#in elementary school the teachers wanted me to leap school years as I was far ahead with the topics. my mother denied it

[nsheetee]

For Life (109 Steps to You Epilogue)

read “109 Steps to You” here!

Genre: epilogue, angst, fluff, soulmate AU Length: 5.4k Summary: Donghyuck and Y/N meet again one year after their last encounter, back at the place where it all started.

a/n: this is for everyone who asked for a part 2, I hope you all enjoy ♡

this is the epilogue for “109 Steps to You,” please read that fic before continuing!

Haechan walks into the cafe, the scent of espresso hitting him square in the face. He doesn’t have to walk far into the shop to find his two best friends sitting at one of the tables. Silence falls over the table once Haechan orders a drink and the waitress walks away. The three men sit mutely for a bit, looking at their phones or outside the big windows at the people walking by outside, until Haechan draws their attention.

“Huang Renjun, you invited me here and you won’t even say hi when I sit down.” At his ice breaker, Renjun lets out a shy laugh and turns in his seat to pay attention to his friend.

“Hi.” He says.

“Hi.” Haechan says back sarcastically.

“Hi.” Jaemin pipes up from across the table.

Somehow, conversation became a lot easier after that.

Haechan never thought it would be awkward with his longtime friends, especially since it has been only a year since the three of them graduated college and moved on. Jaemin works as an elementary school music teacher (just an assistant, for now) and he shows the guys some pictures of his students, commenting about how so many of them have natural talent. Renjun decided to do the graduate program and stayed on campus.

“What about you, Haechan, what have you been up to?” Jaemin asks and takes a sip of his iced americano.

“Oh… Nothing special. I work at SM Entertainment.” The guys’ eyes widen at the “not so special” news and Renjun almost chokes on his bagel.

“As an artist?” Renjun coughs out.

“No, god no, I write music for them, and they liked me enough to let me produce songs in the future, so they have me a full time job.” Haechan explains.

“Dude, that’s insane. Congrats, that’s what you always wanted to do, right?” Jaemin asks, still looking a bit amazed by his friend’s accomplishments.

“Yeah.. I guess.” Haechan trails off, laughing afterwards and praying someone will have something to say to get the attention off of him.

“Actually, there’s a reason I wanted to meet you guys here…” Renjun sits up straighter, making Haechan and Jaemin glance at each other. “I’m going to marry Mya.”

“Renjun…” Jaemin turns soft, his eyes turning rounder and his bottom lip pouting at the news, making Renjun roll his eyes and laugh. His joy is just at the thought of marrying his soulmate, the one he has spent the past five years with.

Haechan has to swallow down the lump in his throat to congratulate his friend, ruffling his blonde hair and saying something about how he can’t believe Renjun is the first to get married out of the three of them. When Haechan was with you, they were all sure that he would be the one to get married first. Oh, how easily things can change.

“I was hoping you guys would help me? I want to ask her under the bell tower, the same place I asked her to be my girlfriend, but I want to do it at night. I need help setting things up.”

“Of course we’ll help, right, Haechan?” Jaemin asks, looking over at his other friend. Haechan knew that by coming to this small reunion, he would have to face a part of his past, but he decided to come anyway. The past year has been tough, but Renjun has been Haechan’s friend for longer than he can remember, so this is the least he could do.

“Of course,” He nods. “Anything for Renjunie.” He adds a pat on the head with the pet name and Renjun slaps his hand away, giving him a scowl. The two guys would have continued with their play fighting if it wasn’t for Jaemin suddenly standing up, his chair skidding back along the tile floor loudly.

Haechan and Renjun glance up at him, but his eyes are glued to the entrance of the cafe. They turn around just in time to catch a girl stopping in her steps, her eyes focused on Jaemin. It’s been years; her hair is longer than before and she definitely grew up since the last time they saw her, but it’s no doubt Yeji, Jaemin’s soulmate and the one who rejected him when they were teenagers in high school.

“Jaemin.” She clears her throat, looking at the three guys, “You’re all here. Why am I not surprised your friendship lasted this long?” She laughs lightly as she recognizes the group of friends.

“Do you want to sit?” Jaemin points at the fourth chair at their table that has yet to be occupied. Yeji nods slowly and makes her way to the seat, gently sitting down and smiling shyly at the three guys. There’s a silence that falls over the table as everyone sips on their drinks, but the world around them continues on living loudly.

“So, what have you been up to recently?” Jaemin asks and turns to face her.

“Oh, I’m finishing college this year. I go to UOS.” She proudly smiles.

“Oh? We all went there too, we never saw you?” Renjun asks.

“I took a leap year, so I started college after you guys. You probably didn’t see me around because of that.”

“What did you do during your leap year?” Haechan asks, leaning back in his seat.

“I was in the hospital.” When three pairs of wide, serious eyes stare back at her, she laughs and waves her hand at them, “Oh no, it wasn’t anything bad. I found out my immune system is weak and spent some time figuring out what medicine to take and making my body stronger so I don’t get sick easily. That’s why I was gone for part our last year of school, too.” She explains and the three guys unstiffen and nod.

“Is that why you rejected me?” With Jaemin’s sudden question, Renjun and Haechan felt like they shouldn’t be sitting at the table anymore. They glance at each other, both wondering the same thing: should we leave?

“No,” She looks over at her soulmate, and then glances at Renjun and Haechan, “I guess I should explain myself now, huh?”

“Please.” Since Yeji rejected Jaemin, he turned into a different person. His affectionate and compassionate side is still present, but he tended to keep a calm and neutral front during most of his time in college that made some people think he’s a mean and scary person. Haechan and Renjun are very curious as to why Yeji dumped Jaemin all of a sudden, for the sake of their friend, and stay seated to hear what Yeji has to say..

“I only have one mark.” She explains. Jaemin looks at her a bit dumbfounded.

“What do you mean? Where’s the other one?” He asks and glances over her as if trying to find her other mark. Yeji laughs a bit at the question.

“I mean, I was only born with one. I will only have one mark my whole life.”

“There are people like that? What does it mean?” Renjun asks, stirring the melting ice in his drink with his straw.

“It means that your soulmate is also the person who will hurt you the most in life.” Yeji’s sharp eyes glance over to Jaemin, “That’s why I rejected you so quickly. I’m sorry if I caused you pain. I was just young and only thinking about myself.” She explains.

“No, I understand. I think I would’ve done the same thing.” Jaemin nods, and the two of them fix their eyes down and away from each other, Jaemin now knowing the reason for their separation makes him think about the decisions he made over the past few years.

Haechan, however, starts thinking about you. His palms get clammy and his heart beats faster, his mind running through the years and years of memories he has of you.

Where is your second mark?

Has it just been so long that Haechan doesn’t remember anymore, or did he never see it in the first place? Could it be… that you’re like Yeji? One mark, destined to be hurt the most by the person who’s supposed to love you the most. Haechan feels sick. It can’t be.

“It’s rare, right? For people to be born with one mark?” Haechan asks Yeji, and she purses her lips.

“Not really, no. Most people just don’t admit it out loud, since it’s not the norm to only have one mark. If you think about it, the people you love have the most power to hurt you. It’s not that uncommon.” She shrugs, and the table settles into another silence as the three guys think about her words.

Haechan refuses to believe it. You told him everything, you trusted him to the very end. You would’ve told him if you only had one mark, right? On the other hand, Haechan cannot remember ever seeing a second mark on your body— ever.

He begins to feel pain, for you and for what you must’ve gone through while you were with Haechan if this is true. He also begins to feel fear. Fear that his actions in the past are the end-all, be-all to your relationship. Haechan always had hope that you two might be able to work out your problems in the future, until now.

Haechan really hopes he’s wrong. He really hopes there’s a chance, a small sliver of promise of a future left for the two of you.

“Oh, hey, you got here quick.” You say as you open the door, Mya stepping in through the threshold and into your home. “I’m sorry we had to change plans so quickly. It’s just Mirae got a fever and wouldn’t stop crying…” You trail off as you lead your friend into the kitchen.

“It’s alright, I understand.” Mya smiles, watching you pull two mugs out of your cabinet and pour hot water, the savory aroma of coffee immediately filling the room. Mya takes a good look at you; you have some hair falling out of your ponytail around your face, there’s some sort of stain on your sweater, and you can’t stop playing with the diamond ring on your left hand; you look just like any new mom would.

“So, what’s going on? You don’t usually call me up like this out of nowhere…” You ask once you sit down, mugs on the table between you and your old friend. During your college days, you guys got to be pretty close, but after you graduated it became harder to get in touch due to your busy lives.

“Well, you remember Renjun, right?” Mya begins, nervously sipping on her coffee. You pretend to not notice how her hands shake.

“Of course,” You smile at the memory of Mya and Renjun, “Are you guys doing good?” At the question, Mya sets down her mug and stares into the creamer that swirls through the coffee, her shoulders sagging and eyes dull.

“I think… he’s going to propose to me.” You freeze, your heart suddenly beginning to hammer in your chest. Not because you’re excited by the news, but because your friend looks miserable.

“Why does the look on your face say that’s a bad thing?” Your heart begins to break when Mya lifts her head to show the tears surfacing to the edge of her eyes. You reach your hand over the table to capture Mya’s, trying to comfort her in any way.

“You know you can tell me anything. I won’t judge.” You nudge her to open up. After a moment, she takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand.

“I don’t think I’m Renjun’s soulmate. I think… I’m the opposite.” She admits, biting into her bottom lip. “I think I fell out of love. Soulmates can’t do that, right?” When you shake your head, she sighs and continues, “I think it happened a while ago actually, but I was too afraid to say anything because I still care about him, like a friend. We share a mark, so it could mean I’m the one who’s meant to hurt him the most, but, this is going to sound insane…” She lets some tears fall down her cheeks as she talks, and you can only grip her hand tighter to encourage her to speak.

“I don’t want to. I think I’m supposed to hurt him, but I don’t want to— not at all. How does any of this make sense?” The tears start to fall as she thinks more and more about the situation, why did fate have to be so unfair to her?

You always thought about how unfair it is that there’s going to be a person who hurts you and gets to walk away from the situation without a care. When it comes to Mya and your own story of how you got hurt, you realize hurt is a two way street sometimes. It’s not always malicious and spiteful, hurt can be just as much of a shared emotion as love.

“Hey, everything happens for a reason. Even if it hurts, it’s supposed to hurt for a reason. Or else, why would fate exist in the first place?” You’re not sure if these are the most comforting words you can give Mya at the moment, but she finds some comfort in your logic and nods her head.

“I should go talk to him, shouldn’t I?” When you nod your head, Mya sighs. She dreads having this conversation, even thinking about it makes her scared of how Renjun will react.

“When you have your thoughts in order, go to him and tell him how you feel. No matter what kind of relationship fate assigns you, it doesn’t take away all the time you spent together. It’ll be okay.”

Mya has a lot on her mind as she stands up and makes her way to your door, denying your request of walking her home or calling a cab. As she slides her shoes on, the bedroom door opens and closes quietly. Mya smiles at the man who walks up to you, some bags under his eyes and his light brown hair tousled, not surprising Mya the slightest.

“Is she okay?” You ask as he comes forward, worry lacing your words. The man nods and lovingly pats your head, telling you not to worry before turning to Mya.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t come out earlier to say hi, Mirae was sleeping on me and I didn’t want to wake her up.” He explains while his arm comes around your shoulders and he tiredly sets his chin against your head.

“It’s okay, Xiaojun, I’m the one who intruded. You guys should focus on Mirae, and maybe get some sleep.” Mya manages to smile as she glances at her phone, a message from Renjun reading “Where are you? Come home, I miss you” making her nerves from earlier arise.

“We’ll try,” You comment, “And hey, call me anytime. I’ll always be here for you.” Mya nods, sending a wave and walking out of the front door to walk the long way home. When the door closes, Xiaojun sighs and moves his head to your shoulder, snaking his other arm around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Y/N… I’m so tired.” He whines, laughing through his words a bit. It sends chills down your spine when his lips brush against your bare skin and his breath tickles your neck. You tug on his shirt, pulling him closer and resting your head against him.

“That’s what happens when a baby is sick.” You sigh, and Xiaojun can already guess the question that’s about to leave your lips. “You don’t regret this, do you?”

Around the same time that Donghyuck left you, Xiaojun found his soulmate. She came into Xiaojun’s life as quickly as she left it, something about backpacking through Central America. Not sharing the same goals and dreams as his soulmate, it left Xiaojun heart broken and lost without the person who’s supposed to be his home.

He needed someone and you needed someone, too. And then it turned from needing the other’s presence to understanding each other in a different way than friends do, and then you realized… You’re in love.

When he decided to love Mirae as if she’s his own, that’s when you knew Xiaojun is the right choice for you. However, that didn’t stop you from wondering if Xiaojun ever regrets his decision.

“You ask that question all the time,” He leans back, his gentle hands cupping your jaw as you make eye contact, “You know I’ll always answer the same way. I never regret picking you.”

Xiaojun waits for the anxiety to leave your eyes before giving you a smile, brushing his thumb over your soft cheek. He wonders how he hasn’t fallen in love with you sooner, you being his childhood friend and all. He knows it’s probably because he has always been waiting for his soulmate and it blinded him from seeing the one he truly loves: you.

When he feels you fully relax into him, he leans in and softly presses his lips to yours. You melt into him instantly, letting him hold onto you as his lips move slowly against yours. The hand on your waist pulls you closer and you hear Xiaojun whine when your nails scratch on his back over his shirt.

You pull away before anything else can happen, and Xiaojun stares back at you with a pout that makes you giggle a bit.

“Maybe we really should go to sleep?” You ask, and Xiaojun nods. He takes one more look at you, that look full of adoration that always makes your heart jump and your face heat up no matter what, and then he leads you to your bedroom for, hopefully, a restful night of sleep.

The next time you hear from Mya, it’s when you’re walking home from work one evening.

Your phone rings loudly and kills whatever train of thought you were on, pulling you to your electronic device and pressing the answer button.

“Hey, hun, what’s up?” You hum into the phone, stepping over cracks in the sidewalk.

“I think it’s today. I think Renjun is going to propose to me today.” Her words make you stop in your tracks, making some people around you throw a glare at the sudden obstacle in the middle of the sidewalk.

“What? What happened?” You ask.

“He just called me and told me to go to campus, to the bell tower. I just know he’s going to propose.” You can hear the panicky tone rising in Mya’s voice and you feel her anxiety all the way through the phone.

“Didn’t you talk to him about it?” You try to make sense of the situation.

“I was going to when I planned out what I needed to say, but I’m not ready yet. Oh, my god, I can’t go see him. I can’t.” You can practically hear her shaking her head by the sound of her wavering voice. “Please, Y/N, help me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Mya, it’ll be okay. I’ll meet you in the front of the campus and we’ll go in together, okay?” You turn around abruptly, already planning the quickest way to get to the university in your head.

“Wait, what? I just said I can’t go there.”

“Think about it, if you don’t show up then Renjun will know something is wrong and bring it up first. If you do show up, then you can say what you need to first before anything else happens.” You explain as you weave through people on the sidewalk going home. “I don’t think you should drag this out any longer.”

“... Okay, okay, I’ll meet you there.” After saying goodbyes, you end the phone call and send a text to Xiaojun telling him you’ll be late tonight and saying you’ll explain later. You put your phone into your bag and quickly make your way to campus, playing with the ring on your finger out of worry for Mya.

When you arrive, Mya is already at the front gates, pacing back and forth as college students pass by and send her glances. You walk up to her, scooping her arm into yours and looping them together, calmly walking onto campus and towards the bell tower. You clutch your bag closer to your side, thinking about the one place you want to visit before leaving tonight.

“Have you thought about what you’ll say?” You ask quietly, but your voice still startles Mya and she jumps a bit in your hold.

“I can’t even think straight right now, I have no idea.” She grips your arm tighter.

“I believe in you. One way or another, you and Renjun are connected somehow. I think you already know what you have to say.” You ponder out loud.

“How?”

“Because it’s your fate, even if it’s a bad one. Some things in life are hard, but that’s why we can say we live.” Mya doesn’t look any more  relaxed at your words, and you don’t blame her.

After walking for some time, you reach the bell tower. You can already see a figure of someone standing underneath it. The sun is setting behind the clock, and when you walk closer, you can see balloons and some candles lighting up the dimming area. Right before you reach the tower, you stop and let go of Mya’s arm. Giving her one last look of reassurance, you gently push her to Renjun.

You don’t hear exactly what happens next, since you’re standing too far away. But if you had to guess, Renjun noticed Mya and greeted her with the flowers he was holding. For a split second, you felt deja vu. Back when you were just a college student, you saw this exact same scene through a video— same people and same proposal.

There was a point when Renjun’s face changed that you know Mya broke the news. He looked confused and agitated, but most of all hurt. True pain breaks over his face, you can even see it from where you’re standing. You’ve never seen someone hurt by the one who is fated to bring them pain until now. Renjun looks like he could crumble into the asphalt and roll away with the wind, and it would still hurt less than standing there, hearing the words of betrayal from the one he thought was his soulmate.

You sympathize with him. It’s almost like you can feel that same feeling, like muscle memory in your heart forcing you to remember what it feels like to be hurt that way.

When Mya turns and walks away, you see the pain on her face too. When she passes you, she moves quicker than you and you aren’t able to stop her, only watching her walk towards the entrance of the campus.

You turn to look at Renjun, your heart seizing in surprise when you see two other familiar faces: Jaemin and Donghyuck.

He looks like he hasn’t changed one bit, but at the same time he isn’t who you remember. His hair is still that golden shade of brown, falling over his ears and down the back of his neck. His clothes look the same, his posture is still a bit hunched as always, but his eyes and his gaze look different as he stares back at you.

You aren’t sure why you’re still standing there, you don’t have anything to say to your three old college friends, so you politely nod at them and turn around, walking further into campus. You walk next to the buildings you used to know so well, your feet guiding you to the place your heart wants to go to the most.

You pull out your phone and start calling Mya. Once, twice, and after the third time, you send a text asking her to pick up the phone. There are so many places she could’ve gone, and you could probably catch up to her if you turn around and run, but your feet don’t listen to your brain and carry you to the place you’ve been yearning to see again since the second you stepped into campus.

The staircase looks the same as it did 5 years ago. You have changed, so has Donghyuck, but this staircase remains stagnant in time. The trees on the left side still sway over the stairs peacefully and the cracks in the stone wall on the right seem to not have changed either. You immediately feel comfort upon seeing this steep set of stairs, slowly starting to walk up while putting your phone into your bag.

One, two, three, four, the fifth step a little longer, then repeat.

When you reach the top, the air feels slightly cooler and you close your eyes for a moment. Not for too long, though, because you hear your name being called from the bottom of the staircase.

Donghyuck manages to catch your attention with his loud voice, his figure looking small. You stand in your spots for a bit longer, the sun setting behind the trees and the wind nipping at your nose. Until, suddenly, Donghyuck starts climbing the stairs.

One, two, three, four, every fifth stride a little longer, one hundred and nine times until he’s on the step right before yours, glancing at you through his hopeful eyes.

“I knew you would be here.” He’s slightly out of breath, but the cheekiness in his voice is still evident.

“I knew you would find me.” You say back, making him smile a bit, “But, I’m not sure what for. If it’s about what Mya did to Renjun, I don’t think that’s my place to explain.”

“No, there’s something I’m curious about. Actually, there’s so many things I want to know about you, but I have a feeling you won’t tell me everything I want to hear.” He bites his chapped lip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his oversized jacket. “Will you let me ask you a question?” The look on your face tells him to go on.

“Do you only have one mark?”

You cock an eyebrow, “It took you this long to figure out?”

He laughs, not out of humor but out of disbelief, and looks at his shoes. “I can’t believe it. All this time…” he mumbles and kicks the step he’s standing on. When he lifts his head to look at you, you’re surprised by the tears lining his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Your heart still hurts to see him in pain, even after everything, your soulmate connection is still strong.

“For hurting you. You knew what would happen all along, you knew how we would end up, but you still stayed with me. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t do anything to save us.” He sniffs, one tear falling down his eye. He tries to wipe it away quickly, but you still see it. Something in you pulls you towards him, something telling you to comfort him, but you hold back.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s in the past now.” You bite your lip in thought as he nods, “Where did you find out about single-marked people?”

“I ran into an old classmate. When she explained it, I realized it sounded just like what happened to us—”

“What you did to me.” You quickly correct him, making the pain on his face fade away and a cold look present itself on his features.

“Hey, I know you understand why I did what I did.” He rebuttals.

“Just because I understand doesn’t mean I’ll forgive and forget.” You taunt back, feeling anger and irritation rise. You decide now is the time to walk away, talking the first step down the stairs where Donghyuck is standing. He stops you with a strong grasp on your left wrist, turning you to him and looking you straight in the eye.

“One more question. Whose ring is this?” He holds up your left hand to his face, eyeing the diamond that shines as he tilts your hand back and forth. His thumb rolls over the dragonfly that paints your hand, his identical mark peeking out of his sleeve and touching yours as he examines the ring.

“Xiaojun gave it to me.” Donghyuck flinches at the name, looking between you and your hand.

“Xiaojun…” He repeats, the name feeling heavy on his tongue, “Good. He’s a good guy.” You can tell how hard it is for him to get those words out of his mouth, as if he’s saying the words out loud to convince himself rather than just commenting. You gently try to take your hand away, but Donghyuck grips onto it more, dropping your hands down between you two.

“Wait, one more question.”

You sigh restlessly, “You said that about the last question.”

“No, seriously, this is the last one.” You pause for a moment to compose yourself before nodding slowly, signaling him to go ahead and ask.

“Will you ever be able to do it? To forgive me, and to forget what I did?” His voice holds so much hope you’re almost afraid of talking, since you know your words will break whatever last piece of expectation he has left. You gently take his hand, stepping closer to him to slide it into his jacket pocket. You wipe some pollen off of his shoulder, looking him in the eyes afterwards.

“One day, when we’ve found our place in this world and the pain we gave each other is just a distant memory, I will forgive you. But I’ll never be able to forget how you left me when I needed you most. In this world where love is chosen for you, I turned my back on fate and I chose love. It’ll never be the same as when I was with you, but that’s not what I need. I need someone who will love me— someone who will stay when things go good or bad. Someone who will stay for life.” You explain, “And actually, I’ll start forgiving you now.”

You dig into your bag, finding your wallet and producing a photo from one of the slots that’s supposed to be for a card.

“This is Mirae. I can already tell she’s going to have your eyes and your hair when she grows older,” You can’t help but smile, watching Donghyuck’s every emotion as they move through his face. Surprise, fondness, instant love. “We’re always going to be tied together from now on. Not because of this,” You point to the dragonfly that’s imprinted on his hand, “But because of her.” You point to the picture that he’s gripping tightly.

Donghyuck looks at the photo for what seems like hours. The little girl in the photo is laughing at someone behind the camera, holding a rubber duck in her small hands. She's a perfect mixture between you and Donghyuck, and you’re right, she does have his eyes.

Donghyuck has never felt this much regret in his whole life.

“I have to go,” You say, pulling out your phone when you hear it buzz in your bag to see Mya calling you, “But don’t be a stranger. I never changed my phone number.” And with that, you walk down the stairs. When you get to the bottom, Donghyuck watches you turn and wave to him before disappearing behind the stone wall.

He grips the picture in his hand, not able to look away from his daughter who stares back at him with the same eyes. The sunset has ended and Donghyuck eventually makes the slow walk back down the stairs to find Renjun and Jaemin.

He keeps looking at the picture the entire walk back, thinking about the choices he made when he was younger. He realized he cared a lot about what his marks made him; the sunflower on his knee made him a stranger to his father, and the dragonfly on his left hand made him a stranger to his daughter.

Even though he thought he took the cautionary steps, in the end, he ended up exactly the way he never wanted to be— like his dad

The marks on bodies help guide people to their fate, but there is more to life than fate. Sometimes, you have to take destiny by the reigns and pull it your way. And with this picture— with this new chance to begin again, Donghyuck will do just that.

#haechan #nct dream au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct scenario #nct imagine #nct blurb #nct fic #nct dream fic #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream blurbs #00 line #dreamies

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon: Let’s break up on the 30th of February

This work, 我们 2月30日号分手吧, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

Every failed prank pulled on Victor has only served to embolden you. Once again, you’ve come up with an idea on how to challenge him.

“Victor. After giving it much thought, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February.” Exercising your acting skills, you bite your lower lip, standing before him with a pitiful expression. Your eyes are welling with tears as you pretend to be torn between reluctance and resoluteness.

“Mm,” Victor responds simply.

Without lifting his head, he circles some data on your proposal with a red pen, then draws a cross.

Hold on, why is this situation turning out different from what you imagined? Wasn’t he supposed to tug on your hand, begging you not to leave with reddened eyes? Turns out the television dramas lied!

You gripe, pinching his ear. “You actually responded with just a ‘mm’!”

“What else?” He creates some distance between himself and the desk, giving you more space to move. Resigned, he covers his hand over yours, rescuing his poor ear from your clutches. 

“Do you not love me anymore? As expected, men don’t know how to treasure what they’ve obtained!” You lunge at him, and the chair swivels backwards along with this action. Fortunately, Victor holds you before you fall.

“Didn’t you say it yourself?” After keeping you steady, he brings you into his arms.

Enraged, you give him glare, climbing up from his body and giving him an angry stomp on the foot. “Who was the one who said he’d never leave me? Now that I want a break up, you aren’t even trying to make me stay.”

Victor’s brows scrunch up in pain. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know that the 30th of February doesn’t exist?” 

Seeing that your plot has been unravelled, you chuckle in embarrassment. Trying to placate him, you nuzzle into his arms. “Heheh, Teacher Victor is really smart!”

He encircles his arm around your waist. As though he’s forgiving a playful child for the umpteenth time, he pinches your waist as a small punishment. “Since a certain someone doesn’t have sufficient IQ, I’ll have to make up for her absence of IQ.”

“Victor, there’s no need for personal attacks!

[ GAVIN ] 

Having an off day from work, the two of you decide to stay at home instead of heading out.

He’s currently reading a book while you’re scrolling on your phone as usual. All of a sudden, you come across a pretty interesting prank, and decide to use it on Gavin. “Gavin, let’s break up on the 30th of February.

Gavin freezes, the arm around your shoulders loosening by quite a fair amount. He turns his head stiffly towards you, a dash of pain flashing in his dimming amber eyes. “Have you... thought it through?”

“I have. We’ll break up on the 30th of February.” You give him a nod of certainty.

Gavin retracts his right hand which was around you earlier. With his brows tightly knit, he speaks carefully, his tone filled with unease. “Then... before you find someone who can protect you, could I continue protecting you in the meantime?”

Oh my goodness, I forgot how honest this man could be.

“Gav, look at the calendar.” Knowing that you’ve gone too far, you hurriedly tap open the calendar app on your phone.

“I’m not looking! I know that it’s the 26th of February today, and there are four more days till the 30th.” Gavin cranes his neck away, pushing away the phone you’ve brought to him, tone slightly upset. If he had ears on the top of his head, they’d definitely be drooping.

“Why don’t you take another look?” Suppressing your laughter, you push the phone in front of him again.

“I don’t want to!” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re going to tell me that it’s a non-leap year, which means there’s a year and four days left. But a year passes by really quickly, and the 30th will arrive soon.”

Oh no, I’ve shocked this poor boy silly.

Not receiving a response from you even after a long time, Gavin opens his eyes to find that you’ve been rendered speechless. He lowers his head with a pout. “Am I wrong?”

With a sigh, you lift his head, giving him a gentle gaze as you explain. “Dear, it’s a non-leap year, but there are only 29 days in February even in a leap year. There will never be a 30th February, which is why I’ll never break up with you in this lifetime.”

“...”

Gavin blinks, reacting only after a long while. Reaching out to encase you back into his arms, his fluffy hair nuzzles the crook of your neck affectionately. “You gave me a scare. In compensation, go stargazing with me tonight.”

[ LUCIEN ]

The bathroom is always the easiest place for inspiration to strike.

“Lucien, I’ve made a decision. I’ll break up with you on the 30th of February.” Your expression is solemn as you step out of the bathroom, looking at Lucien as he reads a book.

The light in Lucien eyes dim, and he sets down the book. With a mellow tone, he asks, “Little Butterfly, are you serious?”

You nod, repeating yourself once more with the acting skills you’ve picked up from actors during filming. “I’m serious. We’ll break up on 30th February.”

Lucien pauses for a moment, then lowers his head in thought. The situation dawns on him, and he releases a sigh, casting you a resigned glance. Tugging on your hand so that you sit in front of the dressing table, he takes out the hair dryer and dries your hair slowly. “Sorry. Even though I know there won’t be a 30th February, I won’t agree to it.”

“Huh? Why not?” You turn your head, speaking loudly amid the whirring wind. “Since you’ve already figured it out, just play along with me!”

He pats your half-dried hair, then turns the hair dryer off. Then, he locates the styling brush and tidies your hair. “I don’t wish for us to be tainted by the term ‘break up’, even if the chances of that happening is zero.”

Lucien is indeed pretty sensitive when it comes to this matter. Realising this, you obediently sit still on the chair like an elementary school kid, leaving him to tidy your hair. “Okay okay, I was in the wrong. I won’t joke about such things next time. Also, I can promise that the butterfly will never leave her painter in this lifetime.”

“Good.” The corners of Lucien’s lips curl upwards, satisfied. 

He picks up the hair dryer again. “Since you’ve admitted your mistake, your punishment will be to make me cream puffs, and accompany me to class tomorrow, in the capacity of a family member.”

[ KIRO ]

Once again catching Kiro red-handed as he steals your snacks, you grab a fistful of his hair angrily. “Kiro, since you’re always taking my snacks, I've decided to break up with you on the 30th of February!” 

“Miss Chips, you saw that post too?” Kiro completely ignores the first half of your sentence. As though lacking even a shred of remorse, he places your favourite snack back in its original position, unable to hide it in time. He stands up obediently, the innocent expression on his face causing your anger to dissipate.

“Huh? You already know about it?”

“Of course. There’s nothing Kiro doesn’t know!” Being able to escape unscathed, Kiro’s imaginary tail wags in the air.

You roll your eyes, chasing him away from the snack cupboard. “Boring.”

“But Miss Chips, let’s not say such things in the future. I’ll admit that I was a little frightened earlier.” He lifts his hand, showing you a gap between his thumb and forefinger. “But just a little.”

