and left.

Izuku deflated into his chair, running a hand through his hair. This case was growing more and more complicated by the minute. There was just no way that Tatsuya's death was a coincidence, everyone knew that, even the media had come to the same conclusion. There was something bigger behind this, he was sure of it. That's why he didn't want to leave you, even if Ochaco and Momo were with you. You were his responsibility to keep safe and so far, he'd failed pretty miserably at that.

His phone rang, startling him. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the caller I.D. and saw your name. A million thoughts ran through his head, most of them not good, as he answered the phone.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" He practically yelled into the phone.

"What? Of course." You answered casually. "I just thought I'd call to make sure everything was going well. The media's already twisting your words."

"You know you shouldn't watch the news." He leaned back in his chair. "It'll rot your common sense."

"Yeah, well, there's not much else to do when you're stuck inside all day." You grumbled.

Izuku frowned. "I'm sorry. This is my fault-"

"Hey, what did I say about throwing self-pity parties?" You scolded.

He rubbed his eyes with a smirk. "Sorry."

"And stop it with all this sorry crap. Sorry is for idiots who actually did something stupid." You huffed. "And don't think I don't see all those heroes casually strolling past the house. I know you asked them to."

Izuku rubbed his neck. "Uh, well..."

"Yeah, yeah," You sighed. "I know you're just worried. I also know that you're keeping things from me."

"W-what do you mean?" A lump formed in his throat.

"I know there are certain things you don't tell me. Stuff about your hero work and I get that, but..." You paused. "You would tell me if there was more to this, right?"

You were smart. You could always catch him in a lie. He hated lying to you, it felt horrible, but he also hated the look that crossed your face whenever Tatsuya was brought up. It was still affecting you big time and he couldn't stand to see you so upset. Nothing good would come of it if you were let in on the case, so there was really no need to tell you. At least that's how he justified it.

"Look, Y/N, I-"

"Save it." You interrupted him. "Just go back to work...and stay safe."

"Yeah." He said quietly. "I'll be home before dinner."

"Ok. Love you." You muttered.

"Love you too."

You hung up before he could even finish, leaving him with a sour taste in his mouth. You had every right to be upset, but you were keeping it all to yourself. You didn't let Izuku in on your personal thoughts anymore like you used to. There was a growing gap between the two of you and he didn't like it one bit. Everything he did seemed to only widen that gap and he wasn't sure how to build the bridge over it.

He groaned and laid his head on the desk. The cool wood felt comforting and he closed his eyes for a minute, trying to get in the right headspace to start the day. He was scheduled to start patrols again, but at the moment, his heart just wasn't in it.

After awhile, the phone on his desk rang and he almost vaulted out of his chair to reach it. "Hello?"

"Midoriya." It was Tsukauchi. "Sorry to call so early."

It's fine chief, what is it?" Izuku felt his stomach churn, Tsukauchi's voice sounded tight.

"You know the Hashira gang?" He asked. "They run drugs, mainly operating out in the Agamar Quarter."

Izuku nodded. "Yeah, small-time. What about them?"

"We just found them."

"What do you mean?" He had an excellent guess as to what he meant.

"They were all killed last night." Tsukauchi said. "Got an anonymous tip this morning on where to find them. It's a real mess out here."

"The entire gang was taken out?" Izuku stood up, gripping onto the cord. "A gang war?"

It couldn't be a coincidence that a rival gang was just exterminated. This was a big move, one with a lot of consequences.

"Possibly. We just got here. I'll know more when I inspect the scene, but," He paused. "Well, you need to get down here. There's something you need to see."

If that didn't spell ominous, Izuku wasn't sure what would.

"I'm on my way."

It seemed he'd have to postpone patrols for a little while longer.

Tag List: @miriobaby @hmm-cats @thecindy @awilddreamerwrites @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku @sailorstupidsblog @kehlaniwwe

...

Chapter 3

If you wanna be added to the tag list just let me know!!! Thanks Loves!

#izuku midoria x reader #deku x reader #pro hero Deku #pro hero bakugo #my hero academia #bnha #mha #taken series #deku #midoriya izuku #izuku x reader #izuku x y/n #language #boku no hero academia #reader insert #midoriya x reader #pro hero todoroki #Naomasa Tsukauchi

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astarryon · 4 years

Text

Promise Me

Red is a Wondrous Color

Warnings: Gentle jealousy

Chapter Summary: Spencer knew he started wearing scarves for a reason.

Masterlist

Chapter One: You’ll Always Have Me

It isn’t often that Spencer is left feeling powerless.

It happens on occasion. As unfortunate as it is, it’s a hazard of the job and comes with the territory, and, more out of necessity than anything else, Spencer has gotten very good at recognizing that there will always be those certain situations that he can’t control. His genetic predisposition to schizophrenia, always dancing at the back of his mind, the possibility of what awaits him in the future a constant taunt he’s never quite been able to ease. That nasty drug habit he’d picked up all those years ago, one he hasn’t acted on since finally getting clean but that his nerves always ache to feed when he gets just a little too stressed to cope. Those particularly difficult cases where the unsub turns out to be little more than a kid and he can’t seem to find the right words to get everyone out of a hostile situation safely, the results of which usually manifest in someone who the world didn’t try hard enough for dying right in front of his eyes.

But just because it doesn’t happen often doesn’t mean it never happens, and as Spencer wraps his scarf around his throat before exiting Quantico into the abnormally wintry air, his eyes fall upon your form standing in the distance, and — not for the first time where you’re concerned, though recalling how many times it’s actually happened is just a little too embarrassing to stomach for the night — he stops dead in his tracks in awe.

Red is Spencer’s favorite color on you. It’s taken some time for him to figure that out. Flashy as it is, you never have the chance to wear much of it in the field, which is a loss he takes the time to mourn whenever he recalls the team’s last Christmas party at Rossi’s, when you’d been clad in a dress of silk and crimson and insisted he sway along to Billie Holiday with you in the living room despite his meek protests. Something about that dress brought out the rose blush in your cheeks, set your eyes off with mischief and delight, made the fringe of your lashes appear that much darker. It also made his mind wander with thoughts he’s still not entirely sure he’s allowed to have, so he’d gazed at you as respectfully as he could and tried not to focus too much on the feel of your breath against his neck.

It’s a wondrous color, red. An enchanting color.

And you’re wearing it now as you stand with your arms crossed over your chest to serve as protection from the cold, though he’s not really sure how much that’ll help with the expanse of your legs, moonlit and glittering, bared to the wind. You’re also bawling your eyes out, and it’s noticing this that finally stops Spencer standing there like an idiot with his mouth hanging open and starts his feet carrying him toward you at a pace that would make Morgan proud.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, and he immediately has to squash the urge to kick himself. You’re standing here, alone in the cold, dressed like that and openly sobbing. It doesn’t take a profiler to see that nothing is okay for you right now.

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice, and he might take the time to marvel at how cute you look when startled if he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied with concern for your well-being. “Oh,” you breathe, hands instantly reaching up to swat at the tears trailing messily down your face. It won’t do you any good, not with the black streaks of mascara staining your skin, but Spencer knows enough not to point that out. “H-Hey, Spence. I thought you’d have gone home by now.”

“Yeah, I was supposed to,” he responds, trying for a kind, reassuring smile and remaining unsure of whether it actually appears. Try as he might, he can’t bring himself to care. He doesn’t want to pretend not to notice your pain, even though he knows you probably rather he do. What he does want is... something he doesn’t think he can have. “I got a little caught up going over my closing report. What about you? You left a couple hours ago, didn’t you?”

“I did,” you sniff, and Spencer is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to reach up and wipe the rest of the tears from your face himself. “Um... I had a date, actually.”

“Oh,” he says, making a concentrated effort to keep his voice light. “And you... came back to the office?”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, though it comes out more as a garbled choke. “Yeah, I guess it didn’t go so well. I was going to go home, but at some point I turned around and kind of just... ended up here.” You shrug, your eyes falling to the ground, and Spencer follows your gaze down to your red toenails, gleaming in the lamp light and contrasting starkly against the black of your strappy heels. “I just didn’t think I could handle being alone right now. So.”

It’s difficult not to make assumptions in that moment, and though he tries, he feels his chest swell with an inappropriate surge of protectiveness. Again, it doesn’t take a profiler to read the implications of this situation, or to know that something has to have gone terribly wrong in the three hours since he’s last seen you. He can’t do much about the crying — he’s never been good with tears, no matter who they’re coming from — but his mind tumbles violently with the possibilities of what all could have gone wrong on your date, and his limbs itch to track down whoever’s responsible for getting you to this point of emotional distress and... and... telling them off with some strong vocabulary at the very least.

But there’s no use in that. He can’t change what’s already happened, and he doubts you’d let him go and yell at whoever’s done this to you. Anyway, you’re standing here in front of him, wide eyed and shivering. He might not be able to do much about the crying — he might not even be able to do anything about the reason for your crying. But... maybe there’s a chance he can soothe the pain, at least a little.

“What about you?”

Your voice startles him out of his reverie, bringing him back to full consciousness of the situation at hand, and he’s embarrassed that he’s gotten so caught up in thoughts of defending you that he actually has no idea what you’re asking him. “Me?”

You nod, a wobbly smile edging at the corners of your ruby red lips. So much red. It really does suit you wonderfully. “Yeah, you. You don’t have any plans tonight?” He furrows his brow, searching your face for any hint of your meaning. Three seconds later, and his obvious cluelessness manages to pull a more substantial laugh out of you. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Spencer. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I didn’t,” he defends, and it isn’t untrue. Morgan spent the whole day detailing his extravagant plans for the night, Will had sent in quite the rose bouquet for JJ, and even Hotch had been quite a bit more preoccupied with his phone than was typical. Valentine’s Day. Reid knows it’s a special day to the calendar, but it doesn’t hold any significance for him. “But, no, no plans. I was actually just on my way home to skim over Dante’s Inferno.”

You scrunch your eyebrows in a sarcastic manner, and Spencer’s just relieved that he’s managed to cheer you up enough that you let your eyes wander back to his face. “What is that, like, the sixth time this week?”

He shrugs a shoulder, unsure as to the reason for the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Classics never get old.” And then, because he’s an idiot with an ironically one track mind where you’re involved, he adds, “I... like your dress. You look really beautiful tonight.”

“You’re sweet,” you murmur, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal another sniffle. Not at all, actually. ‘Sweet’ implies deception. ‘Sweet’ makes it sound like he’s just trying to soothe your ego with flattery, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s not saying it because he thinks you want to hear it, he’s saying it because it’s the truth and he knows it like he knows the sky is blue and the earth is green. He wishes he could convince you to see it that way. “Shame it’s going to have to go to waste, huh? Guess there’s always next year.

“Well it... doesn’t have to,” he stammers. “Go to waste, I mean.” He’s not sure where the bravery for his outburst comes, and he doesn’t particularly care to pursue figuring it out. His senses are screaming at him, going into shock with the sudden uptake in adrenaline pumping through his body, but he only swallows and forces himself to finish. “Not if you don’t want it to.” You only blink at him in silent confusion, trying to puzzle together his meaning. His heart hammers against his chest so hard it’s a wonder you can’t seem to hear it. “There’s a planetarium in town that’s staying open late for the night. When you lay back in the seats under the projector and look up at the stars you lose your central sense of gravity and trick your body into experiencing a floating sensation. It can be kind of off putting at first, but it helps to hold onto something. Which—“ He should really quit while he’s ahead — “you could hold my hand. If you wanted to. And we could, we could go to the planetarium. Together.”

He watches as you blink, once, then twice, then three times, and all the while his heart’s pace never deadens for even a moment. When your eyes finally focus back on him, eons have passed and stars have expanded into supernovas, all within a few short moments. “You’re… Spencer, are you offering to take me on a date?”

Yes.

No.

... Yes.

The wind picks up suddenly, ruffling your skirt in the breeze, caressing the loose tendrils of your hair. The scent is so intoxicating that it nearly stops Spencer from noticing you shivering once again, and before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s unwinding his scarf from around his neck and taking a confident step toward you.

“Well, it’s like you said,” Spencer responds, wrapping the scarf over your bare shoulders. It’s grey wool and it doesn’t match your dress in the slightest, but he likes seeing you in something of his, and he especially like the way you instantly curl into the garment, inhaling his scent as deeply as he’d been inhaling yours off the breeze. “I don’t have any other plans, and it would be a shame for that dress to go to waste.” He offers his arm for you to accept, unable to pinpoint where this sudden burst of confidence is stemming from. He almost wishes Morgan were here to see it. “Would it make a difference if I promised to have you home by midnight?”

Again, you’re silent, save for another bout of sniffles. Spencer is horrified to see fresh tears brimming in your eyes, coupled with a wobbly frown, and is met with the sudden fear that he’s managed to screw this up — because he always screws things up for himself, even when he’s not trying and even when he’s actually just trying to find more reasons to smile. He’s made you cry now, too, which makes him no better than whichever monster ruined your night in the first place. Any second now you’ll recoil from his offer and tell him to get lost, at which point he will only be able to clutch his wounded pride, and—

You nudge his arm aside and barrel forward to wrap your arms around his middle instead, clutching him close and tight and squeezing just enough to make him feel like an offered lifeline. Well. If you hadn’t been able to hear his heartbeat before, there isn’t any way you don’t hear it now.

“I love you, Spence,” you murmur into his shoulder, and he’s so mesmerized by the perfect fit of your cheek against the base of his throat that he almost doesn’t totally register what it is you’ve just said. “I don’t tell you that near as much as I should.”

Butterflies. You’re prompting butterflies to flutter through his stomach. Like he’s nothing more than a twelve year old schoolboy with a crush on the sweetest girl in class.

“Let’s get going,” he chuckles, smiling down upon you with fondness as he steps back and winds his arm around yours. Huh. Maybe Valentine’s Day shouldn’t be so easily written off after all. “We don’t want to keep the stars waiting, do we?”

“No,” you laugh — actually laugh! — as you rest your head against his shoulder. “I don’t think we do.”

And as the two of you walk down the street, arm in arm, excitement and giddiness charging each and every one of your steps, Spencer can’t help but ponder the fact that he’d left work expecting one sort of inferno for the night and stepped out only to find himself engulfed in a different one entirely.

It’s almost kind of poetic.

—

Chapter Three: In the Name of Dry Shoes

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #fluff

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johnwickmorelikejohnthicc · 3 years

Text

Undefeated

A/N: soo.... I’ve done a thing. I’m not at all confident enough to post this rare pair on my Ao3, so I’m slapping it here to see if it does any good. I’ve just been needing to post something and my Ao3 account is pretty destroyed anyway. Please don’t flame me for this one... if y’all like it though lmk and i might be continuing it

Merle Dixon x Milton Mamet

Summary: Milton realizes that Merle is always different around him, but it never dawns on him why... until Martinez takes matters into his own hands.