“Really! Did I really scare you?” Pleasantly surprised, you turn around. 

Kiro arches his brows in astonishment, then lowers his head as though upset. “Miss Chips, what’s with that excited expression?”

“Ever since we returned from the haunted house, I’ve always wanted to give you a fright, then snap photographs of your expression and make them into memes,” you laugh, taking out a small box from your pocket. Retrieving the lock from within, you clasp it onto the snack cupboard under Kiro’s shocked gaze.

“Miss Chips!!”

On that day, all the citizens within 10km distance had a discussion online about how they heard a man mimicking the voice of superstar Kiro, but his tone sounded so miserable that it was akin to a squealing pig awaiting its demise.

[ SHAW ]

After who knows how many times of facing Shaw’s mockery, you decide to give him a scare by employing a new prank you learnt on the web.

“Shaw, I’m ending our relationship as girlfriend and boyfriend on the 30th of February!” 

Shaw’s eyes flit to you leisurely as he grabs the final chicken cutlet on the coffee table. Revealing a triumphant grin, he begs to be punched as he responds, “Pick another day. There won’t be a 30th February in your lifetime.”

???

Finding this incredulous, your eyes widen. “You little brat - you’re looking forward to the end of our relationship, aren't you?”

“I wouldn't say that I’m ‘looking forward’ to it, but it’s inevitable.” 

He doesn’t explain further, licking the corners of his lips. Then, he takes a sip of mixed cola from your coke. The longer you watch him, the more enraged you are. It’s often said that people tend to lose their rationality when angry. Without much thought, the words in your head leap out of your mouth.

“Fine! Since you’re so certain, I’ll end this relationship with your annoying eggplant head today!”

“Sure.” Shaw feels around in his pocket.

You turn around to leave, never wanting to see this eggplant head ever again.

“Hey, wait.” He suddenly calls you. “I haven’t gotten my household register.”

Puzzled, you turn around with a glare. “A break up is just a break up. Why do you need your household register?”

Shaw stares at you as though he’s looking at a blockhead. “We’re ending our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend, so isn’t the next step to start our relationship as husband and wife?”

At this stage, it’s difficult to remain angry. Yet, in order to preserve some dignity, you stutter and stammer, face flushed. “W-who even wants to start a relationship as husband and wife with you!”

“Who else but you?” Shaw digs through the drawer, retrieving both of your household registers. Grabbing your hand, he pulls you out of the house. “Let’s go and get a marriage license.”

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc lucien #mlqc shaw #mlqc victor #aeiofjsdklneiowahfsdkl #S H A W

[pearl-pilots-in-chains]

Come to My Window (All the Little Lights #2)

Fandom: Neon Genesis Evangelion

Ships: Asurei

Rating: T

Summary: Rei doesn't like summers much. She usually ends up spending most of her time alone. One afternoon, an open window changes things. Meanwhile, Asuka's unpacking is going great . . . just great. She's just about had enough when she's distracted by the sound of a familiar song.

Notes: It's time for Asurei to Asurock! This is the second part of my All the Little Lights Evangelion high school AU. A slight warning, there's some content in this fic that might be offensive/triggering. I tried to avoid getting too graphic or dark, but there are some clear depictions of depression and bullying, as well as allusions to familial issues. I just wanted to make sure I put a bit of a disclaimer. That being said, I think those parts are important to Rei's character, so I didn't want to leave them out.

The first song Asuka recognizes Rei playing in this fic is "Always With Me, Always With You," by Joe Satriani, and the band shirt Asuka is wearing in this fic is based on the art to the album "Karmacode" by Lacuna Coil.

This was originally posted to my AO3 on May 25, 2020. Hope you enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Rei slumped down into the chair, letting her head fall back, her gaze tilting upward, until she was scrutinizing the ceiling. The faux-sky formed on it looked down on her, the painted stars flares of cream and flame that sliced out of the navy base. She thought it was a nice view. It had the power to draw her back, pulling away years to reach innocent memories. She could recall when the sky was first cast onto her ceiling. It had been her father’s idea, and it was his hand that brought it to life. She remembered watching him from her bed, sitting on top of the plastic wrap they had laid down, crinkling the glossy tarp between her fingers. It half-seemed to be a fragment of another world, a remnant of a different life. Now, the mural served as the sole reminder that her father’s presence had once filled her room.

She had thought about asking Shinji to help her paint over the false sky. She knew there was a can of paint in the garage that could match the ceiling’s original shade well enough. She could return it all to a blank canvas. Erase the constellations, fill the vacuum with blinding light. And yet, she never asked. She wasn’t sure Shinji would be willing to help if the request was made. There was a picture on top of his bookcase. It wasn’t in the front. Its frame stood behind one that displayed Shinji and Toji after a track meet, celebrating their respective performances. But it was still there, half in hiding, half revealed. She knew the day it had been taken. December 24, 2000. On the eve of their last Christmas as a quartet. Her memories of that day were nebulous, lost to the childhood haze that the painting day had managed to emerge from. The picture spoke enough to make up for the lack of recollections though.

Her mother was holding Rei in her lap. Rei was looking away from the camera, down at the floor. She looked far wiser, far sadder that a child should. She looked as though she knew too much. Yui was looking up towards the camera, a smile plastered on her face that failed to hide its fraudulent nature. It was took curved, too hooked, too forced. The eyes told the truth. Distant, worried, ashamed. Shinji was sitting by Gendo. He was trying to imitate his father, pressing his face into an amalgamation of the mask the adult wore. It was a shoddy disguise though, as his lips looked seconds away from tremble, and there was water in the corner of his eyes. Gendo wore the true mask. His gaze bored directly into the lens’s eye, staring it down, as though he was willing the time to work correctly through sheer willpower and determination alone. Or, perhaps he was merely compensating. The tinted glasses he normally sported were nowhere to be seen, which left his eyes naked, exposed, without a shield to fume behind. It was possible that the tight, angry smile which ripped through his lips and the needling glare in his iris were designed to make up for this. They had the opposite effect, however. Whereas his traditional spectacles contained and concealed some degree of his emotions, his posturing revealed the true extent of them. His spite, his wrath, his pride, all laid bare.

As a general rule, Rei didn’t keep photos in the same way her brother did. He had a greater appreciation for the physical mementos, the tangible preservation of a moment for posterity. Rei treasured the fleeting nature of seconds, minutes, days. The ephemeral essence of life. The truth that nothing was everlasting, nothing endured. Consequently, there were three pictures in her room. One of her standing by the front door, the day before her first day of elementary school. She looked brave in it. It wasn’t just a front, Rei realized. She had felt brave that day. Time had taught her, however, that there was a thin line between bravery and foolishness.

The second picture showed Shinji and Rei, mouths broken in laughter, dancing through the backyard, Shinji lunging out in an attempt to tap her shoulders. They had been playing hide-and-go-tag, as they referred to it, and he had found her secret spot behind the rose garden. Yui had snapped the shot the moment before Shinji discovered that his sister was faster than he had anticipated, and had ended up face down in the grass after his ill-fated leap.

The last picture was the newest of the three, though now passing the age of six years, another family photo. This one was dated August 16, 2005. The smiles were more genuine, even if they looked more worn. Gendo was over four years absent.

Shinji visited his father. He had since second grade. Sometimes once every other weekend, sometimes once a month, depending on how their schedules worked out. Rei never visited. She hadn’t seen Gendo in person in a decade. She was perfectly fine with her only memories of him being mostly vague, indefinite impressions of youth. They were painful enough as they were. She didn’t want to imagine having concrete memories.

Yui had never made either of them visit him. She never would. She understood while Rei chose not. If anything, she understood better than Rei herself. Rei was truthful unsure why Shinji chose to go. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of regret, perhaps out of pity, perhaps some combination of the three. Whatever it was, Shinji chose to see his father, and Rei chose not to ask her brother to help remove the last physical trace of their father from her space.

Even beyond Shinji though, Rei felt a reluctance to erase the ceiling, to restore it to its first form. Her mind shied away from the choice, became anxious, and fell silent. Rei knew far, far too much about anxious silences.

She was the “Silent Ikari,” after all. That was one of the names which had been ascribed to her. One of the kinder ones, really. She was never called them to her face, of course. Not that people said much of anything to her face. She supposed that it might be out of respect for her brother, the Ikari most people liked. But they still spoke, in voices loud enough and near enough for her to make their ‘observations’ out. Maybe they thought she was as deaf as she seemed mute. Maybe they just didn’t care if she heard. After all, they could reason that she had no real ‘excuse’ for being withdrawn, closed-off, that ‘emo girl in the corner.’ She just thought she was ‘too good for them.’ The genius who was smart enough to have skipped a grade, who could probably skip another, but ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ The one who all the teachers thought was practically perfect, even if they worried she was ‘a little on the quiet side.’ The one who had a friendly, and moderately popular brother, but was herself too ‘stuck up’ to even bother talking with anyone. And if they didn’t play up that she was cold and arrogant, they played up that something was wrong with her. That she ‘wasn’t all there,’ or had never figured out ‘how to be a human.’ There were words that stung even more, especially when she was younger, when she learned what they meant, but she preferred not to reiterate them in her mind. She didn’t need to give the speakers that power, that lasting blow. All the same, a memory crept into her head unbidden.

It was one of the first times she had sat away from Shinji and his friends. She had felt like a burden to her brother, and she had been tired of always hanging on to him, even if he had never minded. Even if he had wanted nothing more than to make sure she was okay. He was smart enough to know her reputation, even if people avoided saying things in front of him. He had gotten into a fight, a real fight, with someone who he had called a friend before it, over a passing comment the friend had made about Rei when he thought Shinji wasn’t paying attention. After that, Rei had decided to give her brother space. She didn’t want to be the weight that he felt bound by. She didn’t want to be the shadow that he felt as though he had to protect. He hadn’t been happy about it, but he had understood and agreed when she had talked to him. If there was one undeniable fact about her brother, it was that he always did his best to empathize, even when it was clearly difficult for him.

She had picked out a table along the fringe of the room to sit at. Somewhere out of the way, to avoid unwanted attention. She hadn’t wanted to be alone. She never had. But by then, it had seemed too late to change the perception of the faces she saw. The disregard, the amusement, the disgust. They had seemed immutable. And so, she hadn’t tried. She had done her best to be invisible. Because it was easier than fighting against a tide than felt overwhelming. She was too afraid of drowning to do otherwise.

She had heard the boy’s conversation with his friends before he approached her. Her hearing had always been above average, and when you heard your name spoken in first cautious, and then careless, tones behind your back, you got used to honing in on it. There had been a dare. A bet as to whether or not he could get a date with the ‘broken girl.’ They had all been at the age where suddenly, exploring previous unknown urges and interests seemed of the upmost importance. Well, most of them had been. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t. Not in the same way, anyhow, or to the same degree. At least, she didn’t think so. They spoke of crushes, and flirting, and love, and sex, like objects on fire, that burned the skin when they were handled, but were worth the flame. She thought of them in muted terms, as though she was touching the same once-scorching objects, but after they had passed beneath a waterfall, the flames all-but vanquished, only the occasional ember remaining. They were safer to hold, to handle, but the appeal, the allure in the danger, was gone, their extinguished state irrevocable.

His stance had been casual as he walked over, but there was a cruel, cocksure glint in his eye. His tone betrayed just what he thought of her, and what he thought of himself. She was an object, a means to an end (the money involved in the bet), and that was all. He was the lad who was going to win the bet, and she should feel lucky to be used for that purpose.

“Hey.” His tone had dripped smooth self-importance, self-exaggeration. “I’m Maximilian.” He had used his full name, not the Max he went by, as though he could make her persuade by the sheer power of possessing what he no doubt thought was an ‘exotic’ name.

“Hello.” Her reply had been quiet, not really timid, though it could have been mistaken for such. Any who had been less caught up in himself would have recognized that it instead bespoke that she had no interest in talking to him, was aware of what he was doing, and want no part of it.

“I’m going to sit here.” It hadn’t been a question, hadn’t been a request, had been a statement, had almost been a command. A command to accept the fact that she was in his presence, and should treat him with the respect his conceited conscience told him he deserved.

She hadn’t said anything in response to that at first. He had taken that as the acceptance he desired, and taken the seat across from her. “So, you’re Rei, right?” The tone was aggressive, as though he was going to dismiss whatever she said, because he was certain he knew who she was. She had imagined that if she said, simply to deny him, he would have ignored it and preceded ahead as though she had said ‘yes.’ He had been the type of boy who could go either one of two ways. On one hand, he could cross too hard of a line earlier enough that he still had a chance to learn how to be something better. On the other hand, he could grow up to be a man who refused to acknowledge refusals, because he felt he has the right to what he wants. The worst kind of person, Rei thought. The kind who thought that others very selves were second to their own desires. Rei wasn’t sure which path he had ended up taking, but she was very glad that they had gone to different high schools, although she felt bad for whoever ended up being the target of his interests there.

Instead of saying ’no,’ or merely staying silent, Rei had cut to the chase. “I don’t want to go out with you. Please leave me alone.”

This had thrown him for a loop. That much had been clear. He had expected her to at least hear him out. His opinion of himself was high enough that he hadn’t even considered outright disregard, the very same treatment he had intended to give her. The result of course, had been that he had become angry. Furious, really, she imagined, though his sheer pride kept him from making a scene, considering he cared too much for his image as the ‘cool guy.’ Instead, he had leaned in, breaking into her bubble, to spit the words in her face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, stupid bitch. It’s not like anyone ever going to ask out a freak like you. The most attention you’ll ever get will be from some white coat in a psych ward.”

She hadn’t flinched. She had known that it would be her downfall if she did. That breaking was what he wanted, her visible suffering was what he was craving in that moment. He had realized she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction after a few seconds, and strolled off, still cocky, but surely fuming internally over the fact that he hadn’t managed to get a reaction out of her. Not a twitch in her lips, a blink in her eyes, something to show that she was shattering beneath the calm exterior. Not that she wasn’t. She just knew how to delay the collapse. It had happened later that day, in the safety and solitude of her room, a silent sort of disintegration. No tears, no screams. Just a widening hollow feeling that consumed her from the pit of her stomach, reaching up into her chest cavity, groping at her lungs, sucking the air into, folding her in on herself until she felt small enough to simply stop existing altogether. It wasn’t an uncommon experience in those days. Before she learned how to grow numb to the words, numb to the spite. That came later though. You had to experience enough pain, enough cover crumbling, to learn how to ignore the barbs that brought it on.

She had never told her brother about that particular incident. She hadn’t wanted him to start another fight on her account. She wasn’t sure if he had ever found out. She guessed it was likely he had, although she wasn’t sure what he had done about it (though she thought it was probable he had done something).

The abuse had never been physical, never public, rarely direct. There had been no retaliation for that incident either. She supposed on all accounts that it was because people were afraid of what her brother might do. Or perhaps not her brother, but more accurately, her brother’s friends. She liked them for the most part. The track team members her brother was close to were an anomaly, in that they were some of few decent people she had ever met in the schools she had attended. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Knowing that she didn’t have to worry about making her brother choose between his sister and his friends. At least not anymore. He had discarded the ones that had tried to sway him away from the familial choice. She supposed then, that he had already made his decision. She felt guilty for that. She felt guilty often, when it came to her brother, and what she perceived as the difficulties she brought into his life. She knew how much he worried for her. Worried that she was afraid, worried that she was hurting, worried that was lonely.

The most painful part of the guilt was knowing the her brother’s fears weren’t altogether unfounded. No, she supposed, they weren’t unfounded at all. She would characterize her feelings as more anxious than afraid, but the other two concerns she knew he held were accurate. The latter led to the former, in a way. She had discovered there was nothing quite like the feeling of isolation, of division from others, to exacerbate preexisting pain. To make it metastasize, grow into something greater than itself. Seclusion bred sorrowful things when it revealed what was latent.

She had never had her brother’s power with people. He had a natural sort of charisma about him, as awkward as he could be at times. He seemed to draw people to him. More important though, words came easy to him. He could carry a conversation when it dashed against rocks, and somehow bring it out to the far side relatively unscathed. Whether it was a matter of skill, or a matter of luck, social things seemed to turn out positive rather than negative for him more often than not.

Words had never come easy to her. Not when she was talking to someone other than her mother or her brother. She could read cues, interpret signs, and understand context well enough, but there was somehow a disconnect when it came to putting all of that into play when encoding something herself. Ironically, and perhaps appropriately, she couldn’t articulate why. She only knew that it made everything harder. That the persona she conveyed caused people to say she was ‘cold,’ or ‘dead,’ or ‘inhuman.’ Those her knew her well knew this wasn’t the case, but aside from her family, the only people who fell into that category were Shinji’s closest friends, who had spent enough time with him, and by extension, with Rei when she was around, that they read her demeanor differently. She didn’t really have friends of her own, she knew that much. It had been that way since she was a child. She had worried her teachers in kindergarten by the fact that she seemed to turn away all the kids who tried to connect with her. This hadn’t changed, and by the time she headed to junior high, no one tried anymore. The teachers had kept worrying of course, but as she got older, this worry had been offset by their satisfaction and appreciation of her academic performance; apparently, at the end of the day, even elementary school teachers cared more about a child’s grades than her ability to fit into classroom society.

She hadn’t understood it then. Hadn’t understood why her responses, her reactions shut others down. It was only after hearing the covert comments too many times that she had realized what other people thought of her. And by then, the road to remake her reputation had seemed entirely too insurmountable.

That perspective had resulted in her leading a life that was half-spent in sequestration. The silver lining to that, of which she constantly reminded herself, was that she had devoted plenty of time to pursuing her passions, even if it was at a solo capacity. The filled bookcases in her room were one testament to that. The filled folders on her laptop were another, and the guitar resting in its stand by her desk was a third. The lack of company had done wonders for her creativity, she supposed. Was it a worthy exchange though? That was all in the eye of the beholder.

Pulling her gaze away from the ceiling, Rei brought it to rest on the guitar sitting by the desk. The chrome elements of Stratocaster-imitation form glistened in the sunlight from the window above her desk, opened to let the breeze flow in (a partially successful attempt to offset the heat without resorting to blasting the AC, because Rei preferred a more natural solution). She knew it would be at the earliest, four hours before her brother made it home. His shifts had been extended recently, on account of another employee quitting. And of course, her mother wouldn’t be home for at least another hour after that, a timetable that had become the new normal over the past several months. There wasn’t much for her to do in the meantime. Shinji was officially the house chef, because he argued that it was a way for him to ‘destress,’ which was his way of saying that cooking was one of his favorite pastimes, and that he didn’t want anyone else in the kitchen, which he had unofficially declared his ‘dignified domain’ in one of his more emphatic (and comedic) moments.

Rei didn’t particularly like summers, primarily because of how empty they often ended up feeling. This summer had been particularly forlorn one, as with her brother spending nearly all of his time either working or in the company of his new friend Kaworu (she suspected that the her brother and the ashen-hair boy would be dating soon, not that she resented Kaworu; from the two brief interactions she had had with him, he seemed quite nice actually), she had been left to her own devices for days on end. At this point, her routines, as much as she appreciated them, had begun to feel somewhat monotonous. She had taken to browsing blogs lately, in search of a new potentially hobby she could try out to add some diversity to her day, but so far, she hadn’t had much lucky finding anything that she had gravitated toward with any great enthusiasm. She had briefly considered trying out her hand at archery, before swiftly coming to the conclusion that as enticing as her visions of Legolasesque prowess were, the actual effort that would undoubtedly be required to achieve any degree of proficiency wasn’t something she quite felt up to. The fact that even if she did manage to become a competent archer, her chances of being able to skate down a staircase atop a shield would most likely remain negligible was also a bit of a buzzkill. And so, at least for the moment, her current hobbies would have to suffice. She decided that tomorrow, she would take a walk down to Off the Shelf! If she was going to stick with what she knew, it wouldn’t hurt to at least get some new reading material. Well, new to her anyway.

With a barely audible sigh proceeding from her lips, Rei pushed herself up and out of her chair, and left the corner of the room, strolling over to her desk lackadaisically. She retrieved her guitar from its stand and plugged it into her practice amp, positioned alongside the desk. Flipping the amp on and turning the volume to a decent level, satisfied with her other levels. She then set herself down in her desk chair and rolled her volume knob up. She paused for a few seconds, thinking of a good song selection. After a moment, she made her decision.

The first palm muted notes sprung out from the guitar as she picked through the intro, before launching into the melody itself, the pensive tone pervading the room. She allowed the traces of a smile to steal onto her face. It was a beautiful song. One which promise never to leave, never to vanish. One whose titled she liked to think vowed to be with her always. It was a piece she was content to return to. That always seemed to make her day a little less lonely.

Perhaps then, the particular events brought about by her playing that afternoon could only be considered highly appropriate. If one was to take this view, then perhaps it could be called an act of fate, rather than a mere coincidence, that Rei did not think to close her window before she started playing on that particular occasion, something which she habitually did, half out of shyness and doubt of her own talent (unfounded doubt, of course, as anyone who had heard her play could attest to), and part out of respect for her the elderly couple who lived next door, whom she suspected were probably not fans of some of the more ‘enthusiastic’ music she played (which was to say, progressive metal). It would, however, be unfair to Rei to blame her for failing to realize that the elderly couple had moved across the country several months before to live closer to their family. It wasn’t as if she interacted with them frequently, or in fact, paid much attention to them at all. They had kept to themselves, something which she also did. On the other hand, a better case could be made to label Rei a bit on the oblivious side for not noticing the new neighbors who had moved in several days before. That had been a bit more of an affair, though not one which either Yui or Shinji could have been aware of, considering it occurred during the day while they were both absent. Rei, on the other hand, had no such excuse. Her excuse would be, if one were to ask her for it, was that she had been particularly engrossed in rereading one of her favorite books on that specific day, which was in fact true. All the same, it meant that she was unaware of her new neighbors. And furthermore, unaware that one of them would soon hear her playing. And of course, logically, this also meant she was unaware that her life was about to change. However, a lack of awareness rarely averts something from happening, and it certainly did not in this case.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka glared down at the figurine in her hands, scowling. “Dammit,” she grumbled to herself, pulling away the now-severed head from the body of the dragon, and inspecting the jagged break. She spared a glance at the unraveled square of bubble wrap in the box below. “Well that’s just great.” With a sigh and a shake of her head, she set the broken figurine down on top of the bookcase. “I’ll have to fix you later. Gotta ask Misato if we have any glue, or if it’s lost in one of the boxes out in the garage.” She scowled, and turned back to sorting through the contents of the box. She extracted two more figurines from her their bubble wrap entombments, and was pleased to see that her cobra and sorceress were both still intact. Setting them on the shelf beside the beheaded dragon, she grab one of the discarded pieces of bubble wrap and held it up to the light coming through her window. “I guess you didn’t totally fail,” she remarked dryly, before crumpling the strip in her hand and listening to the series of satisfying pops that occurred as a result.

Tossing the now-pointless piece of plastic into the trash bin by her door, she set her hands on her hips and surveyed the pile of boxes that had yet to be unpacked, a hoard still big enough to lay claim to an entire corner of the room with a vengeance. What next? She ran her eyes over the bare walls of the room, finding the off-white coloration unappealing, to say the least. When was this designed? The 80s? Posters it is.

While she now had a goal in mind for the next step in her unboxing/room design (she preferred the latter description, because it sounded more dignified in her mind, and didn’t serve as quite the same reminder that she had just moved, but in all reality, the former was the more accurate description), finding the objects she needed to accomplish that goal was easier said than done. Opening yet another box, and discovering once again that the objects of her intentions were not within (said box instead contained several stacks of CDs, relics of a time before MP3s were the absolute norm), she set it atop the growing pile of boxes that had failed to contain her quarry, with a derisive glance at the blurred face of Avril Lavigne that stared back at her from within. “Why do I even still have you?,” she muttered as she folded the lid back over. And more importantly, why the hell didn’t we label more of these? I blame Kaji. Because yeah, the person who basically didn’t pack up any of my stuff is to blame for why I didn’t label it. Right.

With a roll of her eyes (mostly directed at herself, if she was being honest), she grabbed one more box from the trove. If they’re not in here, I’m taking a break. This is so stupid. As she opened this particular box, she was at that point not surprised to find that rather than the posters she sought, it instead contained two tight rows of game cases. Well, at least I found something decent. Box in hand, she made for the living room. I’m pretty sure Misato left the bottom shelf of the tv stand empty for these.

She was partway through the process of shelving the games when she felt her pocket vibrate. Pausing her activity, she pulled out her phone and looked over the text that had just arrived.

Tiffany H: How’s day four of the move-in going?

Asuka considered the question for a moment, before writing her response.

Asuka R: About as well as the first three lol.

Asuka R: As in, tedious

Asuka R: How’s life in Terahburg?

Tiffany H: Oh, fun. Same as always, tbh.

Asuka R: Aww, and here I thought you’d be sweet and say it was boring without me or something ;)

Tiffany H: Oh, I mean, you’re right! Whatever will we do? Life’s lost all purpose now that you’re gone xD

Asuka R: Now that’s more like it!

Tiffany H: We’re all lost without you Asuka! We’ll never see the light again without you!

Asuka R: And don’t you forget it!

Tiffany H: In fact, the entire town might perish out of sheer sorrow! Our lives our meaningless now!

Asuka R: Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. . .

Tiffany H: Ya think? Lol

Asuka R: Hey, don’t stop on my account!

Tiffany H: I’m running out of material here *shrugs*

Asuka R: And here I thought you were a true thespian!

Tiffany H: Yeah, but talking about you gets boring after a while. ;)

Asuka R: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. *turns nose up*

Tiffany H: There, there, you’ll survive. Just don’t drink the Asherdale kool-aid and forget we exist. Lol

Asuka R: Asherdale kool-aid? Seriously?

Tiffany H: Like I said, I’m running out of material here. Don’t @ me.

Asuka R: Uh huh

Asuka R: Right

Tiffany H: So, what’s the ‘dale like? We got any competition?

Asuka R: I’ll let you know when I figure out what the ’the ‘dale’ is

Tiffany H: Ur 1mp0ssebl3

Asuka R: My eyes are scarred now, thx

Tiffany H: You deserved it. So, what’s the ‘dale like?

Asuka R: Best adjective = boring

Tiffany H: RIP

Asuka R: No competition so far, so you don’t need to worry. The best they have going for them is an

arcade.

Tiffany H: An arcade?

Asuka R: Yeah, I saw it when we were getting into town. Looked it up, it’s some sort of retro deal.

Tiffany H: Retro arcades? Is that a thing now?

Asuka R: Apparently it is in the northwest.

Tiffany H: Whelp, sounds great

Asuka R: Oh yeah, fr

Tiffany H: Well, enjoy ur arcade. I gtg get ready for work.

Asuka R: Ok, say hi to Amanda for me!

Tiffany H: Will do! Ttyl!

When she had finished shelving the games, Asuka made her way back to her room, a determined glint in her eyes (not an unusual expression for her). Alright, now it’s poster time! I don’t care if I have to go through every damn box in that corner, I am finding them! I’m not going to let an outdated 80s color palate get the best of me! And plus, her mind added as an afterthought, Once they’re up, maybe it’ll actually start feeling a little more like my room. And less like someone else’s room, that I’m just staying in. A frown briefly crossed her face, but she tossed it away, steeling her mouth into a resolute line.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the stack of boxes was no longer a stack, but instead a small pond spread across half of the room. Asuka, meanwhile, was red in the face, and looked as though she was a few steps away from steam vents cartoonishly bursting out of her ears. One final, unopened box sat in the corner, the last remnant of the toppled tower. She knelt by it, her face spelling murder, and began to cut through the tape with her pocket knife. . .

“Verdammt, wo sind sie?! Das ist lächerlich!” (Dammit, where are they?! This is ridiculous!)

She punched floor next to her, gritting her teeth as she looked down at the contents of the last box, namely a set of drum skins, and her stick bag. Still glowering, she removed these items and headed to the spare room. Might as well put these with my kit anyway. She couldn’t deny that one positive of this house was the presence of the extra bedroom, which meant that her designated practice space was no longer a garage. That was definitely a positive. Even if it one of the only ones so far.

Setting the sticks down by her stool and the drum skins alongside her drum cases in the corner, she looked over at the kit with a degree of temptation in her eyes. I should probably at least try to finish unpacking, now that I covered my entire room. But . . . I mean, it could help me calm down. And ignore the fact that we probably forgot the box with my posters somewhere. Walking over, she took her seat behind the kit and grabbed a couple sticks from the sling that hung off the floor tom. Just something to blow off steam. I don’t need to practice a song or anything. She was about to count herself off (out of habit rather than necessity, really), when an adventitious sound reached her ears. She blinked, pausing. That sounds . . . oddly like “Always With Me, Always With You.” She looked around, searching for the source of the faint guitar playing she had picked up. Her eyes locked in on the window behind her, which until that moment, she hadn’t noticed was partially open. Rising from her seat and dropping her sticks back into the sling bag, she walked over to the window and looked out.

This particular window looked down on the strip of the yard which ran alongside the building, and faced the house next door. She couldn’t be certain, but it sounded to her as though the music was coming out of one the windows of that house, which also happened to be opened. Her interest piqued, she decidedly to get a closer look. She headed for the stairs.

Emerging out into the backyard, she made for the wall that marked the border between her family’s yard, and the neighbor’s property. It wasn’t much of a wall, really. It only reached slightly higher than her midriff. She looked down at it skeptically. Well, I could practically step over this is if I wanted to. Guess they’re not too worried about trespassing.

Outside and closer to the guitar playing which floated out into the air, it was relatively easy to determine that its source was indeed the window she had identified earlier. Glancing up toward said window now, Asuka pursed her lips, faced with a bit of a decision. One one hand, she could forget about it and head back inside. She had determined the location of the unseen guitarist, and considering he or she was her neighbor, it seemed like there was a decent chance she’d be able to find out who the guitarist was eventually. On the other hand, going back in and continuing with her unpacking wasn’t the most enticing of options. In the end, she chose the path that let her procrastinate on facing her bedroom’s recently introduced ground cover.

Climbing up over the half-wall, she jumped down into the neighbors’ yard. She decided that if she ran in to any sort of trouble, or said neighbors turned out to be less than thrilled by her trespassing, she could book it back to her house with relative ease. It wasn’t as if the wall would provide any significant barrier. Plus, it’s not as though I’m going to try to break into their house or anything. I mean, I’m going to go ring the doorbell. Though I suppose I could have just gone out to the street from my house and gone over that way. Oh well. This’ll be fine.

Still listening to the solo (which, as she heard more of it and paid greater attention, she had to admit sounded quite good) rolling down from the open window, Asuka walked up along the side of the house, and curved around to the front until she found herself standing directly in front of the door. Alright, here we go. Plan ‘avoid unpacking’ #1, activate! Reaching up, she pressed in the doorbell and waited. She heard a bell-toweresque recording play from somewhere close by the door inside in response to the ring. That’s an interesting choice for a doorbell. Sounds sort of like an antique clock. That might not be a good sign . . . I can’t imagine anyone under the age of fifty using that for their doorbell. Oh well. If it turns out the guitarist is a retiree or something, I can always still act polite or something, say I thought his or her playing sounded pretty good, and then bail. Simple enough.

Asuka waited for a good thirty seconds, wondering if someone was going to come to the door. After a few more moments, she decided that the answer to that question was probably a definitive ‘no.’ Hmm . . . now the question is, do I ring the doorbell again? Or do I just head back home? On one hand, they might have heard it and just don’t want to answer, and in that case, I don’t want to be the jerk who can’t take a hint. On the other hand, maybe they just didn’t hear it the first time. That’s a possibility too. Which means it might not hurt to wring it again. Asuka pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock on the lock screening, waiting for it to change. I’ll give them another minute. If no one comes by then, I’ll ring it one more time. And if no one shows up after that too, I’ll head back to my place.

Watching the digits on the screen, Asuka gave a small nod to herself as the moment passed. She reached forward and gave the doorbell a final ring. Once again, she heard the recording play from within the house. You know, I think I’d get pretty tired of that if it was my doorbell. Just imagine what that would be like if someone tried to prank you by ringing it repeatedly. That would get real annoying, real quick.

After another solid twenty seconds or so, Asuka came to the conclusion that no one was coming to the door. Shrugging, she turned and headed back out toward the sidewalk, content to make her way home. Well, I tried. Guess I’ll find out who the guitarist is another day. Unboxing time it is then. Lovely. However, as she turned away from the path up to the door and angled herself back toward her resident, she heard the faint sound of the guitar carrying out from alongside the house. This time, however, it was a different song. She paused, narrowing her eyes in focus as she searched for the title. Oh, come on, I know I know this one. It’s not Satriani though . . . I don’t think it’s Vai either. Dammit, who is it? She shook her head, disgruntled with the fact that she couldn’t place the tune. Fantastic. Now that’s going to be stuck in my head and bugging me for the rest of the day. Presque vu sucks like that. It was at that instant that another thought snuck into her mind. The guitarist could be the only person home. That would explain why no one came to the door. If they’re practicing, they might have earbuds in or headphones on, which would mean they couldn’t hear me. So, I’d have to get their attention with something else. And their window is open . . .

Asuka practically sprinted the short distance back to her house, a confident grin across her face. When she finally emerged from the back door roughly five minutes later, she was glad to hear that the mysterious musician was still playing. Once again, the guitarist had moved on to a new song. This one, however, Asuka recognized. “Tender Surrender,” she murmured. “Not a bad choice.” At this point, Asuka was almost certain that whoever was playing was probably a good bit older than her. I mean, seriously, Steve Vai hasn’t been big since the nineties. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, I only know him because of Kaji, so that definitely says something. But hey, I’m not a guitarist though, so who knows? Maybe they still adore him or something. All the same, her desire to avoid completing (or at the very least, returning to) her unpacking process outweighed her potential concerns. Plus, her new plan kept her even further away from the person whose attention she was trying to get. Which meant that if they didn’t care for her methods, she could be long gone before they could do much about it. The logic of her strategy was moderately convincing, if she did say so herself, even if it was purely designed to give her a somewhat rational justification to her better judgment for her own procrastination.

Pulling herself up and over the sad excuse for a dividing wall, Asuka found herself in the as-of-yet-nameless neighbors’ yard once again. She strolled over a little closer to the house, positioning herself so that she was in a direct line with the open window. I have to say, this is one way I never expected that year I pitched for the softball team in middle school to come in handy. She looked down at the construction in her hand, the centerpiece of her quickly-concocted scheme. Guess all of that packing newspaper might turn out to have a second purpose too. Hopefully it’ll do better at this than it did at keeping Misato’s shot glass collection intact. With a chuckle to herself, Asuka rolled her arm back, lifting the paper airplane into the air, and let it fly toward her target. It soared upward, its arc accurate, and slipped straight through the open window, disappearing from her view.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei was nearing the close of the song. Her plectrum had been relegated to a secondary position, pinched between her pinky and ring fingers, to keep it from obstructing her fingerpicking. Only the pads of her skin now met the coils of steel, coaxing melody from the taut metal. Though the piece was not an anthemic one at any point, never attaining any great summit or volume in its course, it had still diminished from its peak, drifting back into itself as the notes grew more wavering, less forceful. They now resembled soft, intermittent tears intermingled with trembling gasps, though whether these expressions were borne out of sorrow or ecstasy was a mystery offered up to the beholder’s mind for judgement.

In her mind, Rei could hear, could feel the presence of the band about her. Every feature, each individual auditory fragment of the track came to her as she moved her fingers, by memory rather than sight. She listened as the band’s accompaniment slowly gave way, dissolving into pleasant stillness, sending its light and focus toward the guitar’s shuddering cry, until it was the only sound left to fill the emptiness, in soundscape both physical and mental. But fill this space it did nonetheless, each caressed, drawn note wandering through the fold’s of her shut eyes, dancing over the defined, stringent edges of her desk and shaving them down into something smoother, unbroken, winding. Blurring the room she half-saw through the image she conceived, transfiguring the elements of the space to abstraction, melting the absolute and the tangible into the fantastical, the speculative.

As she glided into the final phrase, she slowed even further, elongating the notes, letting their voices sing louder than her conducting digits. She had led the song to its conclusion, she let the song itself lead what was left. It extended, sweeping over the growing seconds, echoing as it reiterated, reprising and refusing to fade. Rei followed the draw, her fingers seemingly moving of a will other than her own, glad assistants in the art. At last, the final reverberation arrived, pleading, yet peaceful. There were seven notes left, which dwindled to six, and from there it faded to five, a receding handful.

The fifth note was about to declare its presence when the moment was broken. Something struck Rei’s forehead, fracturing her concentration and dream state alike to shards. Her fingers fell from their unconscious ballet, the necessary pressure absent. The string buzzed against the fret before it died an abrupt dead, cut off by its impact against her lax digit. The song was stripped into nothing, the ending cumbersome and unheeding, true closer beyond its grasp. Rei’s eyes tore open as her hand plunged away from the neck, dropping limp to her side as she stared sightlessly at the desk before her, her blank visage betraying no hint of her acute bemusement.

Rei dropped her pick onto the top of the desk, and lifted the instrument from her lap, returning it to its stand once more. Slanting her head downward, she reached out and retrieved the ostensibly offending object from the floor by her feet. Lifting it into her lap, she rotated it around in her grasp for a few moments, examining the shaped newsprint, complied into a new structure, a form capable of flight synthesized from ink and pulped fibers. Adjacent to weightless, an insubstantial avian, an artificial imitation. Its name was derived from bellowing metallic brutes that claimed the skies as their domain, raging turbines thrumming, incensed engines clamoring, the bellow of war on their wings and a cold caterwaul in their grinding wheels as they wrenched away from the ground and took their place in the belly of the beast. Such a marked difference, an undeniable dichotomy, between this tenuous newspaper lark and those titanium pterosaurs that prowled the clouds at humanity’s behest. To think that both such beings were constructed and christened by the same species was a perplexing, confounding concept, one which spoke to the multitudinous nature of sentience. It could give attention no less assiduous than the sedulous scrutiny bestowed upon the architecture of alleged advancement to the most minute of pursuits. The value of each undertaking determined by the engineers, by the consumers, by whatever society observed its progress.

It was curious, the capacity which such a seemingly innocuous, inconsequential object possessed to act as a conduit for contemplations of the existential and philosophical varieties. Nevertheless, Rei pulled her thoughts away from such metaphysical meanderings and extracted her eyes from their glazed gaze, elevating them from the errant examination. Equally curious were the origins of the airplane. Her emphasis adjusted accordingly, Rei rested the newsprint coated craft on her desktop and rose from her seat to survey the yard from her window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asuka watched the empty window closed, scrutinizing the vacuum that had devoured her airplane several moments earlier. It showed no signs of providing any sort of reaction to that consumption. However, Asuka was nonetheless certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that her newspaper agent had fulfilled its intended purpose. Moments before, the song, which had crawled to a languid and hazy, yet subtly rapturous, finale, had come to a clipped conclusion. There was no mistaking that the ending was unintentional. The last note had been mostly-dead, the tone dulled and buzzed out, a quickly recognizable accident, that had been replaced by silence in an instant, the bum note sheared from existence before it could linger. That . . . was rough. Ooops. Well, hopefully they don’t get too annoyed.

At first, Asuka had expected that the guitarist would take one of two routes. On one hand, the musician might immediately make an appearance, due to the sudden interruption, and apparent derailment of the song. This had seemed to be the most probable outcome to Asuka. After all, most musicians didn’t appreciate being disrupted while they were in the midst of a piece. On the other hand, the guitarist might first finish the song, and then come to the window. Though the second possible outcome seemed somewhat less likely than the first, Asuka knew that there were many individuals who took their musicianship seriously to the extent that they would merely continue onward as if they had never been disturbed in the first place, until they finished their performance. Of course, given that the guitarist was practicing rather than performing, Asuka didn’t expect that this would be the case.

This was all to say that Asuka was not prepared for the reaction occasioned by her action. Or, to be more precise, the lack thereof. Asuka had firmly expected the guitarist to do something. Which was why she grew progressively more and more agitated, albeit it in an understated manner, as the seconds flew by and it appeared as though her ‘delivery’ had prompted positively no response whatsoever. No one appeared at the window, nor did the playing resume, and furthermore, there was not so much as the slightest audible outburst in response to the disruption. Aside from the botched note and the vexatious silence, there was nothing to indicate that the guitarist had even noticed the paper aircraft.

Asuka tilted her head as she continued to stare up at the window, her cheeks and lips creasing downward into the beginning of a frown. Come on, do something. Or are you actually going to just ignore that? Of course, there was no answer to this question, given that Asuka had inquired it of her own mind, rather than posing it out loud. The stillness stretched longer, no termination in sight. Asuka rested a hand against her hip, before dropping it back to her side. That might send the wrong sorta message when they finally decide to show up. If they decide to show up. Asuka’s frown had now passed its infancy, maturing into a full-blown line of irritation. Which is looking less and less likely. A measure of tension had filled the air, as anticipation of a reaction had turned to exasperation, and perhaps a portion of perturbation as well. The tension gave no indication that it had any intention of abating prior to Asuka’s departure. Well that’s just great. Dammit, I guess it’s back to my lovely, most definitely not covered in a mound of boxes room. Fantastic. Rolling her eyes, Asuka half-turned to withdraw, when a figure suddenly appeared in the window. Asuka hastily righted herself as her gaze locked in on the arrival. Took you long enough.

The person looking out of the window was not who Asuka had been expecting. The figure’s blue locks glistened vaguely in the sunlight as it touched them. Her eyes were dark, a rich, bark-like brown, the hue of tilled soiled moistened by a smattering of a rain. They practically gleamed with racing thoughts, deep pools of incalculable deliberation. It was the overall aura of her face, however, that knocked Asuka from her stride. It was expressionless, utterly unreadable, beyond the definitive certainty that the mind behind worked tirelessly and furiously. Asuka could discern no trace, however slight, of any sentiment or emotion in it. The emptiness, the absence, was uncanny. Asuka’s mind raced as well now, seeking an explanation for the void she beheld. Maybe I’m just too far away. After all, I’m a good distance from where she is. Maybe if we were closer, I’d be able to tell . . . something. Her attempts at persuading herself that this was a reasonable explanation failed miserably. The argument was woefully, blatantly incorrect. There was no denying the simple fact that the girl’s face, despite the fact that it appeared as if she was no older than Asuka, perhaps even younger, could have easily belonged to someone who spent years perfecting the perfect vizard. Somehow, I get the feeling that she’s never lost a poker game.

The duo’s encounter began in silence, both parties merely taking in the other, no words exchanged. Asuka did her best to hide her own feelings of confusion, as well as residual irritation. Can’t match her poker face, but I might as well try to not look too worked up. When the silence had lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, especially when combined with the force of the girl’s undeviating gaze, Asuka decided she would have to break it, as it didn’t seem feasible that the supposed guitarist would be the one to do so.

“Hey, you sounded good!,” Asuka called up, doing her best to sound both amicable and positive, in spite of the fact that these weren’t the foremost sentiments in her mind.

The girl said nothing in response, though Asuka briefly thought she spotted the barest, vaguest hint of a smile alight on the edges of the girl’s mouth for a split second. Well, no news is good news, right? And who doesn’t like a compliment? Guess I might have to do the heavy lifting in the conversation though. “That was Tender Surrender, right?”

The girl remained silent, but gave a small nod of her head, her expression unchanged. Asuka decided she would interpret this as an encouraging reaction. I mean, she doesn’t seem angry that I disrupted her earlier, so all things considered, I’m going to take this as a success so far. “Steve Vai is pretty cool. Classic 80s guitar, you know?”

The girl nodded again, blinking as she did so, before resuming her stare. Is that the first time I’ve seen her blink?, Asuka wondered. Because I think it is, and that’s more than a little bit unnerving. Because I’m almost positive she’s been staring at me for a couple minutes. No way, she must have blinked earlier. People don’t go minutes without blinking. That would be . . . unusual . . . and most likely not healthy for your eyes.

Asuka decided to try out a different subject. There’s got to be something that will get her to talk . . . right? Maybe? Hopefully . . . ?

“Anyway, I heard you earlier, and I wanted to see who the good guitarist was.” She bookended this with an agreeable chuckle, that was roughly eighty-five percent forced. “I’m Asuka Kaji. I just moved in to the house next door,” she pointed back over her her shoulder, “a few days ago.”

The girl tilted her head as she received this information, giving Asuka the impression that this was in fact new to her, and she was taking some time to process it. A few more seconds passed, and at last, the girl spoke. “I’m Rei Ikari,” she paused, and then added, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, but carried down from the window fairly well all the same. It had a calmness to it, that matched up perfectly with her reserved demeanor. It was nearly a monotone, but not quite. There was a note of inflection in it, an element of what Asuka thought was cheerfulness, though it was difficult for her to be certain.

This time, Asuka was the one who tilted her head. Well, at least I got her name. Not sure why she’s thanking me though. “What for?,” she inquired, maintaining her amicable exterior, which was somewhat less forced than it had been several seconds earlier. Perhaps only seventy-five percent at this point, possibly even seventy.

Rei answered in the same voice, devoid of all but a hint of pleasantry. “For the compliment. I’m glad you like my playing.” Asuka hung on to that hint of pleasantry, decoding it to mean that Ikari was genuinely happy. At least, I hope that’s what it means. Although, she could just be putting on a front just like me. I’ll say she’s genuine for now though. It’s easier to be friendly when I don’t have to constantly second guess the other person.

Asuka smiled again, an expression which was mostly real. “No problem. Like I said, you sounded good.”

Rei nodded to this, but didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, she looked down, at something obscured from Asuka’s sight, and then back up at the other girl. “Would you like to come to the door? You won’t have to shout up from there?”

Asuka wasn’t quite sure that the volume she had been speaking at could be deemed shouting per se, but in comparison to Ikari’s subdued volume, she supposed she could see the logic in the other girl’s words. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Rei intoned, not deviating in the slightest from what appeared to be her default voice. Stepping away from the window, she disappeared from Asuka’s view. Asuka set off along the side of the house, making for the front door, considering their conversation so far as she did so. Okay, saying ‘default voice’ might be a bit harsh. Makes it sound like she’s a robot or something. I don’t think she’s AI. I mean, probably not. She allowed herself a quiet little chortle as she rounded the corner and strolled over to the porch. She paused in front of the door. Guess I don’t need to ring the doorbell. Which means I get to avoid the antique clock. Or bell tower. Whichever one it sounds like. Probably both. Either way, not hearing it is a positive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door in front of her opening. Rei halted in the doorway, looking at Asuka. Up close, Asuka couldn’t discern any substantial differences from what she had already observed of Rei’s demeanor. However, the hints of a smile which she thought she had spotted earlier were more pronounced now that Asuka had a better view, making Ikari look moderately more genial to Asuka’s eyes. Huh, maybe I was right. She’s more friendly when I’m not looking up at her framed in a window. And I thought that argument was absurd. Even though it was my argument. Ha! Shows what you know, me!

Asuka smiled back at Rei, the most genuine one she had offered Ikari so far. Abruptly, Rei held out a hand toward Asuka. She looked down, and her smile fell a bit. The blue-haired girl was holding out the paper airplane to her. “Is this yours?,” she asked, giving no signs that she was angry, which threw Asuka off once again. Alright, maybe she’s just at good at hiding when she’s upset as she seems to be at hiding when she’s happy. Then again . . . I don’t see anything. Not in her face, or her posture. And she still smiling. Well, if that’s what that is, I mean. Maybe I didn’t actually disrupt her? Maybe she just messed up on her own? Or maybe she really doesn’t care?

Asuka nodded slowly, assuming an empathetic expression, less cheerful and slightly more chagrined. Just slightly, however. She wasn’t one to act particular embarrassed, even if she was. Not that she “Yeah, that’s mine. Sorry if I threw you off, by the way.”

Rei extended her hand a little further, offering the miniature parody of an aircraft to the redhead. “It’s okay. I was nearing the song’s conclusion anyway.”

Asuka accepted the offered airplane. “You sure?”

Rei nodded. “Yes. Your technique isn’t bad.”

Once again, Rei managed to say something that Asuka was not anticipating. My technique? Where did that come from? This is kind of getting on my nerves. A little bit, anyway Who just randomly switches topic mid-conversation like that? “What technique?”

“Your folding technique. It’s effective. Do you make origami?”

Oh. That is not what I expected her to say. “Ah, okay. Thanks. But no, I don’t.” I mean, technically I have, but I don’t need to tell her about how great that went. Damn cat. Since when do cats eat paper anyway? When did that become a thing? And to think people say dogs are the ones who will eat anything.

“I think you’d be good at it if you tried,” Rei said sensibly.

“I’ll let you know if I ever try it out.”

Rei nodded, her faint smile becoming somewhat more defined, as if this was the most logical and appropriate response, and she appreciated that Asuka had used it. Asuka decided it was time for her to get in another question, before the conversation took an additional unpredictable turn. “So, do you go to Sarea High?” Might as well figure out if she’ll be going to the same school as me in the fall. It wouldn’t be a bad idea at all to know some people before I get there.

Rei only nodded again in answer to this question.

“Cool. I’ll be going there in the fall. You a,” she made a quick estimate of how old she thought Ikari looked to be, “junior?”

Rei shook her head. “I’m a senior.”

Well, I was only off by a year, that’s not too bad. “Me too.” You know, for expecting the mystery guitarist to be some guy in his forties, it turns out we have a lot more in common than I thought.

Rei didn’t respond to this information, but merely continued to look at Asuka, her head tilting slightly to the side, the smile on her face seeming more prominent than ever, though still more of a light impression than a defined expression. Asuka met the girl’s gaze for a moment, and matched the bluenette’s smile with a wider one of her own. I mean . . . she’s kind of unusual, but she doesn’t seem so bad. Could definitely do with talking a bit more, but whatever. “Are you in band?”

Rei shook her head. “No. I’d like to be in jazz ensemble though.”

Asuka grinned, and remarked, “I mean, from how you sounded earlier, I’m sure you could tackle jazz. Plus, it’s fun for guitarists!” Is it my imagination, or is that a tiny tint of blush I see on her cheeks right now.

“Thank you. Again,” Rei said softly. “I haven’t auditioned though.”

Asuka’s smile faltered, and she pursed her lips. “Why not?”

The imprint of a smile and the vague reddening slipping from her face, Rei shrugged. “Nerves, I guess,” she answered.

“Ah. I understand.” I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? But hell, she’s definitely good enough to make the cut! Especially in a town like this. I highly doubt they have a great jazz scene here or anything. Asuka paused, but then set off again, more animated, “Well hey, you should audition this fall! I’m going to be there! So there’ll for sure be someone else there who knows you’re a fantastic guitar!”

The mild coloring that Asuka suspected was a blush most definitely returned to Rei’s face with this comment. Without meeting Asuka’s gaze, a strange change from her pattern up to that point, she replied, “Maybe so.”

“Well, think about it at least.”

Rei nodded, and after another handful of seconds had elapsed, asked, “What instrument do you play?”

“I play drums,” Asuka answered.

Rei looked back to Asuka once more, her indistinct smile back on her face. “Are you going to do marching band?”

Asuka shook her head. “No, I prefer playing with a full kit. That’s why I’m going for jazz ensemble instead. It’s what I did at my old school back east in Terahburg.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yep,” Asuka stated smartly. A new idea had emerged in her mind, one which didn’t seem like a half bad one. “You know, we should jam together sometime. Since we’re literally next door to each other.”

Rei said nothing at first, but Asuka noticed that the blue-haired girl’s eyes looked more distant now, practically looking straight past Asuka. She was tempted to turn around, to see if there was something behind her worthy of attention, but she somehow doubted there was. She’s probably just appraising the idea. She seems like the type of person who thinks things over. Thinks things over intensely, to be precise.

When the space between the two girls had lapsed into silence for approximately thirty seconds, Rei spoke up. “What type of music do you like?”

Asuka gave a small shrug in response to this. “The short answer is, I like a lot of stuff. I’m open to pretty much anything. And the long answer is, well, long.” She let out a little laugh to accompany her quip. “But, you might be able to tell,” she shot a pointed glance down at her shirt, which featured an image of a man removing his face from his skull to reveal a bundle of bandages beneath it, an action which was surprisingly depicted in a manner that wasn’t particularly gruesome (which she personally thought a rather unusual choice for a gothic metal album cover, but she enjoyed the art nonetheless, a fact evidence by her possession of the shirt), “I like metal.”

Rei’s eyes followed Asuka’s indication, and studied her garment, taking in the image. “That is interesting,” she commented, giving no real suggestion of her actual opinion of the artwork. “However, I’m not familiar with Lacuna Coil.”

Asuka curled her lips into a wry half-smile. “Not enough people are. They’re pretty awesome though. If you like gothic metal, that is.”

Rei nodded gently, in a manner that came across as fairly noncommittal. “I’ll have to check them out.” Her tone didn’t particularly evince true interest either, thought Asuka couldn’t say that it suggested the opposite for that matter. It fell in line with almost all of Rei’s speech, in that it was nothing if not neutral and more than a little ambiguous. I guess you could call it balanced. It could go equally toward either side.

“So,” Asuka began, “What about you?”

“As in, what type of music do I like?,” Rei countered, seeking clarification.

“Yep.”

“I enjoy instrumental music. Especially when the guitar is the main focus.”

“I get ya, that makes sense,” Asuka remarked with a nod .

“But, I am open to many types of music as well,” Rei added.

“That always cool. Variety keeps things entertaining.”

“Indeed,” Rei agreed, though her voice showed no particular enthusiasm. The sentiment more closely resembled an acknowledgement of a basic principle that could only be recognized as a fact of life, rather than an identification with a specific, shared perspective. After this observation, she fell silent once more. Asuka tilted her head to the side, waiting for the other girl to continue, but she did not seem eager to break the silence which had descended. Well, she basically avoided that question. Or at least, she avoided giving a direct answer to it. I could press the issue, or save it for another time. Oh come on, I’m not one to save things for another time. She doesn’t seem to mind me too much so far. I’m gonna roll with that.

Asuka decided to reiterate her point. “So, what do ya think?”

“About what?,” Rei asked, her eyes twitching momentarily.

“About playing together sometime?”

Rei tilted her head to the side, before righting it and nodding. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Cool!”

“Yeah,” Rei concurred, the smallest vestige of excitement briefly filling her voice. Asuka picked up on the alteration, as quickly as it passed. That sounded encouraging!

“Well, hey, let me give you my number, so you can get in touch with me when you want to. That work for you?

“Okay.” Rei extracted her phone from her pocket, a movement which Asuka mirrored.

It was when she glanced down at her phone that Asuka noted the time. Her eyes widened for a brief second. Crap! It’s that late already! Seriously, I’ve been here that long? I probably need to actually try to finish unpacking at least some of those boxes today. If only so I can move across my room without climbing on top of them. Oh well . . . all good procrastination has to end eventually.

Rei cradled her phone in her hands for a few moments. Asuka got the impression that Rei was a little hesitant (for whatever reason) to hand it over for Asuka to put in her number. Selecting a different strategy, Asuka opened her contact profile and held the phone out for Rei to see. “Here, you can just copy off of that. If you don’t want me to put my number in yours, I mean.”

Rei looked at the offered device for another moment or two, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rei inspected the displayed information for a moment, and then quickly typed something into her phone. “Got it,” she announced.

“Awesome.” Asuka withdrew her phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Look, I gotta bounce. I still have lots of unpacking left to do.” She grinned and chuckled. “My room looks like a minor tornado or something tore threw it. So that’s fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rei responded quietly, but the expression on her face gave the words weight. The impression of a smile that had lingered there for much of the conversation at the door had finally blossomed into something which could be firmly identified as a smile, even if it was a small, uncertain one.

“You too!,” Asuka agreed cheerily. Alright, now the question is, what will she interpret as a proper goodbye? This question proved unnecessary, as Rei gave Asuka another small nod, and then retreated into the house, closing the door behind her, in a startlingly swift burst of activity. Asuka blinked, shrugged mentally, and turned to go, trotting back out to the sidewalk.

Well, all things considered, I’d say that counts as an utter victory. Mystery guitarist turned out to be both under the age of thirty, and overall, pretty likable, at least, I think so. Not to mention I have someone to practice with already, and I’ve only been here a few days. And she lives next door. That’s a pretty great coincidence, I can’t lie. And best of all, I avoided unpacking for a solid half hour more. That’s the real success story here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rei didn’t leave after closing the door. She remained in the hall, watching the girl through the peephole as she departed. She couldn’t say exactly why she did it, only that it felt like the appropriate thing to do. When at last the redhead disappeared from her field of vision, she turned away from the door, and made her way to the kitchen. A strange sensation had developed in the pit of her stomach as they conversed. As with her logic for remaining at the door, the reason behind it barely escaped her mental grasp, as did an appropriate name for it. At best, she could characterize it as an unsettling experience, but not an unpleasant one. The feeling of a warbling tremor creeping up toward her chest, and then shying down and away once more. It played just beyond her reach, content to lurk there. Her first thought had been that perhaps food would lay the disturbance to rest. However, as she sat at the table and contemplated the granola bar she had retrieved from one of the cabinets that ringed the kitchen proper, she came to the abrupt realization that she lacked both the appetite and interest to eat it. Dropping the item in question back onto the tabletop, she tilted her head back to consider her kitchen ceiling. She decided that she preferred this view to the similar one she had observed earlier in the day.

There were fewer unpleasant memories wrapped up in this one. At least, that was the explanation she provided to herself, citing it as being the rationale reason for her mood. Because, clearly, it made perfect sense that studying the structure of the kitchen ceiling would fill her with a disconcerting, apprehensive excitement, but excitement all the same. Any other explanation would beg further questions. Questions she thought it was far, far, far too soon to be even touching upon. And that was without taking into account the fact that the excitement shied away from analysis. She suspected any efforts to investigate it would only yield confusing results. Results that led to the very same questions she wished to avoid. The safer alternative, then, was the ceiling. She was excited over the ceiling. Surely, if inspecting the ceiling of her bedroom could trigger a cascade of doubts and memories, inspecting the kitchen ceiling could make her feel giddy with an opaque happiness, until her brain was too muddled to focus on the shapes in the plaster and they meshed together into an indistinct collage of lines that made her eyes water when she tried to trace the maze she envision within it. Right?

#evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #fanfic #fanfiction #highschool au #asurei #asuka x rei #rei ayanami #asuka soryu langley

[ag3ntl3vi]

Soulmate AU |Tsukishima Kei X M! Reader| ☁️

Im writing these at random until I can figure out how to make a request section on my page.

Trigger Warning: Cursing

Word Count: 1,306

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Soulmates.

You didn't understand the concept of a soulmate. Sure, you understood what it was, but not why it existed. Soulmates are supposed to be your destined partner or something cheesy like that. At a young age, you were overflowing with excitement when your words first appeared. You were four and grasped what a soulmate was quick. Your parents gushed about it almost daily, saying how beautiful the experience was for them and how they just knew your destined one would be the perfect match for their baby. 

16 long years later you stood at the entrance of Karasuno High. You awed at the two-story building and high gates before you were tackled by an orange blur.

"(Y/n)! You beat me here!" Shoyo screamed, hugging your body tightly. Hinata Shoyo had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. You had helped him train for volleyball when his other friends declined to, mostly out of pity. But soon, you came to enjoy the sport, though you never joined the middle school team, to Shoyo's dismay. You still played with him (And alone) in your free time.

"Where else would I be? Nekoma?" You chuckled, ruffling his curly mane. 

"Isn't that in Hiroshima?" He tilted his head like a confused puppy. You facepalmed at your friends' stupidity. 

"Tokyo, Shoyo. It's in Tokyo." You sighed, looking up at him slightly. You were only an inch or so shorter than the hyperactive ball, so you were both often confused for middle, or elementary, schoolers, to your frustration. 

"Hey, (Y/n), are you going to join the volleyball team?" He asked as he picked up his fallen bike from the dirt. You shrugged carelessly. 

"I mean, I'll see what type of people are in it, but I make no promises." You said. Shoyo was bouncing excitedly, a wide grin on his childish features.

"I hope you join," He said, looking ahead. "Why's that?" You curiously muttered. Shoyo took a second to answer. 

"Because it'll be nice having a friendly face on the court," He looked at you hopefully. You were taken back for a moment before a soft, content smile spread across your face. 

"I bet.."

"Plus, you're like, super cool playing." 

You raised your eyebrows. He continued.

"Your sets and receives are amazing! And your spikes are like 'Woosh!' then 'Blam!' It's so cool!" He bounced on the balls of his feet, his contagious grin stretching ear to ear.