Word Count: 909

~~~

Milton wasn't exactly sure when Merle started flirting with him, but it wasn't until Martinez started teasing him that he truly noticed.

Merle had always been a flirt. From the moment he was up and walking he had been flirting with anyone who would pay any attention to him. Barely concealed innuendos and vulgar 'sweet talking' seemed to be his go-to with everyone else in the town, but not with Milton.

Oh no, everything was different when it came to Milton.

At first, no one really noticed it. Subtle jabs in his direction; little teases that made Milton flush with second-hand embarrassment. But Merle did that with everyone, only he was less… intense when it came to Milton.

"Don't make me come over there and shut ya up myself" held none of the venom it was supposed to when Merle talked to him. It never dawned on Milton that the redneck was being sweet on him, just that he recognized his sensitivity and decided to tone it down for the sake of getting shit done. After all, it was difficult getting a status report from a stammering scientist.

Then there were the little moments. Merle would come into the library when he knew Milton was logging data, deciding to sit down and read when he could've just taken the book back to his apartment. Sometimes he would find his way into Milton's lab. He'd chat up a storm until he was given Milton's full attention, or he was dismissed from the lab.

It was rarely ever the latter. Conversation with Merle always came naturally. There were never any awkward silences or useless small talk. Merle said what he wanted to say and then bullshitted his way from topic to topic, almost as if he enjoyed talking to Milton.

But that could never be. Even if Merle was a little… suspicious at times, Milton never actually thought of him as someone to bat for both teams. The more likely assumption was that Merle was bored, and Milton was an easy distraction.

Then Martinez opened his big mouth at a barbecue and sent the scientist into a spiral of emotions he didn't know how to handle.

"Dude, Milton, you either gotta cut Merle off or give him something. It's getting sad."

Milton had choked on his drink at the unexpected topic of discussion. He straightened his posture quickly, trying to pretend like the statement wasn’t as much of a shock as it was. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, man. Merle's obsessed with you." The shocked look in Milton's eyes made Martinez's brow furrow. After a moment, he grinned. "Oh, you sorry son of a bitch. You really didn't pick up on any of it."

"I-I don't know what you are talking about, Martinez-"

"Oh, yeah you do," Martinez interrupted, that stupid grin still glued to his face. "You really think Merle acts like that around everyone? All gentle and sweet and… restrained?"

Milton took a long drink of his warm water to hide the flush in his cheeks. It didn't help in the slightest. "Merle simply knows that in order to get the quickest results, he mustn't be so embarrassing around me."

Martinez hung his head, shaking it slightly with a groan. "Oh, you two are just goddamn pitiful. I'm going to get another beer."

Milton stood alone after that, looking around the yard for everyone's favorite redneck until he caught sight of him. Merle was sitting backwards in a chair, his bad arm rested over the back while the good one balanced a beer on his knee. He was smirking darkly at some pissed off recruit, who looked ready to swing at any moment. The tension only fizzled out when Martinez tossed a beer in Merle's direction and told him to stop pissing off the rookies.

Maybe Martinez was right. Merle was a mean bastard. He found whatever sore nerve he could and hounded it, poking and prodding it until whoever he was talking to lost their cool. Even then, Merle never apologized. He laughed and put them on the ground with skill that was unmatched. After all, he was, as he liked to say, "Woodbury's Undefeated Gladiator".

For whatever reason, though, Milton couldn't remember a time when Merle had done that to him. Sure, there were moments when Merle had talked about his dead (now un-dead) family, or an experiment that failed and put Milton right back at square one with an almost broken spirit, but he had always noticed when he hit a nerve and changed the subject. Changing the subject was as close to an apology anyone was ever going to get from Merle Dixon.

Milton's brow furrowed, not taking his eyes off Merle. What had happened to him to make him this way? Who took what could've been a good man and twisted him into a traumatized, scarred soldier? Every now and then Milton felt the urge to ask these wildly inappropriate questions. Usually it was after a gladiator match where Merle was much too happy to kick someone's ass, or when the Governor made him do something horrific, and he just did it, no questions asked.

Someone had tried to break Merle Dixon a long time ago, but they failed. That was a fact, not an educated guess like everything else in his world.

Unfortunately, Milton had gotten so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Merle catch him staring.

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morganaseren · 3 years

Text

WIP Meme (Warden Inquisitor Niamh/Warden Bethany)

Tagged by: @illusivesoul Many thanks!

Tagging: @this-is-something-idk-what, @noeldressari, @jellydishes, @w-h-4-t As usual, I suck at telling who has or hasn’t been tagged yet.

So this WIP is from prompt #3 I made off this list. It doesn’t tie into the other Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU I’ve already written; this is something wholly separate. No knowledge of it is needed to read this.

Granted, this is a much rougher draft than what I’d normally post here, but given I’m already more than a month behind on updating OtSttCA, I thought you guys would appreciate the treat. :)

Things you might want to know:

As with any AU where Niamh is a Warden, she’s the one who undertakes the Dark Ritual with Morrigan in order to spare anyone from being sacrificed once the Archdemon is slain. Through magic, Kieran is born as a result of their union. While both women carry a great deal of respect for one another, they aren’t and were never in a romantic relationship although there’s gonna be a whole separate AU for that once I get around to writing it.

Niamh is the Warden-Constable for Ferelden while her sister Saoirse is the Warden-Commander and Hero of Ferelden. Saoirse and Leliana are married sometime after the end of the Blight.

As a result of going on the Deep Roads expedition with her sister, Bethany contracts the taint and has to undergo the Joining in order to save her life. She is transferred to the Fereldan branch of the Grey Wardens by Stroud not long afterward.

Niamh and Bethany are in an established relationship by the time the events of Inquisition begins.

While Niamh would normally be off searching for the cure by then, I'm just going to headcanon that she and Morrigan weren’t able to find a suitable lead in their research until much later—enough that they start hearing about the mass disappearances of Wardens across Ferelden and Orlais.

Out of concern, Niamh and Saoirse convince the remainder of their comrades (except for Bethany obviously) to head toward Weisshaupt for help, but Niamh senses that's enough wrong about the situation that she also tells them to journey there in secret. Vigil’s Keep is pretty much closed down at this point until they can figure out what’s going on.

Niamh and Bethany head out toward the Hinterlands to follow up on reports of some Warden sightings in the area. It's when they're stopped in the Crossroads area (where you meet Mother Giselle) that Niamh has Bethany to ask the villagers for any leads while she heads up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to follow up on a tip there. The usual stuff happens, and she ends up waking up in Haven's dungeons, where she gets interrogated by Cassandra.

Honestly, this follows pretty closely to how OtSttCA unfolds as far as the major decisions being made within it goes. However, because she wasn’t in self-exile for a decade, Niamh’s a lot more laidback and confident in her ability to lead, especially with Bethany by her side.

Along that same vein, Bethany is also more self-assured in her abilities as a mage now that she no longer has to fear hiding from Templars. As such, she’s much quicker to speak about what’s on her mind rather than bottle them up as she used to in the past. She confronts Cassandra like an absolute badass several times during the beginning of the story in defense of her lover, which you can check out below the cut with the rest of the content. ;)

Like in her canon world state, Niamh isn't treated well when she’s imprisoned. The guards merely know that she's a mage, so they're operating under the assumption that she caused the explosion at the Conclave. It doesn't help that Niamh's been essentially undercover to search for the missing Wardens, so she's not wearing her usual uniform to signify her status. Cassandra does her whole intimidating interrogation as per usual when Bethany—in all her Warden regalia—bursts in with Leliana.

---

"She leaves with me," she leveled at the Seeker coldly before turning to Leliana with a deep frown. “Why did you not put a stop to this?”

“I arrived here at the same time as you. I didn’t know she was here until she was already imprisoned.”

Niamh couldn't help but chuckle under her breath, utter relief filling her. “I think you may invited utter ruination upon your heads with those two."

Cassandra frowned. "What? Why?"

“What do you mean why?” she parroted with a roll of her eyes, unimpressed with what she had seen of the woman and her colleagues thus far. "Leliana’s my sister-in-law, and the Warden next to her is my fiancée, whom—might I add—you've actually succeeded in making angry.” The corners of her lips turned up into a languid smile. “Not an easy feat, and not a fate I would normally wish upon anyone.”

“Hush,” Bethany muttered as she brushed past Cassandra—all but shoving her aside with a pointed shoulder—as she knelt at Niamh’s side to begin healing the wounds she’d received from her captors. All the soldiers began backing away uneasily, especially as Leliana walked alongside her. “I’m already upset that you sent me down to the Crossroads while you went up to the Conclave alone.”

“It was the easiest way of scoping out the area," Niamh defended even as she sheepishly shrank back beneath her lover’s glare. "If the individuals we were searching for were still down in the village, you would have seen them, and if they were up at the Temple…Well, I suppose that’s a moot point now, given what our new acquaintances have just revealed to me.”

“Do you remember seeing anything at all?” Leliana asked then in concern.

“I can’t recall much of anything before the explosion.” Niamh admitted with a frown. “I thought I remembered someone screaming, but then there’s just... nothing.”

“And...” Leliana gestured toward her hand. “That mark?”

She shrugged as much as she was able to, especially given her heavy shackles. “It certainly wasn’t there when I went to the Temple.”

“What is going on here?” Cassandra demanded then, perhaps confused as to why their supposed prisoner had proven so much more forthcoming with Leliana than anyone else thus far.

“You’ve met my wife before, yes? This is her younger sister Niamh Cousland. She is also the Constable of the Grey here in Ferelden, Cassandra,” Leliana stated gravely. “While the Wardens may not regularly involve themselves in politics, Niamh’s high enough up their chain of command that this country’s branch would fight to the death to get her back, and that’s not even involving what Saoirse herself will do once she finds out her sister's been hurt.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. “Not to mention the Teyrn of Highever…”

---

After the demons upon the frozen lake had been defeated, Niamh felt the brush of a warm hand in the crook of her elbow gently pulling her back before all she could see was Bethany’s back as her lover marched right up toward Cassandra, heedless of the obvious height difference between them.

"Point your sword at her again, Seeker! Kindly test my patience right now, and see what happens!"

Niamh was mildly amused when Cassandra actually appeared to be a bit startled and had to move back a step so as to not accidentally stab the woman. The Seeker’s dark brows furrowed in confusion. "Are... Are you threatening me?"

"Only because you’ve threatened her repeatedly!” Bethany scowled. “Niamh's very life is in danger so long as that portal in the sky exists; she has no reason to put yours in harm's way. She’s made it more than abundantly clear she’s willing to cooperate even after the mistreatment she received from you and your colleagues." Amber eyes narrowed, and despite their bright depths, there was little mistaking the ice within them. "I haven’t, however, and I’ve no reason to if you’re going to blatantly ignore your own words to the contrary simply because she’s a mage."

Cassandra sheepishly sheathed her weapon. "I’m—"

"If you ever think of drawing a sword on her again, your friendship with Leliana or no, I swear it will be the last time you ever draw breath," Bethany spat, tilting her chin up defiantly. "I’ve lost enough. I will not lose her too." She turned then to hold out her hand for Niamh, allowing the first bit of tenderness to enter her expression as she called out to her. "My love..."

Niamh chuckled quietly even as she weaved her fingers through Bethany’s. “Still so quick to defend me?”

Her lover smiled. “Always.”

Afterward, Cassandra was left to follow behind the two women, who proceeded to lead the rest of the way up the mountain.

"I did tell you not to make her angry," Niamh quipped to Cassandra later upon reaching the first outpost, grinning when she earned a soft sound of disgruntlement.

---

Nothing had really prepared Bethany for the sight that greeted them upon reaching the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

There were so many bodies scattered across the immense crater, expressions twisted in permanent states of terror as they tried to guard themselves against a danger beyond all earthly imagining. Horrified with such evidence of the Breach’s power, it was then that she realized that if Niamh hadn’t somehow received the Mark, she likely would have—

"Bethany?"

She jerked in place, turning to see her lover’s concerned eyes watching her.

"It's nothing,” she mustered up with a weak smile. “I'm right behind you."

Bethany saw, however, that Niamh couldn’t be convinced, as was evident in the tender way the other woman had taken hold of her hand. Niamh said nothing else, as was always her way. She never pressed her to offer anything more than she was ready for. She sighed.

"I should have been there with you," Bethany murmured at last, looking at the strange mark still glowing upon her lover’s palm. It was nothing that even with all her healing magic can hope to fix, but Niamh merely shook her head.

"No.” She brought Bethany’s hand up to her lips to press a kiss reverently across her knuckles. “Were you there with me, I fear you would have died with everyone else," she admitted solemnly. "My heart would not have survived such devastation."

---

Bethany was beside herself with worry when Niamh fell unconscious upon the first, unsuccessful attempt to seal the Breach. Niamh was brought back to Haven to recover, but Bethany refused to leave her side despite Leliana's attempts to get her to take care of herself as well.

"Bethany—"

"You know as well as I do that your colleagues would have killed her down in the dungeons if we hadn’t arrived when we did," Bethany said flatly from where she sat by Niamh’s bedside. "Everyone in the village knows she’s a mage now, and I don’t need to remind you of how well-liked we are on a regular basis..."

"I’ll have my agents watching her. What nearly happened outside the chantry will never happen again."

Bethany bristled instantly at the memory.

---

She’d still been inside the building to relay some information regarding Saoirse to Leliana when they heard the first outraged cries beyond the doors. As the uproar grew louder in volume—all demanding the death of the one who had supposedly killed the Divine—Bethany had rushed outside immediately just in time to see civilians and more than a few soldiers attempting to stone Niamh.

Infuriated by the blatant injustice, Bethany reached over her shoulder for her staff and immediately slammed its point into the ground. At the moment of impact, a wave of force magic traveled violently across the ground, taking the mob entirely off their feet. She had been mindful to curve the energy away from Niamh—and inadvertently Cassandra, who had sidled up to aid the other mage, just as she unleashed her magic—so her lover had remained unharmed and even grateful for her arrival if her relieved smile was any indication.

Still, Bethany steeled her features to utter impassivity as she coolly strode through the crowd. Those within it seemed to be in various states of bewilderment as they tried to regain their bearings, but she took note of the many widened eyes that recognized the blues and silvers of her Warden regalia.

“You will show Ferelden’s Constable of the Grey the proper respect she is due,” Bethany said lowly as she placed herself alongside her lover, her gaze searching for any signs of rebellion to her words. “Anyone who would dare accost her in spite of her title will sorely live to regret it...”

---

"Can you really make such promises?" Bethany asked dryly.

"I can certainly try. Niamh’s family. Saoirse would never forgive me if something happened to her, especially if she knew there was anything I could have done to prevent it." She sighed. "Nor would I be able to forgive myself for that matter. Niamh’s a kind woman, and much like you—and any mage—she’s so undeserving of the treatment she often receives from others.”

---

Anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE mages; thus, it should come as no surprise that I always go to get the mages at Redcliffe as allies.

It should also go without saying that Bethany also would have gone with Niamh to deal with Alexius and the Venatori. Per the events of In Hushed Whispers, it's canon that the companions who went with you there become prisoners in the twisted, future version of Redcliffe.

While Warden mages are more susceptible to Corypheus' influence, I headcanon that Bethany was so furious with the loss of Niamh to Alexius that she fought against the mind control even to the point of torture like Leliana. When Niamh sees her in the future, Bethany's so pained, broken, and exhausted but so very thankful to see her lover again.

There's hope again—no matter how small—and Bethany's determined to help her set the world right again.

What little happiness they have at their reunion obviously doesn't last long, especially with Alexius’ death. With the Elder One beckoning at their door, Bethany goes off with the other companions to stall the demons and Venatori outside to give Dorian time to cast his spell.

I’ve always headcanoned that mages have auras unique to the type of magic they specialize in and that they’d be able to subtly influence the world around them based on their emotions. You see evidence of that a lot in OtSttCA, especially in those moments where Niamh’s angry or upset.

In any case, per my headcanon, mages would be able to sense one another although the distance at which they could detect such magic would be dependent on the senser’s overall power or their relationship with the other mage. As close as both women are, Niamh absolutely feels the moment Bethany dies... :(

---

She felt the absence of Bethany’s magic like a dagger to the heart.

It had been there, burning as bright as the sun, and then it had stuttered—dark clouds eclipsing its light—until it simply settled inside her like a dead weight. Left bereft of that familiar, constant presence that had been her very reason for breathing for so long, it was as if water had pooled into her lungs, threatening to drown her. The sensation immediately brought her to her knees, leaving her gasping for breath.

"No..." Niamh whispered out brokenly, anguish and horror overtaking her even as Leliana tried in vain to urge her back up to her feet again. She couldn't hear the other woman's concern past the shattering of her own heart. In its place was simply an aching emptiness that slowly began to consume her whole...

---

Let’s just say that Niamh’s not happy with Alexius when she and Dorian manage to return to the present...

---

The fighting between the Inquisition and rebel mages against Alexius and his Venatori was brought to an abrupt halt by the presence of the Fade rift that appeared overhead. The force with which it easily tore space and reality asunder was enough to take everyone within the audience chamber off their feet, especially as stifling heat and wind spilled from the portal along with two figures.

“Give her back..."

Bethany blearily looked up when she heard Niamh’s familiar voice, and relief filled her when she saw that she was standing beneath the now sealed rift. Even with its disappearance, however, she realized all too soon that it had done nothing to quell the storm that had now taken residence within the room, sending banners and tapestries flying with whipping gusts of wind. At its center was her lover, who was standing so still amidst the chaos around her, regarding Alexius with such apathy in her expression.

“What?" the old magister uttered in confusion, shakily rising to his feet only to have his progress nearly undone as lightning struck the ground next to him with a deafening peal of thunder.

Bethany saw how his throat undulated as he swallowed in nervous regard of the mage slowly making her way toward him. His fingers trembled with the effort to form flames between them.

"...Who gave you the right?” Niamh asked, voice as low as the rumbling thunder, as she strode toward the dais.

The pressure within the room escalated once more as an aura of absolute fire surrounded her. Like vines, they rose from the floor up in spiraling patterns before enveloping her entirely with almost playful licks of flame. Nothing in Niamh’s expression indicated the display of power was in any way exhausting to maintain whereas Alexius was already weakened from his initial spell to destroy her along with his efforts to keep the Inquisition at bay.

But it was not a woman who sought to meet him.

It was death.

As if aware of the sudden danger he was in, Alexius threw forth several barrages of fire at Niamh, but her smooth, relentless advance couldn’t be stopped. She made no attempt to even bat away the bursts of magic. If anything, the flames just seemed to absorb themselves into her. Her aura flared higher, burning more brightly beneath each attack, and as Alexius tried to back away, he inadvertently tripped himself into the throne behind him. He flinched as another peal of thunder made itself known, and as he reflexively turned his gaze to the dark storm clouds coalescing above them, he didn't see Niamh Fade-stepping forward to close the distance between them until he was choking from the fingers around his neck. With her enhanced Warden strength, Niamh was able to lift the magister off his feet entirely, leaving him to dangle helplessly.

“Who gave you the damned right to take her from me?!” she demanded.

With her cry, the fires along the sconces and the hearth behind the throne went out entirely, gone with the sudden gale of wind. As such, the only light to be seen came from the flashes of lightning above them and the fiery aura surrounding her. In the sporadic moments the room illuminated itself, there was little mistaking the utter hatred in Niamh’s eyes.

She was going to kill Alexius.

It would have been well within her right, given the magister had attacked her first within their meeting, but Bethany’s eyes widened when she saw how the staff on Niamh’s back began to rattle violently. Against the sheer heat emanating from her body, the silverite wolf head adorning the top of the staff began to melt entirely onto the floor in thick dregs of liquid while the shaft bowed and arched until it creakily bent in the middle, angling itself with the sharpness of an arrow.