"You're incredible too, Shoyo," You chuckled. "You're super fast and you go like, uh.." You paused. "'Zoom'?" You nodded. "Your jump is breathtaking! You can jump higher than me!" You remembered his last match of his middle school career. You were dragged to the game, though you would've gone willingly, and witnessed Shoyo's remarkable speed and jump first hand in a serious match.

It stunned you into an awed state of admiration for the boy. Although he had lost, he seemed to have another troubling thought on his mind. As you rode back to your school he kept rubbing his wrist, staring blankly out the window. After a while of dreadful silence, he told you that the guy he lost to, the King of the Court, was his soulmate. 

Eventually, you both had to part at the school bell. You promised the ball of sunshine you'd go to the gym that the Volleyball team occupied after school. You were also very positive he had memorized your final class to pick you up in case you decided to run. 

While Shoyo was athletically skilled, his brain was far behind. His grades have only gone down (or up if he knew the topic for once) since you've known him. You ended up learning twice the amount of classes you were assigned that year to help Shoyo pass with at least a D.

You even started carrying around candy rewards for a passing grade. It motivated the boy, so you never minded totting them around. 

The day was painfully boring, each class doing an introduction that took up a majority of the period. The teachers did a huge slideshow and pretty much gave their life story and gave the students a total of ten minutes to say their name and an interesting fact about themselves. You didn't mind. You hated public speaking anyway.

Your final class came to an end as you internally leaped for the skies. You reminded yourself to treat Shoyo for getting through the long day. 

"(Y/n)!" 

Speak of the devil, you giggled. You turned to see Shoyo sprinting at you, full speed. You stepped back, avoiding his deadly collision, and gripped the white hoodie he wore under his uniform.

"Walk," You reminded him. "The gym won't run away, I promise." 

Shoyo pouted. "But! Let's go! We're wasting precious time!" He begged pitifully. Sighing, you caved.

"Here," You held out an orange-flavored lollipop. "For surviving."

The ginger looked into your eyes gravely. 

"It was a long and difficult battle. I barely made it out alive." 

You snorted. "Good job, soldier."

You finally made it to the gym and Shoyo wasted no time in leaping into the empty space. Well Almost... empty. He froze, staring at someone. 

"Shoyo?" you peeked in and quickly understood. 

Kageyama Tobio.

You honestly zoned out during a majority of their childish banter, only snapping back when Shoyo and Kageyama were tossed out the gym like strays then all eyes fell on you.

You pushed yourself off the wall, nervously waving at the group.

A tanned guy spoke first. "I'm Sawamura Daichi, a third-year and captain. A pleasure to meet you...?" He trailed.

"Oh, uh, I'm (L/n) (Y/n), first-year. Pleasures mine," You bowed respectfully.  "Just call me (Y/n)," You smiled softly. 

A pale-haired male popped up, grinning. He had a cute mole under one of his honey eyes. "I'm Sugawara Koushi! Vice-Captain and third year." He gave a small bow that you returned.

Gradually everyone introduced themselves with a pause from two more characters entering the gym.

An adorable boy with green-tinted hair and freckles cheeks caught your attention first, then your eyes trailed up the tall figure beside him. You swallowed quietly as you took in his appearance. Short, blonde hair fell above his taunting, golden eyes. A white pair of headphones were wrapped around his neck. He gave you a pointed look before giving a short introduction.

Yamaguchi Tadashi and Tsukishima Kei.

Somehow Kageyama and Shoyo ended up in a 3v3 volleyball match set for a later date. You were easily confused and frankly, too many people made you anxious, and your stomach to act up. You reminded yourself of Shoyo before matches. 

You made a quick escape to the other set of doors across the gym, sitting on the cold stairs and allowing the wind to brush your hair aside. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a colorful pattern to paint the sky. You adored sunsets. You loved the colors, the gradual change from day to night as the stars peeked out while the sun was changed to the bright, white moon. 

"Are you okay?" Yamaguchi asked worriedly, sliding next to you. You nodded, smiling.

"Yeah, lots of sound and people make me feel sick," You sounded pathetic, but you didn't want to lie either. 

"Aw, the shrimp can't handle a few people? How unfortunate." A low, taunting voice said behind you. Your eyes shot open, taking a slow breath in. You whipped your head around to the Tsukishima smirking down at your hunched figure. You froze, recognizing those words from anywhere. You've read them over a thousand times, after all. You forced back a deep blush, instead deciding to lift your middle finger and grinned mockingly at him, saying the series of words you knew were inked into his flesh.

"Suck my dick, you crusty, dusty dinosaur."

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#haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima kei #oneshot #soulmate au #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima soulmate au #haikyuu!!

[jess-the-vampire]

The Demon Next Door, Chapter 9

Previous / Next

-

"So...how's progress with jackie?", Star said, hopping alongside marco, "Prom's coming up and you said you planned on her being your date right? Do you even know what you're going to do to prompose?"

"Star, prom's still months away, no need to do it THAT soon...", marco said, mumbling and avoiding eye contact, much to her obvious annoyance. His answer did not satisfy her, especially since marco always planned ahead, if he didn't ask his crush out eventually, well, there were plenty or guys and girls who could ask her out themselves and he wouldn't even get the chance.

This was a huge aspect of marco's plan with jackie and he only recently made it to friendship, he'd run out of time if he kept waiting longer.

She'd think marco would leap at planning how he was to ask her out, but for some reason he seemed...distracted instead, unfocused on jackie. He had no plan already on how he wanted to ask her, he hadn't planned out for 50 different situations or what tux he wanted to wear, none of the prep that marco usually went through to well, do anything.

Distracted and moody, two things marco usually wasn't.

Star didn't linger too much on it though, jackie herself was turning the corner and she waved to the duo, star immediately running up and talking to her. Marco put on his best smile to talk to her too when tom finally met up with the group, in his ripped jeans, jackie and rock shirt, and of course with his spiked collar and punk bracelets. He looked like he crawled out of a rock concert and yet he radiated good energy for marco.

Tom was a beacon of light in a shroud of black.

Marco now truly smiling at seeing him, feelin gat least a little better then he had been.

"Tom!", he said, almost a little too happily.

"Hey guys, sorry i'm late, got held up in my last class...ready for lunch?", he fixed himself up and winked at the group. "I want to get pizza this time bit I might go for the chicken, but I wanna treat you guys this time If i can so you let me know if there's anything on the menu you want, I made some great allowance helping mom clean up our house.".

One of these days marco would have to pay for him, repay how much he liked to pay for his friends so much.

Jackie greeted tom herself, complimenting him on his outfit as they all started heading off to get something to eat. She and star continued talking, the boys behind them, tom looking at the back of star's head as they did. Marco tugging on the straps of is backpack, looking for a subject to talk about that would distract his mind from it's strange mess. Though the stares he was receiving from some of his classmates were not helping at all.

Lucky for him, tom was already ready to talk.

"Hey...so I was thinking, would you wanna go to a concert sometimes...together?", he clutched his jacket, biting at his lips. "Love Sentence is touring soon in the future so...I was wondering...if you'd like to go together, I've never gotten to go to a concert with a friend before...and we had so much fun singing their songs together so if it's cool with you I could get us tickets?".

Marco didn't even have to think about it too hard.

A wide grin on his face followed by a fast, "Yes!", a concert sounded awesome frankly, it was a good time to just get out of the house and get some fresh air. And he could use more fresh air these days, anything to distract him. It meant her didn't have to worry about jeremy or Brittney or school or jackie. He could sit back and have fun and not have all these thoughts hurting his brain.

Tom seemed to just know how to distract him.

Though as he felt tom playfully put an arm around marco's shoulders he felt his body tense up, though he didn't say anything to tom about it, not wanting to make himself look like an idiot in front of the boy.

Ever since the sleepover he's started feeling more...strange around tom, like he enjoyed his presence even more then usual or he got more worried about screwing up in front of tom. Marco lately had summed it up as him having grown much closer to tom, after all, sharing such personal stuff to each other was a clear sign of them becoming closer friends and trusting each other.

And marco just felt more anxious about breaking tom's trust or screwing up in front of him.

That'd explain a lot of his actions recently frankly.

Star and Jackie continued to remain talking as they got to the cafeteria, all of them getting lunch together before jackie said she had to head to a different table with some of her other friends, leaving star and the boys to sit at their regular table. Tom seemed to be checking to marco to see if that bothered him but marco seemed fine, and marco simply shrugged to him.

"It's ok, she sits with us on most days anyway.".

They started munching on pizza and talking about their recent classes, tom gulping down some chocolate milk and going off about how much he's been enjoying art class recently. Star joined it, if only to talk about how much she fingerpaints and how much the teachers tell her she's using way too much glitter on a sculpture of all things, making tom call her out on how that would ruin the clay.

Yeah these two were on some similar levels weren't they?

No wonder tom liked star.

Though marco did seem to feel a little left out as they laughed together, even if tom was edging him on with other conversations to get him to share about his classes today and how stressful his homework was. He liked seeing them friends, it was way better then seeing them fight like star was basically doing, but something just seemed to bug him.

He pushed those thoughts away, he didn't want to be selfish, not when tom liked star so much.

Tom didn't have a problem with him and jackie, he shouldn't care so much about tom and star.

He pushed it down, taking breaths, he needed to relax and focus, he was hanging out with his best friends and he was letting his weird emotions get to him. He took a sip of juice before taking out his phone to show off some cute cat photos to his pals. If anything were to distract these two, it seemed to be extremely cute animals, especially tiny fluffy ones.

Their smiling faces helped make marco feel a little better, tom and star showing off some animal clips and pics as well to the boy. They were both so cheerful, so goofy, seeing them happy really made marco's day. He just liked having them around to keep him company and stop him from spending his days alone and chasing after a girl. Sure, he on occasion hung out with people like Ferguson and Alphonso, a couple of nerds he knew since elementary school.

But tom and star felt different, like genuine friends, not like he hung out just not to be alone and worry his parents.

He felt something with them, he really did.

Maybe that was why he was getting so emotional, he found something valuable.

And he didn't want to lose it.

"Geez...that girl is still staring at us...", star mumbled, staring off to another table where brittney and the other cheerleaders sat, gossiping and glancing over to their table on occasion. It was mostly probably more about tom but tom didn't seem to either notice most of the stuff going around about him, or he pretty much was ignoring it like crazy.

Or maybe people were just too afraid to say it to his face after finding out how strong he was.

That would check out.

Tom glared at the head cheerleader, maybe he didn't know about the rumors but he did know she was giving them all a rather unpleasant look right now and that was enough for him to not like this girl.

She smelled of bad news all over, like she was looking for anything to start something. He'd dealt with people like that before of course, this was far from anything new for him, but there was a apart of him that wanted to tell her off for her disgusted gaze. He didn't like the way she was looking at him, star, or marco as he kept his anger and annoyance in silence.

Though he tried to keep positive around his friends, trying to simply ignore her gaze, "Who cares...anyways...can I come over to study with you guys? Not because I need a lot of help but uh...considering star's grades...". She pouted at tom, how often were him and marco both gonna keep commenting on her grades? They weren't THAT bad were they?

"That seems fair...", marco could never say no to having tom come over and hang out.

She gave marco a dirty look, though it wasn't clear if she was bothered more by the comment or tom just coming along. She never liked to be lectured on her grades by anyone, whether her mom or marco as they were the ones to normally do it.

Marco didn't even defend himself, crossing his arms.

"What? You don't exactly get a ton better from studying with me, maybe tom might help a lot more! I mean, it's worth a shot, besides...you barely listen to me when we study anyway, I don't think tom being there will make it any worse then it already is.".

Besides, more hangout time with tom was always a good thing, especially since marco was in a bad mood to begin with.

Star protested even after lunch and their last period of classes, clearly still not happy about studying. But with tom being dropped off with them and the fact they always studied at marco's house, she didn't have much of a say in the matter. Tom was going to stay no matter what she she didn't wanna go home and deal with her parents instead, so studying it was.

Tom was gonna study with them, period.

And hopefully it might help her grades in some way so star didn't end up repeating a year of school.

As star headed upstairs to marco's room in a rush, marco patted tom on the back, " It's ok, she'll get over it, besides...it'll give you more time to spend with your crush and stuff.". It was a sweet gesture and tom seemed to appreciate it, but marco couldn't lie and say he felt like he wanted to spend more time with tom instead. Not to keep tom from his crush, but seeing them having fun without him...made him feel weird.

He wanted to spend time with him, just a little more today, if only because he felt he needed the company.

Lucky for him, tom seemed to be in no rush to mess with star, asking marco to grab some snacks before they headed up. Marco helping him make some cheesy pretzels to bring up to his room and to share with their weird friend. Tom smiling bright and laughing at the jokes marco was making to him, mostly about how star tried everything in her power to not study.

He really liked hearing tom laugh.

Maybe soon they could do another sleepover, but in marco's room next time.

Tom playfully butted him as they went into marco's room, where star already put off studying to play on her phone instead, ignoring both boys intentionally and overall just wasting time so she didn't have to study. It was so much like star, she was like a painful little sister, and marco hoped to god his baby sister didn't turn out like she when she got to be this age.

Star would probably be a bad influence on her.

"Star~", marco said, teasingly, "C'mon, we got study time!".

"Yeah, well I am studying!", she said in a rather rude voice all things considered, of course she hated studying but still.

Marco looked over her phone to see she was playing one of those cute mobile dress up games and raised an eyebrow, "Uh huh? Studying what? What to wear tomorrow?". He got it, studying was not fun at all, but star had to do it or she would get in serious trouble. Last thing she needed was another reason for her mom to get frustrated with her by the sounds of it.

"Star...c'mon, promise, it won't be so bad this time...we can start with English if you want", he pulled out a book from his backpack from their class and waved it in front of her, "You gotta read star".

"Read to me instead, it'll be more fun!", she said back, still on her phone, marco tapping his foot like an impatient mother.

"But if you're not paying attention, what's the point?".

The food was set aside and tom took the book from marco, breezing through it, "Well, maybe the best way for star to study is to do it in a transformative way? Maybe we like...tell her the story in a way to make it exciting for her?". Marco could see what tom was getting at and honestly it's possible it might actually work, though tom had better come up with something good for it to work.

Yet tom seemed to want marco's guidance, judging by how he was looking at him. He still appreciated that tom was asking him for impust, even if marco didn't always know what he was supposed to do to help.

"Uh...no offence tom, I'm not much of the "Creative type", I'm more the flighty nerd guy, not really the 'artsy' type", but the boy shook his head, "C'mon marco, you love action and adventure, you got some creative juices flowing up there, besides...I could use your help, so maybe this is a good time to maybe get a hang of it?". He was practically begging for it with those eyes and marco couldn't say no to him, guess it really couldn't hurt to help out his best friends with this.

"Alright, fine...I'll give it a shot with you...so...you finished this book already?".

He nodded, "I sorta read it at home after dinner, i'm not a super big reader so i thought the sooner i finish it the better so i can play video games and stuff, but knowing you you're been reading it chapter by chapter and are still only halfway through the book...right?". How did he know? Was marco really this predictable that tom knew him like the back of his hand? Though tom seemed pretty proud he got marco on that one, he was really getting a hang of his personality.

"Don't...spoil it for me...ok?", he asked under his breath.

"I got you...besides, we're not saying exactly what happened, but helping star processing it in a way she'll like!". That was true, marco would probably finish the rest without truly being spoiled on what happened since tom was masking everything. Hopefully star would actually understand instead of being dreadfully confused about everything tom was trying to say to her.

But who knew with star, she might just ignore all of it, she tended to forget a lot of what she was taught days after anyway.

"Star? Hey, here...we'll tell you a bit about the story", tom tapped her shoulder and she grumpily turned around to see tom open the book and pulled marco to sit next to him on the bed.

She didn't seem all that excited, but what else could they do?

"So in this story, we got this cool fierce girl, and she's out looking for treasure, and she's working with these guys she doesn't really like...but learns to like, and there's betrayal and she has to survive...". He was summing it up and making it more exciting then it probably was, but it was getting star's attention, at least for a little bit. Her crown dissipating a little.

"So she like fights for her life against enemies and well...", he looked to marco, "Not to spoil the ending but...it gets wild!".

Star looked a bit skeptic, but more interested then she did before.

So it seemed to be working, even if it was only for a little bit.

Tom continued further, not disclosing all the details and replacing some of the aspects with something else but star was starting to get more and more interested then this then her phone as tom went on, marco quickly joining in. Though maybe the two of them were getting off track just a little as it devolved into a story involving fairs and dragons and demons.

Tom insisting that the demons aren't evil, but just tricky, and that there was a demon who was in love with the human girl protagonist.

With tom's love of creepy and spooky things, his want to have the scary monsters be seen as good people was rather unsurprising, instead of being defeated, tom wanted them as the hero of the story.

Honestly he should his own story someday, he seemed to really enjoy it and have a knack for it. With his fun demonic heros and a magical land, it seems like something tom would have a blast doing since he seemed to be able to come up with this all off the bat.

Definitely not in the story, but marco had to admire tom's creativity, he was pretty good.

The study session actually seemed to get star to take out her book and start reading, even if technically they weren't being entirely truthful, but getting her excited about reading was a good thing if any.

Hopefully this would get her to maybe read more books in the future if they could do that.

As the session progressed, marco felt they had made some progress, even if they had partially goofed off quite a bit throughout the whole thing. Their homework got finished and the three soon found themselves watching some movies together downstairs later that night, marco resting in between his two best friends and laughing alongside them both.

He was actually feeling a lot better, maybe they could get more study sessions like this soon?

Where marco could just rest and relax and enjoy himself and not...worry so much, like he seemed to do way too much as is.

Though he soon felt drowsy, clearly everything of the day finally wearing him down. His eyes were starting to close and his head was nodding off, he was sinking into the couch and he could barely keep himself up and awake anymore, his friend's voices becoming a blur.

His head falling over unknowingly onto tom's shoulder next to him, tired and falling to sleep. Tom was not yet asleep but didn't push marco away either, allowing the boy to rest against him, snoring softly. Tom smiled, watching the rest of the movie with his friends next to him. Ignoring star, who was staring right at them with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

Tom closing his eyes for a nap himself, his head resting on marco's.

Comfortable, and happy.

Marco woke up later, stretching himself out only to find the bodies of his two friends were both gone. His hands instead patting the surface of the couch and his eyes finally awaking to find himself alone in his living room.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe he was dreaming, but as he blinked again, no, he was indeed awake. His best friends just were no longer beside him on the couch, or anywhere in sight for that matter.

His friends went home? Without even telling him bye? No, that didn't seem like something they'd do.

Or were they in the bathroom or something?

He yawned, how long had he been asleep exactly? He remembered the movie and next thing he new...he was nodding off.

Then he heard voices coming from upstairs and got up and off the couch, fixing his hair to head upstairs and see where his friends were. The voices seemingly coming from the boy's bedroom. Marco wanted to just head in and see them before they headed home tonight, but he found himself pressing an ear against his own door instead, wondering what the two could be talking about that led to them locking themselves inside his own room.

This was probably wrong.

But-

Something seemed...off, and marco had to know what was going on just in case his friends were up to something bad. For all he knew star was about to do something stupid and dangerous again.

"Are you going to tell him?", star asking, seemingly coming from where his bed normally was, probably meaning she was sitting on it. Knowing her, she was the one who suggested to go in marco's room, janna told her well enough about it's locks after all.

"I'm not sure...I mean, I want to...I think I should but...what would he think? I mean, you and me...we're-"., Tom said, the sound of footsteps following him, he must've been pacing around.

"I'm sure he wouldn't care THAT much tom, probably", she said back, and knowing her, she was probably shrugging or something, he legs hanging off the bed and kicking.

"They why do I have to tell him, why not you?"

The pacing seemed to stop.

"You know why...if you don't say anything he'll figure it out on his own eventually...It's hard enough keeping it secret as is...".

Secret? What secret?

Tom had a secret? And star was in on it?

"Star, even you avoided telling him, clearly it does matter to you if you haven't said anything already...", knowing tom he was crossing his arms at her, making a face and looking disapproving to the girl. At leas that's how marco imagined it going knowing his friends right now.

Star didn't respond, marco pressing against the door further.

"Ok fine, but like...he's kinda our best friend...we gotta stop meeting in secret, otherwise he's gonna walk in on us and well...I'm not sure how we'd talk our way out of it. We're already on a tightrope around him at this point, you know he'll catch on soon.". Tightrope? Star was terrible at lying to marco about much of anything! What could she possibly hide from him he wouldn't know about?

"We'll need time to figure it out...I guess...".

Star sighed, "Yeah, just...be careful in the meantime...".

"I could say the same for you...you aren't exactly super subtle...", tom teased, and marco could imagine star pouting and crossing her arms. "Meh, let's just get back to marco...we have to head out soon anyway...we don't wanna leave without saying goodbye!". Marco felt a shudder through his body before quickly moving from the door to head back downstairs and back on the couch.

He didn't want them to know he heard them, or knew something was up.

Though the whole thing left his mind wandering as he tried to pretend to be asleep, first tom and star talk and work things out without him knowing. Now he finds they're sharing secrets and talking behind his back? Maybe he was taking this too far, his friends could talk without him, but it just...bothered him. He had so many questions, that when the two came back downstairs, he failed to hide his nervousness as he "Woke up".

"Hey Marco! Sorry to wake you, but we better get back home!", Tom motioned to star, "Thanks for inviting me...i'll text you later ok?". It seemed tom nor star had noticed marco's weird smile too well, probably assuming marco was just startled awake by their presence. Tom went in for the hug, marco wrapping his arms around him softly before star joined in.

The two sending him waves and smiles as they headed out, marco left feeling stranger and stranger.

What was going on?

Marco spent way too long that night trying to process everything, his emotions were getting weird, his friends were acting weird.

Was he just going crazy?

He was probably taking this all way too seriously, whatever tom and star wanted to tell them they could tell them in their own time, he shouldn't be snooping through something that was personal for them. It just felt...strange, he never got left out by his best friends like this before, he was used to star and tom sharing stuff with him, what made this different?

Did marco do something wrong?

He was beating himself up mentally for thinking like that, of course not, it must be something different entirely.

Hopefully.

Hanging out with them the next day, marco was struggling to try and hide the fact that he knew something. That he knew something that he wasn't supposed to know about, trying to be normal as the two of them talked, he was too distracted to even focus on jackie when she waved to him that day. He tried to play it off as lack of sleep but he did feel like tom suspected something.

Tom was already getting their tickets and smiling and talking and Marco couldn't even enjoy it as much as he wanted to, worried he'd slip that he spied on his best friends and listened in on them.

Star had lessons that night and tom told marco he'd be busy that night helping his parents go shopping, so marco was left to his own devices as he did his homework. He couldn't focus though, it was hard to when his mind was wandering so much. He wished he had his friends here to help distract him but all he had now were his own thoughts and nothing else.

He sighed, looking at his empty bedroom.

He wondered if they were talking to each other more often without him, and what they said to each other.

Tap tap.

"AHHH!", marco nearly tossed his book aside, practically fainting as janna opened his window and popped her way inside. The girl loved to do stuff like this but BOY was marco not in the mood for her nonsense. Janna must've known marco was alone tonight, deciding it was a great time to break in and mess with him, because of course this was the time she wanted to break in.

"JANNA!".

"Hey marco!", she said, smirking, shutting the window behind her, "Mind if i drop in? No? Good.". She casually strode in, right to Marco's closet, digging through it for anything of use. "So star and tom are out tonight? Never thought they'd leave you alone, they're always attached to your hip like glue. But hey, finally means I get my chance to hang out in here.".

"Since when do you care about if you break in when people are looking?".

She shrugged, "I don't, I just prefer to not have any distractions when I'm bothering you.". She said it so casually, and marco snorted at her while she went through his things, though considering his resistance to her actions, janna had a feeling something was up. Marco usually started flipping out about her but now he just seemed...blank and sad.

She looked at his face, stopping what she was doing before giving him a look.

"Uh...what's wrong with you?".

"It's none of your beeswax janna...".

However, this only encouraged her, standing up, "Y'know, if you don't tell me i can easily hypnotize you into telling my yourself right? So I mean, would you rather tell em now or have me spill all your dark secrets to the world?". Marco became red faced, of course she went there, of course, he should have known better then to give her any reason to be suspicious.

Fantastic.

"Look it's just...star and tom are talking without me and I think they're hiding something from me and...".

"Oh? So they're dating now in secret and you're getting jealous?".

Marco was caught entirely off guard from that response, "W-what?".

"Dude, c'mon, it's obvious, they're dating and have no idea how to tell you...probably think it'll hurt your friendship or something...c'mon now", she said this so plainly, like marco was stupid for never actually thinking it beforehand. Marco was not sure how to respond, it was just like janna to make stuff like this up for the purpose of messing with him.

But she almost seemed to make sense, her claim at least.

Tom and Star did meet in secret without telling marco and seem to patch things up between them, and they did seem to look at each other a bit, and he did know tom had been pursuing her for a bit. But without telling marco? That didn't seem like tom much at all, tom and him were always talking about their crushes and helping each other out , why not say anything?

Maybe he could see Star not tell him considering how she felt about tom before.

But Tom?

"In denial huh?", Janna was being way too smug right now and marco didn't like one bit of it, "Hey, that's fine dude, don't complain to be when they start meeting more in secret, going on dates, kissing at lunch in front of you...". marco suddenly got very red faced and pushed her away from him, "Just...stop, I-I'm not...jealous, even if they were dating now...why would I be jealous? They'd be happy right? it's what tom wants."

Janna was still smirking, "I mean, it's getting a bit obvious...but I mean, it's fine, it'll be funnier watching you deal with it yourself". Marco was about ready to kick her from his home at this point, having it up to here with this. "Look, I've told everyone countless time over and over...ever since she arrived, me and star are NOT an item?! Ok? I don't have a crush on her!".

"I mean, I didn't say it had to be star...".

"Out!"

Marco was already pushing her out of his room and shutting the door behind her before resting his back against it and sighing, what if she was right? What if Tom and Star were dating in secret?

What if marco really was starting to get...jealous?

He shook his head, no no, he's starting to fall for more of her nonsense again, he really should stop falling for it, unless he wanted to get himself into more trouble. Janna was not the most truth worthy person around and he should know better then to listen to a word coming from her mouth. She was simply trying to mess with him, mess with his emotions and get him upset.

And Marco was just letting her.

Next time he saw star and tom, he was going to be a better friend, more trusting, less of a mess as he was for now.

If janna ruined their friendships over this nonsense he was going to explode.

He took a moment to breathe, he just needed some sleep, he was getting too worked up over this. Then he heard janna talking to his parents downstairs and immediately opened the door, he shoved janna out of his room, not his house! Who knows what she was doing downstairs! Marco quickly opened the door and headed downstairs, seeing his parents laughing with janna on the couch, making marco even more frustrated as they all waved at him.

"Marco! We didn't know you had a friend over!".

"I don't.", he said bitterly.

Janna smirked at him, lying back on the couch and enjoying herself, "Marco was just telling me about his crush on-". Marco shushed her as loud as possible, "Sorry guys, but janna is leaving, before pulling janna from the couch. Janna didn't even protest as marco pulled her away and towards the door," C'mon, stop busting into my house, what if i was naked?!".

"Fine with me.".

"Out."

Janna was pushed out the door and before marco could even close it she leaned herself against it, "C'mon marco, you've had to have at least considered it? You sure aren't getting this way about jackie." Marco was so red faced and embarrassed and he just wanted her out, shutting the door in her face, what did she know about his feelings? She couldn't read minds.

And she was questioning how much he liked jackie? She was with them since kindergarten! Of course she was aware of marco's long crush on jackie! She used to tease him about it all the time! Marco sighed and locked the door, his parents watching him curiously, probably worried something was seriously wrong with him. He smiled and pointed to the stairs, "I'm...going to get some rest...I'll see you tomorrow.".

He quickly headed upstairs, still red in the face.

Opening his door to find-

"Janna!?".

"Yo."

There she was, sitting on his bet, eating chips.

He forgot to lock the window.

"Janna for pete's sake, why can't you just leave me alone!", marco shouted at her, janna munching on her food to herself. "Alright fine marco, i'll go, but like, you outta be careful, before you hurt someone's feelings.". She shrugged before heading out of the window, the window shutting behind her and leaving marco in the dust. Marco feeling a weight off him but somehow...he almost regretted her going.

Like he didn't want to be alone.

He sat on his knees, thinking heavily about all the words coming from janna's mouth, messing with his hair.

"I don't...I don't know why my best friends don't want to tell me the truth but...whatever reason it's for, it has to be important to them", he liked his lips, brushing at his face, "They're my friends, if they're dating, i should just wait till they come out and tell me, wait until they're ready...right? Right. I have to be here to support them, I...I need to trust them.".

Then he remembered what else she said and shook his head.

"No no...none of that, they're just my friends...star is my best friend, tom is...", he felt himself hesitate with that one a bit more, "Best friend, he's just my best friend...and tomorrow...i'm gonna be the best friend i can possibly be for both of them".

#star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #svstfoe #tom the demon #tomco #marco #marco diaz #fanfiction #star butterfly #janna ordonia #jackie lynn thomas #my art

[cxmetery-gates]

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER FOUR: STEPHEN KING

SUMMARY: The first day back at school has tricks up its sleeve and Lynn tries to find optimism. WORD COUNT: 2.4k NOTES: I lost power for like six hours so happy new year to me. Okay, it wasn’t too big of a deal since the entire neighborhood did as well, so I’ve just been reading all day, which was a nice change. WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

FROM TIME TO TIME, I try my best to stay positive, but considering bad things are always around the corner, it's difficult to uphold this standard of living. Needless to say, this strategy typically doesn't hold for too long, but right now, I'm doing my very best to stay optimistic. It's the last first day I'll have with all my friends and peers. This should be something to be excited about (with a dash of dread). And, so far, all my classes have gone according to plan, that being swift and without any issues.

My math class came after helping Mrs. Gibbons. While I do my best to stray away from stereotypes and clichés, I couldn't fight the overwhelming state of confusion and panic during the first lecture. There wasn't even a break-the-ice introduction or the what's-the-best-thing-you-did-this-summer questions. Albeit, I loathe those games, but I would rather sit through the awkward hellos and fun facts for the next year than jump right into a lesson on the first day back. At least give us a break; summer isn't long enough.