Oh, no... With dread, Bethany scrambled to her feet and darted over toward Niamh. Without her staff to act as a catalyst, if Niamh burnt too much of her magic away, she could cause irreparable damage to herself and those around her.

Upon reaching her lover’s side, she placed her hands on Niamh’s face, desperately trying to draw her attention from Alexius. For a moment, nothing could sway her from trying to squeeze the life out of the magister, and she winced when she felt Niamh’s magic already begin to fluctuate erratically against her own.

"No, no, no! Look at me!” She jerked her lover’s head toward her. “Look at me, Niamh! Please!"

And as Niamh did, she watched in confusion as the woman’s expression froze. The lips that had been pulled back in a sneer of bared teeth slowly went lax, forming an ‘o’ of awe and disbelief, as recognition began to dawn in her lover’s gaze. With it, Alexius gradually slid from her grasp to collapse at her feet with desperate gulps of air, but Bethany paid him little mind. With relief, she saw Niamh’s fiery aura dissipate along with the glow of her eyes until they returned to the pale grey she adored.

"That’s it. Come back to me,” she encouraged. “Just breathe." Bethany took one of her lover’s hands in hers, placing it over her own chest, allowing Niamh to feel her breathing. “Slow and steady. Just like that.”

As each breath fell into sync with her own, Niamh's expression gradually softened into something so reverent and sweet that it almost hurt to see—as if salvation had finally blessed her—but Bethany smiled when she saw the battle rage finally leave her.

“There we are."

Niamh used her other hand to gently cradle the side of Bethany's face. “You’re still here…” she breathed, utter relief in her voice.

“Yes.” Bethany frowned in concern at her reaction. “Always."

---

When they returned to Haven, where Niamh gave her official report to her War Council, Bethany was horrified to learn all that her lover had endured from Alexius’ spell.

Afterward, Niamh suggested they spend the evening in their cabin together rather than explore the trails out the village as per usual, and Bethany didn’t object. She understood her lover’s need to reassure herself that she was still there with her—that she wasn’t simply caught in a dream that she could never wake from.

“Is... Is this okay?” Niamh asked quietly, wanting permission to seek such comfort.

Niamh was always thoughtful in everything she did for her—in bed or otherwise—and while she never treated her like glass, Bethany could count on one hand the number of times she saw her magic unfettered like in Redcliffe. She had felt subtle traces of it occasionally with their intimacy although it was usually with purposeful design—heat, ice, and tickling traces of lightning—that were meant to tease.

But rarely was it ever so close to the surface like this—a conduit of power coiled so tightly within mortal form—waiting to burst beneath Niamh’s skin.

“It’s okay,” Bethany said, gently lacing the fingers of Niamh’s marked hand in hers.

The other woman had been reluctant to let her touch it although it hadn’t shown any notable effects toward anyone—or anything thus far—save for its ability to close rifts. Still, Niamh had been skittish all the same, fearing that it might harm her.

...Or perhaps she believed it was a damning mark of shame—of guilt—much like it had been when the people of Haven had attempted to stone her to death.

---

“There’s no denying that this mark is tied to the Breach. You saw the wreckage at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. You saw how many people died, and I still can’t even remember what happened before or after that moment beyond waking up in the dungeons. What if I did do something to cause that explosion?”

“If you had, it would not have been intentional,” Bethany insisted with a frown. “The mark is unlike anything we’ve ever seen, yes, but that you bear it all does not mean you were the one who created it.”

But Niamh couldn’t be swayed as she paced back and forth before the hearth of their cabin. “How can you be so certain?” she murmured.

“Because I’ve known you for years, Niamh. You would never purposely hurt anyone without provocation. Trust in me if you can’t yet trust in yourself.”

---

With permission given, Bethany found herself gently laid out against their bed as Niamh sought to touch and bring her pleasure all throughout the night.

Over the years, she’d become remarkably acclimated to Niamh’s magic that felt so much like a forest caught beneath a winter storm of ice and lightning. It was normally as calm as it was now—crisp as the first intake of breath beneath a cool dawn—but there were times where it could be provoked. The incident in the audience chamber was proof enough of that, where it had settled over them all like the tolling bells of judgment—an inevitability inviting the nascent danger of death.

Bethany had been beyond concerned when she had seen the first bits of viridian energy springing across her lover’s eyes then. There had been an almost disturbing beauty to them—a ring of vines gathering just at the outside perimeter of silvery irises—but that they had pulsed in time with the mark upon Niamh’s hand...

Bethany had feared for her, especially when it seemed to flare all the brighter with the fury that had overtaken her.

She was glad to see no evidence of that now as Niamh laid contentedly next to her. Even though Niamh was sated at last—the burning, restless energy within the other mage having finally simmered down to faint embers—she seemed reluctant to drift off into sleep. Winter-grey eyes continued to lazily rove across her face and form, as if cataloguing every detail less she forget later.

In response, Bethany reached out to tangle her fingers through the dark mane of tousled hair, letting her nails gently rake across her lover’s scalp. Pale eyes had widened imperceptibly at the sensation, but like always, they soon became half-lidded with the soothing nature of it. She heard the quiet hum of disgruntlement, as if protesting the notion of Bethany’s attempts to lull her to sleep against her silent vigil, but she merely shushed her.

“Shh… Rest, my love. I’ll still be here in the morning when you wake.”

---

And that’s basically it.

Again, since this is still in its rough draft phase, it’s not as polished as I’d like it to be, but I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, leave me a like, comment, or send some love to my inbox! Until next time, dear readers!

#Dragon Age: Inquisition #bethany hawke #female warden/bethany hawke #fanfic #My writing #OTP: In Search of Silver Linings #lee's au ideas #female cousland/bethany hawke

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cheswirls · 3 years

Text

[ pt 1/2 of the tensemi track au!! small note, when i started this (almost) a year ago i confused the one mile records with the 100 meter records, so this fic goes w/ the assumption the 100m record is 4 seconds. yes i know the 100m record is 10s. no i am not going to change it. just read it regarding this info, and it should be smooth. ]

year one |

the spring before eita’s freshman year, he has a growth spurt. it’s not anything big, only a handful of inches, but it’s enough to make a difference as he works around it in his training regimen. his legs get longer, his steps grow wider, and by the time track and field tryouts come around, he’s confident he’s adjusted enough to the change to make a difference.

“next, semi-san!”

a whistle blows as eita lines up and crouches on the third lane, eyes lifting to catch the 100 meter mark in his sight. he tenses his arms and lifts his figure, and on the next whistle he’s off.

eita likes running. he can’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t. but it’s the short bursts he likes best. he doesn’t have to worry about pacing himself. he doesn’t have the time to watch anyone around him. ten seconds and it’s over. ten seconds and he’s at the finish line, breaking a couple paces after, hands on his knees for a brief moment before he straightens up and turns.

everyone is silent around him. it wouldn’t bother eita so much, but they’re all watching him, and a feeling of unease creeps up his spine. it’s only elevated when they all start breaking out in chaotic whispers, and he turns his head to see the assistant coach blinking at his stopwatch.

“semi-san,” the head coach calls, and eita steps forward, shoes leaving the track for the grass on the inner field. the assistant coach finally moves his gaze away, looking incredulously to semi, but it sharply turns to pride and something else, like he just found an old treasure buried deep in a treasure chest.

“what was your average last year?” the head coach asks, and eita stumbles through his answer, mind still fixed on the expression of the assistant coach and the implications it suddenly held.

and that was how semi eita first learned he could run 100 meters in six seconds.

they have him come to day two of tryouts to run another. just to prove it wasn’t a fluke. eita knows it wasn’t, because he had run several that past night, just to prove to himself that it was all real. the same result happens. 6.4 seconds and his feet cross the line.

one of the football coaches that served as an assistant during off-season casually flips through a stapled bunch of papers, frowning slightly when he reached the end. “this is your only event?” he asks semi.

eita nods, and the assistant coach from the other day hums, taking the list to flip back a couple pages.

“why don’t you try for a 200 as well? i’m sure with-”

“i’m sorry, but i only run sprints.” both coaches look up in surprise, and eita bows sharply. then he turns and jogs off, done for the day.

when the list of names comes out the next day, he isn’t surprised to find he’s made it. he is surprised that there is only a single reporting time, and that they aren’t all separated by event immediately. he seeks out the head coach with a frown, bemused by the provided training. eita trains alone. it’s not that he minds the company, but he has his own routine. it worked through middle school, and it worked through the spring, and it would work now. besides, going through the same practice the long-distance runners did wouldn’t help him. it was just impractical. especially with his results.

the head coach takes his speech in stride, and then he tosses his head back and laughs. after calming down, he pats semi on the shoulder and shakes his head. “tell you what, kid. you place at nationals, and i’ll let you do whatever you want. but this year, i want you to try things our way. you came to shiratorizawa for a reason, right?” he winks.

the suggestion irks him, but he can’t deny the truth in the words. so, with a long-suffering sigh, eita bows his head and hurries off to join practice.

midway through pre-season is when eita has enough. usually, they’re divided by mid, long, and short distance, and given slightly different training exercises. today, though-

“everyone is running three miles.” one of the coaches points to the perimeter of the field, where a gate lines the outside. “there’s a road around the gate that circles the football fields and the tennis courts. twice around and back should be the distance you need. once you’re done, you’re free to go.”

everyone starts heading off, and eita snaps from his frozen position. “i can’t run three miles!” he bursts. a few people pause to look, some snickering, but he ignores them. a look from the coaches has him backing up, however, switching out his words. “i can walk three miles. can i -can i do that? that wouldn’t be that long. i could do it in, uh-” he breaks off, mumbling the math, the 20 on average so times three- “an hour. can i do that?”

one of the assistant answers him with another question. “can you run one mile?”

eita blinks. “yes,” he says, because he might be a sprinter, but one mile is nothing. the coach nods.

“okay. then walk two and run one. is that acceptable?”

eita purses his lips. “yes,” he mutters, and doesn’t stick around to see them change their minds.

shiratorizawa is an elite school. he knew this coming here, he knew the competition would be rough, he knew everyone around him was the best in their field. he thought he was good enough to be able to keep up.

but with a near four second improvement in his time, semi goes from good to untouchable.

there’s one other shiratorizawa athlete in his event, an upperclassman eita had never spoken with, but they’re in different heats and his concentration is pinpoint. it’s hot, but the breeze is there to cool him off, and eita sits down on the grass to do his stretches. if anyone approaches him, he doesn’t notice. there’s a group of girls a few paces away wearing the same purple uniform as him, but they don’t pay any attention to him, so he does the same.

he lines up when his rotation comes up and takes a deep breath as he crouches into position.

in, out. bang.

eita’s eyes lock on to the finish mark and he unconsciously speeds up, lungs burning, muscles twitching, giving his all for this short burst.

he doesn’t look behind him when he finishes, only up, but it’s not the same as middle school. the scoreboard still has results from two events ago. he sighs and walks off the track, hands on his head. he’d been used to having results immediately, but miyagi was a big region, and there were still three more heats to go before they compiled the results.

one of the assistant coaches comes up and hands him a water, congratulates him. eita nods in thanks, taking it, but he doesn’t feel excited. he may have won his heat, but he still didn’t know where he placed overall.

he kind of zones out, one minute gazing at the track as people line up for the 200 meter, and then the next he’s met with people carting out hurdles from the infield. he blinks and looks up to the scoreboard, and right on cue an announcer comes on to reveal the results for the mens 100 meter.

eita lets out a breath as he sees his name first. it’s not until he sees the point gap between him and second place does he realize how easy a time he had it. there’s nearly a five point lead. he’d completely crushed the competition.

later, as eita descends the podium with his medal, a handful of people in purple come up to congratulate him. eita doesn’t really recognize their faces, much less know their names, so he just does his best to smile and nod.

practice doesn’t change. and of course it wouldn’t. the coach’s offer was for semi to place at nationals, not a regional meet. the win didn’t count for anything but his pride. none of them did until the qualifier, it was all for the experience.

eita still practices alone, within the team. he’s divided up with the short distance runners and sent through the same paces, but he keeps to himself as he completes the drills. he doesn’t even know what the other runners think of him, and he really doesn’t care, either. he’s there to run.

end-of-term exams come around on the first week of july, and the track team is given a full ten days off in light of it.

at first, eita does as usual. grades have never been anything he’s really needed to concern himself with. he spends the extra time training, pushing himself in his newfound solitude.

but then all his tests are over, and school is preparing to shut down for summer break. before the week can let out, with five days to go until practice resumes as usual, eita runs, breathless, into the staff room, managing to corner one of the assistant coaches before he can leave.

“you want a key to the gym?” eita nods and he scratches his head, lightly frowning. “you know, the break is there for you to rest, and not just because of exams.”

“i get plenty of rest,” eita argues.

the coach sighs. “of course you do. look, we’re not supposed to let first-years wander off with keys, but . .” he shrugs, leaning forward in his chair to sort through a desk drawer. “you’re a good kid, semi-kun. if you think you need the equipment in the gym, i’ll let you borrow this.” he holds out a plain keyring and eita takes it with a nod. “give it back next time you see me, okay? and don’t forget when the next team practice is!”

eita is euphoric when given the opportunity. he’s halfway home when he notices the skip in his step, and then he realizes just how much energy he was pent up with, immediately setting off in a different direction. it takes half an hour before he’s sure he can return home without his mom yelling at him to quit bouncing off the walls, and by the time he’s on the porch steps he’s panting so bad he tries to use the gym key to unlock the front door.

his usual solo workout he’d adapted to before high school serves him well in the break, and adding on the private use of the gym makes it even better. the lights still turn on, thankfully, and the windows let in the sun just enough that even if they didn’t, it might not even matter. it’s not unusual to be here alone like he thought it might be -mostly it’s just quiet, which -even if he was reluctant to admit it- has grown quite odd. he’s accustomed to the low rumble that accompanied a large group -feet on the turf, murmurs, whistle blows, the shuffling of equipment.

on the morning of the eleventh day, eita wakes up early and jogs down to the school, keys jangling hidden in his pocket. he finds the particular coach he’d borrowed them from and manages to sneak them back without anyone else becoming wiser. if he was lucky, that would mean he’d have earned the trust to have them again.

the miyagi prefectural athletics meet in the middle of july doubled as the national qualifier for two weeks later, in august. even if the venue hadn’t been close by eita’s home, shiratorizawa still put the school’s budget to good use, transporting all the students in one go once they had gathered at the school.

eita’s internal musings he’d had since middle school of but i could have gotten there faster if i had walked from home take a hard backseat to the thrumming in his veins, the pure ecstasy he feels where he was headed and what he was headed there for.

the coaches camp out a big spot on the infield and shiratorizawa gathers into a cluster, throwing down personal bags and coolers and various other things until all around eita is a sea of royal purple.

there are three hours until his event, but he starts stretching right away, slipping off his warmup jacket and his trainers so he has enough traction to rest his feet on his shoulders. his eyes glance to the track periodically while he goes through the motions, watching as various smaller events take place.

noise to his left makes him glance up, sliding both legs to the turf. there’s a large crowd gathered around one of the field events -he can’t tell which one from his height. eita eyes the time and thinks, just for a moment, about going to investigate.

then he tunes that part of his brain out, resuming his stretches.

he goes for a run, careful to keep out of the way. he sprawls out on the infield, staring up at the sun as it tracks higher in the sky. it’s a nice day, overall. not too hot. a little cloudy, but not enough to threaten to rain.

his shoelaces get readjusted as someone comes to inform him of his heat. he has a number pinned to his back, the sun appears just a bit from behind thin clouds, and the roar of the crowd pulls him finally onto the track.

he’d missed competing in this spot. prefecturals were the same location no matter what school grade you were in. it felt like coming home.

he breathes out deep and crouches in his lane, looking down to adjust his footing before looking up to the finish line. it’s a singular focus, and slowly but surely, all the noise around him fades, until it’s only the internal sounds of adrenaline ringing in his ears.

bang. and he’s off.

his spikes dig in on the line before he fully realizes, having to force himself to stop several paces after, nearly tripping over himself. he looks back over his shoulder, breathing heavy, and throws his arms over his head.

there are still runners crossing the finish line. it’s a wild feeling, one eita’s never bothered to cash in on, and one that makes him absolutely dizzy with delight.

he crushes the time from his previous meet, and seeing the seconds lined up with the overall results has him feeling almost insane. there truly was no competition out here anymore. if he wanted a challenge, he’d have to go looking for it.

and that was exactly what he was going to do, he realizes, as he steps off the podium with a gold medal in hand and the proud gaze of the head coach on him.

nationals is in fukui, a six hour train ride away, on the second of august. on the first of the month, shiratorizawa loads onto a train in the morning. eita is not surprised to see many of his peers around him that would be competing in nationals -shiratorizawa was simply that kind of school.

eita has been on the shinkansen before, and knowing what kind of trip it would be, takes some of his summer homework to finish. since he also knows that they would be changing lines in tokyo for the one to kanazawa, he picks some of the less challenging, mind-numbing ones so that he’ll have enough awareness to switch trains.

eita sits in an aisle seat next to a boy he doesn’t know. it’s mostly uneventful, with him scribbling away at his papers and the boy leaning forward to talk to the students that sat in the row ahead. when eita feels like the noise around him is too much, he puts an earbud in and plays songs at random from his phone.

at kanazawa, they switch to a regular train for the last leg of the trip to fukui. it’s definitely hotter closer to the coast like this, and eita feels the lingering regret in his choice of clothing as his track jacket starts sticking to him. the train ride this time should be less than an hour, so everything is packed up in his backpack, and his overnight bag rests in his free hands as he waits for the train at the station.

“semi-san?” he hears as he climbs aboard, sighing in relief at the air conditioning. he looks over to find a girl with a high ponytail leaning out of her seat and into the aisle to address him. she smiles when he makes eye contact. “there’s a free seat here. come sit with us!”

and that’s how he finds himself nestled in with a few second-years. the seats face each other here, which means there was more leg room. everyone has their bags by their feet instead of the overhead slots, and eita follows suit, pushing his overnight bag under the window seat he’d been given and unzipping his other bag as he places it against the wall.

“-don’t understand why i had to give up my seat,” the boy to his left is complaining. it gives eita pause, as he’s reaching for his earbuds. the girl adjacent to him visibly rolls her eyes, rocking her feet forward to knock against the boy’s.

“semi’s a first year, silly. he’s probably never seen this before.”

“if it matters that much to you i’ll switch,” the boy across from eita says, and at that point he’s got one earbud in and his music switched on, so he no longer pays attention as they begin to switch around.

he does end up gazing out the window as they begin to move, and is surprised that he can see the coastline from here. a tap on his arm makes him glance to his left, where the girl has apparently switched seats to. she half-waves and points to her ear, and eita startles, moving to pause the music.

“you’re only wearing one,” she notes.

he shrugs. “i want to be able to hear if something happens.”

she lets out a little laugh at this, slouching in her seat. her legs are thrown over her bag, and she switches which is crossed over the other at the ankle. “don’t worry about that,” she tells him. “i’ll let you know.”

it’s an odd bout of kindness, and eita suddenly feels weird that he doesn’t know her name, or any of their names, really, even when they knew his. she moves into a conversation with the boys, leaving him to his own devices, and eita takes the chance to shrug off the awkwardness, pushing both earbuds in and closing his eyes.

maybe he falls asleep, he’s not sure, but a shaking on his arm gets him to open his eyes. it takes a moment for his vision to settle, and then his arm is shaken again, and he lolls his head to see the second-year girl nodding toward the aisle, where one of the assistant coaches stood.

eita takes the hint and pulls the earbuds out.