Following a near hour of torture came yet another. Alright, health isn't as terrible, but requiring every student take this class as a senior despite having a course similar to such since elementary is very annoying. Then again, does anyone who isn't interested in the medical field know the function or location of the pancreas?

But finally, after several hours of waiting, sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation, I have a class to look forward to: 'Creative Writing.' Most might groan at the sound of a writing class, but I don't mind nor take offense. Not everyone finds passion on words or mental escape through storytelling. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. The interest comes so naturally as if I was born to have a pen in my hand. Maybe one day I'll find myself signing copies of my stories in a bookstore or on Good Morning America with Michael Strahan and Ginger Zee. I do my best to stay humble about my dreams, but staying positive in this is something I have to have in order to succeed.

Unfortunately, that idea of optimism is slipping away at this very moment.

I double check the crumpled paper in my hand. From what I wrote down, I'm right, but given the locked door with lights out, a sour feeling fills my gut. The last bell rings out, and I'm the only one who isn't a classroom, save the few stragglers making a quick dash into rooms. I'm unsure if I'm confused or frustrated as I stare down the door to an empty classroom.

"Jesus, fuck," I curse. Taking an exasperated sigh, I take a step towards the main staircase, deciding my only option is to figure out what's going on. Maybe the room moved last minute. After all, I wrote my schedule down three months ago; there's no telling how this hell hole has changed, little or small.

A typical stroll to the front office from the third floor might take two minutes, maybe three tops if you're dreading walking through the glass doors. Considering I leaped down several stairs at a time and finding myself at the bottom in all but twenty seconds, perhaps joining the track team isn't too terrible of an idea. However, after I take notice of my labored breathing, my legs also going limp, I put a pin in that thought.

"Hi," I breathe out reaching the front desk. As if I needed a reminder on how out of shape I am, my lungs heave heavy bursts in and out. I could have sworn the lady at the front desk gave me a startled look by my sudden appearance, but I don't dwell on apologizing. "I'm not sure if I have the wrong room for a class. I stopped by, but the room is empty."

Nodding her head slowly, the receptionist turns in her swivel chair to her computer, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. "I gotcha, hon. What's the class name?"

"It's just 'Creative Writing.'" I pause, thinking of any other information. "I might be wrong, but I think Mrs. Walters teaches it."

The woman stops typing when I mention the name and turns to me. By her reaction, I assume the worst. "Your issue is that the class doesn't exist anymore. Mrs. Walters moved away this summer. Took us all a bit by surprise."

There it fucking is.

Well, there goes the last bit of hope I had for the entire school year.

"I, uh, um," I croak. My heart pounds and my hands suddenly begin sweating. An intense wave of confusion wash over me. "S-So what should I do? I need an English elective."

She clicks around the screen, as well as her tongue. The sound is slightly annoying, but you can't bite off the hand that feeds you, even if it's just a one time meal. Her long red fingernails dance across the keyboard. "What's your name, hon?"

"Carolynn Moore," I respond. I can't understand the receptionist, but I think she comments on my "pretty" name. That makes one of us.

A few seconds pass when she looks back in my direction. "Well, it appears you actually don't need any more English classes; you've got all your credits."

"Yeah, but I was hoping to do dual credit. I wanna go into writing, so I figured going in with credits for my major isn't too shabby of an idea," I explain with a smile to the short-haired redhead. She nods and turns back to her computer while making that clicking noises with her mouth again, only this time it sounds like she's smacking on bubble gum. It takes all willpower not to show any signs of discomfort.

"Well," she finally says. "You could just take English IV. The rest of the English courses are either filled, or you've already taken. If your set on English, this is your only option."

From inside my jacket pockets, my fingers crossed. "Who teaches it?" I ask. My fingers cross tighter that it's anyone other than Mr. Hiddleston. I'd rather take the mummifying old teacher who can hardly speak English himself. Mr. Hiddleston may be a nice guy and I know he's a good teacher, but I really don't feel great about being in a class full of girls who took the class just for eye candy. I do my best not to follow clichés, this being one of them.

It appears, however, I will never catch a break.

"Mr. Hiddleston."

I push a sigh through my nose. If this is my only option, I feel obligated to take it. Unfortunately.

"Alright, I'll take it."

══════════════════

I find myself standing outside of Mr. Hiddleston's classroom. I see resentment in my decision just after climbing to the third floor, knowing I will have to travel as far as Frodo and Sam did five days a week. Through the glass window, I see mostly females lining up the first two rows watching the front of the room intensely. With my position, I can't see him, but I have no doubt who they're staring at. To my surprise, I catch Ellie in the second row writing things on a notepad. Well, at least I have one sane people to partner up with.

Taking a breath, I twist the doorknob and give it a small shove. Instantly, almost every head turns my direction. I feel as though I have ten eyes by the looks I'm given.

That's when I notice Mr. Hiddleston leaning against a stool, his long legs outstretched and hands pressed far into his pockets. He gives a surprise eyebrow raise, most likely remembering our conversation this morning. I had told him I wouldn't be taking his class and yet here I am.

"Hello, there, Lynn. A pleasant surprise," he smiles.

My cheeks go pink. The last thing I needed was this ridiculously hot professor bringing up how we have already become acquainted. Perhaps I'm overthinking, but I really don't want people to begin rumors. It wouldn't be the first time I've heard made up stories of students sleeping with their teacher.

"I got switched," I inform in a low voice. Handing him the office's approval, I pass a small smile, doing my best to hide my true feelings. Mr. Hiddleston takes the note and quickly scans it, nodding his head twice.

"Well, I'm glad I have gained another brilliant student," he compliments standing. I take this as my cue to find a seat. My eyes immediately meet Ellie's. As Mr. Hiddleston passes me to his desk, I made a quick walk across the classroom to sit in the empty seat behind Ellie.

She instantly turns herself around. "What happened to 'avoid the stereotype'? And how does he already know your name?" She whispers. "I'm so jealous." Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Ellie flickers her eyes from packs of teenage girls who suddenly begin whispering among themselves. "And it appears I'm not the only one."

My eyes roll as I shrug off my backpack. "Last minute changes. The teacher for that writing class— the one I was telling you about earlier— moved, so I found myself landed here." I pull out a new notebook and a few pens just as Mr. Hiddleston finishes typing on his computer. He's bent over due to his towering height, quite a few pairs of eyes glued to a particular spot. Finding myself as one of those onlookers, I feel a tinge of red heat my cheeks in embarrassment. "And I, uh, helped him this morning."

Ellie, in a dreamy state, looks over to Mr. Hiddleston. Seeing how his posture has straightened, she begins to sit back normally on her desk. I would have been convinced this person was a clone of Ellie had a comment not been made. "I'd like to help him out anytime if you know what I mean," she whispers, biting her tongue teasingly. All she does is giggle as I slap her arm lightly.

I keep my cursing to a minimum now that the room has gone mostly silent. Clasping his hands together, Mr. Hiddleston stands at the front of the classroom, eyeing all of us down. "Alright, first day. How is everyone?"

A collection of groans erupts from the teenagers. While I take no part in the group's exhaustion, I smile to myself in agreement.

"That bad?" Mr. Hiddleston chuckles. "Well, it's about to get worse. Starting from this gentlemen," Mr. Hiddleston gestures to some kid on the opposite side of the room who has boredom written across his face, "we will go around the room with our names."

A panic arises in my chest. Of course, I've spent the last several years speaking in front of my classmates, but it never gets any easier. On more than one occasion has the slip of a curse or a stutter cause points to be deducted from an assignment. It's not entirely my fault that I enter a foggy state of anxiety when all eyes in a room meet me. Can't we all just share our names and our favorite movie with the person sitting next to us? I have no doubt I would have a much easier time with this.

My thoughts have torn me from reality for quite a bit of time, so it seems, as the person two seats away is now announcing their name. I manage to find myself listening in just at the right moment as if now is more convenient than, perhaps, a few minutes ago. My ever-so-sharp context clues lead me to believe we are also sharing who our heroes are if we're comfortable enough for the topic.

I find the bit interesting, but answerable nonetheless. The only problem is I have two: Stephen King and Ruth Bader Ginsburg. How does one compare the modern feminist iconic queen to the whimsical horror author who inspired my writing antics? I flip between the two, plotting out who had the most significant impact on my life, who I am, what--

The sensation of eyes all falling on to my face breaks my concentration. "Oh, okay," I say mainly to myself. Do the thing, Lynn, my thoughts scream. "Well, I'm Lynn Moore, and an idol of mine is, uh..." I stumble off, my brain cutting circuit.

I'm mad at myself for making this simple question out to be life or death. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Realizing I can't do any wrong with either pick, I let my mouth do the work for me. "King. Stephen King."

"Why am I not surprised in the slightest?" Mr. Hiddleston comments, sending me a smile.

"Not all of us can be mysteries," I retort with a shrug. I'm not sure if Mr. Hiddleston he hears me, as my voice decides to speak softly, but the way the corners of his mouth raise makes me think otherwise. My cheeks begin to burn, even after he moves on to the next student. I try to focus in on the girl's name and hero. I already know her first name is Kaitlyn, but the name of her hero goes past me. Maybe she said Beyoncé. Maybe Obama. All I know for sure is that my face feels flush and I can't stop thinking about Mr. Hiddleston's laugh from this morning or the smile he gave me minutes ago.

Thankfully, there is a clap of binders and notebooks slapping on desks to break my thoughts. The warmth in my cheeks leaks back into my body, the cool skin tone returning once more. Glancing around the room with my eyes, I see no one spotted my nervous fidgeting or have looked away from the blushing shy girl.

A pen in my hand, a notebook below the tip, and a smile tugging at the corner of my lips as Mr. Hiddleston begins to enthusiastically talk about the use and necessity of the Oxford comma leads me to a conclusion. Maybe this year won't be as terrible as I had been putting it out to be.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

TAGLIST:

@khadineberry​

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED, LET ME KNOW!

#obsessive teachings #dark!tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfiction #teacher!tom hiddleston #loki #high school #stalking #obsessed love #obsessive #dark!fic

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (v)

Carol (2015) fan fiction

Pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Word Count: 1,623

The first day.

Carol jolted awake to the sound of her bedroom door slamming open. She was burrowed deep under the covers, enjoying the warmth when a tiny mass suddenly hurled itself onto the bed.

"Mommy! You have to get up! It's first day!"

Carol groaned as Rindy pulled the covers off her face. It was barely 6am, according to the clock. Rindy didn't start until 9.

"Nerinda, it is far too early to be up."

"But we have to get ready. You always take foreverrr."

Carol gasped in feigned offense, grabbing Rindy and burying the two of them under the covers. Rindy giggled as Carol squeezed her tightly.

"Mommy! It's breakfast time we have to get up!!"

Carol shut her eyes tightly, moving her head away from Rindy's fingers as they tried to pry her eyelids open.

"Mommy's not here, she's sleeping, come back later," she said in a robot voice.

"Mom!" Rindy yelled, exasperated but still giggling. She wiggled her way out of the nest of blankets and jumped off the bed to turn on the lights. Carol sighed and rubbed her eyes, knowing there was no other option but to admit defeat. A part of her, though exhausted, was somewhat pleased with Rindy getting her up so early. It meant a slow morning.

"Do you want pancakes?"

"Pancakes! But that's a weekend breakfast?!" Usually they had toast or cereal. Pancakes were saved for lazy days, but Carol was feeling just as giddy. To hell with it, pancakes on the first day.  Why not?

"Shh, Rindy. Don't tell anyone," Carol winked, sending the six year old into a fit of jittery giggles, again. Carol could get used to that sound, even at 6 in the morning.

She threw on a robe and let Rindy pull her down the stairs to the kitchen. Pancakes were easy to whip up, and soon Rindy was munching away happily on the pancakes, while Carol calmly sipped a cup of coffee.

"Are you excited for school today?"

"Mhm!" Rindy said around a mouthful.

"I'm glad to hear it, dear," Carol said, smiling. "I'll be there to pick you up at three."

"Mkah," she mumbled with her mouth stuffed.

"Don't speak with your mouthful, Nerinda, alright?"

Her daughter nodded, and soon she was dressed, bouncing with excitement and flailing on Carol's bed as Carol got dressed herself, slowly. At this rate, Rindy would be out cold by the time lunch rolled around.

Carol pulled up in the parking lot of the elementary school around 8:45, and ushered Rindy out the car, holding her hand as she led her six-year old through the familiar halls of the school. She greeted Robichek with a kind wave as she passed the kindergarten classes, and made her way to Rindy's new Grade 1 classroom.

It was decked out with colourful shapes of cut out paper decorating the wall, posters of their ABCs, numbers, and a list of classroom rules at the front by the chalkboard.

Every desk had a name tag, and Rindy quickly found hers, close to the front. Her daughter settled in, legs tapping against the floor. There were only one or two other students seated already.

"Oh, Carol! How wonderful," a kind voice spoke from the doorway. There stood Mrs. Morgan, who had donned some business casual clothes rather than the usual tracksuit.

"Claire, it's nice to see you," Carol said, greeting the gym teacher with a polite hug. "Rindy's been incredibly excited to have class with you this year."

"That's wonderful to hear," the redhead beamed, smiling at Rindy who giggled in her seat. "I'm excited to teach these first graders more than just jumping jacks. It'll be a nice change."

"Harge and I've been thinking the same thing," Carol said, as more kids came into the room with parents waving hasty and tear-filled good-byes.

"Oh, and how is Mr. Aird these days?"

Beats me. "Oh, he's doing quite well. By the way, I've been meaning to check, I've signed Rindy on for an after class program this week, just for Wednesday because I can't pick her up on time, you see. We assumed it was phys ed at first, but-"

"Nope, none of those teams have been filled out yet. When we do, I'll make sure to get Rindy to sign up. But right now there's nothing for gym after school. It's probably that new art program we've got."

"Right," something in Carol's chest leaped. "Art."

After a quick goodbye, Carol headed out of the school, saying hi to a few familiar staff along the way and stopping to check in with the front desk about Rindy's registration for the program. Rindy's name was on the list, but could come and go whenever Carol or Harge wanted her to. There was no credit or reward attached to attending consistently, much to her relief. She'd rather prefer to keep Rindy with her when she could.

A flash of a brunette in green caught her eye just as the bell rang while she stood in the front foyer. A lithe figure had turned the corner into one of the smaller hallways, carrying boxes and just a little too out of sight for Carol to identify her.

The bumbling of small footsteps racing across the school to find classes made her come back to reality. She wrung her hands together and shook her head, committing herself to removing the silly fantasy of the dainty photographer as she headed out to her car.

At the request of Mrs. Robichek, Therese had arrived early to help set things up and settle in the new kids. She carried boxes, shuffled desks and got to be friendly with all the new teachers who noticed her working and said a friendly hello. Mr. Tucker avoided her ardently, and she didn't mind.

"You must be the new art teacher," A small redheaded woman came up to her, and Therese smiled. Hardly a teacher but okay.

"Sure am, Therese Belivet," she introduced herself. The handshake was firm and polite, one shake.

"I'm Claire Morgan, I teach gym to the younger tyrants around here, and Grade 1 this year," she said. Thank god, thought Therese.  She seemed a lot more approachable than Tucker did.

"Nice to meet you," Therese nodded.

"So, you think you're ready for the school year to kick you in the butt? That's how it was with me when I first started."

"Oh, sure. I'm hardly a teacher compared to you all, I just need to babysit the stragglers after school," Therese chuckled, shaking her head.

"Nonsense, Miss B. You are most definitely a part of the staff now." Mrs. Morgan leaned in closer. "Plus, I heard you have to share Tucker's classroom. You've got everyone on your side because that shit's not easy."

Therese blinked and smiled at the woman's humorous quips, Miss B. I like that.

"But anyways, welcome to the team, Therese! I'm assuming you're not sticking around during the day?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't. I'll go home for a bit and prep, and then come back near 3:00. Mr Tucker doesn't seem to like it when I'm around him, so I'll wait until the last possible second to get in."

"Good plan," and then the woman was off, ushering some older kids to get to class. Therese smiled; she could get used to this.

There were meant to be 20 kids registered for 'after-school art', but only 11 showed up on the first day. Therese clutched her clipboard as she went through attendance. The remaining 9 all had little P's in the row of their names; their parents had signed them out and picked them up at the regular times.

"Hello everyone," Therese began, feeling a surge of confidence as the classroom quieted and seemed to be attentive. She wrote Miss Belivet on the chalkboard in quick cursive and introduced herself.

"I'm Miss Belivet, but you can call me Miss B. I'll be teaching you art during this program; everyday we'll have a new activity or craft, and you can participate as much as you want to."

That seemed to land nicely. There were a few older grade students who seemed hesitant and bored to be there but had no other choice. So, Therese pulled up an empty desk to the front of the room and set one of her new supply boxes on top; revealing new sets of brushes, acrylic paints, and paper.

The kids almost immediately shot up and crowded around the box; exclaiming in awe at the brand-new professional-looking boxes and tools, which they clearly hadn't seen during all their time in elementary school, since majority of this was cheaper, discounted things that Therese had to afford.

"Ah, ah! Back to your seats," Therese scolded, shooing them away. "First some ground rules; these are important supplies, they're new. So, obviously, I'd ask all of you to be extra careful with them, not lose any pieces, and always tell me if you break one of them, okay?"

Eager faces nodded and Therese beamed, her heart fluttering with nerves and excitement.

"First day; we're going to make folders to keep all your artworks in one place. You can pick whatever paper and colour or paint the cover however you feel. But we'll also make sure to put your name on it, sound good?"

She let the older grades show the younger kids how to use scissors and glue, and as the kids settled in with their own crafts, -pencil crayons already flailing everywhere- she pulled out an old sketchbook of her own. She hadn't touched it since her college days, but seeing the children draw and paint to their delight gave her enough inspiration to start again.

A/N: I felt bad about how long it’s been since I’ve updated this story, so I decided to post 5 and 6 together! Hope you liked it friends.

#carol #carol aird #carol fanfiction #carol movie #carol (2015) #therese #therese belivet #carol x therese #carolxtherese #patricia highsmith #the price of salt #todd haynes #cate blanchett #rooney mara #wlw #lgbt #modern au #fanfiction #merry writes

[bonebreakjack]

What Would I Be Without You?

Tenko and Hana take a leap of faith changing their lives for better or for worse. Along the way they uncover many secrets hidden away, try to find their way in life, and deal with their new eccentric roommates and their even more eccentric friends.

But at least their doing it together.

(An AU of what would have happened if AFO hadn't interfered with the Shimura family's lives. (Cause I refuse to believe he had no part in that horror). This is my take of what could have happened via what little we saw of the family.)

Chapter 2: What A Day...And It’s Not Even Over yet

If this was going to be a new normal, Tenko would rather take his chances and hide from society back inside the apartment becoming a shut in. It’s as if the universe was like ‘Fuck You’ to him and his sister the moment they stepped out. First they missed  the first two busses. Not even just one, but both of them, to get to the station. So they both had to run all the way to the station so they could make the train. Then there was a villain attack along the way and the crowd watching the Hero and Villain go at it. (Is that the new upcoming hero Mirko? She’s moving around like a frenzied rabbit keeping the guy disoriented.) Tenko would have been more happy to see the fight if we weren't worried about getting to school on time. ( Which really was more about keeping as much stress off his sister as possible she’s got enough on her plate besides worrying about him.) Navigating the crowd  was a nightmare and a half, no one wanted to move, half of them were being rude assholes and the other half kept hesitating cause they didn’t want to look away from the fight. Hana nearly tasted dirt more than a couple times and Tenko sure as hell did taste the dirt with being shoved around. They finally make it to the station only for the ticket machine to break and them missing the train having to wait nearly an hour for another one. Thus making them late.

 Hana tried to lighten the atmosphere by suggesting they go buy snacks while they waited, only for Tenko to tell her he was broke cause he spent the last of his money on house items they needed, and she herself had forgotten her wallet. Meaning they don’t even have money for the train to begin with. Wonderful. They did have a bit of luck in Hana digging through her bag and finding enough change to get them on the train, but she would probably have to ask one of their roommates to get her her wallet when they wake up. She paid for the tickets and they sat in silence on their phones. Tenko saw that his phone battery was in the red and went to get his charger …..that he didn’t bring . So he just wasted what little he had on mobile games. He threw the damn thing in his bag and scowled for the next hour, as the rage bubbled up inside him and he stewed like a pressure cooker. The train comes and one again he's surrounded by people, who were far too close and pushy as they packed into the train like sardines. He could feel his very thin rope of patience fraying quickly. He hated being touched, there were too many people, and today was NOT working in their favor, he has to go back to school in the middle of the year, they moved all the way into the city in a stranger's house he had never met, and its too much for the first fucking day- Hana reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing lightly and he throttled the urge to scratch at his face and neck. His sister hated it and it made her distressed. He stewed in stillness instead, thinking positive. At least they were together. Not.

Tenko was seriously contemplating homicide right now. He was jam packed alone on the train to the new school he had to go to, his sister got dropped off at her Highschool two stops before so he had to suffer alone now. This was pure crap and what's worse because of his height made him easy to push and shove around, and God help him Why is everyone TOUCHING HIM?

This was the start of what Tenko was sure to be a Hellish day.

Fuck.

The hiss of the doors alerted him to freedom and he clawed his way out nearly knocking over an elementary school girl. From what he could see she apparently had a similar plan but was using the wall to avoid death by stampede. Apologizing under his breath, Tenko pulled her up and then shoved her through the door before following. He yelled out another apology as he ran, noticing the time.

A plain faced boy passed him wearing the same uniform, his face more panicked as he ran to get to school. HE was a bit weird out by the boys muttering of wanting to avoid his mother's fly swats.

More and more students passed by him as he slowed down wearing the same uniform as him. He couldn't help but stare at how much more unique looking everyone was in comparison to the private school he went to. A sense of more freedom filled the air and the students seemed more lively. They seemed pretty happy and content rubbing their good mood to everyone today.

Maybe today won’t be as bad as he thought-

He was shoved to the side very roughly by a much taller bastard of a kid with dark red brown hair with needle like appearance and gold eyes. He smirked condescendingly down at Tenko who glared back up at him. He began to walk away but Tenko wasn't about to let him. Nope that was the last fucking straw that burnt up the rest of his self restraint. He couldn’t help his lips twitching, wanting to stretch into a smile as a thought passed through his head. Hello, Misplaced Aggression.

"Hey bastard what was that for?" Tenko was snarling at the now surprised boy, assholes like this think they're so damn mighty until someone barks back. But they messed with him on the wrong day.

"You were in my way shortly, learn to make room for your betters!" The Tall Bastard, as Tenko now deemed him, had gathered himself after he realized Tenko wasn't backing down. His two friends flanking him to try and further intimidate him.

Tenko just scoffed and wondered when they started cloning cliches. Different schools have the same bullies, how predictable. The ones back home were scarier anyway, they actually knew who his dad was.

"Oh I'm sorry your majesty, I didn't realize you have a Caution: Wide Load sign on you."

The silence was too beautiful, he should have recorded it, or took out his phone to take a picture (he was still mad at leaving his charger at home). The Tall Bastard’s face was turning a funny shade of red from humiliation and anger. His friends looked wary and looked at their leader  before backing away slowly. “You looking down on me you puny bastard!” Tall Bastard picked Tenko up by the scruff of his collar and Tenko could almost hear a choir cause it was as if his prayers were answered and someone decided to send him a punching bag.

If that’s the case then… A yelp that sounded like a came from the mouth of a dog came out of the Tall Bastards mouth and he dropped Tenko to cover and hold his injured crotch from where Tenko kicked him. One doesn’t play fair with those who won’t give the same treatment. As soon as he was on the ground Tenko’s leg shot out to kick Tall Bastard on the back of the head making him hit the ground. He picked up his backpack where it had fallen and went to walk away. “Hey asshole I wasn’t done with you-!” “Wait Soga! You can’t get in trouble again. You could get expelled this time.”One of the friends spoke up, he had a reptilian appearance and on the short side. He grabbed his friend Soga’s arm to keep him from attacking Tenko. “Let's Just leave besides I get the feeling this kid isn’t all there if yanno what I mean.” Tenko felt a scowl pull at his lips at the remark which caused the reptilian human to hide behind Tall Bastards-Soga’s- body. The two boys stared at each other down before Soga tsked and spat on the ground. “Fine whatever, he’s not fucking worth it anyway.”They walked to the school entrance, though Tenko noticed with slight satisfaction that Soga was limping as he did. It didn’t help the bitterness that burned in his lungs as the words ‘Not worth it’ , ran in his head. The small fight didn’t help his bad mood and he grumbled all the way to the Staff office as how unsatisfied he felt.

  He got scolded for being late on his first day of transferring by a bulbous looking teacher. He was just in time for the 2nd period to begin but they weren’t lenient on tardies. And no, you can’t use a villain attack as an excuse. Asshole. Tenko looked sourly down at his schedule and the added papers on top of it. Apparently his sister had asked the staff to give him a list of clubs he could join this late in the year. He and Hana transferred to their new schools in the middle of fall, a really weird time but they didn’t have much of a choice. Ugh he didn’t even do clubs back home, why would she think he would now? He trudged all the way to homeroom and was met with the Class representative, a lanky boy with a split mouth and slim face. When he spoke his voice contained a slight hiss and small bumps of flesh along with extra needle-like rows of teeth shows. A snake-like quirk it seems. The boy was polite and said u anything to ask him. The only seat available was the one in the cornerback near the classroom closet. Another good thing that happened today seems, best place to pretend you're doing work and take a nap. He had a few minutes before 2nd period officially started which was physical education and all the boys were changing. Since he hadn’t gotten his uniform for that yet he was allowed to sit out or stay in the classroom. Obviously he decided to stay and the class representative went to go change himself while Tenko worked on setting up his desk to take a nap on. At the corner of his eye he spotted a strange looking teenager with bandages all over his arms and neck. His hair was black in a way that clearly looked dyed, and his eyes were almost a luminous blue. Something about him kept nagging at Tenko’s brain. He decided to just go back to minding his business and didn’t even know why some random kid caught his attention anyway. The moment every one left he  laid his head on his desk and knocked solidly out. ----- Tenko and Hana were walking home when a man with white hair stood in front of them, he smiled kindly at them and for some reason Tenko was having a hard time putting a face to this stranger or even a name. Is he new around here? Did he just move in? Tenko didn’t hear the others talking about anyone new in the neighborhood. The man was talking to them about something but Tenko can’t remember what he was saying. The words just sounded like noise. He reached out  to him with a hand but Hana put herself in front of Tenko and started screaming about a pervert and calling for help. Whatever ease Tenko had felt disappeared when she did and followed her lead bringing the attention of whatever adults in the area to them. Hearing a familiar dog-like growl, Tenko felt relief as he saw Mikkuns mother stomp up to them and the man backing up as she interrogated him on what he was doing with them. Getting vague answers she tells him she has never seen him around here before, putting her body right in front of them blocking their view of the man. The words became a blur again and whatever he said seemed to pacify her but then Mikkuns mom was leading them home. She was talking to herself, french accent thick with anger and suspicion as she was going to tell the other neighborhood parents about this. His own mom opened the door demurely as if waiting to receive bad news and apologize. It hurts Tenko to know she was already suspecting that he got in trouble for something. To her surprise and fear Mikkun’s mom was talking about how a strange man had begun talking with her children but Mikkun did not recall anyone moving in recently. She was going to ask the other mothers but warned his mom Nao to keep an eye out. They ended up receiving praise from the French woman for their quick thinking and instincts before getting head pats from her paws. She bidded them a good day before marching off intending to go warn the others parents. Mikkuns mom was pretty cool. Both kids were brought into a hug by their mom who was so happy they were okay before ushering them to the living room and rushed to go talk to grandma and grandpa. Tenko wondered why he can’t seem to recall this mans face-

“Shimura-san, Shimura-san…”Somebody was shaking him, ripping him from his memory. Tenko blearily looked up to see the class president looking down at him in concern. Shooting up from his desk thinking he slept while class came back, but was happy to see it was just the class  President there. Seeing his gym uniform showed he had come from where the class actually was to find him. “Sorry about that Shimura-san, a man had come to school saying he bought something from home that you forgot..” A shadow image of a taller man with slicked back hair and cold eyes flashed in his mind making him shudder. A wave of fear ran through him and all he could think was pain. The President looked concerned at Tenko reaching his hands out as if to prevent him from falling over but Tenko stepped out of his reach.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Who did you say came by?”He let out a shuddering breath and gathered himself in case it was who he thought it was. The President's tongue slipped out as if tasting the air before letting out a sign. “A Shirakumo Oboro? Do you wish for me to tell him you're busy? I will if you want.” That was surprising, most people wouldn’t lie to an adult so blatantly like that and not for someone else. It made Tenko feel a bit awkward but also a little happy. “No it’s fine I know who that is. Thank you….” Tenko trailed off. A flush of heat hit his cheeks once he realized he has no idea what the president’s name is. It got even worse one the other taller boy realized and laughed softly. The president led him out of the class to the front entrance. “Uroko Sogen. Now let’s hurry, there isn’t much time before the rest of the class comes back.” Making it to the door he tried not to look too surprised to see one of Hana and his new roommates, or really he should be calling them the actual tenants, here at his school. The man was on the taller side with tan skin and a scar on his head, his hair flowed around white and fluffy like a cloud even though it was pulled back into a ponytail. Blue eyes caught Tenko’s form and waved at him like an enthusiastic idiot. 

Which had the opposite effect it intended, making Tenko want to do an 180 and go back to class. “Lil Shimura-chan!” Actually never mind he’s just going to go back to class. “NO WAIT, I GOT YOUR CHARGER!”The older man screeched, panicked seeing Tenko actually maneuver to go back inside. Tenko looked confused and a little suspicious that the man came all the way here just to deliver his charger. “Hana texted me saying she forgot some things at the apartment, and that you also forgot this. I wasn’t working so-” He went to one of the multitude of pockets he had and pulled it out letting it fall gently into a confused Tenko’s waiting hands. “The first day can be rough, and from what I heard from Hana it was far from ideal for the both of ya. It ain’t much but I can take you two somehwere to eat after she’s done training? I know a place with great Sushi.”  It was a bit silent after that but Tenko felt his lips twitching into a small smile. Shirakumo didn’t have to do that, he could have just dropped off his sister's stuff and be done. It felt nice to be considered. “I think I would like that.” The smile he got from Shirakumo was downright blinding, seriously did he employ the sun into his teeth why was it so bright?! 