“-passing out your room assignments,” the coach is saying, handing stacks of envelopes to whoever was in reach. the boy adjacent to eita accepts the bundle, flipping through to grab the one with his name, and then handing the other three their own. eita takes his gingerly, frowning lightly at his name, and then tugs the flap open to find a list of names on a slip of paper next to a room number, and a key-card for the place they were staying.”

“oh, cool,” the one across from him, in the other window seat, was saying. eita glances up and then glances back up when he sees he’s being watched. “looks like we’re sharing.”

eita looks back down to the names, pursing his lips. maybe he lucked out, then, that out of the three he didn’t recognize, one of them he’d already met.

“that’s convenient,” the girl says. “who else is there?”

instead of listening to him list off the names, she leans into eita’s space and reads for herself. eita takes this in stride, turning the paper to face her, and her eyes light up when she recognizes the connection.

“oh, it’s all the short-distance. i guess there are only five of you. take care of semi-san, okay? he’s the only kouhai you’ve got on this trip.”

eita blinks, caught up on the last part. he misses his roommate’s confirmation as he puzzles this out, and ends up speaking before he realizes. “i’m the only first year?”

they all look at him, and then one by one, start bursting into laughter.

“man, you’re really out of your element here, huh?” the other boy, the not-roommate, says. eita’s lips purse as he tries to think of a comeback. he holds out his hands. “i didn’t mean anything bad. just, well-”

“you’re not very social, is what he’s saying,” the girl says. “there’s a girl on the relay team that’s a first-year, but you’re the only one with an individual event.”

oh. there had been so many that morning that he had just assumed almost everyone had placed for nationals. knowing most of them were second and third-years was . . well, it certainly helped his ego. not that he was letting that go to his head or anything.

before he can ask more, the train arrives, and he’s quickly grabbing his things before being pushed off and led away by one of the boys he’d be staying with.

fukui is nice. hot. humid. it’s a dizzying combination that has him staying in the hotel lobby instead of venturing out to see the sights, declining every invitation he’s offered. he finishes the portion of homework he’d been working through on the shinkansen, then puts the rest away for the trip back home. his mom calls after he’s procured a bottle of water, and he visits with her for a minute, lounging on one of the seats in the air-conditioned space.

after showering away a morning’s worth of travel, eita lies down in the unit on one of the beds. he’s the only one in the room, and after his lightheadedness doesn’t quite clear up upon consuming an energy bar, he doesn’t wait for any of the upperclassmen to return to tell him to take the pull-out bed, falling asleep on top of the duvet.

he ends up skipping dinner. when he wakes it’s late, around eleven, and the only light in the room comes from a small lamp near the wall on the other side of the bed. eita glances over to see the boy from the train leaning back against the pillows, scrolling on his phone. he looks up when eita turns and nods to the bedside table on eita’s side, where a peeled orange and a handful of crackers sat.

“for me?” eita murmurs, noticing the room’s other occupants are asleep.

“mhmm. you should try and sleep more, but eat that first. you’ll need something in you before tomorrow.”

“thanks,” he mumbles, reaching over to pull the meal into his lap. he doesn’t necessarily feel bad anymore, but something is still off, which is concerning. maybe it was the change in weather.

the salt from the crackers helps. the orange is good too. eita can’t believe it’s peeled. he sure lucked out with the upperclassmen he was assigned.

“i’m going to bed,” the boy says, after eita has finished and tossed the napkin away. he reaches over to turn off the light, and waves his lit phone for eita to see. “i set an alarm for the morning, so don’t be scared when it goes off.”

“oh, okay,” eita whispers, climbing under the covers. “thank you.”

“nah, don’t sweat it. that’s what i’m here for -to make your life easier.”

“not to win tomorrow?”

“well, that too. night, semi.”

“night.”

the next morning eita’s head is swimming, and nothing helps. his pained frown persists through a hot shower, a light breakfast, two medication pills, and the bus ride over to the stadium. he tries to ward off his concerned roommate that he really should be remembering the name of, but all that really gets him is more persistent near-coddling, until eita finally has enough and goes to sprawl in the grass near a corner of the track.

the sky is cloudless and the sun bright, this time. the heat is not helping in the slightest. eita rests a condensating water bottle against his forehead and extends his arms into the air, trying to convince himself to sit up and stretch.

maybe it was nerves. though, he’s never experienced anything like that before. maybe not never, maybe when he was younger, but it’s been a long time, and it wasn’t really something he’d think to concern himself over anymore, so this had to be the cause of something else.

he hopes he’s not sick. that would suck.

he goes through warmup and forgets everything as soon as he’s done it, leaving his body thrumming and his mind blank. he’s not the only one who’s noticed, either, as one of the coaches comes over to have a look at him, coercing him back into the fold and closer to where the rest of shiratorizawa is gathered.

“you still don’t look great,” he says, and eita snorts.

“i’ll be okay,” he mutters.

“still wanna run?” he asks, and eita nods. “alright, that’s your choice. just take it easy until then. keep yourself hydrated. you eat enough this morning?” another nod. “good. come grab someone if you get worse.”

it’s less than ten seconds. he’s only in one event. and it’s nationals, for crying out loud. even if he was dying eita still wouldn’t give up his chance to run.

but when he finally steps into his lane, he feels like his insides have been replaced with cotton. he squeezes his eyes shut and his vision clears, but he still feels slow, heavy. uncoordinated.

at least he knows he can stay in-between his own set of lines. he has enough awareness to position himself with the others, and to hear the signal to start.

that’s about the only thing he remembers. one of the coaches hands him a water when he comes off the track, tells him to eat something. he sits in the grass and drains half the bottle, then nearly passes out.

eventually he does end up falling asleep. he doesn’t feel any better when he’s woken up, but he’s regained enough awareness to put that as secondary, and his results as priority.

when he sees them his heart falls.

at eita’s first athletics nationals for the 100m sprint he clocks in at 8.6 seconds. the time is still leagues above his peers, and the only ones ahead of him are third-years.

he places fourth.

even with a remarkable time in his less-than-perfect condition, it’s still not enough for a medal.

the head coach finds him on the field as the sun is setting, and everything is beginning to wrap up. he sits easy beside eita, who rests with his head on his knees. “you still feel sick?”

“sorta?” eita mumbles. he’d eaten lunch, and drank a lot of water and pocari, and camped out in the shade near the bleachers. he’d thought, briefly, about watching other events -at the very least the event of the senpai who’d watched out for him- but he just hadn’t felt well enough to try.

“you timed in at under nine seconds feeling like shit,” coach says bluntly, and eita blinks, moving his head to face him properly. he shrugs. “c’mon, semi, you’re sixteen. i know you’ve heard worse.”

he wasn’t wrong, but it still was a little unexpected.

“you’re the only sixteen-year-old to place in the top twenty. wanna know how i know? because there’s only fifteen slots for 100 meter at nationals, and there’s not another first year around who’s come even close to touching those times. i’ve had enough people on my ass this afternoon telling me that to start to believe it.”

“people have been talking about me?” eita mutters in quiet disbelief.

“yeah, kid, had to beat ‘em off with a stick. wasn’t gonna let anyone interview you while you still looked like you would keel over at any moment. i saved you the trouble, let me tell you.”

he leans back further, gaze rising to the sky, as eita blinks and tries to come to terms with this.

“you didn’t do as well as you wanted, but you still did pretty damn amazing. fourth in the country out of people between sixteen and eighteen is nothing to scoff at. you’ve given me a lot to consider.”

eita looks up. “like what?”

coach shrugs, climbing to his feet and holding out a hand for eita. “i’ll decide on the train. you’ll hear about it by the time the new term starts.” he grins, pulls eita close to pat him on the back. “good work today. can’t wait to see what you’ll do when you’re in good condition.”

as promised, eita is greeted with news coming into the second term. big news.

even though he didn’t place at nationals, the head coach allows him a training exemption -two days a week with the team, and that was it. that was all he was obligated for, anyway. if he wanted to show up every day, they’d be happy to have him. if he wanted to focus on his own regimen, well, the staff knew how serious he was, and were happy to oblige him to a certain extent.

semi forks over his adjusted training regimen and has it added on to by one of the assistant coaches, and then sent loose. he pushes himself, balancing mediocre classwork with punishing workouts, and begins to spend less and less time with the team as a whole.

winter break comes and he again borrows one of the gym keys -this time asking the head coach directly. the granted request marks a sudden shift in eita’s mindset. they’re watching me, he realizes. it’s euphoric. he’s a first-year at a powerhouse school like shiratorizawa, and yet he’s being given this special attention.

by the time third term rolls around, it’s too cold to bother with anything but indoor workouts. eita is a regular occurrence in the staff room to borrow and return the gym key. he takes care of his health when he goes running outside. and he pushes himself, faster and harder and further and higher, to the point it becomes noticeable by his peers when he shows up for team practice that he was aiming for another level.

year 2 |

eita gets asked at the opening ceremony to show up to the first day of tryouts, so during the second week of the new term, he forgoes his study period to head out early to the field. none of the first-years are there yet, since school isn’t technically out, but a handful of second and third-years are, gathered close with the coaching staff.

there’s no skirting around them, especially since he didn’t know the reason his presence was required. one of the assistant coaches gets his attention and beckons him closer.

“i’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” he says, and eita nods. he grins, holding up a stopwatch next. “it’s about time to reevaluate your record, right?”

oh. oh. suddenly he feels a million times more excited.

“there’s a little more to it than that,” he continues, but eita could care less at this point. “not that you stuck around long enough to see it, but those of you here are our little exhibition gang for the next few days. something for the new kids to be excited about. it’s one thing to know shiratorizawa’s accolades by name, but it’s another thing entirely to see the competition yourself. so we’re re-assessing a handful of you now rather than at official practice, and in return, the first-years get to see what the track and field team is made of.”

“fine by me,” eita answers, nearly unable to keep still. he was used to being watched at this point. and this was beneficial for him, too, so who cared, really?

the coach rolls his eyes. “somehow i knew you’d be less-than-interested in that last part. but that’s okay. the group for day one is everyone you see here, and there will be separate groups for the other two days, so after we’re done with you today we’ll just see you again when practice starts.”

eita was ushered off to join the other students until tryouts began, with instructions to come find that particular short-distance coach so they could time him and cut him loose. he’s greeted after a minute by the relay girl he’d met at nationals, and they engage in idle conversation about the new school year until a plethora of students start to trickle in through the gates.

“i know it’s intended to be the other way around, but this is a good chance to observe them, too,” she ends up saying, and eita, confused, turns back to her. she rolls her eyes. “you never know who’ll end up being your competition. i remember last year, everyone was kinda shocked when a first-year timed in at under ten seconds on a sprint.”

it takes him a moment -too long, really- to catch on, but when he does, he sits up straight in a hurry, pointing to himself. she throws her head back and laughs, her long ponytail trailing on the track.

“you do what you want,” she tells him. “but keep in mind: it’s not a bad idea to watch at how they do.”

one of the older girls calls to her, and she jumps up to go get her hair braided before tryouts really began. eita sits, partially shocked, and thinks that this year, it would maybe be a good idea to not be so self-absorbed.

he thinks that, but in actuality, he doesn’t engage with the first-years at all. he stays around the short-distance group his assigned coach was watching over, and while he’s close enough to watch, he’s also far enough for them to not try and engage him. it probably helps that he’s in his track jacket, so they know he’s an upperclassman and not another first-year for them to try and make friends with.

the coach signals for him after he’s warmed up, and eita moves to the track where a third-year short-distance runner was waiting. his arms go over his head in a stretch as the third-year takes a seat near him on the infield, glancing to the coach waiting at the finish mark.

“okay,” eita puffs out, crouching down. “ready.”

the third-year moves to face their coach entirely, cupping his hands over his mouth to be heard over the bustle that was tryouts. eita’s fingertips tense on the track.

“go!” he shouts, more for the coach’s benefit than eita’s own, and eita rockets off. any lingering thoughts he’d had before that moment evaporate. he has a sole focus, leaving no room for anything, not even the pounding of his heart in his chest.

he breaks around three feet after the line, puffing out breaths and feeling the heat of the sun stark on his skin after the exertion. after giving himself a moment he turns to see the coach jotting something down on a clipboard. he glances up and nods at eita, and eita comes closer, meeting up with the third-year that hangs half a step back.

“6.1,” he’s told, and eita’s eyes widen. even if it’s within expectations, the notion that he’d improved is sending him. his mind keeps flashing back to the scoreboard at fukui, to the leading two times. if he could outrun those now, and he would only keep getting better, then. then-

“you’ve shaved off .3 seconds from this time last year. very nice.” the coach nods behind eita, and eita cocks his head slightly and then turns it fully over his shoulder when he finds the head coach standing close by, hands on his hips.

“nice going, kid,” he says, and eita nods. a clap on his shoulder has him looking forward again. the third-year is grinning, lips pulled wide enough to show teeth.

“that’s amazing, semi-kun! i’ve never met anyone with that kinda time before.”

“thanks,” he mutters, suddenly numbed by all the praise. shit, he could be able to thank this guy by name. he didn’t even know what event he ran. was it the 300m? the 150?

the hand moves from his shoulder to his hair, ruffling the two-toned strands, but eita is unbothered, letting it happen. “we’re done, right?” he asks the short-distance coach.

“you two can go,” he assures them. “but take semi by the mids before that. i want him to see kawanishi, and they should be about to start.”

“got it!”

eita lets himself be dragged away, towards another end of the field. “who’s kawanishi?” he mumbles.

“a first-year high jumper. well, that’s what he’s known for, but field events are tomorrow, and they wanted him to try an 800 meter today.”

“hm.”

they take a seat near the mids group, more aligned with the edge of the track. it’s easy enough to spot kawanishi before he’s pointed out to eita -he’s the tallest one there. definitely looked like a high jumper. did he even have the stamina for two laps? long legs weren’t everything.

but thoughts like those quickly dissipate when the first six are lined up and take off. he tunes out his upperclassman to watch, overanalyzing as the mid-distance runners ran around the track. kawanishi wasn’t bad, actually. he needed to pace himself better, but if they thought he was a good fit, the coaches would teach him how.

his form is good. eita hasn’t seen textbook form like that in a long time. he wonders, briefly, if that was kawanishi’s style, or if he didn’t know any other way just yet.

regardless, he clocks in first out of his group. when he crosses the line eita finds that he’s been leaning forward, and sits back in a hurry. his companion muffles a laugh and eita huffs, standing. “that was it, right?”

“almost,” the third-year says, cheerful, and jumps to his feet as well. “swing by the clubroom with me. i’m supposed to give you taiju’s things.” eita must look confused again, because he’s grabbed by the elbow and hauled off. “geez, you’ve never been to the clubroom, huh? i know you don’t show up to practice that much, but c’mon, semi-kun, that’s like, a sacred space! especially now that you’re a second-year, you should practically be living there!”

“i remember a taiju, i think,” eita mutters.

“he was the third-year 100 meter runner the year before. club vice captain? clocked in at ninth in nationals? any of this ringing a bell?”

“uh, sorry,” eita ends up saying, throwing his head back.

“dude, don’t beat yourself up about it.” they stop and eita looks back down to see the other jangling a key into a scuffed door. “he’s only the guy you outran while you were on the verge of heat exhaustion.” he snickers. “plus, he’s gone now, so there’s no one around to offend, right? let me look -ah, here it is.” he pulls out a stack from a cubby and gestures eita closer. “coach wanted you to have his keys, said something about you not bothering him anymore for ‘em.”

“oh.” eita takes them numbly. “thanks.”

the other shrugs. “eh, he said it fondly, so i don’t think he was too pinched up about it. take care of those, alright? here, he left these too.”

eita is handed a thin plastic bag, and his grip goes tighter on it when he realizes what they were. “really?”

“yeah, he wasn’t gonna run in college, so he left his spare spikes here. they’re pretty cool, i think he got them from overseas. well, it’s your choice if you wanna use them, alright? don’t feel like you have to or anything.”

“i don’t really use spikes,” eita admits. “i mean, i haven’t really tried.”

“first time for everything, right?” when eita looks up the third-year is smiling. “if you do decide to try ‘em out, you’ll have top-dollar ones to experiment with.”

this year really was . . starting to look different. and season hadn’t even started yet.

the second week of practice, and the third time semi shows up in the new term, the track team is graced by a visitor.

eita is collapsed on the slanted part of the hill leading away from the track after an exercise, breathing deep and clenching a water bottle tight in his hands. he raises it up for a drink when a loud ‘HEY!’ gets his attention, and ends up squirting water in his face, gasping at the cold sensation. one of the other runners near him breaks out into laughter. he’s not the only one, and eita sits up to look over his shoulder, catching the offender as he meanders down the hill.

he’s tall, even doubled-over, having caught sight of eita’s accident and burst into this howling laughter that immediately gains the attention of everyone around who had overlooked him. eita purses his lips, setting the bottle in the grass between his legs.

“s-sorry, i didn’t meant to scare ya like that!” he assures eita, but his expression suggests he didn’t quite mean it.

“what are you doing here, tendou?” someone asks, and now eita has a name to put with the face.

“just checking in,” he says, waving the other off. he’s still in his school uniform, eita notes, even after school had been out for a- wait, checking in for what!?

“student council need something?” someone else asks. “what did we do for the vice president himself to come all the way out here?”

tendou flaps his hand harder, if possible. “nothing! i’m serious. i’m supposed to go check in with the clubs throughout the week, see that everything is running smoothly. it’s just a courtesy visit.”

“where’s ushijima, then? the president too good for courtesy visits?”

“waka’s at practice,” tendou states, a little too blunt. he stops short, hands in his pockets now, and a little too close for eita’s liking. “he’s done his share, so i told him to skip out today. i’ll bring him next time.” he perks up. “oh! yama’s here! later!”

he runs off, shouting loudly for one of the mid-distance runners, and eita collapses in the grass again, breathing out slow now that the wake of the hurricane has passed.

it’s the same day the following week that the student council shows up at the track field. eita spots the shock of red hair from across the field and inwardly grimaces. as expected, over time the volume rises, and by the time eita’s group is given a moment to cool down, two sets of footsteps are fast approaching.

“oh, perfect, you’re done,” tendou addresses the group as a whole, and eita closes his eyes as he flops to the ground, no longer willing to squint up at the bright sun.

“for now,” someone says.

“hey, you brought the president this time!” someone else says, and eita risks the sun to open his eyes.

before he can make out the other properly, coach is urging them all to get up. three laps around the track, and then they were good to go. eita is relieved, honestly. it had been a long enough practice already, and he didn’t really wanna be stuck around the two outsiders for longer than necessary.

his luck doesn’t last, though, as his name is called halfway through his second lap. eita slows to a jog, then stops entirely when he sees just who was vying for his attention, trying his best not to gawk.

the man was a hulk, for lack of a better word. if he hadn’t been in a student uniform, eita would’ve thought him a teacher. he blinks, pointing to himself, and the guy nods, moving down the hill a little to get closer. eita purses his lips, looks to the side at the others running, then sighs and moves to the outside lane.

“who’s this guy, waka?” tendou asks, and damn if he didn’t come out of nowhere, making eita jump, unable to contain himself as he’s startled. tendou blinks in surprise, then his face lights up, placing eita from the week before.

“semi eita,” waka says. “we’re in the same class.”

“we-” eita cuts himself off before he can finish embarrassing himself. if this guy says they were, eita would believe him. the student council president definitely had more social awareness than the likes of him.

he seems to catch on anyways, frowning slightly and offering his hand. eita takes it after hesitating long enough for it to matter. “ushijima wakatoshi,” he tells eita, and eita nods, reminding himself to commit the name to memory.

“hah? you mean you have waka in class and don’t even remember?” tendou starts laughing. “how do you miss a presence like that?”

eita turns his head to the side, fighting back a blush. ushijima must take pity on him, because he gestures to another group of people further down the way. “satori, there’s still more people, right?”

“yeah, yeah, go on ahead,” tendou says, waving him off. ushijima shrugs.

“good to see you, semi-kun.”

“uh, sure,” eita mumbles.

he turns to get back into a center lane, but tendou stops him. “hey, wait! i wanted to ask you something.”

eita’s careful as he bites down on his lip. “what is it?”

“your hair is neat!” tendou’s smile shows all his teeth, this time. “did you do it yourself?”

“oh.” eita reaches up subconsciously, fingering the darker tips. “yeah, last summer.” he probably needed to do it again, since he’d gotten his hair cut since then. though he’d really just been planning on growing it out, so that he wouldn’t have to mess with it for a while.

before tendou can say anything else, eita points to the track. “i’m. um. gonna go.”

“yeah yeah yeah.” tendou flaps his hand again and eita fights back a grimace. must be a habit or something. “thanks for letting me steal your time. i’ll let you get back to it.”

eita picks a different day of the week to show up for practice. the reason he gives isn’t anything special, but he was unwilling to admit the true reason was so that he could avoid the student council.

unfortunately it doesn’t matter.

he has his shoes off so he can balance his heel on his shoulder better, camped out on the grass a little further apart from the others moving about the field. once he feels like he can do it, he leans back and uses his hand to push his leg up by the ankle, until it’s extended all the way in the air. he sets his other hand back in the grass and breathes out, mentally counting down to when he could release.

“damn, you’re pretty flexible, huh?”

eita’s arm falters and his leg curls a little. he leans back to see around it, and his face goes carefully blank when he sees tendou satori standing there. he lets his leg drop fully, foot loud on the grass.

“what?”

“bet that’s good for all sorts of things,” tendou says, and eita frowns. he really needed to stretch his other leg, but like hell was he going to put himself on display for tendou to see, not after that comment. he moves his arm across his chest instead, looking straight ahead across the field.

“don’t you have other people to bother?” he says after he’s done with both arms, then promptly snaps his jaw shut, a little mortified. he hadn’t meant to say that. out loud.

tendou takes it in stride, laughing as he settles on the grass. “i’m just checking up,” he assures eita. “don’t have to go talk to everyone. i’m too busy today anyways.”

“then why me?” eita mutters, and if his ears are red then he can’t help it.

“you’re interesting.” eita frowns, glancing over at him. “no, really. i’m not being mean or anything. you just seem like a cool guy, semi-kun.”

“i’m pretty average,” he mumbles.

“yama says you’re good at your event.”

eita raises a brow and tendou rolls his eyes. “seriously? do you know anyone in your grade? yamagata hayato! he’s a mid-distance runner?”

“um.” eita turns away again. “uh.”

“semi! you ready or what?” someone shouts from across the field. eita takes the chance and climbs to his feet.

“gotta go,” he mutters. then he leaves tendou to sit there.

“waka!” a voice drawls out, and eita, who had bent down to retrieve a fallen object, jumps, ramming his head on the underside of his desk. he breathes out in pain, moving back to his knees, and his hand comes up to feel around his head.

“oh? semisemi, is that you?”

“what?” eita opens his eyes to squint, glancing to the open classroom door. tendou stood in front of it, one hand still on the handle.

“what are you doing on the ground, semisemi?” tendou moves fully into the near-empty room, hands in his pockets. eita drops his hand from his hair and slowly moves to his feet.

“that’s not my name,” he mutters, placing his pen back on his desk.

“oh, come now.” tendou waves his hand. “haven’t you ever heard of nicknames?”

“don’t people get those from their friends?”

tendou stumbles back for dramatics, holding a hand over his heart. “semisemi! you wound me. and here i thought we had something special.”

eita rolls his eyes and resumes packing up his bag.

“hey, have you seen waka around?”

“ushijima-san already left. no, i don’t know where.”

“oh. hum. too bad.” tendou’s eyes are still on him, curious, and he leans back against an empty desk. “you’re not in a rush to leave. no practice today?”

“not today,” eita answers, zipping his bag shut. it was actually one of his days off, since he’d been coerced into taking a day of rest during the week, so there wasn’t any self-practice, either. hm. actually, now that he thought about it, maybe he shouldn’t have said-

“then come do something with me!” tendou proclaims, and eita falters, missing he bag’s straps and dropping it down onto the chair instead. he forgets it momentarily to stare up at tendou, who doesn’t give him a moment to refuse or reconsider. “i have to gain that friendship status if i want nickname rights, right? don’t suddenly tell me you have stuff to do, either! even if you do, well, i’ll just come with you! moral support! the works!”

he truthfully only caught about half of that, and that was enough for a headache to develop. eita frowns and picks up his bag proper. “i don’t have anything to do,” he mumbles. “but-”

“so it’s settled!”

“don’t you have student council things to take care of?”

“already done!” tendou kicks off the ground to sit fully on the desk, swinging his legs in the air. “i was gonna grab waka, but this works better! c’mon, semisemi, we’ll do anything you want. it’s your off day, so you can treat yourself, right? let’s go get ice cream! i’ll buy you some taiyaki! can’t go wrong with kakigori!”

“why are they all food related?” eita mutters, then shakes his head. “fine, okay. we can go.”

“yes!” tendou jumps from the desk and raises his arms high. the next moment he’s dragging eita from the classroom and down the hall. “oh this is gonna be so much fun. there’s a combini not far from here me and waka hit up sometimes, they have the cutest cashier, you’ll love it, i swear.”

eita pulls his phone out on the outskirts of school grounds, sending a quick message to his mom that he’d be home later than usual. tendou catches on and stops talking, trailing back from where he’s ahead of eita to look down at the phone.

“who’s that?”

“my mom?” eita snaps the phone shut and stuffs it in a pocket. “i’m usually home by now on fridays, so.”

“you don’t live in the dorms?” eita shakes his head and tendou hums, leaning his head back with one hand under his chin. “come to think of it, i’ve never seen you around. still, i didn’t think we had any commuters at shiratorizawa.”

“home isn’t far,” eita mutters. “school is already expensive as is.”

“you don’t have a sports scholarship?”

“it doesn’t cover it all,” eita admits. “really, it’s not that big a deal. can we talk about something else?”

tendou loops his arm through eita’s own. “sure thing, semisemi!” he gets dragged up a set of steps, then automatic doors open for a rush of cold air to greet them. “here’s the place i was talking about. taka-chan! hi!”

eita looks over to see the girl behind the register wave at them, a slightly exasperated smile on her face. he’s tugged over to the freezer before he can contemplate that.

they sit against the railings outside the store while they eat so they can catch the shade. it’s not bad. tendou had paid for his melon ice, and it was amazing to watch him tackle his own double popsicle, insisting he could finish both.

eita ends up finishing first, and in the end they start moving before tendou has a chance to toss his second popsicle stick. they trail up the road and tendou starts whining when he’s halfway done, complaining of a stomachache.

“gari-gari-kun would be disappointed,” eita drones, as he watches melted blue spill onto the sidewalk. tendou whines louder and eita hides a snort with both hands, turning his head away.

“so mean to me, semisemi. won’t even help me finish.”

“you took on that challenge all on your own. leave me out of it.”

“mmmm, i guess.” tendou sighs and drops the hand with the now-empty stick to his side. his fingers are all sticky. “hey, where are we going?”

eita perks up. “you have to go back, right? i was-”

“yeah,” tendou drawls, cutting eita off. “but not now. being there is so stifling sometimes. plus, i’ll have to work when i get back!”

eita raises a brow. “i thought you said you already finished?” tendou turns away and his lips curl up. “or is this you running away?”

“it’s n-” tendou cuts himself off, face suddenly as red as his hair. “not,” he mutters, quieter. “maybe,” he finishes.

“the vice president, skipping out on his duties.” eita shakes his head. “what will people think?”

“nothing if you don’t tell them,” tendou bites, moving closer and raising his sticky hands. “got it, semisemi?”

eita moves back, shuddering. “don’t you dare.”

“i bought you ice cream.”

“i took you off campus.”

“i made your day more exciting!” tendou winks and eita rolls his eyes.

“i’m indulging you.”

“yeah, you are.” tendou steps back. “let me walk you home.”

“huh?”

“you have to go back, right?” he says, echoing eita’s earlier words. “i’ll take you there. don’t worry, i’m good with directions, and i have waka on speed-dial if i get lost.”

eita blinks. “if you’re trying to be convincing you’re doing a terrible job. what’s in it for me?”

“getting to bring a friend home to your mom?”

eita crosses his arms over his chest. tendou tries again.

“helping a friend shirk his responsibilities for a little longer?”

“mhmm.”

“semisemi, please! i’m begging you!” he falls to the ground. “i’m on my knees!”

eita, unable to contain his act any longer, bursts into laughter. tendou’s expression breaks as he realizes he’s being messed with, and he reaches forward with his hands again. eita jumps back, laughing harder, a little more panicked now. tendou stumbles to his feet and eita runs off, not surprised that the other follows.

“i have long legs, semisemi!” tendou calls.

“if you think that means you can outrun me, that’s a bad call,” eita answers, speeding up around a corner. he spins on his heel to break and presses himself to the concrete wall, watching with baited breath as tendou appears and moves right past him, then pauses several paces away, confused.

“this is my street,” eita admits, and tendou whips around. eita points ahead. “we just go all the way down, then take a left. easy, right?”

“oh.” tendou stops, panting from the exertion. “easy,” he echoes. “sure.” he swallows, regaining some of his composure. “you can run really fast.”

eita raises a brow and tendou waves him off. “i know, i know. let’s just go already.”

there’s a practice meet with two other schools a week before midterms. perhaps because of this, shiratorizawa hosts, enabling their live-in student population the option of not having to travel while they were busy trying to cram for tests.

for eita, it didn’t really matter that much. he had always tested well. as long as he had the practical portions down, any sort of written exam wasn’t something he bothered himself with stressing over.

the rest of the team was another story. he discovers this when he walks into the clubroom on the day of the meet.

papers are strewn absolutely everywhere, enough so that he has a hard time walking around them all. about seven people are gathered around the low table in the corner, and the rest are laid out across the floor, each inhabiting their own space with textbooks, highlighters, notecards -the works. eita feels like he’s entered through a portal into another world. his presence doesn’t get much attention. those that do notice only offer a simple greeting before resuming their studying.

eita does his best to maneuver around it all and plant himself in front of his cubby, pushing his bag into the space and unbuttoning his summer uniform. he pulls on a loose shirt and ties his jacket to his waist, and only then does he bother addressing the room as a whole.

“y’know, there’s only an hour until we start,” he says, raising his voice just a little. it takes a moment for everyone to process, and then one more for the tumultuous effect to appear, people scrambling to their feet, the sound of books shutting audible as they raced to get out of their uniforms.

eita opts to leave the chaos behind, trailing from the room with his shoes in hand.

there’s already people at the field, but they all leave eita alone. he walks along the concrete until another path becomes unavoidable, then sits out of the way to put his shoes on, observing the surroundings as he does so.

the ones in green he thinks are datekogyo. he doesn’t know about the others -he hadn’t really asked, either. eita rolls onto the grass proper and moves himself into a more isolated corner of the hill, spreading his legs out in front of him.

“semi-san?”

“mm?” he pulls his head back to see a ginger in purple standing behind him. something about him is strangely familiar.

“mii-san is looking for you. said something about causing an uproar earlier.”

it takes a moment to click, and when it does eita resumes stretching with a snort. “their own fault,” he mutters. “where is she?”

“helping another school get settled.”

“that’s the captain for ya.” eita throws his arms over his head and locks his hands in a stretch. “okay, thanks for telling me. i’ll go see her in a minute.”

“taichi!” someone calls, and the shadow over eita disappears. he locks his knees and splays out sideways on the ground, twisting to stretch his midsection and hips at the same time.

mii’s long hair is already braided when he reaches her. she’s still in conversation, but pins him with a look that has him stiffen where he stands, waiting until she’s done. when she breaks away, it’s to a stab a finger to his chest that has eita reflexively moving back.

“i know you were trying to help, but have some tact next time, please.” she rolls her eyes as eita opens his mouth to protest. “some of them practically live in the clubroom right now. they’re stressed enough as is with midterms coming up. don’t make it worse.”

“got it,” he mutters.

“tai-kun grabbed you, right?”

eita raises his head, blinks. “the . . ginger?”

“oh.” mii covers a laugh with her hand and eita frowns. “i thought you had gotten better with names. kawanishi taichi. the first year in high jump? you saw him at tryouts, right?”

“isn’t he a mid?” eita remembers the face, now that he thinks about it. “his form was all stiff, though.”

“that’s what he’s trying today. i think they wanted him on a 300 too, but his field event happens at the same time, so it’s a no-go.” she shrugs, and a call of her name captures her attention. “anyway, i just wanted you to see him again. play nice with the first years today!”

short-distance events are the last of the running events this time -if you didn’t count relays, that is- so that gives eita plenty of time to warmup and then sit back and do whatever. it’s during some of this downtime that a loud call of his full name has him turning to attention, spying a burly man in dark green approaching.

eita points to himself in question and the man’s face lights up. “i thought so!” he calls, louder even as he’s far closer than last time. “it’s been- oh, right! introductions.” he holds out a hand. “i’m kamasaki yasushi! we ran against each other in-”

“middle school,” eita finishes, finally placing the face. “you’ve gotten taller. uh. a lot taller.”

kamasaki throws his head back and laughs, loud enough to attract unwanted attention. if eita hadn’t already been subjected to the whirlwind known as tendou satori, he might’ve been intimidated.

“word is you’ve gotten faster! can’t wait to see it in person.” he holds out a fist. “may the best man win.”

eita bumps it with his own, accepting the challenge. “sure thing.”

he ends up corralled into watching the mid-distance events, having nothing better to do at that point. one in particular catches his attention, and he squints down at the track as he spies familiar ginger hair.

“oh, taichi-kun?” reo, one of the particular people that had roped him into this activity, and the secondary vice captain of the team, reclines back in his seat in the stands. he moves his hands from behind his head to below his chin as he muses. “hmm. i think it’s just the 800 meter today. he should do pretty well. he’s loosened up since pre-season, at least. but if you want my opinion, haya-chan is beating out everyone today.”

eita must look as outwardly confused as he feels inside, because reo rocks forward to point over the railing, at another shiratorizawa athlete pacing near the starting line. “yamagata hayato. he’s a second-year like you.”

“i’ve heard of him,” eita mutters.

reo smirks, leaning back again. “well, guess that’s the bare minimum. his older brother, hayashi, has the school record for the 600 meter. he was outgoing when i was a first-year, got injured or something, so that’s about all i know. haya-chan’s real serious about running. he’s kinda like you, in that respect. though, he definitely has more social awareness.”

eita hunches further into his seat. “you don’t have to rub it in.”

reo laughs, reaching over to slap eita’s back. “i’m just messing with you! cheer up, kid.”

“hm.”

he can’t lie that he’s intrigued by yamagata, knowing he was the one tendou was always running to when he showed for practice. but as the first heat lines up, his attention diverts to kawanishi.

eita doesn’t really . . mid-distance events were fine, but it still took a minute for the results. it wasn’t like watching short-distance, way less engaging, but it was at least more entertaining than watching the mile-runners.

eita’s interest dips after the first several seconds, and he feels his eyes wander over the gathered crowd in the stands. he’s not sure who he’s looking for, among all the students that had come out perhaps for a break from studying, but he doesn’t find them before there’s a swell in noise that has him facing the track again, watching several runners enter the last lap.

kawanishi taichi’s form really has loosened, but he’s not sure that’s a good thing. he seems more lanky in his movements now, and while his long legs made up for it, the dip in speed was still noticeable.

he ends up crossing the finish line in third. it’s close, but there’s still another heat, so eita has doubts about him placing.

“not bad,” reo mumbles, leaned on the railing. he crosses his arms over each other and looks over at eita. “for someone new at it.”

“good point,” eita answers. he watches as yamagata moves to clap his junior on the back, taking his place in the same lane. eita can’t tell -he thinks kawanishi looks off-put. whether it’s from the results or yamagata’s reassurance is up in the air.

“i think haya-chan is really gunning for ishikawa this year,” reo notes.

eita blinks. “ishi- what’s there?”

“nationals.”

eita frowns. “there hasn’t been a confirmed location yet.”

reo rolls his eyes. “my god, you and mii are both the same. it’s between ishikawa and ibaraki. and ishikawa is further to travel to, so why not get my hopes up for it?”

“but we went to the west coast last year.”

“ishikawa is twice as long a trip as ibaraki,” reo argues, holding up two fingers and moving them apart to illustrate his point.

“i think you need to get out more,” semi says, before the other can begin a tirade he really doesn’t want to hear.

“all i’m saying is-”

the starting shot interrupts reo, and they both turn to watch as the second heat takes off. yamagata instantly pulls a lead, but he’s pacing himself, because it doesn’t last, two people on his heels once they’re out of the first bend. eita loses interest on the second straight, but reo’s narration keeps him entertained enough to keep his eyes from wandering.

“see how they’re dropping off now? but watch haya-chan. he’s not speeding up or slowing down -it’s all been the same pace since the beginning.”

he was right. lap two comes around, and everyone besides yamagata was beginning to stagger, losing form or speed as they tried to push themselves, or recover from an earlier stint. he comes around the final bend several paces ahead of the rest, and in the final stretch pushes off into a dead sprint, easily placing first.

“wow,” eita mutters, as he lets reo stand and wrap an arm around his neck and shout in celebration. the crowd goes crazy and then settles as the results are compiled, and reo releases eita to stretch his arms above his head.

“alright, time for me to go.”

“good luck out there,” eita tells him, and he tosses him a thumbs-up in return before running off.

eita is on the infield, spread-eagle, when it finally gets dark enough to switch on the stadium floodlights. he takes it in stride, eyeing the setting sun, and is grateful that there was no school the following day.

“must be nice to have a two minute walk home,” he mutters to himself, thinking about everyone that lived on campus.

“there you are, semi! ready to go?”

he looks up from his legs to see the head coach ambling over. he can’t make out his eyes underneath the shade of the hat he wore, but his lips were pulled into a low grin, and that was enough to go on.

“ready,” he replies. “you sticking around to watch?”

“well, i’ll see what happens. there are a few things going on that i’ll have my eye on.”

eita nods, bending his legs so the bottoms of his feet press together. his shoes are in the grass to the side. coach eyes them for a moment.

“you got taiju’s old spikes, right? thought about trying them out yet?”

eita hums. “maybe. i don’t know. that seems like a big change to make.” he relaxes his legs, sitting up properly. “what i do now works.”

coach shrugs. “just a thought. you do what you want.” his pocket buzzes and he pulls out his phone. “hm. gotta run. i’ll find you again later, alright?”

“yeah.” eita waves him off, settling back to pull on his shoes and tighten the laces.

there’s only one heat for the 100m, and it supercharges eita, knowing he didn’t get the chance to instantly know results like this very often. kamasaki catches his eye from the far lane, but eita only distractedly nods at him, already slipping into hyper-focus mode. his record for the new term was 6.1s. as long as he aimed for that, he was golden.

he presses his fingerpads onto the track, looking up from them to eye the finish line. in, and out.

the breeze ruffles his hair, but he’s never let his bangs grow long enough to fall into his eyes. everything he does prepares him to run. every inconvenience considered.

his toes curl in his shoes, and very briefly, he wonders what a little more traction would feel like.

then the signal fires, and all his wonders disappear, taken up by one single focus.

he breaks easy three steps after the line, one foot in front of the other, and takes a moment to breathe. then he looks up to the scoreboard, not a moment too late, results flickering into the screen.

6.12 seconds. that was his time. second place was in the nines, and everyone else fell from there.

eita breathes out again, lifting his hands to rest on his head. that was the best he’d ever done, and it was for a practice meet.

“god, semi, they really weren’t kidding with saying you got faster!”

eita snaps out of it as kamasaki approaches. he didn’t catch the first part, but context wasn’t needed as he continues, so eita forgets about it.

“six seconds? that’s almost unbelievable, man.” kamasaki shakes his head. “here i was, thinking my height gave me an edge. you sure proved me wrong.”

eita glances at the scores again, confirming kamasaki’s time was second. “yours is still good,” he says, and kamasaki wrinkles his nose, so he presses on. “no, really. it’s not pity. that’s a top time in miyagi for sure.”

kamasaki laughs, but it’s awkward. his hand lands on eita’s shoulder. “well, thanks. good job today. it’s hard to believe we’re the same age.”

a roar from the crowd leaves them both distracted, and eita angles his head to the side of the field. “what’s that?” he mutters.

“i think high jump is still going on,” kamasaki confesses. “or maybe it’s triple. listen, i gotta run, i’m in a relay event soon. it was good to see you!” he pounds a fist to his chest. “next time i won’t lose!”

eita watches him go, replaying their conversation in his head as something catches his attention. he only realizes it was the comment about height, the same thing tendou had said to him, when mii comes up from behind and pokes at the backs of his knees, leaving him stumbling forward.

“sorry i missed it, but hey, that time speaks for itself,” she says, laughing off his annoyed expression. “seriously, how are you a highschooler? that much dedication should be illegal.”

“you really sure you wanna say that, captain?” eita quips.