“Alright! I’ll leave you to it then. Have a good day Lil Shimura-san!” The older man waved at them before taking off on a cloud like a dragon ball parody character. Huh so that what his quirk was, he wonder how he implements that into his hero work- “Shimura-san class is about to start.” Tenko’s thoughts were interrupted before nodding at the boy as they went back in. He couldn’t help but squeeze the charger in his pocket, happy that some good things came out of today at the very least. They got into class and all the boys had finished changing back into their regular uniforms. His eyes caught the blued eyed black haired kid again and was shocked to find he had piercings in his ears, nose, and lip. He couldn’t believe the school even allowed that. The other kid looked up before giving him a wink flustering Tenko.

Distracted he didn’t see the small girl trying to get into class and tripped right over her knocking them both over.

Dammit he jinxed himself. Tenko quickly got up and pulled her up to her feet. She was so small for a second he could have mistaken her for a younger elementary student. Her hair was a pinkish red and she reminded him of cherub from those paintings but without the wings. “Ah I’m sorry-!” They both started and it became a babbled mess that the president broke up since they were in front of the door. The girl sat in the front seat looking down at her now dirty uniform, and Tenko winced before deciding to pay her back later for that.

The class filled in and sat around talking to each other. He tried to ignore the occasional glances his way from his new classmates and especially that bastard with the glowy eyes. A heavy knocking and the class stood up as this ridiculous amazon of a woman walked into the door. She was clearly built under her suit and skirt and looked more like she would fit in a fighting ring than she would as a teacher. Her hair long purple pink, and eyes that looked shiny and red. She looked even bigger as they sat down. “Helloooo class!”And Loud, she was very loud, it grated on Tenko’s ears a bit “Now I’m sure you all were gossiping about it during gym, but I’m a say it again anyway. We have a new classmate with us.” She looked at Tenko and invited him up and damn he hated this. He trudged along slowly to the front as the teacher clapped her hands. “Let’s make this quick, we have free time and I’m sure your classmates are excited to get to know you. Why don’t you tell everyone your name, what you like, and your quirk as an ice breaker?”

Her voice became softer as she handed him the chalk. His classmates leaned in excited to gossip or rip into him the moment he was done and Tenko felt like he was in the spotlight. He wanted to puke. It would have been fine if she didn’t mention the damn quirk thing. Tenko was hoping to avoid that a little longer. So much for good things happening, right back where he started. A familiar rage boiled inside him, or it could be the stomach acid from his anxiety. His hand shook a bit as he wrote his name down slowly trying to buy himself some time. He looked at the board hoping for some answers but got now. Resigned, he put it down and turned to his excited classmates. Sogen, Dye job with blue eyes and the small cherub girl were the only ones who looked subdued.

“I’m Shimura Tenko, I like video games and syrup covered mochi,” He took a breath and decided to rip it off like a bandaid. They would find out sooner or later anyways.

“Quirkless.”

#Bnha au #bnha writing #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academy #bnha #Quirkless Tenko #Tenko shimura #shimura tenko #shimura hana #hana shimura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #Shirakumo oboro #bonebreakjack #bonebreakjackwrite

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 18 - to get burnt by an imitation

Back to the Beginning   < Previous chapter / Next chapter >   

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: pain, verbal abuse, mild violence)

(The title of the chapter comes from "A Promise" by Ernestine Northover)

So many variables, Logan thought, knocking the back of his head against the wall. He’d been sitting on the floor outside the cellar door for who knows how long now, mulling over the plan Virgil had proposed.

“She’ll be back any day now,” he’d explained. “After doing strong magic like that again, I’d be surprised if she wasn’t curious. We’ll have to ambush her. As far as she knows, the curse is still active. She doesn’t have any reason to suspect that Dorian will be on our side.”

“That’s assuming he’s willing to help out,” Roman had pointed out. “The whole reason he accepted the deal was so he wouldn’t have to battle Ursula. I would.”

“We all would,” Patton corrected.

Logan had remained all but silent throughout the process. The others let him be, under the pretense of “intense brainstorming,” but in reality, he was drawing a blank.

He knew nothing about Ursula or her powers, though from what Virgil had described, she sounded pretty invincible. Roman had supposed powers, but knew next to nothing about how they worked, Patton’s ability was more of a passive talent than a weapon, and Virgil was too high on the excitement of having his talisman back to think up a proper, coherent plan. Logan had stepped away, claiming he needed time to think things through—which wasn’t a total lie—and had ended up sitting in the hallway, thinking of nothing.

His eyes flitted over the symbol scorched into the door, its faint purple light pulsing every few seconds.

Is no one in this house normal aside from Logan?

He snorted at the memory of Roman’s words. Normal might be an objective term, but useless wasn’t. He knew any sort of plan that had even a chance of success didn’t involve him. He didn’t have magic. He didn’t have a year’s worth of experience fighting a demon. He had no supernatural ability to tell the future.

Logan was an elementary school teacher. He was that loser from the next class over who thought that looking at bugs during lunch hour was more interesting than talking to real people. He wasn’t a brave knight ready to defend his friend’s honor to an immortal witch.

The only thing he was good at was logic. Being ruthlessly objective. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he shouldn’t attend the mission. Really, he shouldn’t be involved at all.

Right. So stop being a baby about it and go tell them, he thought harshly.

Stuffing down the dread mounting inside of him, Logan forced himself to his feet and back into the living room.

Things had quieted down after the fiasco that was trapping a goblin in their cellar. Virgil had only given them the barest of details: he was Ursula’s henchman, powerful when he wanted to be, and a total jerk. Now that Virgil’s secret was out, however, he seemed content to roam the house in his feline form. Patton followed him around, making casual conversation despite the fact that Virgil was incapable of replying. The four thin gashes Remus had clawed into his cheek stood out against Patton’s otherwise blemish-free face. He looked like a walking oxymoron. Such a sweet, harmless person looking like he’d tangled with a raccoon over scraps of garbage. Patton had several small scars on his hands, but he’d explained that they were from accidents with hot glue guns and X-Acto knives while crafting with Dot.

“I’m too clumsy for my own good,” he’d say with a shrug and a laugh. Logan would fail to mention the fact that Patton almost never wore short sleeves, and the sneaking suspicion he had that his friend was hiding something. Or maybe he just likes cardigans. Stop being so paranoid.

Roman sat on one of the kitchen stools, a mug of tea Patton had prepared held close to his chest. His knee bounced restlessly as he stared at the ruby-red amulet on the counter in front of him, like he was waiting for it to jump out and bite him. His sun-tanned skin from the summer was starting to fade, which also meant the disappearance of Roman’s annual freckles. He always seemed to develop them in a swath across his nose, making him and Patton look almost related.

Logan blinked, realizing he’d been staring, and walked over. He pulled out the other stool and took a seat. Roman’s head twitched in his direction, like he’d recognized that Logan was there, but couldn’t quite pull himself out of whatever deep thoughts he’d been wading through. His shoulders were tense again.

Logan leaned over. “What tea is that?”

“Lavender.”

“Have you had any of it?”

“No.”

Logan reached out and grabbed the amulet.

Roman’s knuckles went white.

Logan held the jewel up to the light, examining it. “I think we should throw this thing away.”

“But I… need it,” he said, tripping on the words coming out of his mouth.

Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I would think you’d want nothing more to do with it.”

Roman tapped a nail against the mug. “Well, yeah, I hate it. But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to need it when we go up against Ursula.”

“Speaking of which, I’ve come to a conclusion,” Logan said, setting the amulet down. Roman relaxed a bit.

“What’s that?”

“You all will be much better off without me on this mission.”

Patton looked up from the corner of the living room, Virgil trotting easily across the back of the couch. He put his hands on his hips. “What is this wacky talk? Lo, weren’t you the one who wanted us all to stick together from now on?”

“Well, yes,” Logan admitted, “but I’m merely being objective. I don’t have any special skills to contribute, have no unique knowledge about the enemy, and will only be a hindrance to you three.”

Virgil leaped to the ground and resumed his human form, something Logan was still trying to get used to. “You aren’t useless, Logan. You contribute plenty.”

“Well…” Roman said. Virgil shot him an incredulous look. “No! Of course Logan isn’t useless. That’s not what I mean at all,” he amended, holding out a hand. “All I’m saying is that Logan might have a point. Virgil’s the most powerful one here, and I’m what this whole thing is about, not to mention I have a lot more experience with… this kind of stuff.”

“What about me? You can’t possibly think I’m more helpful than Logan, can you?” Patton demanded. “Unless you want me sleeping through the battle, there’s really not much I can offer either.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Virgil said. “You have inherent magic in you, so you can see the truth of things no matter what.”

“The truth of things?”

“That’s how you were able to see Remus and talk to him,” he explained, looking slightly uncomfortable at the amount of attention on him. “Magical creatures like him, or even some spells can be hidden from mortal eyes—like the spell on the cellar door. If… If I wanted to, I could make it so Logan couldn’t see any of it,” he finished haltingly as Logan’s expression wilted.

“It’s settled, then,” Logan said, though it pained him. This was Roman’s curse all over again, except now, he would be sitting at home, alone in the dark, waiting for three of his best friends to return hopefully in one piece.

“No!” Patton cried, looking desperate. “Virgil, if Ursula’s really so powerful, who’s to say she doesn’t come and attack the house while we’re out looking for her? If she’s seen through your eyes like you say she has, then she knows all of our faces. Logan would be alone. We’re safer if we all stay together.”

Logan sighed. “Patton—”

“No, he has a point,” Virgil cut in. “That does seem like something she’d do. I agree with Patton. We can keep each other safer if we’re all together.”

Roman bit his lip. “Okay... I still don’t like it, but you know her best, Virge. So, if you think we’ll be better off together, I’ll go with it.”

“I won’t be dead weight for you guys to carry around,” Logan implored.

Roman put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll definitely be more dead than weight if you stay here alone, Lo. Trust us on this. Besides,” he said, his face ticking up into that perfect smile that hid his fear, “I wouldn’t want you anywhere else. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Roman.” There. We’ll lie to each other and call it even.

Virgil suddenly swayed. He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed Roman’s shoulder, steadying himself.

Patton’s smile vanished. “Virgil? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, grimacing. “It’s Ursula. She’s—gah!” Virgil cried out, clutching his head.

“Here. Sit down,” Logan said, carefully guiding him to the dining table. Virgil collapsed into the seat and pressed his forehead against the tabletop, hands tangled in his hair. Logan watched helplessly as his friend whimpered through gritted teeth, trying to control his breathing. At least this feeling of uselessness wasn’t new. Though they now knew the source of Virgil’s sudden headaches, they’d seen him deal with them for years. Each time, the most all three of them could do was sit and keep him company through the worst of it.

Patton placed a comforting hand on Virgil’s back, and Roman watched him suffer with a barely restrained rage burning behind his eyes. Virgil’s shoulder bunched, climbing toward his ears, his shoulder blades cutting sharp angles on his back. His breathing was short and shallow, punctuated by occasional groans or whimpers.

It was strange, seeing Virgil like this after having just seen him so energetic and excited after using the full potential of his powers again.

“Stop it!” Virgil growled, bristling. Patton jerked his hand away, and Logan shot him a comforting look. Patton nodded, though he looked extremely conflicted. They all knew he wasn’t talking to them. Virgil began to tremble, and a strangled sob escaped his lips. Logan’s chest caught. This was getting bad. Worse than most other episodes he’d had.

Patton made a soft, miserable sound.

Roman began pacing, shoulders starting to climb nearly as high as Virgil’s. His hand worked the air, like he was trying to grasp a weapon that wasn’t there.

Something clicked in Logan’s head. Something about seeing his friends like this shoved whatever feelings of uselessness he’d had out of his mind. He may not be able to do much himself in the way of fighting Ursula, but he could support those who could.

“Virgil, listen to me,” Logan said, lips inches from Virgil’s ear. “You can do this. I know you can. We have a plan, and we’re going to beat her.”

Virgil stilled, his trembling fading away. His shoulders relaxed, and he lifted his head. He turned and looked at Logan, a mirthy laugh bubbling out of him. Logan’s blood ran cold.

“You think so, do you?” he said, his lips quirking into a confident smirk.

“What…?” Logan managed through his fumbling mind. The dots were there, he just couldn't connect them. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to. Roman’s head snapped around at Virgil’s words and he stormed forward.

“You leave Virgil alone,” he growled, his voice taking on that tone that made Logan’s skin crawl. Like nails on a chalkboard, but ten times worse.

Virgil stood, the chair squeaking against the tile. His head cocked to the side. “My, my, little prince. You’ve grown, haven’t you! And it’s only been a year. How’s the curse holding up? Oh,” he chuckled, his voice lilting and patronizing, “you must be exhausted. Why don’t you sit down?” Virgil pressed his palm against Roman’s chest. Violet light pulsed outward and Roman flew back into the cabinets.

“Roman!” Patton cried rushing over. Virgil’s neck and arm spasmed, and he looked down at it, as if surprised.

“You’ve gotten more powerful, kitty,” he muttered. “What did you do to poor Remus?”

“We killed him,” Logan said, hoping to hide the tremor in his voice. They couldn’t fight Ursula like this. Not when it was Virgil they’d really be hurting.

Virgil’s attention snapped to him, a smile playing at his lips. “Really? You?”

“We all did,” Logan replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Patton has the scars to prove it.”

Virgil glanced at Patton, who touched his wounds a little self-consciously. He shrugged. “Alright, maybe you did. Makes no difference. You, on the other hand,” he said, his hand shooting out and clamping around Logan’s throat. “Tell me this so-called plan of yours.”

Logan grabbed Virgil’s wrist, but couldn’t pull away. His grip was like iron, though he hadn’t cut off Logan’s airway… yet.

Remain calm. “That would defeat the purpose.”

His nose wrinkled in a snarl. “I could snap your neck like a toothpick.” Virgil’s hand trembled, and he glanced at it angrily. Hope blossomed in Logan’s chest.

“I know you’re in there Virgil.”

“Shut up, you useless mortal. What chance do any of you have against me?” he snapped, his hold tightening. Logan wheezed. “Roman’s the most powerful one here, and he can’t even access his own powers. You’re all weak.”

“Let him go!” Roman bellowed standing.

Virgil threw back his head in a fit of laughter. “Or what? You’ll attack your friend? You can’t touch me, little prince.”

Roman paled.

“You underestimate them,” Logan choked out, the pressure in his head building.

Virgil pulled him closer, their faces inches apart. “Please, you’re the least interesting one here,” he sneered. “I’d kill you out of sheer boredom before you were anywhere close to an actual threat.”

“I know that,” Logan rasped. “But as long as they’re here, you don’t have a chance. Roman is the strongest person I know. Patton is incredible, even if he won’t show it. And Virgil is stronger than you.”

“Really? Well, I think it’s time you took a little nap,” Virgil growled, his lip curling. Instead of constricting, his fingers flew apart, releasing Logan—who collapsed to the ground, gasping and coughing. Virgil stumbled back, his whole frame shaking.

“You insolent little whelp!” he screeched, his voice high and stringy. “Stop it! I am your witch! Worthless, undeserving SCUM YOU CAN’T—” Virgil’s voice cut out and his whole body sagged, like the strings holding him up had been cut.

“Virgil?” Patton asked carefully.

Virgil lifted his head, panting. He gave a shaky thumbs up, then his eyes promptly rolled up into his skull. Roman shot forward, catching him before he could collapse completely.

Logan let out a sigh of relief, flopping onto his back and staring up that the ceiling.

Yes, he might be useless, but he’d definitely be there to make sure his friends weren’t.

#tw pain #pain tw #pain #tw verbal abuse #verbal abuse tw #verbal abuse #tw violence #violence tw #violence #mild violence

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 1: Bad To The Bone]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist! :)

This kid is going to be the death of me.

“Eli Fitzgerald Hardy, DO NOT drop that frog!” The words launch from your throat like loosed arrows. Do you sound scary, commanding, authoritarian? You hope so.  

His defiant glare glints wildly beneath dark russet curls. His lips twist into a maniacal grin, revealing small white teeth. His grip noticeably loosens around the wriggling green frog. Maisy, paralyzed by fear, is wide-eyed and whimpering softly in her chair. Eli is standing, looming over her. The room is unnervingly silent as the other students watch in horror.

“Eli, don’t!” you plead.

It’s too late. The frog tumbles from his opened hand. The panicked amphibian lands in Maisy’s frizzy red hair and instantly becomes tangled there. Maisy is screaming, you are screaming, everyone is screaming. Well...everyone but Eli. He points and cackles as you sprint to Maisy’s side and try to pull the frog out of her hair.

“Honey, don’t cry, it’s going to be okay!” you shout over the children’s shrieks as Maisy sobs, her face a frantic shade of pink, her freckled cheeks glistening with tears. At last you manage to free the frog, swiftly carry it to the open window, and let it leap from your palm into the bushes. You wipe your hands on your skirt, your brand new skirt, the skirt now marred with tears and amphibian slime and muddy frog footprints. And have I mentioned that you fucking hate frogs?

“It...was...on...my...HEAD!” Maisy heaves, waving her hands in disgust. The other children are trying to comfort her.

“Maisy, sweetheart, the frog is all gone now. Here, let me fix your hair for you...”

You get Maisy cleaned up and settle the class. Then you turn to your worst nightmare, your arch nemesis, the smug lurking face that keeps you up at night. He’s smiling in the shadowy corner of the room by the coat closet, prowling there like a wolf.

“Eli, come over here please.”

“Yes Miss Teacher.”

“I do have a name,” you say, but halfheartedly. No matter how many times you’ve introduced yourself since the school year started three weeks ago, the students always lapse back into calling you Miss Teacher. One of the many hazards of first grade.

Eli obediently approaches, but his smile never dies.

“Now, that was a very unkind thing you just did to poor Maisy. We don’t want to scare our friends. And we don’t want to bring outside animals into the classroom. They could have germs, or they could bite someone—”

“Frogs don’t have teeth,” Eli points out astutely.

You sigh. “Be that as it may, we cannot drop frogs on our friends. And I think Maisy would really appreciate an apology. Isn’t that one of our class rules, making sure we apologize if we hurt our friends’ feelings?”

You turn to the other students for support, and they nod enthusiastically.

“Can you do that for me and Maisy, Eli?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maisy, I’m sorry I dropped the frog on your head.”

“That’s alright,” she replies, wiping her drying eyes. Such a prodigiously sweet child. They hug, the conflict seemingly forgotten. But Eli shoots you a mischievous smirk; he may have Maisy fooled, but you’re a bit shrewder. He’s not really all that sorry, and he’s likely already planning his next act of terror.

After you escort the kids to art class, you sit behind your desk and flip through the emergency contact notecards until you find Eli’s. The first person listed is his father. This is unusual; mothers are almost always the primary contact, especially in this neighborhood. Trophy wives stay home with the babies, dads trot off to their law firms or production companies to rake in the six-figure salaries, those are the unwritten rules. But dad is first on Eli’s card: Benjamin Whitaker Hardy. Actually, there’s no mother listed at all. You drum your fingers thoughtfully on the desk.

You dial Mr. Hardy’s number with your iPhone. It rings, but no one answers. At the tone, you leave a message.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy.” Benjamin Whitaker Hardy, what a pretentious fucking name, he’s a too-important-to-deal-with-his-own-kid corporate desk job guy for sure. “This is Miss Y/L/N, Eli’s teacher here at Dolphin Cove Elementary. I’ve been wanting to speak with you regarding some of Eli’s behavior in class, and I haven’t had much luck with the notes I’ve sent home.” Probably because Eli’s trashing them or burning them or casting voodoo spells with them or whatever demons-in-training do. “I’m hoping we can connect sometime soon and find a solution that works for everyone.” Perhaps an exorcism? “I look forward to hearing from you! Goodbye for now.”

You hang up, sip your Coke Zero, and check your watch. You have fifteen minutes of freedom remaining. You glance out the window to see if the frog is still in the bushes. Blessedly, there’s no sign of it.

After art is reading and writing, then it’s time for the kiddos to go home. You make sure no one forgets their folders or backpack as you corral your class into a semi-orderly line and follow them out to the pickup area. Buses and cars wait patiently as students trickle out of the building and scramble to the vehicle doors, shouting excitedly about the events of the day. “Mommy, I got a gold star in social studies!” “Nana, I had pizza for lunch!” “Mom, Maisy got a FROG dropped on her head!”

Winston—a shy, gentle boy with huge black-rimmed glasses and chubby arms full of library books—stumbles as he sprints for his bus. “Ow!” he moans, spilling his books across the sidewalk, clutching his left knee.

“Uh oh! Win, dear, let me help you.”

You rush to the boy’s side, lift him upright, and brush the dust off his pants. Oh fuck, if he goes home scraped and dirty I’m going to catch hell from the nanny. As you kneel next to Winston, there are footsteps behind you, and then a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“Hi, hello, sorry, Miss Y/L/N...?”

The mysterious voice is jarring: British, sophisticated, impossibly smooth. You are frozen for a moment, then you whirl and rise to your feet. He’s young, really young. Far too young to be a parent in a district where most people don’t start having kids until their late-thirties. He’s blond, green-eyed, fit. And he doesn’t look anything like an attorney or film producer. He looks like a goddamn J.Crew model. Wait, what did he say? Oh yeah, my name.

“Yes, I, uh...that’s me!”

He’s restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot, wearing an expertly-tailored black suit, impatient, arrogant even. “I think you left me a message earlier. I’m Eli’s dad.”

You blink at him. “You’re...his father? Not his tutor? Not the nanny?”

Benjamin Whitaker Hardy narrows his eyes at you. “No.”

“Oh.” This is not going quite the way you’d planned. “I’m sorry, I just...he doesn’t have an accent, and there’s not much of a resemblance, I didn’t make the connection. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Yeah, he takes after his mother.” Mr. Hardy peers irritably around the pickup area, his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. He’s clearly inconvenienced by this conversation. “Sorry I couldn’t pick up my phone earlier, I was at a...” He waves his hand flippantly. “A work thing.”

You find your words in a rush: “Well I wanted to speak to you because your son is clearly extremely gifted and highly intelligent, but he caught a frog at recess and then dropped in on a classmate’s head and it was all pretty traumatizing for the girl, and he has an unfortunate habit of doing things like this, on Monday he tried to glue Winston to his chair, and last week he told Brayden that hamsters don’t go to heaven when they die and Brayden was inconsolable for hours, and then there was the time—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him.”

That’s all? Really?! “Mr. Hardy, I don’t mean to be overbearing, but this is quite a persistent problem and I’ve been hoping to speak with you at length about it and I really think it warrants a more detailed discussion—”

“Right,” he cuts you off in that posh British accent. “I actually have to run, but I’ll be in touch.”

I bet you will be. “Look, Mr. Hardy...” You lose your manners, just for a second. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man—there are lots of fantastically important people in this city—but you’re also a father. And I get the sense that your son is dealing with some very serious challenges at home that are causing him to act out here. I can’t fix that alone. I need your help.”

Mr. Hardy stares at you, stunned, simmering. Eli bolts out of the throng of students and collides into his father’s suit-clad legs, clasping them and giggling. “Hey, buddy!” Mr. Hardy gushes in a strikingly tender tone, ruffling Eli’s hair. Then, incredibly, his face softens as his jade eyes flick back up to you. “I get it. You have a job to do. And I bet you’re pretty great at it.”

He extends his hand, which is strong and perfect and meticulously manicured.

“Ben,” he offers.

“Y/N,” you reply, shell-shocked, as you grasp his hand.

“I really do have to rush off, though,” he says apologetically, already turning towards a black Lexus.

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll chat soon.”

“Cheers.”

You watch as Ben and Eli jog to the Lexus, disappear inside, and speed off, weaving hazardously through minivans and Land Rovers and buses. You tap your shoes—electric blue flats—against the sidewalk, pondering as laughing children breeze by.

“Awesome,” you whisper to yourself. “The dad is probably a demon too.”

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #borhap #borhap fic #borhap cast

[waitineedaname]

davekat childhood friends remeeting in college au please,,,, my heart (also congrats!! you deserve all the love i stan you sm)

you have all my uwus omg

----

Going to college far away was fucking weird. Dave didn’t mind it, but it was just… well, there were pros and cons to his choice in higher education.

Pro: the school had a really great photography program.

Con: he was really far away from basically everyone he knew.

Pro: being so far away meant he didn’t have to worry about his Bro breathing down his neck anymore.

Con: no, seriously, like really far away.

Pro: his professors seemed decent so far and the dining hall was close to his dorm.

Con: oh god what the fuck was he thinking.

Okay, maybe he was overreacting a little bit. It wasn’t like he was completely cut off from everyone. John had agreed to Facetime him regularly, and Jade sent him tons of Snapchats from wherever far off place she was gallivanting through before she had to go back to school too. Rose was close enough that they could occasionally road trip and visit each other, but not close enough that it could be a regular thing. And hey, maybe he’ll really hit it off with his roommate or something, and everything will be okay.

He plopped himself down on the far side of his English classroom and pulled out his notebook. It was the first day for this particular class and it was only an hour long, so he doubted they’d be doing much else than going over the syllabus, but having his notebook out meant he could doodle and, subsequently, pay attention better. He was busy trying to draw a hyperrealistic eye over a ridiculously abstract SBaHJ mouth just to see what it would look like when the professor reached his name in roll call.

“Here.” He said, glancing in her direction before pulling out the syllabus so he could read over it while still doodling. Having a last name that started with S usually meant they were nearing the end of the attendance sheet by the time they got to him, so unless someone had a name that started with V or something, they were basically done.

“Karkat Vantas?” The professor said, and Dave’s head snapped up. Wait, what?

“Here,” came the raspy response near the door. Dave’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He’d thought maybe it was just a weird case of someone mysteriously having the same name as his childhood friend, but no shit, that was Karkat. He was like ten when he last saw him, so he looked a lot older and a hell of a lot more exhausted, but there was no mistaking him. Holy shit.

Dave barely paid attention the whole time the professor went over the syllabus, too busy trying to catch Karkat’s eye, but dammit, he was totally focused on what the professor was saying. He almost laughed at how little things had changed. Karkat was always the one hanging off their teachers’ every word, while Dave was the one with the undiagnosed ADHD trying to distract his best friend with whatever he had on hand.

He finally managed to tune back in to catch his professor saying something about how she wanted them to “really form a bond with your fellow classmates” and how they should “pair up with a classmate you don’t know so you have a buddy if you miss class or need help.” Dave damn near leaped out of his seat when she let them loose to socialize for the last ten minutes of class, and he made a bee-line to Karkat’s seat.

“Karkat.” He said, bouncing on his heels at Karkat’s table. Karkat looked up from where he’d been shoving his books back in his backpack and gave him a confused look.

“Uh, hi.” He said, giving him no sign that he recognized him. Dave panicked.

“It’s me!” Dave said, then immediately winced at his own vagueness. “Dave.”

“That… sure is your name.” Karkat was continuing to disoriented and more than a little annoyed.

“No, dude, Dave Strider. We went to elementary school together? You had those bigass glasses and I called them ugly on the playground because I was a stupid five year old with no sense of etiquette - not that I’m much better now, I guess, since this is probably the most awkward way I could’ve possibly reintroduced myself, but, shit, I’m getting off track. You threw mud at my shades and said now we both had ugly glasses, and then we ate lunch together like every day after that. Do-. Do you remember?” He faltered a little bit, worried this was an unfortunate case of mistaken identity. Karkat’s eyes widened cartoonishly as recognition passed across his face.

“Holy shit. Dave?!”

“Yeah, dude, the one and only.”

“Jesus fuck, you got tall.” Karkat commented, sitting back and looking him over.

“And you did not.” Dave teased, relaxed now that they were on the same page. He hopped up to sit to the side of Karkat’s desk. “How the fuck have you been, man? Where the hell did you even move to? It was like you disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Basically.” Karkat snorted. “My dad got a job transfer out of fucking nowhere that summer and the whole family had to move. It sucked having to start all over in sixth goddamn grade, but whatever. I’m sure you weren’t too distraught at my absence since you had John.” Karkat added, gently shoving at his leg in a halfhearted attempt to get him off his desk.

“I mean yeah, John and I got hella tight after that, but it sucked losing my oldest friend.” Dave shrugged. Karkat gave him a skeptical look.

“You cannot be referring to me.”

“No, I’m referring to some other idiot I started hanging around when I could barely walk. Yeah, I’m referring to you, dipshit. We were like soul brothers, man. Joined at the goddamn hip. Two peas in one dumbass pod pretending to slay dragons on the playground. Or aliens. Or that one time your furry sister started reading those Warriors books and she convinced us to roleplay cats. How’s she doing, by the way?”

“Nepeta’s fine.” Karkat said, amused. “What, are you looking for someone to help you break out of your repressed furry state? Do you want me to draw you a fucking fursona?” He patted Dave’s knee and put on a condescending tone. “It’s okay, bro, I won’t judge.”

“I mean, are you offerin’? What’re your commission rates?” The look Karkat gave him was scathing. “Nah, I’m kidding. If I want furry art, I can just hit up Jade. What I am wondering is if you wanna maybe grab something to eat?” Dave asked, faux casual. “I dunno if you’ve hit up that burger place by the university union, but they’re not half bad, and their fries fucking kick ass. Like seriously, orgasmic level shit. I’d fucking live off of those fries if I could. I mean, I probably could eat nothing but overly seasoned fries until the day I die, but that date would be way sooner than it should be because I’ll have destroyed my digestive tract with salt. But, you know, you gotta make sacrifices for what you love, and I’m telling you, I really do love those fries.”

“Jesus christ, you really haven’t changed.” Karkat rolled his eyes. “Here I was hoping - no, praying that puberty might have forced you to finally grow a single brain cell, but I guess I should be used to my dreams being dashed and splattered to oblivion like someone took the most fragile, paper thin egg thrown against a brick wall. Oh, you see that tiny little dribble of yolk sliding down the most microscopic sliver of an eggshell? That’s the last of my hope for humanity leaking away because you’re still a goddamn imbecile.”

“Yeah, well, puberty finally helped you grow a jawline. Shit could cut diamonds. Uh,” Dave panicked, “Not that I’m checking out your jaw or anything. Fuck, that wasn’t even a good come back, goddammit-”

Karkat’s simultaneously exasperated and fond made his heart flutter just the tiniest bit. “Just take me to the fucking burger place, shitbrain.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Maybe he wouldn’t be too lonely after all.