she raises her hands in surrender. “hey, all i’m saying is that there are limits. you better do well on midterms, alright, or coach will have my head. even if you’re not here full-time, you’re still my responsibility as part of the team.” she hums, prying off her headband and smoothing back her hair so she can readjust it. “oh yeah, satori was looking for you earlier.”

eita perks up. “tendou?”

“don’t know what the vice pres wants, but he seemed pretty adamant about it, so i thought i’d warn you.” she jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “he should be near that way somewhere. well, field events are over now, so maybe now. worth a shot though.” she shrugs. “relay is starting, so i’m off. come watch if you have time!”

“good luck,” eita calls, moving away as well.

even with the swell in people, it’s not hard to spot tendou. ushijima is with him, but upon noticing eita, tendou breaks away to meet him, waving wildly.

“semisemi! i can’t believe you were competing- listen, this event we were watching was crazy! that first year you got has some serious talent.”

eita, confused, tips his head. “elaborate.”

“high jump! kawanishi-kun! yama made us watch, and wow, i’m glad he did. oh, did you see yama run? he’s pretty amazing, right? that’s really what i came for, but yama promised kawanishi-kun he’d watch his event, and then we got roped into it, and now the sun isn’t out anymore, but y’know, no school tomorrow, so it’s cool-”

“tendou,” eita interrupts, watching the other’s jaw snap shut. “mii-san said you needed me.”

“mayu? oh right! come with me!” tendou takes him by the arm and drags him forward, until they’re near ushijima again. “waka! look! i found him!”

“it was more like i found you,” eita mutters, but it goes unnoticed.

“hello, semi-kun,”ushijima says. eita nods back. “i look forward to working with you.”

“what?” eita stumbles, caught off-guard.

ushijima hums, taking his reaction in stride, then turns to tendou. “satori, you didn’t tell him yet, did you?”

tendou waves him off. “not yet, waka, geez, way to jump the gun. where’s yama?”

“with his junior.”

“oh fine then, forget about him. hey, semisemi, listen.” he turns to grab eita by both shoulders, and eita, shocked, lets it happen. “i need a favor.”

his lips downturn, slightly. “w-what?”

“be on our relay team for sports day.”

“huh?” eita deadpans, mentally tracking the dates. “but that’s weeks away!”

“it’s on june fifth,” ushijima supplies, and eita’s eyes fall shut.

“and student council’s already planned it,” he realizes. “why me, exactly?”

“we need a fourth person!” tendou finally releases him, stepping back. “and you’re perfect! no matter how far behind we are, if we put you as the last leg, it’s a guaranteed win! at least, that’s what yama said,” he finishes, trailing off and losing some of his energy with the last bit.

eita’s brows rise. “you have no idea, do you?”

tendou snaps his fingers. “relay runner. right? that’s why yama-”

“those are going on now.”

tendou falters, but he regains his energy in a heartbeat. “please be on our team!” he holds a thumbs-up and eita’s arms cross over his chest.

“if it’s that important to you, i suppose i can consider.”

“you’re messing with me again, aren’t you?” tendou mutters, turning his hand so it’s a thumbs-down.

eita snorts. “who plans out stuff this far in advance?”

“me! it’s literally my job!”

“oh, right.”

tendou sighs, turning to ushijima and slowly shaking his head.

eita shrugs. “well, if that’s all you-”

“wait, wait!” tendou yells, stopping up. “it’s late. come eat with us.”

“i can’t leave until this is all over,” eita admits, a little touched by the invite.

“then i’ll bring you something. you must be starved from being out here so long. here, give me your line.”

eita feels strangely coerced, as he enters his line info into tendou’s phone, but he doesn’t mind, either. his own phone was still sitting in his jacket, out on the field. he should probably go grab it.

“just sit somewhere i can reach you,” tendou tells him, and eita assures him he would, waving the two off. he could at least get his jacket before retreating to the outskirts again. it was cold, even for may. and tendou was right -he was hungry. even if he went home to a hot meal waiting, it would still have to be after everything was wrapped up here, and that would take time.

it was. nice. for him to bring eita something. to go out of his way like that.

he’d never had a friend quite like that before.

miracleboy. what can you even eat??? waka is being unhelpful miracleboy. theres fruit miracleboy. you want an apple? miracleboy. oh wait miracleboy. [photo attached]

eita is reclined on a higher part of the hill, having a better view of the entire track from up here. he’s distracted from relays by tendou’s incessant messages, but he doesn’t mind, smiling and rolling his eyes each time his phone chimes.

semieita the muffins look good

miracleboy. noted! ill grab a couple

semieita thanks

miracleboy. yama says hi, btw miracleboy. [photo attached]

eita squints up at his phone, opening the attachment to see a blurry picture of yamagata hayato halfway forming a peace sign. the background is obviously the school cafeteria.

semieita odd, since he’s supposed to be here

miracleboy. hes “““lost””” rn semisemi miracleboy. b back before it ends

semieita right. sure. got it. whatever you say

miracleboy. how can you b that sarcastic thru text

“semi-san?”

eita looks up from his phone to find kawanishi taichi hiking up closer, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. he drops his phone to his chest, sitting up a little more.

kawanishi stops short, looking ruffled. “have you seen yamagata-san around?”

“no,” eita says, perhaps a little too quickly. “but i can help, if you need something,” he tries, trying to smooth it over. “you’re kawanishi, right?”

“you can just call me taichi,” he mutters, face turned to the ground.

“taichi-kun, then.” eita blinks, as taichi stays like that. his phone buzzes and he pockets it, moving to properly sit up. “everything okay?”

“uh, yeah.” taichi shrugs. “sorry. i’m just a little lost.”

eita gestures to the grass and, after a moment, taichi sits down. “i saw your event,” he starts. this gains taichi’s attention, and he finally looks up again. “not the main one,” eita clarifies. “the 800. you did pretty well, for your first time.”

taichi’s lips quick up, turning wry. “not really my strong suit, huh? you should’ve seen my field event.”

“next time,” eita promises.

taichi perks up a little more. “really?”

“as long as they don’t overlap again.” he nods, committing before he can back out.

“i’d like that,” taichi admits. “and, um, you were really amazing today! i’ve never seen someone that fast in person.”

eita blinks, and then it all hits him, and he can’t believe he didn’t realize sooner. the bashfulness, the quiet, the wanting, the praise -kawanishi taichi, to a certain extent, looked up to eita.

it’s the first moment being an upperclassman has really hit him, really set in. he doesn’t know what to do with this information. actually, he has an idea, but he thinks trying to ruffle taichi’s hair would be too much.

“’in person’ is an interesting distinction to make.”

“well, i mean.” taichi turns his head to the side. “i’ve seen the olympics,” he mutters.

eita can’t help the laugh that tears from his throat. taichi doesn’t seem to mind. he wants to say something, eita can tell, but before he can eita’s phone starts going off, and he pries it from his pocket.

it’s tendou, calling. “what?” he answers.

��semisemi, thank god! i thought someone got you! how could you just not reply like that?”

eita’s smile is easy on his lips. “i was busy.”

“well, get un-busy! i need to know where you are.”

eita rolls his eyes and relays his location, then glances down at taichi. “hey, is yamagata sneaking back with you? tell him he forgot something.”

“shhh, semisemi, secret, remember? and forgot wha-”

there’s noise on the other end, muffled, though eita makes out a tai-chan in the midst.

“noted,” tendou eventually says. “see you soon. don’t move or anything! you’re a lot harder to find than i am!”

eita hangs up and tosses the phone into the grass next to his feet. “alright, kid, you’re all set. wanna wait here?” he points down to the field. “or you can join the party down there.”

literal, as all the members of the shiratorizawa boys 4x400m relay are dog-piled by their peers and then lifted into the air. the victory shouts reach all the way up here.

“oh, nao’s in there,” taichi says, mostly to himself. eita smiles and leans forward.

“go see him, then. yamagata will find you soon enough.”

“okay.” taichi stands, moves down a few feet, then turns back. “thanks, semi-san.”

eita waves him down.

“one delivery for semisemi!”

eita leans his head back to see tendou sliding down from over the incline. he presents a package made from a wrapped napkin that eita reaches up to carefully take.

inside are two mixed-berry muffins, each just smaller than his fist, and a handful of ocean crackers. there’s warmth coming from the muffins.

“thanks,” he says, while tendou takes a seat next to him, spreading his lanky limbs across the grass.

“no problem. oh hey, mayu’s race is starting!”

eita turns to the field with one of the muffins in hand, biting into it. he squints when he makes out the girls dressed in purple. “which one’s she?”

“there!” tendou points to the leadoff, and when she turns to address the others, her braid flies over her shoulder. eita hums.

“mii-san?” that would make this the 4x100m, and the last race of the night.

“yep. man, i’m glad i caught it, since she asked me to stay. would’ve had to ask someone for the results otherwise, and that’s a whole hassle, y’know?”

eita stuffs some of the crackers past his lips. “you mean, to make it seem like you watched?”

tendou winces, then turns hard to face him. “listen, semisemi, do you have any idea what mayu is like when she’s mad?”

“a little,” eita answers, recalling earlier that afternoon. he shivers, suddenly understanding. “good point.”

mayu. something about that bugged him. and, hadn’t she called him satori, earlier?

eita finishes the first muffin and glances over at tendou, finding him completely transfixed as all the relay runners get into position. well, if he came to that conclusion, it was understandable, right? it made sense, right?

eita finishes his food, and the girls win their race, and the two of them pick their way back down to solid ground as the commotion settles. eita hangs back a step or two behind tendou as he moves easily across a corner of the field and onto the track. “mayu!” he calls, gaining the track team captain’s attention with ease.

“satori!” she calls back, and then she’s swept up into a hug. “you actually stuck around!”

“you were amazing! are you like that every time? why aren’t you on top of the world yet?”

mii blushes at this, pushing him away. “that’s too much,” she says, and tendou backs off with a laugh.

“nice one, captain,” eita chimes in, and mii looks over at him, her eyes lighting up.

“semi!” she folds him into a hug, too, probably still high off the euphoria. “i know you’re glad this is all over. thanks for sticking around.”

“no problem,” he wheezes, and she releases him with a laugh that breaks into a thoughtful look.

“hey, how are you getting home? it’s so dark out now.”

eita shrugs. “i’ll-”

“you still have your bike, right?” she asks tendou. “why don’t you take him?”

“oho!” tendou claps his hands together. “i like the way you think, mayu. i even know the way,” he sings, dragging the last word out.

“don’t i get a say?” eita asks, disgruntled.

“nope!” both of them reply in sync, smiling at him.

“just tag along with this guy a little longer,” mii orders, pointing to tendou. “for my peace of mind.”

“i’ll have to go grab my bike,” tendou notes, and mii shrugs.

“you can go now. just meet semi at the clubroom.”

“isn’t there a meeting soon?” eita asks, gesturing to everyone around them packing up.

mii shakes her head. “yes and no. it’s not important. i’ll tell them you went home early. just remember there’s no practice next week.”

“sure i won’t miss anything?”

“i’ll message satori if it’s important.”

“why do i feel like you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“nah.” she flaps her hand, gesturing for him to go away. “you’re imagining it. try not to move anyone’s stuff around when you grab your things, okay, or i’ll have to kill you to appease the masses.”

that certainly explained away the ulterior motive. “sleeping there is unhealthy,” eita calls, once he’s further away.

“some of us don’t test well like you do!” mii shouts back as she takes off her headband. she moves it over her thumb and uses it like a slingshot, firing at another third-year who screams in response.

eita leaves behind the track field’s happy atmosphere for one of his own making. he throws his button-up on over his shirt, letting it hang open, and trades his shorts for shiratorizawa’s standard slacks, knowing it was only bound to get colder.

tendou is waiting for him when he leaves, sitting easy on a bicycle, legs splayed on the ground on either side of the front wheel. he looks up and his smile grows when he sees eita. “all ready?”

“there’s not a stand on the back,” eita notes, hesitance growing as he approaches. “how are we doing this?”

“pegs!” tendou kicks back at one and eita nearly rolls his eyes to the back of his skull.

“that’s one solution, i guess,” he mutters as he climbs up, placing his hands on tendou’s shoulders for balance. tendou hums and kicks off, and eita hopes his biking skills aren’t as wild as the rest of him.

surprisingly, there are no incidents. eita is deposited on his doorstep in good care, and he waves at tendou until he can’t make him out anymore before going inside.

eita is cooling off in the shade from a day’s worth of events when tendou finally manages to find him and inform him of their latest plight.

“what?” his face scrunches up. “yamagata’s sick? is he skipping? how does that even happen?”

“yama just has the worst luck like that,” tendou whines, stomping his foot. “waka went to find us a replacement, but as far as i know he’s only planning to ask reon, and he’s already on a team with the other volleyball second-years. we might be outta luck here.”

eita shrugs, not really that disappointed by it, even as tendou resumes his whining. eventually he lets tendou pull him to his feet, and they re-join the festivities.

“oh, but i did enter you in the 50 meter,” tendou says, the only part of his never-ending rant that eita tunes in to listen to, and it has him braking, so that tendou is forced to pause when he refuses to release eita’s arm.

“what?”

“the race?” tendou frowns. “you have to race, eita. especially since the relay is off. i know it’s not far, but c’mon, running is your thing. you’ll love it.”

“i wish you would’ve asked before doing it,” eita mutters, still refusing to budge.

“aw, c’mon semisemi, do it for yama! think at how miserable he is, missing out on all this.”

“yeah, whatever, i’ll do it.” he looks down at his sneakers. “but i need my shoes if i’m doing this for real.”

tendou perks back up. “then let’s go!”

eita raises a brow. “to the other side of the school? ha ha, tendou. very funny.”

“if we’re careful we can go and be back before anyone notices.”

“and since when are you careful or tactful about anything?”

tendou winks. “you’d be surprised. plus, i have a fallback card. and if you’re with me, it applies to you too.”

“yeah?” he crosses his arms. “let’s hear it, then.”

“student council perks mean i can run around the school without anyone batting an eye. if someone asks i’ll make up an excuse.”

oh. that actually was a good point.

his thought must show on his face, because tendou grins, and he knows he’s yielded the argument with no further conversation necessary.

“this room is nice,” tendou notes, looking around as eita jerks his duffel from his cubby.

“‘s fine.” eita gives up on subtlety and kicks his sneakers off, then sits down on the ground to wrestle his socks off. he’d come grab them before practice.

he’s stretching several minutes before the all-out race was due to start when tendou asks the question he’d been pondering in the clubroom.

“hey, semisemi, so yama showed me this magazine article the other day, and it said all the pro trackletes never wear socks. so what about you? you switched from the school-issued ones, but the half-size you have on now are still a layer between you and the shoes.”

eita pauses, bent forward. “please never say trackletes again,” he says absently, gears turning in his mind as he looks down at his feet.

while tendou is blubbering about something he could care less about, eita rips one shoe off then pries the sock from his foot and wiggles his free toes. his gaze moves between them and the shoe. “i’ve never thought about that,” he admits, and tendou stops talking.

“the article said for some it was for comfort, that others could feel the ground better underfoot, or their shoe fit tighter without the added layer,” tendou adds slowly, watching as eita unties the laces and slips the shoe back on, barefoot.

he doesn’t quite frown, but his lips twist, once his foot is all the way in. he pulls on the laces a little, shifts his foot around. then he pulls tighter and ties a single knot, and stands.

“it’s weird,” he mumbles. “but not bad. it’s-” he sits back down and slips his other shoe off to repeat the process, and tendou hangs back and watches until he’s back on his feet, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“yeah, okay,” he starts, and then there’s a call for the race participants, and he bends down to pick up his socks and press them into tendou’s hands. “hold onto these for me.”

“what?” tendou cries. “you’re giving me-! semi!”

“hey, this was your idea!” eita calls, already heading off, bouncing every other step.

it’s not an all-out race, because there’s only so much space, so eita is delegated to waiting a while. he walks around in his shoes for a spell, getting used to the feeling.

50 meters was nothing. a perfect test, really.

and like that, the competition had, for eita, turned into an experiment.

“that didn’t feel too bad,” eita admits as he stuffs his socks in the pocket of his shorts. tendou cries out when he sees this.

“you could’ve done that from the beginning!”

eita shrugs. “consider it payback for entering me without permission.”

“yeah, whatever.” tendou slouches. “have fun at practice. i’ll be here, cleaning up.”

eita knocks at his shoulder. “thanks for the suggestion.”

“don’t get any blisters.”

“i’ll be careful.”

the first open track meet for miyagi prefecture is almost three weeks since eita started running sockless, and ten minutes to go to his event, he’s panicking.

a rewind is necessary, so in simple terms, this is what happened to cause the needless panic.

eita stretches. it’s hot. he pulls on his shoes, doing the laces up tight, but after a lap around the perimeter of the infield, his feet feel clammy, and in particular, his left shoe is loose. not enough to come off, not by far, but enough to where it matters, to where it’s an unnecessary distraction.

eita sits back down and undoes the knot, then pulls excessively tight on the laces to lock his foot into place.

and they snap.

“it’s over,” eita groans, lying with his hands over his face and his eyes closed to the harsh sunlight overhead. not that it mattered, because the combined shadows of mii and reo crouching over him blocked it out. they both share a look.

“yeah, that sucks,” reo starts, but he’s cut off abruptly -eita suspects it’s because of mii, mostly because he’s been on the end of her sharp elbows before.

“you still have time.” mii hums, pulling out her phone. “i wonder if concessions sells any as trinkets. would be worth a shot.” her voice trails off as she moves away, raising her phone to her ear. reo crouches down near eita’s head.

“you need new shoes?” he ponders. “maybe they’re too stretched out.”

“i can think about that after the meet is over,” eita mutters, removing his hands from his face. he opens his eyes to half-mast. “where did mii-san go? i don’t want to wallow anymore. she’s good at snapping people out of it.”

“well, sorry for not being good enough emotional support. she’s-”

“hey, semi, get up.” mii kicks at his foot -specifically, at the shoe with the broken laces. “i called satori. he’s at the edge of the field.”

“tendou?” eita mutters, leaning up on his elbows. “what’s he gonna do?”

“didn’t say. but you have five minutes, so i’d just go along with it.”

“maybe he’ll put me out of my misery,” eita sighs, leaning his head back and letting the rest of him go slack.

“four minutes and counting,” reo sings, and that’s enough to drive him to a stand, stumbling in the direction mii points to.

tendou is indeed waiting, just on the other side of the small fence separating the turf from the rest. when eita reaches him he immediately jumps it with zero regards to his inability to be there, then pulls eita down to the ground so they’re both out of the way.

“give me your shoe,” he demands, and eita tugs it off and tosses it over. with deft fingers, tendou removes the bright laces, mapping the path at he tugs them loose. then he pulls an old pair of white ones out and starts lacing them in the same pattern.

eita’s brow creases as he watches. “that was fast. how did you get spares out here?”

“they’re mine,” tendou says. “as in, from my kicks, now,” he elaborates, and eita blanches, looking down to tendou’s left shoe that was indeed laceless.

“what? why would you do that?” he sputters.

“you don’t have any time.” tendou shrugs. “you can give them back after your race, alright? here, i’m done.” he hands the shoe back and eita numbly slips it back on, doing the laces up tight until everything is snug.

“thank you,” eita mumbles, nearly at a loss for words. tendou helps him to his feet and claps him on the shoulder.

“if you don’t win with my laces, i might have to fine you,” he jokes. eita rolls his eyes, the numb spell officially broken as he shakes off tendou’s hand.

maybe he’s still frazzled, or maybe he’s not quite used to the new style just yet, because eita’s time is less-than-impressive, for his standards. he clocks in at just under seven seconds, which is more than enough to place him at first, but there’s a lack of self satisfaction from it.

“time for new shoes,” one of the assistant coaches suggests, when he tries to explain this. “shame about the laces. i don’t think you’ve gotten slower with no socks, so if you like it, keep doing it. you’ve got one month until the qualifier, so there’s time to figure out what you do and don’t like.”

that was pretty solid advice, actually. another of the short-distance coaches makes a note about modifying his regimen if he had to break in new shoes, and it leaves eita strangely touched.

he finds tendou nearly in the same spot he’d left him in, back on the correct side of the fence but leaned so far over it that it almost didn’t matter. he grins as he catches eita’s eye, and eita knows that this time, he’d caught his event as it happened.

this time it’s eita that climbs over to settle on the concrete on the other side of the barrier. tendou slides down until he’s sat beside eita, accepting his laces back when they’re finally pulled free. he’s doing them up in his own shoe again when he finally bothers to speak.

“wanna go shopping for more?”

“you seem like the last person i should go get shoelaces with,” eita say before he can help himself. tendou throws back his head and laughs.

“why not? we could get some cool ones. like in neon colors, or stripes, or words, or-”

eita breathes out in annoyance and tendou breaks off as he catches the tail-end of a mock-deadpan expression that conveys this was the exact reason he was hesitant to take tendou along. then he’s turning the other way to hide a smile, a brief upturn of the corners of his lips, and tendou reaches out to jab him in the side, causing eita to squeak.

“wanna go later?” tendou offers. “not like you’re tired or anything. you only have one race, right?”

eita shakes his head. “yeah, but. tomorrow. tomorrow,” he promises, and tendou settles back.

“no backing out now, semisemi.”

“don’t make me regret this.”

there’s no school the next day, so eita and tendou meet up at the shopping district in the early afternoon. the first sporting goods store they wander into is small, and it doesn’t take long for them to be the only ones occupying the space.