#dave strider #karkat vantas #davekat #homestuck #THIS IS SUCH A GOOD PROMPT THANK YOU #my writing #okay to reblog #and thank u for the love omg <3 #u know how I said I'd made some really good friends??? #that's you bro!!!! #thank you for making this a Good Time #notedchampagne #asks

[achtung-attitude]

SEPTEMBER 19, 1981

She was born with her eyes closed, her flesh cold. Her parents wept bitterly as the doctors shook their heads. Stillbirth. Born dead. 

But then the infant opened her eyes and silently reached out, gripping a nurse’s scrubs. The nurse screamed. The child's parents stared in shock. The baby made no sound, no sound at all. The girl was named T’onga, her family name Kim. But throughout her childhood, it wasn’t a name that really meant anything to her.

From an early age, growing up in Koreatown, she took an interest in biology. In elementary school, the enthusiasm with which she dissected and examined animal specimens in science class could only be described by her teachers as ‘unsettling’.

She didn’t play with other kids her age. She hardly engaged with her own parents. She seemed to have no emotion at all, spending almost all of her time outside of school in an old, disused warehouse. An infamous place, that other children her age dare not go, especially not with her there. The whispering began before long, from children and adults alike.

“Who does she think she is?”

“What is wrong with that child?”

“It’s like she’s got no heart at all…!”

Terror, disguised as anger. She understood, even then, that the whispers were only a distraction from their fear. And they were afraid. Afraid of her. The girl with no heart.

“I don’t have a heart either,” All-Kill declared to her, in the year 1995, 3 years after the great riots. Earlier that day, O.J. Simpson struggled to put on a pair of gloves, a satisfied look spreading on his face. 

“We’re the same,” he continued. “I have no love for this world.”

“I don’t think love is real. And even if it is, I don’t care about what some old geezer has to say about it.”

The man in black laughed. They sat across from each other in the living room of her parent’s house. The girl’s nose was broken, and plastered over with a thick bandage.

They were junkies, squatting in her warehouse to shoot up their poison in the dead of night. In her warehouse. Tainting her space with their filth. Her memories of what happened next  were hazy, but she had a distinct memory of leaping onto someone back and stabbing something into their neck. Probably the scalpel she stole from the school lab. She didn’t have it anymore, which was perturbing.

When the adults found them, the junkie’s companions had already fled. It was only the two of them, both pale, barely conscious, blood speckling their skin. He wasn’t dead, nor would he die. But the things they found in the backrooms certainly were. 

A wide array of organs of various sizes, but all too small to be human, stored in cupboards and boxes. The investigation came to a total of one dog, two cats, 6 rats and 3 small birds. Hearts, guts, livers, preserved in pickle jars. 

“Why pickle jars?” All-Kill inquires.

“There’s only so much I could steal from school. I improvised.” The man in black chuckled at this. “They didn’t suffer,” she explains. “It wasn’t about that. I was quick. I just wanted to see how they worked.”

“I believe you.”

He had come in the night. While the police investigated, her parents had been allowed to bring her home. She had said nothing to them whatsoever. Then he came, knocking on the door while she sat staring at the television. She heard her parents gasp, and a polite request to enter. The man in black came inside, shrugging off his jacket and sitting on the couch across from her. He sent her parents away, and introduced himself as All-Kill.

“What kind of name is that, anyway?” T’onga asks, taking her eyes off the TV for a moment to glance at him.

“One that I acquired. There’s been a lot of violence in my life, I’m afraid. People like your parents gave it to me after a certain number of incidents. It’s crass, I admit, but I’ve come to like it.”

“Hm. They call me the girl without a heart.”

“I know. I’ve heard all sorts of terrible things about you. They used to say similar things about me.”

“It’s stupid. Of course I have a heart,” she says, her voice remaining flat and unemotional, “How the fuck could I live without one? They think because I don’t laugh or sing or cry, that I’m somehow not human, but I am… I want the same things the rest of them want: a peaceful life, in my own space, where I can do the things that make me happy.” ”

“Of course. But they don’t understand that. They don’t understand you, and that makes them afraid. I know what it’s like to be rejected out of fear. The pain that comes with it, it’s almost unbearable. That was until I came to realize the truth: They were right to be afraid… Do you know what’s going to happen to you now?”

“... Guess there’ll be a trial. After that, juvie, or psychiatric care.” 

“All that and worse. Did you know your parents intend to disown you? Even if you dodge jail or the asylum, there will be nowhere for you to return to. You’ll be made a ward of state, carted around foster homes. Because your parents… decided you were too much hassle to deal with.”

After a moment of consideration, T’onga responded, “... I’d probably make the same call in their place.”

His face twitched at this. “... You don’t care?”

“They’re not special either. Even if they gave birth to me, raise me, I don’t feel anything special for them. They’re people. Just like everyone else.”

“... That’s wrong,” the man in black declares, and the girl with no heart noticed for the first time something quite strange. “They are your family. No… they should be your family. That means more than blood, genetics, DNA. It’s a bonding of the soul. Parents impart pieces of their own souls to create life, and nurture it into a human being. If they… can betray that bond so easily… then it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that you are the way you are.”

He was angry. Adults have been angry at her before, but not like this. At last she realizes what was different about his. There was no fear in it. He’s not masking anything. He was simply, truly, angry. And to this, she had no answer.

“You don’t belong here. You never have. If you stay here, you’ll rot away, never knowing love, or peace, or the true meaning of family. But I can save you. I can give you a new life, far away from this desolate house. I can give you powers beyond imagination. I can give you a family that will never betray you… What do you say?”

She stared at him, her lips suddenly dry. Still, she couldn’t think of an answer. Words failed her. At last, she nodded once, shakily. She couldn’t read the expression that came over him. He called out, summoning her parents into the room. All-Kill didn’t stand up, rather he raised his hand to them, shaped as if he was holding something between the thumb and forefinger, but she couldn’t see anything there. All she saw was him grazing her parent’s chest, rotating his wrist, and they instantly dropped dead. Eyes open.

“... They’re no-one special, right?” he said, meeting her eyes, wide and bright in the flickering light cast by the TV. He raised his hand, palm facing up. She took it.

There was a little boy in the car he had waiting outside. A boy no older than 3, sitting in a booster seat, mashing two action figures together. She didn’t know what make of car it was, but it looked expensive. All-Kill bid her to sit in the back, and so she did. 

“Are you part of the family now?” the boy asked.

“What?”

“All-Kill, is she part of the family now?”

“Yes she is, Sang-ok,” he declared, turning the key in the ignition. The vehicle rumbled into life, and they drove away.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #t'onga kim #all-kill #ch34

[midwestmontessori]

Goodbye Midwest Montessori, Hello Montessori Like a Mother

You heard that right, Midwest Montessori is coming to an end. If you’re finding this post, perhaps you’ve followed along with my intermittent ramblings over the years, or perhaps I’ve remained an obscurity and you have no idea who I am. Either way, allow me to explain. (For those looking for the new website link without the fluff: Montessori Like a Mother)

Hi. I’m Amy. I’m a Montessori mom of two children, Charlotte (born 2013) and Simon (born 2015). I found Montessori when I was pregnant with Charlotte and completely immersed myself in it. Along with my husband James, we have raised both of our children with Montessori principles from birth. Of course there’s always a learning curve and we’ve changed things along the way, but we’ve more or less been a Montessori family from the start. 

I started this blog as a way to share our Montessori life with all of you. I joined an online Montessori community on Facebook called Montessori 101 and I fell in love with sharing and being inspired by other families along the same journey. Midwest Montessori gave me space to share our Montessori life and perspective and I’m so thankful for the community I’ve connected with over the years, both on Facebook as well as on Instagram. 

But my Montessori journey didn’t stop at being a Montessori parent. I loved it so incredibly much that I shifted my career path, little by little, until eventually Montessori took over completely (it has a way of doing that with people sometimes). First I shifted from high school education to early childhood and elementary. When that wasn’t enough of a change, I decided to take the leap and get Montessori teacher certification specifically. It has been a long, difficult journey, particularly for my AMAZING and supportive husband and children, but I DID IT! 

In 2018, I graduated with my bachelors degree in Early Childhood and Elementary Education, completed my Montessori Primary Diploma program from Association Montessori Internationale, turned the big 3-0, and, though I’m not quite sure how, jumped aboard a HUGE project of creating an AMI Montessori 3-6 program from scratch! 

That’s right, I single-handedly curated a brand new Montessori program - all the materials, all the furniture, all the classroom procedures and curriculum and whatnot - all while finishing two degrees, one of which was in another state! I’m certainly not saying this to brag, but man I was POOPED! My husband and children deserve medals for their patience and support during that time. I was out of the state for weeks at a time, over a two year period totaling nearly 6 months, and when I was home I was working my rear-end off student teaching, taking both day and night classes, and in the last year I spent most of my free time working on building a brand new school.

What I had dreamed would be an amazing new chapter in our families life, one where I was a lead guide in a local Montessori school start-up and my children attendees, proved to be too much for our little family. While my time in that magical school of mine remains near and dear to my heart, after over two years of total chaos, I stepped out of the classroom in order to dedicate myself to my family again, to focus on my roles as mother and wife.

What came next was even crazier than before! My husband got an opportunity for a new job in St. Louis - far from our lifetime home in Kansas. It happened so fast, within two months of finding the job we were moved. The past year has been a whirlwind of new school, new home, new city, new friends, new commutes, new jobs, new everything. It hasn’t been easy, but slowly we are finding a new normal - a new, more stable normal, which is just what we all have needed.

The next part is something that I’ve dreamed about for years. I’ve dreamt about it, thought about it, talked about it, and talked about it some more. Everyone I’ve met along this journey - my college professors, my Montessori trainers, my family, my friends, my classmates, my colleagues, my acquaintances - they’ve all heard me talk an earful about my dreams for the future of Montessori Parenting. 

See, I believe Montessori is a way of living. It isn’t just something we find in specialized classrooms and private schools. It isn’t something we find merely in Dr. Montessori’s curriculum, or our precious teaching albums. No, Montessori is so, so much more than that. It is about supporting the growth and development of the child. And who better to support that than the child’s own family - his own parents? Montessori families will change the world, I just know it. I believe it. 

And I care so deeply to bring this beautiful, wonderful way of life to as many as desire to know it - not just from my own personal family’s experience but from an empowered place that goes beyond me or my family. I want to help families learn how to “Montessori like a Mother,” that is, to “do Montessori at home with their family in the way that any mother does, with her heart and soul and perhaps a bit of sass, if you’re anything like me. 

Together, we can make the world a better place, through the work we do in our own homes, with our own families, and within ourselves. Dr. Montessori had it right when she said that the hope and promise of mankind was in the hands of the child. And whose hands are there holding that child? Ours. It is us parents of the world, or those of us who stand in as a parent for a child in whatever form that may be - biological parent, step-parent, foster-parent, adoptive-parent, guardian, grandparent, aunt, uncle, caregiver, nanny, day-care provider, teacher, neighbor, coach, counselor, leader. Parenting, or mothering, isn’t something reserved for mothers. We are all mothers. And may we all Montessori Like a Mother.

And so I announce my new website, where I will be writing and sharing empowering and encouraging messages for Montessori parents of all kinds. Montessori Like a Mother is launching soon. Visit the website now to get on the email list to be the first to see the new site. I’m working hard during this global pandemic situation to build a place where parents can feel uplifted, empowered, and supported in their parenting journey. I hope you’ll follow along with me. Thank you for your support.

For the record, Charlotte & Simon will still be seen here and there on the new website, as well as in my Instagram stories and perhaps an occasional post, as they choose to be featured (and James too). They are and always will be my greatest source of joy and my top priority, which also includes their privacy preferences as they age. I appreciate their support so very much.

#Montessori #montessoriathome #montessorilikeamother #montessoriparenting #parenting

[heathendolan]

Little Luke McIver (G.D)

Summary: Kindergarten teacher Grayson Dolan is the only one who can crack the shell of Luke McIver, your newest case in social work. So you’ll need him to stick around.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone, this is again a newer branch for me; it’s mainly focused on the relationship between (y/n) and luke and then luke and grayson instead of being complete romance. if that isn’t for you, i totally get it!!! but it was again fun to step out of my comfort zone and try something. extended author’s note

Warnings: PLEASE READ!!! child abuse, social work, a little bit sad. if any of this bothers you PLEASE don’t read, i really did my research to be as precise as i could be!! but it could still be triggering !!!!!

Word Count: 15.2K+ || masterlist

It hadn't changed a bit.

There, a hundred yards away, stood your beloved elementary school in its glory: chipping paint, rusted sign, and all. You weren't one to deny yourself of a smile. It had been eons since you'd visited this place, but it was still nostalgic and vivid and bursting with memories; you'd hardly stepped foot on the property and you'd already spotted the pole Caleb VanDyke stuck his tongue to in third grade.

You crept up the sidewalk with your binder tucked under your arm, hopped about in your heels, and narrowly dodged the forbidden obstacles--cracks--etching the dull pavement. Along the sidewalk were mementos, engraved and painted in the cement, dating all the way back to the early 1980s. It was tradition for the kindergarteners to add their addition with their teeny, tiny, creative brains, and you nearly gasped when you stumbled upon your own handprint, embedded near the benches, basking in the hot August sun. You slumped down to your knees and flattened your hand (now ginormous in comparison) to the shallow crater and marveled. Marveled at how quickly twenty years had slipped on by without you ever noticing the size of your hands.

"Crazy, innit?"

You jumped to your full height, wobbled under the instability of your heels, and smoothed out your pencil skirt with dusty hands. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you turned to face your attacker.

"Jeez Hun, I didn't mean to scare you!" the lady cried, pressing a hand to her heart and enveloping you with the other.

"Mrs. Hoffmann! Oh my god, I'm sorry I just-"

"No, don't apologize, that was completely my fault!"

"No, seriously, I am so jumpy that I just-"

At once, you both realized how unnecessarily kind and apologetic you were being and huffed a chuckle. "My, how you've grown," she simpered, cupping your face between two hands before tugging you into one of her famous bear hugs. You smiled into her shoulder and realized she hadn't changed that much, either; you'd seen her all throughout high school when she popped by the boutique you had worked at, and aside from a few more pairs of crow's feet and some greying roots, she was practically untouched, well into her late forties. She was kind and had a heart twice the size of anyone you'd ever met. And she was beautiful; she always had been. "You're so old now," she said. "Making me feel like some ancient ruin."

You giggled and shook your head. "Not a chance, you're still kickin'! It's going to be so weird counseling little mini-me's," you gushed, wrapping your arms around yourself. You stared at your feet and smirked at the handprints of classmates you'd graduated with. "I feel like I should still be wearing light-up sketchers, not these... death traps," you laughed, kicking your heel up.

She chuckled and slipped her arm around you and escorted you into the entryway. Almost instantly, your brain bloomed with memories upon memories upon memories. "Do you know where you're going, Honey?" she asked as the two of you pulled up to a fork.

You nodded and waved her goodbye with a promise to catch up soon, and then dashed away, beelining for your office.

Your office. What a phrase.

There, you frowned at the blankness, the blandness, the bareness of the walls and decided two things: one, that you had to redecorate this cell, and two, that you would be the best elementary counselor this world had ever seen.

-

Easier said than done.

"Luke, hi!" you cheered as Cory, Principal Larson, coaxed a boy, maybe five years old, into your office.

A few weeks had passed and your job, so far, had been less than flashy. You'd resolved tearful playground disputes and consoled cafeteria tantrums and, well, not much else. It was a blur of meetings, hissy fits, and really bad school coffee. You'd made a mental note to buy your own Keurig.

But Luke was different, and you could see that right away.

Cory hung in the doorway, nearly barricading Luke in as the kid fought his way around the large man. Luke already had tears sprung in his eyes, a pitiful frown, and an overall, seemingly permanent, aura that oozed with fear. His tiny hands were fisted by his sides and his curls dangled protectively over his big doe eyes and something painful, something piercing, poked at your heart when you realized Luke needed your help a lot more than any of those kids on the playground. Luke really, really needed your help.

So, you bounced out of your chair and scurried over to Luke and bent at knee level and swept a warm hand over his shoulder. "Hey Luke, can we talk for a little? Not too long, I promise" you pleaded softly, hoping to catch his eye. But Luke was staring at the floor, blankly, stubbornly. And a tear rolled off his nose. "I've got it from here, Mr. Larson," you whispered, nodding up at Cory.

You held onto Luke's hand as you shut the door, careful to make sure he didn't just bolt right out. "Wanna sit in the beanbag?" you smirked, thumbing to the cushy, plump seat tucked in the corner. It was every kid's favorite. Luke looked at it longingly before shaking his head, hopping on the rigid desk chair far, far away from you, and staring at the ground again.

Luke was small. Smaller than most of his class, you'd assumed, with his skeletal arms and equally skinny legs. He wore a grey Power Rangers shirt that practically dwarfed him and brown cargo pants that rode up his ankles. His shoes were a dull, gunky yellow with dozens of holes and, from the looks of it, Luke's feet were bare of socks. Luke was textbook poor.

And poor-spirited, it seemed as well. You'd seldom seen a kid so quiet. You were so busy studying him you'd hardly realized minutes had passed on the clock without a single word exchanged. No, Luke just sat there, cowering under your gaze, staring at the ground. Luke was well practiced in the art of silence.

And that just wasn't okay, nor was it natural. Kids had technicolor brains bursting with imagination and creativity and words. Kids would scream and shout and run amuck and yell; kids would talk--if you let them.

"Luke," you began, fumbling for words that could fill the dreary silence that suffocated your office. "Luke, what's your favorite color?"

Luke looked up at you with his big doe eyes and a quivering lip and sat on his hands. He kept looking at you, tears in his eyes, tremor in his jaw, and stared. Stared for minutes. Stared for hours, it felt like. You weren't going to rush him, Luke should take as long as he wanted.

But then he was sniffling, and a pitched, strangled whimper echoed from his mouth and you wondered how you could possibly fix this.

C'mon, you went to school for this. Speak!

"Luke, wanna know something cool?" you asked, leaning over the desk as he tucked in on himself. "This room? It's the safest place in the world."

To that, Luke's cries cut off. He was now just staring at you with his big, big brown eyes and waiting.

"I'm serious, this place is protected," you nodded.

In the smallest, most broken voice, Luke asked, "From what?"

You smiled your kindest smile and said, "Can you keep a secret?" He looked to either side of him, made sure the coast was clear before he nodded. "Luke, this place is protected by magic," you whispered. "Fairies and wizards. Swear," you said. Luke's doe eyes got even rounder. "So we can tell secrets and no one will find out. Soundproof," you explained with confidence, knocking on the wall theatrically. "Which is why I can give you this, and nobody will ever know."

You dug in your drawer and pulled out a sucker and tossed it his way, watching as he marveled at the little treat plopped in his lap. "Thank you, Ms. (Y/L/N)..." Luke breathed, stuffing the candy in his pocket.

"You can call me (Y/N)," you grinned. "But only my friends get to call me (Y/N), okay?"

Luke nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

With the full understanding that these things take time, that Luke needed space--and by the looks of it, a lot of space--and that he would work his way up to trust, you asked, "Luke, can I see you in a couple days? Would that be okay?"

Luke didn't answer, he simply leaped from his chair and darted out the door, and left you with a low, low spirit.

-

"Hey," Cory mumbled, tapping on your door. "Get 'im to crack?"

You grimaced and shook your head. "No, I didn't. It's going to take time--and I mean time. He hardly breathes in the same room as me," you groaned, digging your fingers into your scalp. "Scares me to think about what might be going on at home."

Cory sighed. “Yeah, the kid’s a little... I mean, the teachers notice it, you know? I know you know, you’ve dealt with this stuff before,” Cory shrugged, frowning at his polished shoes.

But you hadn’t dealt with this stuff before. You were fresh out of your master’s with minimal experience. Your internship was borderline bogus.

“Yeah, I don’t know, stuff never gets easier,” you mumbled.

And that wasn’t entirely a lie. You imagined you’d feel the same way about Luke as any of the other kids whose shells needed cracking, whose homes needed relocating. No one wanted to deal with this stuff, this heartbreak of a job. But someone had to.

“Just... keep me updated, alright? Let me know if you need help with anything,” Cory said. “And I’ll let Luke’s teachers know what’s going on. I mean, it’s only kindergarten but you never know what tricks Mr. Dolan is pulling,” he chuckled, smirking to himself.

A thick glob of spit lodged itself in your throat at the mention of a ‘Mr. Dolan’, and you began coughing and wheezing and making a scene at once.

Growing in a town that size with a family as known as the Dolans were, there were only two possibilities for who ‘Mr. Dolan’ could be. Grayson, and Grayson.

You’d hardly been keeping tabs, but Ethan had boomed as a traveling photographer and Cameron was most definitely not a ‘Mr.’, and Sean was still the superintendent of the district (and had hired you). And, unless there was a new clan of Dolans in town, ones that weren’t half as gorgeous, you were very, very stressed.

You hadn’t seen Grayson since a small town, Christmas-break party. Limited interaction was how you liked it; Grayson made you (and the rest of the Long Valley population) clutzy, stuttery, and blushy—a few of your least favorite things to be.

It was nothing more than the fact that Grayson was gorgeous. And kind. And so, so polite. Every mom spent their Sundays praying their daughters would woo him and their sons would follow in his golden boy footsteps. He was Long Valley’s most beloved and there was no shame in admitting that you had also fallen victim to his spell; everyone loved Grayson, and that was that. But of course, that fucker picked something as absolutely adorable as Kindergarten education.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay? Here, drink some water,” Cory urged, patting your back and sliding you your water bottle.

Red in the face, you hacked before saying hoarsely, “All good.”

Not all good.

-

"Mrs. Hoffmann, hi!" you cried, stepping into the coffee shop and greeting her with a hug. She buried you in the warmth of he fur-lined parka and you accepted it with appreciation; this October had been particularly chilly in New Jersey with its barren trees and its frosted lawns, and cold meant the need for, well, coats. Your thoughts drifted back to little Luke McIver with his Power Rangers shirt and his brown cargo capris and his canary yellow, many-holed shoes. He needed a hug from Ms. Hoffmann and her big parka.

"Ugh, how are the roads?" she asked conversationally. "Are they slippery? This morning it was just pouring, I'm almost afraid it'll freeze over."

You nodded along. "No, yeah they were slippery. I nearly drifted pulling into Cozy Corner just now," you expounded, pointing to the entrance near the coffee shop.

She shook her head with disgust. "Guess you can't hope for a late winter here in Jersey. I'll for sure be getting a pumpkin spice latte with this weather."

And so, you sat down with your mugs in hand and huddled in the overstuffed loveseat and chatted for hours about the new boutique that had popped up on fifth street and the old bowling alley being torn down. She was, without a doubt, one of the kindest people you'd ever met: she bought your coffee and tipped 50%, offered up her coat as a blanket for the two of you, and complimented your very lazy outfit. This was no surprise to you; this woman was magical, and you'd known it since you were five. It felt like an honor to even sit and chat.

"So, I have to ask and I don't mean to offend, promise," she started. "but what exactly are you? Like, at the school? Do you work outside of the school too? I feel like such a loon, but I've really fallen out of the times-"

"Ms. Hoffmann, please," you snorted, laying a hand on her forearm that was dancing all about.

"And would you quit calling me Ms. Hoffmann! Call me Nancy, Honey."

"Okay, Nancy," you giggled. "I went to school and got my masters in counseling psychology and a bachelor's in social work. So, I work as both in the school. So, if a student were to be dealing with mental health issues, I could, you know, help them out as any counselor would, but if their problems are stemming from their home life, well then I move about and-"

"Hun, you know I'm in the system, right?" she smiled gently.

"What? You're kidding," you gaped. "You're a social worker?"

"Well no," she laughed. "No, I double-majored in elementary education and social work and then when I got out, I decided I'd just be a teacher for awhile and get my feet on the ground, and then I fell in love with teaching. I absolutely love the kids and after I got tenured, I just... I never went back to fulfill that part of the degree. I kind of wonder sometimes, what it would have been like, but I've never regretted it. Of course, it would have been fun if Steve and I could have fostered some kiddos," she smiled sadly. "Or had some. But, things don't always work out in your favor, I guess."

Her eyes glassed over and she clasped her hands tightly under the coat, fisting a wad of the material. It was a tragedy what happened to the Hoffmanns; a few years into their marriage, Nancy miscarried once, then twice. There was only so much gift baskets and get well soon cards could do. She was lonely without kids, that much was obvious. You supposed being a kindergarten teacher was as good as it could have possibly gotten for a woman with her circumstances, but they always left after nine months and change. It wasn't the same.

You grabbed her hand from under the coat and rubbed a thumb over her knuckles.

She laughed breathlessly and said, "Not that- not that we should delve into something so cynical, I-"

You lifted a hand to her to stop her unnecessary apology. "Mrs. Hoffmann-"

"Nancy."

"Nancy, this is my job, being a shoulder to cry on. Never apologize to me for such a trivial thing as uncorking your emotions. We all need to, sometimes. Be my guest," you urged.

And she did. She talked about the ache to buy Christmas toys and back-to-school supplies, how she ached when she received graduation cards from past students and Christmas cards from past families. Ached when people told her to 'get a dog, it's basically the same thing.' Ached when Steve played with little ones and looked so natural, so right. Ached when students accidentally called her mom.

"You're so good at this," she sniffled, wiping her nose with her macaron's napkin. "The words just come pouring out, I haven't told anyone this stuff in years."

You nibbled on your lip, feeling that certain pride that comes with intimacy. "Sometimes I can crack shells, sometimes I can't," you admitted. "There's a student, and I just... can't get him to budge. Not an inch."

She frowned and patted your leg soothingly. "He'll come around. Kids are weird, sometimes," she giggled. "Like Grayson Dolan was telling me about this girl, Piper Conrad, just flopping on the carpet and making a snow angel in the middle of class and- why are you blushing?"

Heat was boiling your face at the mere mention of Grayson Dolan. It was pathetic. "Blushing? I'm not, I'm- this pumpkin spice is just really seasoned, the nutmeg in it is just-"

"Grayson Dolan," she gasped, piecing the bits together. "Oh (Y/N), tell me about it. That man's a hunk. Didn't you graduate with him? I get it, I really do; if he weren't half my age and miles out of my league and I wasn't married I would just-"

"Nancy!" you cried with laughter, shushing her confession. "Nancy, I don't like him. There's nothing there, he probably doesn't even know I exist, it's been like, seven years since I've seen him."

She smirked and nodded sardonically. "But he will. Just you wait until we have a workshop day, oh you are so-"

"I am so nothing! You pipe down, missy."

"Right," she laughed. "Well, let me buy you another coffee for your troubles, listening to this old hoot cry a hurricane, and let's head on out. I think the roads are going to freeze over, after all," she frowned as looked out the window. "Hopefully this latte will keep you warm in place of Mr. Dolan."

-

On Thursday, Luke was again seated in his rickety, uncomfortable chair in the back corner, far as far could be from you. He was wearing his brown too-short pants and his grey too-big Power Rangers shirt and his ochre too-many-holed shoes again. No socks, big brown eyes, and a raw bitten lip—Luke looked about as sad as you’d think.

“Luke, how have you been the past couple days?” you asked quietly, approaching the subject as gently as you’d approach a tortured animal.

Luke looked tired. And lost. And cold; New Jersey’s lawns were crisp with frost on that October morning with a thick mask of fog settling in the air, and the school had yet to crank the heat on in an effort to save money. Of course, this typically wasn’t a problem—most kids had jackets, or at least sweatshirts. You suspected that might be a problem for Luke.

Luke didn’t answer you.

“Luke?” you coaxed.

He tucked his lips under his teeth and clenched his tiny little jaw and visibly fought back tears.

And he sat like that for the whole hour. You would have sat there the whole day with Luke, waiting, pleading with him to let you help him, but Luke had lunch.

When the bell chimed, he hopped off his seat and dashed towards the door, but paused. “(Y/N)?” he whispered, his voice crackly and dry.

“Yeah, Luke?”

“Mommy said fairies don’t exist,” he sniffled, hand on the door handle. “Mommy said you lied to me.”

Your heart wrenched deep in your chest, the physical symptoms of heartbreak bustling within you. Luke looked at you with his big doe eyes and you looked back with all the sadness in the world and then, then you noticed.

You noticed that the collar of his oversized tee had slipped down to expose his shoulder, which had an enormous bruise. It was green and violet and nearly theatrical in size; it was nauseating, this bruise on little Luke’s shoulder.

With a shaking voice, you asked, “Luke, where’d you get-“

Luke beelined out of your office and into the hall. You scooted out of your chair and crept behind him, desperate to just get this one secret out. That would be all it took; one admission and Luke could live such a better life.

But as you rounded the corner, you found Luke wrapped around the leg of Grayson Dolan, sobbing profusely into his dress pants. Grayson had a hand on his head, ruffling the curls that dangled above his eyes with the most sympathetic of frowns. And then, Grayson ducked to eye level and enveloped Luke in a bear hug—one as gentle as himself—and nodded along with his warbles.

“Luke, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Grayson pleaded, searching the boy’s eyes.

Luke grabbed ahold of Grayson’s tie and buried his nose into his chest and shook his head. Luke then heaved a deep breath, scrubbed his eyes of well-deserved tears, and bounded off to the cafeteria, grey shirt flowing behind him.

And Grayson stood and watched him scamper all the way down the hall. And then Grayson rubbed at his eyes and turned back into his classroom and closed the door.

-

Luke was sobbing, absolutely bawling in his stiff, creaky chair, and you had absolutely no way to help.

And you felt like such an idiot, because you went to school for this damn it. Seven years of education in counseling psychology and your first patient wouldn't even talk to you after four sessions. But he was crying. And you were doing nothing.

Panic rose in your throat as you realized how useless, how absolutely incompetent you were sitting there, watching Luke wail in his seat. You'd tried; he had stumbled into your office by the guidance of Cory once more and promptly sobbed. You asked him gently, then firmly, why he was upset, what was wrong, how you could help but Luke was deaf to your pleads and questions.

With hardly any direction, you did something thoughtless. Completely, ridiculously senseless.

You hopped from your seat--abandoned Luke in your office--and sped to Grayson Dolan's room down the hall.