eita pulls off four boxes from the shelves from the same brand as his current track shoes and drops them to the floor next to a bench. tendou leans over and pries the tip of one of the lids up, whistling when he sees the style.

unfortunately, the pair he really liked end up being one of two eita near immediately nix as he removes them from the box, not even bothering to try them on as he finds faults with closer examination that he couldn’t live with.

“shut up, tendou!” he snaps as the other’s whining becomes intolerable. “i practically have to live in these shoes! they need to be perfect, or as close as possible.”

eventually it gets to the point where eita wonders why he’d invited tendou in the first place, and banishes the other to another section of the store. that only meant he’d have to deal with having replacement shoelaces forced onto him later, but he was willing if it meant getting through this part quietly.

he puts one shoe from the remaining pairs on each foot and gently kicks the ground with his heel. it felt weird to try on shoes without socks, but if he was going to be wearing them like this anyway, it was the only good way to test them out.

after walking around some eita finds a frown forming on his face. there was only one thing he needed to see about, and he couldn’t-

wait.

“hey, tendou,” he calls, and after a moment, the redhead appears from behind a shelf, expression suggesting he was still sulking. “are we still the only customers?”

“yeah. staff is in the back, too, so-” he breaks off, blinking, and then grins. “what are you planning?”

“i need a straight shot,” he confesses. “twenty meters or so.”

“if you’re at the back wall you could run down the center aisle.” tendou rocks back on his heels, thinking. “you should hit twenty before the door. let me see if anything’s in the way.”

technically there weren’t any other customers to disturb, but eita is silently grateful none of the staff was around to catch them, knowing it would be something they’d disapprove of.

with tendou’s help they clear a path and eita leans one foot against the back wall, eyeing the distance. the store wasn’t big, but he’d brake well before the door.

he crouches down, lets his fingers run over the smooth flooring.

then he rockets off, near full speed, and his teeth are clenched by the time he’s stopped. tendou moves forward, humming in approval.

“that’s not a good sign,” he says, as eita tugs the left shoe off.

“no, it is. it’s this one.” he vaguely points to the shoe on his right foot. “this one’s good.”

“as close to perfect as possible,” tendou quotes, nodding. he trails eita as he wanders back to retrieve the box, and the other shoe to the pair. “except the laces are white, so you need better ones.”

eita rolls his eyes, but he’s still in front of tendou, so it’s purely for his own satisfaction. “they are a little short,” he mentions, and that’s enough to have tendou running off again.

in the end he ends up with the shoes, a lavender pair of laces (“because school colors, semisemi!” tendou had insisted) and a black pair of spares. he’s smiling when they exit the store, and tendou notices, nudging him with his shoulder.

“well that was fun!”

“nope,” eita argues, but there’s no heat to it, and he’s still smiling, so tendou reads it as a joke right away.

before the end of the month, eita is coerced into seeing a volleyball game. he has better things to do -like break in the shoes- and doesn’t really know anything about volleyball -and would rather break in the shoes- and wants to focus on other things -like the sho

but tendou tells him he could run to school and back home, and that’s enough to make eita show up at the gymnasium that evening, looking a little lost among the teems of people that had showed up for a mere practice match.

“no one has anything better to do,” tendou tells him, leading him over to a few free spaces in the stands. eita recognizes oohira from 2-B when he turns to address tendou, having heard the remark.

“it’s pre-exam jitters. people will take any chance they get to focus on something that isn’t academic related.” he nods to eita from tendou’s other side. “hey, semi.”

eita nods back, gaze falling to the court. “ushijima-san. is he any good?”

oohira coughs, trying to be polite, but tendou has no problem in throwing his head back and cackling, and eita leans away, frowning as he realizes he’s asked a stupid question.

“waka’s on another level,” tendou tells him, once he’s calmed down. “well, all of our sports teams are top-tier, and volleyball is no exception. just watch. you’ll see.”

eita sees.

shiratorizawa destroys their opponent in the first set 25-14. ushijima ends it with a spike into the court so hard eita feels his teeth chatter. if anyone had gone for that, their arms would’ve come off, for sure.

they’re switching sides for the second set when a shuffling occurs further down the stands, and suddenly oohira is being pushed over, causing tendou to suddenly very much be in eita’s space. “what-”

“sorry i’m late,” the newcomer says, peeking out from behind oohira’s bulk. “i couldn’t find my phone.”

“yama!” tendou exclaims. “it’s about time!”

“you always have the same excuse,” oohira notes.

“because it’s true,” yamagata protests. “it keeps happening to me! i must’ve rolled some bad luck at new years, because this didn’t happen at all last year.”

“he’s very forgetful, semisemi,” tendou turns to tell him, holding one hand over the side of his mouth.

yamagata perks up as he catches the words. “semi’s here?” he leans more around oohira.

“oh, right! you two don’t really know each other, huh?” tendou slings an arm around eita, ignoring his grunt of protest. “yama, this is semi eita! semi, this is yamagata. you’re in the same club. if you bothered to show up more than twice a week you might’ve had-” he breaks off to gasp “-a real conversation before all this!”

“it’s not like i’m skipping,” eita protests, brows furrowed. he waves distractedly to yamagata, who returns it after shaking a look with oohira. “i just get more done by myself.”

“that sounds like a motto you shouldn’t strive for,” tendou points out, and eita finally escapes from his hold as the whistle to start the second set sounds.

yamagata snorts. “well, semi’s leagues better than the rest of us. the coaches are practically fast-tracking him for the all-youth.”

eita blinks, attention ripped from the match, and he has to physically turn his head to look down toward yamagata. “what?”

yamagata glances over, sees eita’s expression, and then turns to him properly. “yeah, the under-eighteen reps? wakatoshi’s one of them too.”

“they’ve said that?” eita asks, a little stunned.

he shrugs. “no, but it’s implied. they’re helping you with individual training. it’s like singling you out of the group. no one on the team can deny that you’d be the one deserving of special attention. i mean, did you see your time at the practice meet? impressive doesn’t cut it.”

“you’re over-exaggerating,” eita mumbles, barely audible over the roar of the crowd as shiratorizawa earns another point.

“they could be prepping you for worlds,” yamagata muses. “never can tell what coach is thinking.”

“wait wait wait.” tendou throws his hands in the air. “you’re telling me semi is potentially qualified to compete internationally?”

yamagata shrugs, and there’s a pointed look in his eye. “you tell me. you saw him run last time.”

“i still think that’s a bit much,” eita protests.

“you wouldn’t want to?” yamagata smiles, and though it’s more along the lines of a leer, it’s sincere, too. “if they give you the chance, you should take it, semi. you’re good enough. everyone on the team knows that.”

those words stay with him through the rest of the match, and on his run home. everyone on the team. it wasn’t said with any sort of malice. and before, when he had talked about eita getting special attention, there wasn’t any jealousy coloring the words. the consensus was that eita was amazing, incredible, even, and everyone on the team respected that.

but he hadn’t thought. well. about that before. he knew he liked running. he knew he was good at it. but he’d never thought about competing outside the nationwide school system. much less globally. he’d never even considered it before.

and now that the seed is planted, he can’t deny that if he was given the chance, he’d probably take it.

that’s why he leaves early, just after the practice match ends in shiratorizawa’s victory. tendou is high off the win and anxious to tell ushijima so, but he stays back to see eita off, recognizing there was a lot on his mind and he wasn’t going to stick around.

“it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” eita ends up saying, and tendou sputters.

“just admit you had fun!”

“yeah, fine.” eita sighs, then smiles. “it was fun. thanks for inviting me. i’ll see you around.”

he leaves fully invested in internal thoughts, so tendou’s sudden blush goes completely unnoticed. well, to him.

“dude,” yamagata says, coming up behind tendou. he pokes tendou’s arm, making sure his friend is still alive. “you got it bad.”

if anything, tendou blushes harder, spinning on his heel to glare down at yamagata. “SHUT-

practice today is one of those longer exercises that cover the entire team, and they’re free to leave after they finish. after dismissing everyone to get to it, one of the mid-distance coaches calls out to eita, stopping him before he can begin.

“how are the shoes?” he asks, and eita is a bit taken aback. “are they broken in?”

“for the most part,” he answers after a moment.

“well, take it at your own pace, then. wouldn’t want you getting blisters. it’s been pretty hot lately. usually when you stop running with socks one of the main things you look out for is making sure your feet stay dry. are those breathable enough?”

eita looks down at his shoes, then curves them in, feeling around. “they’re good. i’ve been washing them, too, but not too much. i’m worried they’ll lose shape.”

“start putting in powder and you’ll get away with washing less.” eita’s face screws up and he takes this into account. “not a lot. not enough to lose grip. just a little here and there. i have some in my bag if you ever want to try it out.”

“yeah, thanks.”

he notices, now. has ever since the volleyball match. the coaches do their best to accommodate him when he shows up for practice. they care about everyone, of course. he wouldn’t know for sure unless he hung around more, but he’s almost positive they looked out for all the athletes under their care. made sure they were doing well. checked in when they weren’t.

and yet, it’s different. when they give everyone the same set of exercises but tell eita he can change his to a certain extent, yeah, it’s noticeable. it’s not uncomfortable. he doesn’t mind. just merely an observation, one that makes yamagata’s words take root, that makes the gears in his mind start turning, start hoping.

maybe if i make a good impression at nationals again, it’ll open up more doors.

“no,” he mutters later, as he’s running. “i’m going to win nationals. that’ll open up more doors than i’ll know what to do with.”

“you’ve got some high ambitions.”

eita perks up, turning his head to see kawanishi taichi suddenly keeping stride with him. he slows a little to make it easier for the first-year, but it’s apparently unwelcome, because taichi’s lips twist into a light frown.

“you heard that,” eita states. taichi looks at him funny and eita rolls his eyes. “yeah, guess i was talking aloud. i don’t know. i think nationals last year in fukui has been the only real competition i’ve had since i came here.”

“that sounds depressing,” taichi answers, deadpan. eita snorts before he can catch himself, and slowly, taichi’s lips quirk up in response.

“and you?” eita asks, suddenly curious. “you’re the track star of your grade. what do you think of everything so far?”

taichi takes a minute to answer, but it’s worth it, because eita likes his response. the change to a mid-distance event. the challenge. being encouraged to push himself. having upperclassman around willing to help him where he needs it.

“i like it here,” he finishes.

“yeah,” eita echoes. “me too.”

“do you?” taichi shrugs when eita turns to look at him questioningly. “you just said there’s no real challenge. and you’re never here. i mean, you are, you are right now, but not a lot. not as much as you could be, if being around a support system was something you really cared about.”

“i think,” eita starts, after mulling it over, “that i like to do things my own way, and that takes priority. being here hasn’t changed that. but the experiences i’ve had with the team have changed things. changed me. everyone motivates me to do better, to be better. better at, like, normal things, not just running. i like shiratorizawa because everyone is at the top of their game, and yet everyone stays humble. like you. you’re amazing at your field event, and yet you’re trying a track event to experiment, even if it means getting lower results than you’re used to. you didn’t mention high jump at all when you talked about why you liked this place.

“so that’s why, even here in miyagi, every meet i’m so excited i can’t hardly stand it. i’m pushed to improve myself. even if it’s only me versus the clock, i still have so much fun. it’s supposed to be fun, in the end, right?” he smiles. “i’m glad i came to a school that makes running fun.”

taichi is quiet, but he still keeps pace with eita. it’s not until they’re almost done that he speaks again, expressing his desire for eita to see him compete again.

eita laughs, admiring his determination. “i said i would, right? if-”

“no,” taichi interrupts. “the mid-distance one. i wasn’t sure, before, because i’m still not nearly as good as i want to be. but.” he bites down on his lip. “but, after hearing all that, i realize it doesn’t really matter. i’m not going to be amazing right out of the gate, and i don’t care. i still want you to see me run.”

“then it’s a promise.” taichi looks over and eita smiles. “at the qualifier. work hard until then.”

tendou and yamagata exchange looks as eita rehashes his conversation with taichi the day before.

then yamagata’s look turns into a leer that tendou rolls his eyes at.

“semisemi, i’m not sure i’d call that admiration,” tendou says.

“huh?” eita looks up from his lunch, brows creased. “then what is it?”

“it’s-” yamagata is cut off with an elbow to his stomach, wheezing, and tendou takes control of the conversation again.

“don’t worry about it. kawanishi-kun will mention it when he wants to.”

eita hums, but doesn’t probe for further explanation.

exams come and go, but even as summer rears its head full-force, eita still finds himself venturing out to school.

it would still be a few days until regular practice resumed, so the only reason he had for being here was one tendou satori.

“waka’s family live on the outskirts of the city,” he explains to eita one afternoon, when they’re sprawled in the shade of one of the big trees in the front courtyard. he spreads his arms in the air. “big place. he’ll come back for volleyball, but being home is more important to his folks, so he makes a point to divide his time.

“yama’s mom lives alone with his younger sisters, so he goes home during breaks to help out. i think the girls would cry if their big brother decided not to come, so it’s always been an easy choice for him.

and my parents aren’t in miyagi, so it’s either i make the long haul home, or choose the easy option and stay here.” his nose wrinkles in quiet distaste. “i’d rather be alone here all summer than go back to that house.”

eita doesn’t know what all to think of that, but he doesn’t ask, either, not wanting to bother tendou. he seemed on the verge of being upset. better to not make it worse.

“well, i’m here.” he lolls his head to the side to stare at tendou. “i’ve got nothing going on. my parents are chill. if you get tired of campus you can stay over.”

tendou turns his head to look back. “and if i don’t?”

“i can keep coming back, just like this.” eita’s fingers twitch, ruffling the grass. he doesn’t move them further. “whenever you want.”

tendou grins. “that’s a dangerous game to play, semisemi.”

“well, i mean, if it’s absurd enough i can always say no.”

“damn. here’s me thinking sneaking you onto campus at four in the morning would be pretty awesome.”

“yeah, you’ll have to try something else. you wake me up in the middle of the night and i’ll have to contemplate killing you.”

“scary.”

“normal.”

“i’m telling you, that’s not a normal response.”

“and what would you know about normal?”

“hey.” tendou kicks out, landing a blow under eita’s knee, and he winces. in the next moment he’s kicking back, hard enough to bruise, and all tendou does is flop from his back onto his side, facing him, and start laughing.

“you said you had something to try,” tendou says later, when they’ve both calmed down.

“yeah. i’m thinking about putting spikes in,” eita admits.

“your shoes?” tendou sits up halfway, leaning on an elbow. “like yama has? the ones for better traction?”

“i got some at the start of first term,” eita mumbles, nodding. “really good ones. i’ve been debating using them. lots of people want me to try, so i think it’d be good to indulge them if they think i’ll like it. but at the same time . . i don’t know. i’m worried, i guess. about the change. being elevated like that, even if it’s less than a centimeter from the track -it makes me nervous. i like to be able to feel myself push off at every step. having spikes in means i’ll be sacrificing some of that.”

“you can always take them out,” tendou notes. “if you don’t like them.” he sits up fully. “let’s go now! no one’s on the track, so it’s perfect. the spikes are in your clubroom, right?” eita nods. “and you have the key, right?” another nod. tendou grins and pulls himself to his feet, then offers a hand to eita to do the same.

eita lets himself be hoisted up, and then tendou is physically dragging him across campus, until they’re in front of a battered door and eita is wrestling the key into the lock in his sudden excitement.

it takes a minute to put all the spikes in. they do it in the clubroom, even with the lack of air conditioning, because it meant being out of the hot sun for a bit. eita leaves barefoot when he’s ready, shoes swinging from one hand, and takes tendou out onto the track, climbing up the fence and then over the hill.

“no one is around to care,” eita says, as he sits down to throw the shoes on. “besides, even if they do, it’ll hurt your reputation more than mine.”

tendou places a hand over his heart. “ouch, semisemi.”

walking is weird, with the spikes, but walking wasn’t really the point. eita locks his knees and bends down to touch his toes, feeling the strain in his legs. “damn,” he mutters, realizing he wasn’t going to get away with not stretching properly. he kicks the shoes off and flops down on the track’s perimeter, bringing the bottom of his feet together and pressing down on his knees with his elbows. “give me a minute,” he throws over his shoulder.

but tendou isn’t there. it takes a second to realize he’s re-settled in front of eita, and even then, he’s still shocked when tendou reaches forward to grab his leg at the bend of his knee, pulling until it straightened out.

“lean back, semisemi,” tendou murmurs, moving his foot into the air. “i used to do this for waka all the time.”

eita doesn’t know what compels him, but he obeys, lying back on the grass. tendou rises to his knees and pushes eita’s leg until it’s in a deep stretch towards his chest. he tugs eita’s toes down and the entire leg twitches with the added effort.

tendou does his other leg after a spell, the exact same and then a couple extra, and then unceremoniously drops both legs to the ground. eita huffs in surprise as they land, and his eyes pop open. it’s not long until he’s glaring at tendou, even with their angle awkward for eye contact.

this time, when eita settles onto the track, he moves into a low start position. “count me off,” he mutters, and tendou moves to rest in the next lane, nodding.

“three.”

just to the forty. he could see the mark.

“two.”

or maybe the full 100, who was he kidding.

“one.”

actually, if this was a true test, shouldn’t he just go as far as possible? get a feel for it?

“go!”

eita is near the 80m mark before he slows, blinking down at the shoes. he jogs back over.

“well?” when he looks up tendou is bent forward, eager. “how was it?”

“dragging.” eita purses his lips. “it felt like i was digging into the track. but instead of being able to push off easier, it felt like i was getting stuck.”

“you probably have to get used to them.”

“i know. i just don’t like adjusting. i just like things to be good, y’know?”

“i hear ya.” tendou leans his chin against an open palm. “try again. this time go all the way down, then run back.”

they pass the better part of the afternoon like that, indulging eita’s whims. not that tendou seemed to mind. he even takes eita home, as they both realize the only pair of shoes he’d worn out now weren’t suitable to walk around the streets in. eita’s mom is certainly surprised, when she opens the door to find her son barefoot. she waves to tendou just before he leaves again.

“that was nice of him,” she mentions, while eita drops his track shoes in the entryway and explains away his earlier plight. when he stands again it’s in house slippers. “you have a good friend, eita.”

friend. eita wonders when exactly that had happened.

#tensemi #haikyuu!!#tendou satori #semi eita #shiratorizawa #hq!!#hq #writing #hhh this is rough i scanned for spelling errors but thats it #i have an hour til i have to leave n still have things to do #this wasnt where i wantd to end bt year 2 is super long?#so this is where its ending #anyway pt 2 on may 20!! hopefully #pls rb if you liked this !

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Lucifer~!

(( This is a little one shot to celebrate Lucifer’s birthday, that is based on today’s event, but with some...More personalising to it!

Also, Lucifer’s smile, like Satan’s, looks like a kittens, and it kills my heart <3 ))

Diavolo gathered us in the big hall, the same place as when I was brought to the Devildom to this exchange student program, which is when the Devil Prince, holding the same type of mischievous glint in his eyes as usual, grinned widely at us, telling us that the reason for gathering here was Lucifer’s birthday the next day, and his wish to throw him a party.

Unfortunately, it seemed like some of his brothers completely forgot about his birthday...

But it was much worse that Lucifer was so busy that he may or may not forget his own birthday.

“Hey, Diavolo, why don’t we throw him a surprise party? Nothing necessarily big, just...Something with us, the people closest to him. I think he would appreciate it.” I suggest, making the man gleam with happiness. “I like that. It’ll make his heart jump out of his chest.” Diavolo grinned at me. “That settles it. We will throw Lucifer a surprise birthday party.” Barbatos chimed in simply.

Hearing about the surprise party, everyone was on board, wanting to have fun, so we decided to make it happen in the House of Lamentation and divide all our tasks.

Beel and Asmo were in charge of decorations, Barbatos, Satan and Belphie were I charge of the food, Diavolo would oversee everyone’s preparations, I was supposed to distract Lucifer for the whole day, as Asmo was to help me with a plan, and uhm...

Mammon and Levi were...Uhm...

Reporting back to the party back at home...Or something?

I don’t know, but I guess stalking would be the right job for two lazy guys.

And so, I go around the place looking for the man in cause, and I finally manage to find him at his own room, hunched over the desk, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Lucifer...Are you alright...?” I sighed, putting my arms around his neck from behind. “Nothing new, just a tremendous amount of work during this time of the year.” he replied, almost robotically. “I see...Well...Would you want to go out with me tomorrow? Maybe it will help you relax a bit. I’m exhausted only looking at you, to be fair.” I suggest in a softer tone. “Tomorrow...? I’ve finished up my work for the student council, so I can afford to take a break, but...Why so sudden?...Don’t tell me...You’re up to something again.” he turned to look at me with a suspicious frown. “No...Nothing of the sort. Looking at you like that makes me believe that a change of pace would help you relax a bit. You’re overworking yourself without realising...Even Diavolo is concerned. And besides, what’s the harm in going out, right?” I smiled at him, taking his hand in mine, squeezing it gently. “It seems you knew that I’ve been quite busy lately. Well? Do you have a specific destination in mind? Wait, no, don’t tell me, I shall know when we go. It is best to save the excitement for later.” Lucifer chuckled lightly. “I hope you’ll enjoy what I have in mind. I-I mean, it’s nothing too big, just something nice and casual, with the purpose of charging up your batteries.” I grin at him, and he offers me a smile...A smile that looks like that of a kitten’s. “Heh. You seem rather confident in your choices. Thank you for thinking about my well being. Now then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” he nodded at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lucifer...Please take care of yourself.” I waved at him, leaving for my room.

On my way to the room, I met up with the stalker duo...And it was, uh...As interesting as always.

“Y/N, you alright?!” Mammon cried out loudly. “Well, duh. Lucifer would never hurt Y/N.” Levi spoke as a matter of fact. “Yes, exactly. Except for the 2 or 3 times when he almost killed me.” I chuckled lightly, shuddering internally at the experiences. “But maybe he already found out about what’s goin’ on! Y/N might’ve blurted out somethin’ about the surprise tomorrow.” Mammon tried to play off his concerns. “Y/N isn’t an airhead like you, Mammon. So, how did it go, Y/N? Mission accomplished?” Levi quickly dismissed his brother. “Well, of course I succeeded. And he was pretty happy about it.” I smiled softly, hoping I wasn’t blushing. “THAT Lucifer?! He didn’t even doubt ya, but was happy?! He’ll only act like that when it comes to you, Y/N...” they continued to talk, but I went to my room to sleep and think over everything that was supposed to happen tomorrow.

The next day I take a quick bath, and curl my long hair in some nice, graceful curls, nothing too fancy, but not too casual either, and with some nice day-make up, and a nice outfit, I go to knock on Lucifer’s room, knocking, and asking if he’s ready.

“Are you ready, Lucifer?” I asked, smiling sweetly at him. “I am, although, I believe this dynamic we are having should be the other way around.” he hummed, as we walked out of the place. “How about you take me on a date next time you feel burnt out from overworking yourself, which won’t be too long, if you ask me. Maybe it would help you relax a bit?” I walk closer to him, as the lights from the busy street shops were illuminating cheerfully. “I can’t say I disagree...Oh, I see. A movie theater. What movie are we going to see?” he asked, smirking as he realised we were approaching said place. “There’s this movie that had a pretty neat name...The Fiery Depths of Hell. I think it’s a horror movie? But I’m not sure what HORROR would be for demons.” I laughed at my words, and it seemed to amuse him as well. “Hopefully scarier than what you humans create. I see it has a pretty fine cast. It has been a long time since I last saw a movie. Two tickets, please.” he walked ahead of me to the ticket booth, making my eyes go wide with surprise. “W-Wait, hold up....!” I hurried to his side, as he only put his arm around me, guiding me inside with a knowing smirk. “What is it? I already paid for the tickets, let’s go. Is it your first time in this place?” he asked, as we got in front of the snacks booth. “Yep. Asmo and Satan told me they go pretty often here and that this place is really pretty, so I thought it’d be a nice to bring you here...Although I’m pretty sure this experience won’t be as...Special, since it’s not the first time you’re here.” I scratched the back of my neck sheepishly, looking away with a small smile. “Nonsense. The person with whom I am with is what makes this special. Are you ready here? Let’s find our seats.” he spoke, making my cheeks get a tint pinker. “Haha...I never realised how much of a smooth charmer you can be.” I cover my mouth for a few seconds in embarrassment, as he only hummed in amusement, sitting in his seat, and we waited for the movie to start. “There’s nothing better than watching a movie with flame-scorched popcorn and sparkling fresh bloody soda.” he leaned back in his seat, a look of relaxation washing over his face. “Flame-scorched...Let me guess, is that spicy popcorn? I’ve never heard of that in my world. And bloody soda...Is that like wine?” I asked, turning to him, leaning on the arm rest. “Why don’t you have a taste?” he smirked mischievously, putting his hand on my cheek, making me open my mouth, as he put a bit of popcorn on my tongue. “What do you think?” he chuckled lowly, seeing my red cheeks. “It’s not bad...I was expecting it to be much hotte...OH MY GOODNESS, THIS IS HORRIBLE, I NEED SOME WATER ASAP!” in the next second, I could feel myself being set on fire, that’s how horribly spicy the popcorn was. “That was entertaining.” he laughed mirthfully, handing me a bottle of fresh, ice-cold water. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” I spoke weakly, a pout on my face after finishing the water bottle in one go. “You got this water knowing this would happen, didn’t you?” “I was merely curious to see how bad it affected a human, and needless to say, I am rather pleased with the results. Your assumption is correct as well...I can’t say that I’m not enticed by the cute face you are making right now, especially with the tears glistering in your eyes.” he teased, taking the handkerchief from his pocket and wiping them away, as he caressed my face gently. “I hope you’re bloody extasic, you truly gave me a HELLISH experience.” I chuckled, amused by this as well. “That was a pretty witty prank, I have to admit. I’d have died of laughter, if anyone else was the victim.” “I shall take that as a compliment. If you’ve managed to calm down, let’s see what you’re having. Hell Black Honey Popcorn. Looks rather sweet, let me have a taste.” he extended his hand towards my popcorn bag, only to have me slap it away, giggling playfully. “Let me return the favour. At least I’m sure there’s no harm going your way.” I said, feeding him, which made him blush slightly as well from the intimacy. “Hmm...It’s so sweet that I’m getting a sugar overload. Even so, it’s quite addicting. You made a sound choice, it suits you.” he chuckled, a smirk on his face, as the light went out and the movie began.

During the movie, there were a few commotions, and I could only guess it was the idiotic duo...But this mess continued even when we left the theater and we were walking slowly, almost aimlessly. I could only flinch slightly from time to time and peer behind my shoulder, hoping that Lucifer wouldn’t catch on.

But I was wrong, he’s the most perceptive demon I know, next to Diavolo, Goddamn those two idiots.

“Why do you continue to peer over the shoulder?” he asked in confusion. “Oh, s-sorry, I hope it didn’t annoy you. I, uh...Kinda got the chills. No big deal, really.” I played it off quickly. “Do you have a cold? You should take better care of yourself.” he spoke with a slight frown on his face. “...Should you really be the one to tell me that?” I chuckled, looking up at him with a coy smile. “Touche, Y/N. Regardless, it’s been a long time since I last saw a movie. Did you enjoy it?” he asked with a bright smile on his face, as he took off the coat from his shoulders and put it over mine. “L-Lucifer, you don’t have to-” I protested, only for him to put his arm around me, putting me to his side, to silence me, under the pretext that the streets are overcrowded and he doesn’t want us to get separated. “W-Well, it was a really nice movie. Usually, I watch horror movies to get some laughs, but this actually had a pretty interesting plot.” I offered him my insight, as he only nodded. “Indeed. The background info you offered me was useful. You’ll have to tell me more about it.” he spoke, obviously trying to make conversation. “Sure, I’d love that. The symbolism from this movie was really something else, and -” I began to explain some of the film ideas, only to get interrupted by a pitched voice. “Wh-Wh-Wh-What are you two doing here?! A-And you’re...You’re so close! L-Like you’re c-c-cuddling!” Luke’s shocked voice echoed through the street. “We’re on a date. Is there a problem?” Lucifer’s voice was low, velvety, showing off the smugness. “Huh?! A d-date?!” the kid gaped at us, his pale face getting pinker than roses. “I-I guess that’s how it is.” I hummed, feeling my heart beat a bit faster hearing him say that. “Is that really how it is?!” Luke stared, still unbelieving. “Enough with the questions, Chihuahua.” Lucifer sighed, bored and irked at the interruption. “How many times do I have to tell you?! I’m NOT a Chihuahua!” he yelled at the demon who towered over him. “Sure. You only act like one.” I shared a playful look to Lucifer, giggling in amusement. “Oh, I thought I heard a commotion over here. Hey, Lucifer, Y/N!” Simeon’s graceful smile came in the picture. “Oh good, the Chihuahua’s owner is here.” Lucifer’s taunting words rung again, making me try to stifle my laughter. “I told you I’m not a Chihuahua!” Luke shrieked even louder. “What a coincidence, meeting you two here! Oh, that’s right, today is Lucifer’s-” Simeon began, which made me widen my eyes and try to talk over him. “Day off. Yes, today is Lucifer’s day off. I told Simeon that I’m taking you out for today, and if he needed to talk to you, to just call me or come by the next day.” I tried to explain, so the angels would get what I’m trying to do. “How thoughtful of you, Y/N, but you needn’t worry yourself over me that much.” he shook his head in disdain. “Luke, I just remembered we have something very urgent to attend to, so we must be on our way. It was nice seeing you, Lucifer, Y/N!” Simeon tried to walk away, only to have Luke look at him with confusion. “We had something urgent to do today?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, truly like a puppy. “Yes, Luke, we have something very, VERY urgent to do, remember?” the man urged on, a bit stronger. “O-Oh, yeah! Uhh, we’re very busy! See you later, Y/N, Lucifer!” Luke started running away. “Uhm...Do they always behave so...Uhmm...Weird?” I asked, biting my lip, fearing for the plan’s success. “What on earth is wrong with those two?” he shook his head in disbelief, then looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’ve been checking the time rather frequently. Something is going on, isn’t there? You have been acting strange since yesterday. When do you plan on telling me the reason?” he started his suspicious interrogation, and I started worrying. “What do you mean, Lucifer? You know I always have my phone in my hand, don’t you? It’s a pretty bad habit of mine, but that’s just how it is. And besides, is wanting to spend time alone with you that strange?” I looked at him with mock hurt. “Do you still insist on playing games? You’ve got a lot of nerve. I never knew you were so stubborn...I didn’t want to ruin today’s plans, so I pretended not to notice until now...Come out, you two!” Lucifer, after glaring at me, used his magic to pull the 1-Braincell Duo to us, and they were sent flying and screaming our way. “Ouch! What was that for, Lucifer?! Using your magic to drag us out is unfair, doncha think?” Mammon complained, only to have his elder brother yell at him, and him to squeak in fear like a little mouse. “Th-This ain’t what it looks like! Calm down, Lucifer!” he tried to reason. “Lucifer’s rage has taken shape! What will become of Mammon?” Levi blushed as he was...Vlogging...? “Dammit, Levi! Enough with the commentary!” Mammon started fighting with him. “I can’t deprive my subscribes from such a juicy scene.” Levi chuckled carelessly. “You want to interrupt us that badly, huh? Mammon, Levi.” Lucifer glared at them as if staring into their souls. “Eeek! O-Of course not! This is all for your birthday...ARGHH!” Mammon gasped as Levi’s tailed came flying and slammed him on the pavement. “You stupid big mouth!” he glared at the white haired man, as I could only stare in disbelief. “So that’s what you were planning, isn’t it? Some kind of birthday prank? You knew I was prone to forgetting about it, because of my overworked schedule, and you took advantage of it. All three of you.” Lucifer started growling in anger. “God DAMN it, you, stupid MAMMON! This is why EVERYONE tell you you’re a complete MORON! I’m DONE with taking your side, you’re just a big, obsolete, incurable, hopeless, scummy fucking I D I O T ! Once! Just freaking ONCE! Did I EVER ask you to just keep your STUPID mouth SHUT, and what do you do? Get yourself in THESE kinds of situations and you manage to spill EVERYTHING!” I screamed at the idiot who was in pain on the ground, which made the eldest brother widen his eyes in realisation. “Great job, Mammon, you made the calmest person alive angry. That’s something only you would be capable of doing.” Levi glared, sighing in equal anger. “...Why is Y/N scarier than Lucifer when angry?” Mammon squealed in fear. “So this wasn’t supposed to be some kind of elaborate prank on me?” Lucifer asked in a softer voice. “No, goddamn it! I was trying to make you a birthday surprise, but it’s all ruined, thanks to this dumbass. Gahh, whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever, what’s done is done, I’m leaving. Good luck with the rest of the plan. Bye.” I gave Lucifer back his coat, rushing away from that place, trying to calm down and find a nice place to be alone.

Eventually, I found a nice, very big fountain, and surprisingly, the water falling down was the more calming thing in the world and exactly what I needed. Not to mention the beautiful lights and colours of the water, the statues, the garden and everything around.

All that was missing was some music and a person to stay with.

Sighing, I climb up on top of the block around the fountain, laying down and staring up at the starry sky.

I put the ringing D.D.D. on silent, then took out my own phone and put on my earphones, listening to some blues music, and stared at the twinkling stars.

I didn’t realise for how long was I there, until someone took off one of the earbuds, making me squeak in fright and jump in a sitting position, my phone flying down, from my torso.

“My, my, who knew you’d get scared so easily.” he hummed in amusement, but then his face went more serious, seeing me sighing. “Levi told me everything.” “Why are you here...? You should be home, the others are waiting for you. They worked very hard for the party to be done, and Asmo especially was the most excited about it. Not to mention, Diavolo will be there...Can’t make him wait, can we.” I shifted my gaze towards the falling water once again. “Can’t have a party without you. I told you today, it’s about the company, not the place or occasion.” he leaned on the block that I was sitting on. “I just...Wanted you to be happy, at least on your birthday. You always stress yourself so much for every little detail, and you carry everyone’s burden’s...I thought you could use a distraction from your daily routine.” I hugged my legs to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. “And I am thankful for that. I am aware that everything we’ve done today was genuine. I appreciate all the effort you went through to make this day great for me.” he reassured me gently. “You’re just being nice...Honestly, I just...I can’t believe I got so angry...I didn’t mean to be so harsh on Mammon, but...But I can’t stand when people ruin my plans, especially those that I am incredibly invested in.” I raked my fingers through my hair, making him chuckle. “I tend to say that rather often.” he smiled in amusement. “How come you went here?” “...I had no place in mind. My feet took me here...I’m surprised, but happy. This place is very...Relaxing.” I lay back down on the block, looking at the stars, then rolling to face Lucifer. “Do you ever...Allow yourself some time for yourself? Just to watch the sky and admire the stars and moon? To listen to the sound of the running water...And just...Vibe?” I asked him, extending my hands towards him. “I suppose I don’t. Perhaps I should start taking your advice.” with a playful smile, he hopped on the block and laid down next to me, holding my hand while at it, as a comfortable silence took over us. “...How are you feeling?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “I can understand why you would recommend doing this. It is truly relaxing.” turning my head to the side slightly, I could see a soft smile on his face, which made my heart pound faster. “You know...Some time ago, I and my best friend would go to the fountain in our University dorms’ campus. It was kinda like this, but without the fancy lights and colours. But...There were some speakers that would play romantic songs. During summer, when we were in our exam session, we would go out past midnight, when nobody would bother or see us...And...We’d take our shoes off and start fooling around in the water. It was ice cold, but outside was hot, and it was refreshing. We would dance together, jump around, splash water on each other...Sometimes I really miss that.” I grinned in amusement at the nostalgic memory. “Would you want to recreate that?” he asked, making me get in a sitting position and look at him with shock, before taking out my phone and putting a playlist of the most romantic human songs. “What are we waiting for, then?” with a huge smile on my face, I quickly take off my shoes, put the socks in them, and jump in the fountain, squealing a bit at how cold it was. “Careful, it’s very cold.” “I see you are enjoying yourself. Don’t mind if I join in.” he chuckled in amusement, taking off his shoes as well, ready to hop off the block, only to have me stop him. “Silly, lift your trousers. It would get pretty uncomfortable to have the bottom part of your legs wet, huh?” I chuckle, rolling the hems of the legs of the pants enough so they won’t get wet, then grabbed his wrist, dragging him into the fountain pond. “How do you feel doing something improper?” I laughed with glee, as he shivered at the cold water. “It’s...Definitely not something I am used to.” he chuckled softly, as he pulled me to his chest.

There were no more words being spoken, and there was nobody else to watch or judge us, except for the Silver Moon lending us her light as we swayed and danced around in the cold water, as if nether of us ever had any problem or worry in the world.

It seemed like the whole world disappeared, only the two of us, pressed together, as our emotions were overflowing, and the next thing I know, we both leaned in to share a soft kiss, filled with so much love and tenderness, almost afraid as if this was a mere fairy tale and this scene was going to disappear, like a dream.

“Are you happy, Lucifer?” I asked in a voice barely above a whisper, resting my chin on his chest, looking up at him with a starstruck expression on my face. “Yes, I am. Thanks to you, Y/N. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me.” Lucifer’s face was relaxed, calm, soft, like nobody has ever seen him before. “...Did I ever tell you that you’re the most gorgeous being in the world?” my smile grew wider as he widened his eyes and his cheeks started reddening in embarrassment. “You’re a human, that’s not many beings you’ve seen in your short lifespan.” he teased, evading the subject, which only made me chuckle. “Shut up and take a compliment, silly.” I slapped his shoulder, looking away to laugh.

Our lovely moment was interrupted by his D.D.D. ringing, and it was a cue that we should return home for his party, despite the surprise being ruined.

We sat on the fountain’s pond rim to get out shoes back on, but Lucifer decided to be Prince Charming and kneeled in front of me, putting on my shoes as if I was Cinderella, which only made me look down, bashful, earning a low chuckle from him.

As soon as we got in front of the House of Lamentation, Lucifer opened the door, and as soon as he stepped in, confetti and party trumpets were all over the place, which in all actuality seemed to shock him., while everyone was shouting their happy birthday wishes to him.

“I was so focused on what happened today that I completely forgot about this. Thank you, everyone.” Lucifer made that kitten smile again, which only made me fawn over him. “First, he forgets his birthday, and now, judging by his face, he forgot even about this not-so-surprising party. It’s just like you predicted, My Lord.” Barbatos smiled calmly at Diavolo. “It’s been 500 years since I’ve seen Lucifer look so surprised.” the Prince grinned warmly. “Of course I’m surprised. The entrance hall is...Full of flowers and decorations. It doesn’t even look like the House of Lamentation.” Lucifer chuckled, looking around the place. “Yeeeeees! I came up with the idea and Beel helped me put up the decorations!” Asmo chirped brightly. “I...can’t wait...Any longer...” Beel groaned, starving. “Hey, Beel! Stop drooling on my head!” Levi whined in annoyance “Guys...Where is Mammon? I have to apologise for lashing out at him.” I scratch the back of my neck sheepishly. “Mammon is hiding inside that giant decoration over there.” Satan betrayed his location with no second to spare. “Gahh! Satan, you traitor...!” Mammon slowly left his hiding spot, as I and Lucifer shared an amused look. “Mammon.....!.....One second thought, today’s a special occasion so I’ll forgive you for running your mouth like that. Also, Y/N is sorry for being too harsh on you.” he chuckled, looking softly at his younger brother. “Big broooooo! Y/NNNNNN!” Mammon gleamed with absolute happiness hearing that.

We took the party to the dining place, where we toasted in Lucifer’s honour, and we found out about the funny situation between Beel and the poor trio assigned to the food.

“So, if Asmo and Beel were in charged of the decorations...And Satan, Belphie and Barbatos were in charge of the food...Were Mammon and Levi designated to get in my way?” Lucifer raised his eyebrow in curiosity. “The Single-Braincell Stalker Duo was supposed to be on Watch Duty...Or something like that.” I shrugged, chuckling at how silly that sounded. “They were rather noticeable.” the man sighed, shaking his head. “I was there to make sure Mammon didn’t screw up.” Levi defended himself. “See how well that worked out.” I sighed in mock-annoyance. “You were desperate to tag along so you could do live coverage of your stupid mission!” Mammon revealed Levi’s true intentions. “It’s a personal rule of mine to not live in the past.” Levi chuckled, brushing that aside.

After that, Diavolo made everyone give Lucifer their gift and a heartfelt birthday wish, and as expected, everything was very silly, awkward and funny, which only made it better.

Grinning, I take out a little dark blue gift box patterned with silvery stars and that has a silver bow, and handed it to the birthday boy, urging him to open it.

“Happy Birthday, Lucifer. I thought it would be cute...When I saw this Cerberus necklace, I just had to get it for you. Well...For the both of us.” my cheeks were sent ablaze as I took out the necklace from under my top, as soon as he opened the gift box. “Well, isn’t that adorable. Thank you, Y/N. Now I’ll think of you whenever I see it...And you shall do the same with me.” Lucifer leaned down to plant a lingering kiss on my forehead, expressing his gratitude, while everyone gasped at the action. “I’m glad I can finally see your smiling face.” Diavolo spoke in a softer, yet definitely gleeful voice. “I am very happy.” Lucifer’s kitten smile appeared on his face again. “I’m so glad that we met.” I muttered, gazing at him with infinite love. “As am I, Y/N. I will forever be grateful to Fate for making me choose you as the exchange student. Also, I appreciate the effort you all have to put this together. This will be remembered as my greatest birthday. You all have my gratitude...Cheers!”

And with that, Lucifer raised his champagne glass to toast once again, and we all joined in, having a great time for the rest of the night.

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