You weren't thinking (clearly), you were just doing, acting, hoping something, or someone, could tear down this child's indestructible walls. Because you hadn't stopped thinking about that bruise--that monstrous bruise--since you saw it, and you wanted him to get help. You wanted this kid to have all the love in the world.

So, you clacked down the hall in your heels and scampered up to Grayson's door, knocking tentatively and then urgently. From outside the door, you called, "Grays- Um, Mr. Dolan, I- I know this sounds crazy, but-"

The door swung open to reveal Grayson a pair of wide eyes and a slackened jaw. "(Y/N) (Y/L/N)? Is that-?"

"I really need you to just, just come with me," you begged, verging tears, grabbing ahold of his forearm and tugging him behind you.

Grayson stumbled behind you, his shoes slapping the linoleum, and rushed up to your side. "Damn, you can walk fast in those heels," he panted to your left. Panicky tears sprung in your eyes and you curled your hand into a fist tight, tight, and pinched yourself a painful distraction. "Hey, what's going on?" Grayson murmured, slow and deep and warm.

You scrunched your face unattractively and pinched the bridge of your nose. "I- Mr. Dolan-"

"(Y/N), it's me. Grayson," he muttered sternly, grabbing your arm and halting the two of you.

You pulled at his hand and said, "No, we need to keep going, I-"

"(Y/N)." he commanded, sternness wired hard in his voice.

You whined oh-so-pathetically and shook your head. "You're going to think I'm such an idiot because I can't do my own job, like I'm over here asking you to do my-"

"You work here?" Grayson asked with a knit in his brows.

With exasperation, you sighed, "Yes. Yes, I'm a counselor and Luke McIver is sitting in my office and-"

"Luke McIver?" Grayson breathed. Without hesitation or a need for any explanation at all, he encased his hand in yours and dragged you down the hall, wordless and worrisome. Tailing behind Grayson (who was obviously handling this much better than you were), you snuck into your office and watched with wonder as he folded himself smaller than Luke, who was still gasping for breaths.  Grayson tucked himself up by Luke's side, wrapped his hands around Luke's forearms and rubbed soft circles in his boney flesh, and said, "Take a deep breath, we aren't going anywhere."

Luke's jaw clamped shut and the last few tears rolled down his rosy cheeks and he nodded his head. Luke felt safe.

His eyes, as doe-ish as they typically were, were soft around the edges. They were usually pried wide; his eyelashes tickled the tops of his brow bones and his beautiful brown irises drowned in a sea of white. He looked alert, always, and his blinks were few and far between. Now, Luke just looked tired. Like he'd never had a chance to just relax. And vulnerable, too. In a good way.

Grayson smiled to him and Luke smiled back. "Luke, we need to talk to you, and we need you to talk to us," Grayson murmured, rubbing a hand down Luke's shoulder.

Luke nodded. Grayson peeked over his shoulder at you and gestured vaguely for you to join them in their little huddle, so you slipped next to Grayson and fell on your knees and left your hands in your lap, far away from Luke. You weren't going to push your luck.

"Luke, how did you get that bruise on your shoulder?" you asked softly.

Grayson grabbed ahold of Luke's shaking hands. Luke said, almost robotically, "I was on the monkey bars and-"

Grayson shook his head. "Luke, please don't lie to me."

Luke's lip quivered and his face crumpled and he collapsed on Grayson's shoulder, burrowed his head into the crook of his neck and cradled himself, let Grayson hold him and just cried. Cried like he deserved to, cried like he wanted to, cried like he had to. Cried so long you had to sneak into the main office and call for a substitute teacher for Grayson's kindergarten class. And that was okay. Luke needed this.

You slinked behind your desk and clicked your pen, dug out your notepad and waited. Waited for Luke to calm down and unfold himself for you--for Grayson.

"She doesn't like when I come here," Luke muttered into the cloth of Grayson's dress shirt.

"Come where, buddy?"

"(Y/N)'s," he whined. "I told her, I told her that it was protected by fairies and wizards and she- she hit me right- right here," Luke blubbered, tugging on his Power Rangers shirt and exposing the battered skin of his skeletal shoulder. Grayson's face fell even more, his eyes downward and his face low. "And she- she told me that- she told me that (Y/N) lied to me and she took my sucker and she stomped on it and- and- and-"

"Luke, is that the only time she's hit you?" Grayson whispered.

"No, Mr. Dolan."

Your throat bobbed with emotion as you scribbled down notes furiously. Your handwriting was godawful and your hand was cramping but you wouldn't stop writing this child's story for the world. Even if it really, really hurt.

"She doesn't like when I come to school, either. She said that- that I shouldn't get all this food and all this heat and that I don't need to be away from home for seven hours. And she-"

You shoved all that emotion down and took the validity out of his words and just wrote. Just wrote, detached and factually.

Grayson had to suck up all the tears, had to soak in all this tragedy first hand. Luke was staring at him like he had all the answers to the world, like Grayson could solve his problems with his bare hands. And Grayson had to act like he could.

After hours of cries and admissions and a whole lot of heartbreak, the final bell chimed in the hall. Grayson turned to you in question, a tear slipping from his eye.

"Luke, can you sit in here for just a second? Just a quick second, we'll be back," you asked, looking at the boy with a cautious smile.

He nodded and you slipped into the hall, beckoning Grayson as you went. Shutting the door as gently as you could, you turned to find Grayson with his head guarded by his hands, his shoulders shaking. "He can't go back," he croaked with a crack in his voice. He lifted his face and it was blotchy and red and tear streaked and he said, "He absolutely cannot go back to that monster."

"I know, I know," you muttered, staring at your heels. "I- I need to make some phone calls and talk to some foster cares around the-"

"No," Grayson interrupted, steel in his tone. "This kid needs someone he can trust. I'll take him."

You laughed in disbelief, shaking your head. "No, that isn't how this works. First, I have to call Morris County human services and have them head over to Luke's house and take his mom into custody, and then I have to go over to Morris County Human Services and find him a caretaker for the next 72 hours.”

"So what, we just drop this kid off? Leave him completely alone? I just told him we wouldn't go anywhere," Grayson growled, flaring his nose.

You pressed your hand to your face with frustration and sighed. "No, I- I couldn't do that to Luke. I don't think I can take him into custody for too long because I'm a conflict of interest, but I'll take him until we can get a judge to sign off on a permanent foster care or a-"

"Luke doesn't need a temporary family. Luke needs a home," Grayson hissed.

Irritation built in your chest and you pinned him with a hard glare. "Do you think I don't know that? How do you think these things work, Grayson, we just throw him into a house, no legal document, no nothing, and send him off?"

"Well, of course not, I don't know what-"

"You're right, you don't. I might not seem like I know what I'm doing, and you've been the best help, but I know what to do now," you spoke evenly. You reached for your office's door handle but Grayson flattened his hand against the wood.

"So what, you're just ditching me? I can't help Luke through this? Last time I checked, I was the only one who could get him to talk, (Y/N). And I just told him I wasn't going anywhere," Grayson fumed, his voice low and cold.

You glanced at your toes and let the wheels turn in your head, round and about, until you sighed and threw caution to the wind. "Okay. Listen, you can... you can come check on him later tonight at my place and whatnot, you can even come to the court hearing. But if he finds a new home, I don't- I can't promise anything, Grayson. This isn't up to me; if it were, I'd just give you the fucking kid."

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped a hand around your shoulder, warm and firm and big. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," you muttered. "Here's my phone number... and my address..." you mumbled, rifling through the packet of notes you'd scribbled down while listening to Luke and tearing out a stray paper, jotting down both messily. "Now, I really need to get in there and make some phone calls."

-

There you stood, in Morris County Human Services, hand in hand with little Luke McIver. He was willing to hold your hand, which in itself was a feat, but distantly; the two of you were connected by the full lengths of your arms apart. He was staring at the kid's corner in the waiting room, watching an eight-year-old rumble around with dozens of colorful blocks longingly, frowning. Just as you were about to invite him to go play, a county social worker peeked their head out from the hallway. "Ms. (Y/L/N), come with me, please,"

You looked down at Luke and tugged on his palm, tilting your head towards the lady. "C'mon Luke," you encouraged, taking a step in her direction.

The two of you followed her into the narrow corridor, shuffling behind her as she led you past dozens of rooms. "Luke, you can take a seat in this room," she smiled, popping open a door. Inside was a room abundant with toys, games, and books galore. It was prismatic and bright and Luke looked at it with a glint in his big, big brown eyes and hurried inside. And then Luke plopped on a chair in the center of the room, sat all still, and the social worker shut the door before you could promise Luke that he could play with those toys.

"Ms. (Y/L/N), I'm Emily Bradshaw and I have some terrible news," she hushed, leading you down another hall, and then another, halting at a dead end in a secluded corner.

You weren't in the least surprised.

"Luke... has some bad luck, to put it lightly."

I know.

"There's no one we can put him in for custody. His dad's out of the picture, Uncle's a crack addict, Grandparents are dead, his other Uncle's in jail for felony charges and... well, we can't give him back to his mom, obviously. Not after what you told me," Emily murmured. "We don't have a single--and I mean, not a single--person available for this little guy."

You touched your forehead with heartbreak. "No siblings, right?"

"Nope."

"I- Emily, can I take him for the night then?" you asked, biting down on your lip nervously. "He's so fragile, Emily. He hardly trusts me, and it took weeks to get him to even talk in front of me. I don't want him with anyone else, he'll be absolutely scarred."

"(Y/N), I'm afraid you'll have to. Obviously, you can't take him longer than 72 hours, you're a-"

"Conflict of interest, I know. I- I'll look through the records and see if there's anyone in the system worth calling. This is just terrible," you breathed.

"You're telling me. I know this stuff happens all the time, but it never gets easier. God, poor kid," she whistled, scuffing her shoe on the linoleum floor. "You've got him until Monday, cause we can't collect him on Sundays. So, Monday at... 5:00 PM. Just- I know you don't need to be told, but just take care of him, okay? Kid's been through more than we know."

With that, the two of you walked your way back to Luke's playroom and knocked on the door, creaking it open. Inside, Luke sat on his stool, the room left completely as it was.

With a frown, you and Emily crept over to him and squatted to his level. "Luke, I'm going to take you to my house for the next couple days, is that okay?" you asked, tucking the bulk of your hair behind your ear.

He nodded, slipped off his chair, and grabbed your hand.

-

"Luke, just for tonight, we need to go get some PJ's for you, okay?" you offered, glancing in your rearview at Luke, who was strapped in the middle seat of your car.

"It's okay, I can sleep in this," Luke mumbled, playing with his fingers and glancing out the window. He was talking about his massive grey Power Rangers shirt and his teeny brown cargo pants.

You winced and stared at the road again. "Nope, we're getting you some super fuzzy PJs. And hot cocoa."

"What's hot cocoa?" Luke asked.

You shrugged a shoulder and grinned in the mirror. "You'll have to wait and see, Luke."

Inside the store, you stood in the kid's section, ogling the quality of each fleece lined item. You surfed through nautica-inspired, dinosaur patterned, and hot-wheel styled pajamas, entirely lost on what Luke liked best.

"Luke, which design's your favorite?" you asked tentatively.

"It doesn't matter," Luke mumbled, not even bothering to look from where he sat in your shopping cart.

So you grabbed all of them. And a huge, sherpa blanket, and a set of socks and underwear, and then it dawned on you.

"Luke, we're getting you some new clothes, too."

Ignorant to his declines, you ransacked the whole department of hoodies, long enough pants, tees, and finally, a new pair of shoes. And then, you wheeled him to the checkout, paid, and left for home.

-

Maybe: Grayson: It's Grayson, I'm coming over.

You: Bring hot cocoa I forgot to buy some at the store.

Grayson: Okay. On my way!

Your house was oddly fit just for a kiddo. You'd know; you grew up in this house.

Your parents, after a few decades of living in a town as quaint as Long Valley, wanted a little more excitement and up-and-left to New York City once you dashed off to college. They used this house as a summer home, seeing as they'd paid it off, and spent their springs and falls and winters in the boisterous, cluttered metropolis of NYC. You'd only ever be willing to visit.

It wasn't that you hated the city, no, most certainly not. But it was loud. And cramped, yet so big. You loved the familiarity, the peacefulness, the home-ishness of your little Long Valley. So, after completing your masters, you headed back home and paid your parents what they'd take and redecorated your old childhood bedroom.

At the kitchen island, you sat with Luke, bowls of Kraft Mac n Cheese in hands, forks shoveling the noodles by the mouthfuls. It was alarming how fast Luke was eating his dish; he hardly left time for breathing.

"Luke, there's more in the pot, you don't need to-"

You cut yourself off when you realized he was not listening, just eating his meal anxiously, like you'd take it away at any second.

The doorbell rang throughout the building and you hopped off your seat and slipped into the foyer. Greeting Grayson, you said, "Hey, did you bring the hot-"

"Already got it," he said, waving a family-sized tub of the powder. "And some games. How's he doing?"

Glancing at the hallway that led to the kitchen, you shrugged. "Can't really tell. It seems like he doesn't know what's going on, so he's fine. I took him to the store, bought him some new clothes, got him some PJs. But I forgot about the hot cocoa I'd promised him, so thank you for bringing some," you finished, stealing the container from his hands.

"Well, that was nice of you..." Grayson mumbled behind you, following you out to the kitchen.

"What, you think I'm some heathen?" you smirked, eyeing him over your shoulder.

"Mhm, don't act like you weren't the one who put twenty boxes of Orbees in the school's swimming pool our senior year," he snickered, lifting a brow.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, a flame licking the back of your neck. "I can't believe you reme-"

"Hey Luke!" Grayson called, scooting past you and pressing his elbows against the kitchen island.

Luke was sitting there, staring at his empty bowl of mac n cheese in a melancholic state. "Hi Mr. Dolan," he said in that raspy, weak voice of his.

"Luke, you want more Mac n cheese? And some hot cocoa?" you prompted, grabbing the bucket of pasta. Without an answer, you scooped a helping into Luke's bowl and paraded to the refrigerator for some milk to heat. "Gray, you want some?"

Grayson looked your way with a funny grin and said, "Yeah, I can just eat it from the pan."

You shook your head and repressed a smile. "You are gross."

"Why!" Grayson defended, laughing. With a shrug, he said, "I'm saving you a plate, and I'll definitely eat the rest, anyway."

Once you had fixed everyone a mug of hot cocoa, you ushered the boys into the living room where Grayson excitedly dug out a hodgepodge of games, toys, and books. Spreading everything out on the rug, Grayson prompted, "Alright Luke, I was thinking I could teach you how to play Candy Land. Is that okay?"

Luke looked at you, and then at him, and then nodded.

"Cool. So basically Buddy, you get one of these little guys," Grayson said, gesturing to the colorful figures lying dormant in the container. "And you hop on the color of the card you draw, and we go back and forth, and we see who wins. Okay?" Luke nodded. "And there are traps. So, when you draw a card like- like this one," he explained, grabbing a piece with a lollipop on it, "then you get to move to the spot that has the lollipop on it. Which can be good, unless you're ahead of that spot, then you have to move back. It's really fun," he gushed, folding his legs crisscrossed. "I think you'll like it. What'd'ya say?"

Luke looked at the board, studied it hard, and then nodded his head. "Okay."

Gleefully, Grayson shuffled the deck of cards and plucked two characters from the cardboard box and you realized, almost instantly, why he became a kindergarten teacher. He was a kid at heart.

"(Y/N), are you playing?"

You thought about all the things you had to do, all the paperwork you had to fill, all the phone calls you'd have to make for tomorrow, and said, "Yes."

Grayson smiled at you eagerly. "Perfect, three makes it way more competitive anyway. The more the merrier, you know?" he said, reaching for his mug of hot cocoa.

You looked over at Luke's mug and realized he hadn't drunk a drop of his treat. "Luke, you can have some of your hot cocoa if you haven't yet," you smiled, edging his cup towards him.

He looked at you long and hard, his eyes blown wide, and glanced between you in the drink. And then he looked at Grayson, almost for permission, and lifted his skinny arms and grabbed the mug with both hands. He lifted it to his mouth, oh-so-cautiously, and took a tiny sip.

And then he smiled, grinned comfortably.

"This stuff is- this stuff is really good," he said, setting it back. "Thank you."

You looked at Grayson with confusion and said, "Luke, you can have the whole cup if you want."

"I can?"

"Yeah," Grayson smiled, rubbing a hand down Luke's back. "Drink up, Bud."

And Luke did. And you three played Candy Land for hours, Grayson and you both being far too competitive and Luke hanging on for the ride. You won once, Grayson won twice, and Luke won at least five times. Luke's smile just kept growing.

"Alright Luke, I think it's bedtime for you," you said after a bit of celebratory hot cocoa.

"Want some help getting into your PJs, bud?" Grayson offered. Luke shrugged a lame shoulder, his eyes flickering between the two of you.

"Hey, give me some skin," you giggled, bending at the knee and raising your hand for a high-five from Luke. Tentatively, he lifted his hand to yours, smacking it feather light. "You killed it in Candy Land today."

"Sure did," Grayson laughed. "We'll play again soon. C'mon Luke."

And off they went, into your guest bedroom.

You crept back into the kitchen and grabbed your binder full of documents and splayed them all out on the table, organizing them into piles. You loved this job. You realized it when Luke's big wide eyes lit up at the sight of a Licorice Lagoon card and his character clobbered all the way across the board and he just looked happy. Happy like you'd never seen him. And that made all of this heartbreak a little less awful.

You were ruffling through your binder for names of available foster carers with your pen wiggling between your teeth when Grayson tiptoed into the kitchen. "Hey, how was-"

Your voice fell silent when you looked up to find Grayson crying, feeble with his arms tucked tightly around himself.

"Gray, what happened?" you asked hesitantly, twisting your body and giving him your full attention.

He whimpered pitifully and glided over to you, clearly shameless when it came to crying. He laid his forearms on the kitchen island and looked at you through his soaked eyelashes and screwed his eyebrows together and said, "I don't think I can forget that."

You reached out and carefully laid a palm on his arm. "Forget what?"

Grayson wheezed a deep breath and shielded his face with a hand. He mumbled, "There's a reason he wears that giant shirt every day." Grayson wiped the tears from his cheeks and said, "It was like I wasn't even taking off a shirt. It's like, an outline of the shirt, made of bruises. Tan lines, but instead of pale skin it's just green, and blue, and purple."

Unconsciously, you dug your fingernails into the firm flesh of his arm and clenched your jaw, willed yourself from tears.

"And that's no exaggeration. I don't think there was a spot untouched on his skinny, skinny body. His whole torso is just-" Whine. "Covered. I thought I was going to be sick. And he turned around, and his back was no different. It was like this- this fucking monster he calls 'mom' knew exactly how to hide it. Give him a t-shirt big enough, and it'll cover all the marks. God fucking damn it," he sobbed, his voice thick with emotion.

You pinched at his skin, nails deep enough to really hurt, and lowered your head and cried. Let the tears fall with the realization that no number of board games and no amount of hot cocoa could make up for his trauma, physically, mentally, or emotionally. Luke McIver was a punching bag and a kicking post.

You sat there with Grayson and cried quietly. You prayed Luke couldn't hear you; he deserved all the sympathy in the world, but he looked up to Grayson, and you hoped he didn't give up on himself with how sad his circumstances were.

Grayson walked around the island and engulfed you in a hug. You'd hardly registered how strange this might be, hugging a guy you'd barely known since you needed one so bad. You can't just watch these things and shut everyone out. You would start to see that kind of darkness in everyone.

"I'm sorry," Grayson said, his jaw working against your shoulder. "But I really needed a hug."

"It's okay," you said, your head bowed into the crook of his neck. "I really needed one too."

"Can I stop by tomorrow?" Grayson asked.

Yes, he could.

-

Tomorrow meant Friday, and Friday meant school. You didn't have a whole lot of direction when it came to getting kids off to school, but you figured you would do what you typically did; had him hop in the shower, laid out his clean clothes, and fixed him a bowl of cereal. After a few minutes of thought, you packed him a lunch, just in case his lunch account had frozen along with the rest of his mom's assets.

"Luke, are you okay with a turkey sandwich? Or do you want salami?" you shouted into the refrigerator, raiding the drawers for your lunch meat.

After a few moments without a response, you called out, "Luke?"

Panicky, you pulled yourself out of the refrigerator and hurried off to check on him in the guest room. Inside, he stood sopping wet, dripping on your carpet with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Upon your arrival, he twisted to look at you. "Where are my clothes?" he whispered, looking around the room.

You pointed to the pile stacked on a chair near the bed. "Right over there, Silly," you giggled.

"No, my clothes," he said.

"The grey shirt and the brown pants?" you asked.

He nodded.

"Do you wanna wear those instead? I thought you'd like to wear something warmer, I have a hoodie and some cozy sweatpants on that chair cause it's going to be pretty chilly today," you elaborated, beginning to stress. It was far too cold to wear that Power Rangers shirt and that Power Rangers shirt alone, and you hadn't bought Luke a jacket. You made a mental note to do so.

"But those aren't mine," he said.

"Yes they are, I bought them for you."

"All of those?" he gasped, his eyes bugging at the outfit. And that was just sad.

"All of those, and a few others, too. Now, come on! We gotta get going to school, do you want some help getting into your clothes?" you offered, walking over to the chair and grabbing the stack.

Luke shook his head and you gave him the pieces, leaving the room and fixing his turkey sandwich. By the time you'd packed everything, Luke was waiting silently with his backpack taut on his shoulders. The hoodie was a bit big, but Luke was tiny for his age. The sweatpants looked about right, and the shoes seemed to fit okay. He hardly looked the same in different clothes.

"Ready?" you asked.

Luke was.

-

As your lunch break neared, your foot began pedaling faster in place. You worried about Luke on his first day back: did he miss his mom? Did his clothes really fit? Did he even like turkey sandwiches? After a plethora of anxiety-ridden questions, you hopped from your seat and dashed off to Grayson's classroom.

You knocked on the door softly and waited with a bitten lip. Grayson creaked open the door and you found that the classroom was, in fact, empty, excluding the six-foot tall man hovering in the doorway. "Oh," was all you said. "I thought maybe Luke was here."

Grayson grinned toothily and said, "No, they just went off to lunch and recess, but I'm glad you stopped by."

He opened the door and ushered you in, shutting it and following you inside. "Ramen?" you asked, scrunching your nose as you noticed the cup of noodles sitting next to his school-issued desktop. "How can you eat that after college?"

He smirked and grabbed it, loading a forkful of the stringy, golden noodles into his mouth. "Never get sick of it," he said through bites.

"Charming," you laughed, rolling your eyes. "How's he doing today?"

He munched for a second before nodding, setting the cup of noodles down and sitting on one of the very tiny desks with his legs stretched out comfortably in front of him. "Good. Great, even."

"That's good!" you exclaimed, smiling big.

"It is good," he agreed. "He even talked to a few classmates, which is new for him. They said they liked his shoes."

You weren't sure whether you were devastated that Luke hadn't any friends or ecstatic that he was trying, and that the other kids liked his shoes. That was a personal achievement. "I've been told I'm a fashionista," you drawled, flicking your hair over your shoulder.

"I can tell. You're always wearing those pretty skirts of yours," Grayson smirked, cocking a brow.

Butterflies burst in your stomach and you prayed a blush didn't stain your cheeks. But, judging by Grayson's obvious smugness, you looked just as bashful as you felt.

"Thank you. Um..." you squeaked, not knowing what else to say.

Grayson chuckled at your discomfort and looked out the window. "It was really nice of you to buy him all those clothes. It's too cold to be wearing those- those rags he was wearing before."

You nodded, following his gaze to the gray, gray sky that was brewing something awful outside. "I didn't think he'd fit in one of my sweatshirts," you joked.

Grayson looked at you and grinned kindly. "I don't think he'd look half as good, either."

Your face broke out in a smile and you said, "Okay, stop, you're doing this on purpose," with a laugh.

"Oh definitely, you're cute when you blush," he pushed, enjoying the upper hand far more than he should.

You stared down at the floor and begged the warmth in your cheeks to subside before saying, "You always were a flirt in high school."

Gobsmacked, Grayson gasped. "Me?" he asked incredulously. "No, you're thinking of Ethan, my twin idiot."

You shook your head. "I don't think so, you had everyone at your beck and call..." you trailed off, giving him a lopsided smile.

"Again, Ethan."

"No, it was you, I know that for certain. Grayson Dolan: Long Valley's Golden Boy," you teased, your hands dancing in the air. "Everybody loved you."

Grayson scratched back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders, flattened out his tie. "Yeah, maybe, but I've closed the yearbook. Now I'm just a kindergarten teacher; don't think that makes me too popular," he chuckled, clamping his hands in his lap and grinning up at you.

"You're definitely popular with the kids--if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have a little kid sleeping at my house tonight," you said.

"That's way better than homecoming king," Grayson smiled, all warmth and honey. "Knowing I saved a kid from some garbage parent like his."

You nodded thoughtfully, staring back at him. In an effort to preserve the lighthearted mood floating through the air, you joked, "Can't be better than scoring the game-winning touchdown against Rocori though, right?"

Grayson's head fell back with a laugh and he shook his head. "Nothing could be better than that. Should've seen their head coach's face when I caught that ball," he smiled with his teeth full in display.

"I guessed so," you giggled back.

"So what, did you keep tabs on me in high school or something? That's a pretty particular thing to remember, Ms. (Y/L/N)," he smirked, running a hand through his fluffy mane.

Though you were painted in pink, you rolled along. "I already said everybody loved you, Grayson."

The door busted open, dozens of kids flowing through its tiny entrance, clambering about with their squeaky shoes and their uncoordinated legs. "Does everybody include you?" Grayson asked over the roar of the children.

You shrugged a shoulder and grinned with mischief. "Mind if I stay for a bit? I still have half an hour of my lunch and I kinda wanna see Luke in his natural habitat."

"Be my guest," Grayson smiled.

Luke ambled in last, a little pep in his step and a boy jabbering off his ear. Grayson looked as surprised as you.

"Everyone get in your seats, please," he instructed, working his way over to his desk. Glaring playfully at you, he said, "I didn't even get to eat my ramen."

"A shame."

Dropping his styrofoam cup in the garbage, he dusted off his hands and hurried to the front, rolling his dress shirt's sleeves up to his elbows. Without much to do, you slinked your way to the play area and seated yourself in a comically small chair, one clearly fit for a five-year-old.

"Alright everyone, could you please grab a pencil from the center of your desk? We're going to learn about shapes," Grayson announced, his eyes drifting around the room.

Your eyes flickered to Luke who in return was staring at you with his big doe eyes. Nervously, you waved a hand, worried of boundaries once more, and felt a certain sense of pride when Luke waved back to you.

"So guys, let's practice. Can anyone tell me what this is?" Grayson asked, gesturing to the giant triangle fixed on the smart board in the front.

Nearly all the kids' hands shot up, excluding Luke's. There he sat, towards the back, with his hands tucked in his lap.

"Kyra?" Grayson called.

"A triangle!" she cheered, dazzle in her eye.

"Very good, Kyra," Grayson smiled, tapping the board and switching the shape. "And this one?"

Again, Luke sat statuary.

"Tyler?"

"A square!"

You couldn't help but frown as you stared at Luke, lonesome and quiet with his big brown eyes staring blankly at the screen.

"And this last one? Luke?" Grayson asked, eyes weaving through the sea of hands to find Luke.

Luke sat quietly, his chest rising and falling quickly. After a few seconds, all of the students twisted in their seat to stare at him with beady, pressuring eyes. Almost reflexively, Luke spun and looked to you for help. 'Circle,' you mouthed, breathing out the word inaudibly.

"C-C-Circle," Luke spat, grabbing the sides of his desk.

All of the kids turned forward once more and waited for Mr. Dolan's confirmation. "Awesome job, Luke," he said with the proudest of smiles. "Now I have a worksheet for you all and I want you guys to bring it back to class on Monday after this weekend, signed by your parent."

Luke again strained his chin over his shoulder and you nodded back, assuring him you'd sign it, or help it, or just be there.

-

Your Fridays were typically reserved for wine night at your friend Carina's house, but you had no such plans with a five-year-old sitting on your couch. So, you were a little lost on what to do.

"Luke, do you want a snack? I'm not sure what we have in the cupboards, but..." you trailed off, bounding into the kitchen.

You had no use for pudding cups or fruit snacks up until this point, and to your knowledge, all you had was a ginormous can of hot cocoa. You scoured the pantry and found some surely stale Reese's Puffs and prayed he didn't notice once you doused them in milk.

Luke eyed the bowl skeptically, glancing between you and it before eventually scooping the cereal into his mouth. After that, it was a race to drain the bowl, and he was slurping away at the milk. You hardly cared about manners.

Grayson: Can I come over?

Instantly giddy at the idea of Grayson being in any close proximity, you texted him and assured him that would be fine. Luke was still tongue-tied, and you assumed it'd be that way for a long time. Perhaps he'd never grow out of his shyness, and that would have to be okay with you.

Looking at the little boy sitting on your couch, chomping on a spoonful of cereal like it could be his last meal, your heart broke. There was so much you didn't know about him, so much you didn't know about what he went through. You doubted anyone would ever know the full truth besides him and his 'mom.' Just thinking of her in a maternal sense made your tummy lurch sideways; she should have never even considered kids.

But, in some twisted light, you were so glad she did. You'd take a bullet for this little guy on your couch. And you didn't even know how that happened so quickly.

Grayson's knuckles rapped against your front door and you jumped from your spot on the couch beside Luke to allow him in, but by the time you'd gotten there, Grayson was already standing in your foyer in a pair of joggers and a hoodie. It was somewhat strange seeing him out of his office clothes. Frowning, you said, "How did you get-"

"You should really keep this door locked all the time," Grayson said sternly, abandoning his shoes on your welcome mat. "For your safety, and for Luke's."

You rushed over and locked the door behind him, feeling a little naive. "Luke's upstairs, I was going to start on that worksheet you gave everyone today but now that you're here, you can do all the hard work," you grinned.

He rolled his eyes playfully and elbowed your side. "I work all day with little kids and I come back to your place to slave away?"

"Exactly," you laughed. "besides, bold of you to assume I know my shapes."

Grayson chuckled and swept past you, hurrying over to Luke. You heard them greet one another, Grayson's excitable baby voice echoing throughout your house. Content with their situation, you whisked away to your room to raid your closet for something more comfortable. Then, you returned to your kitchen and began searching in your big stack of files for names in the system that would qualify to give Luke the home he needed.

G. Hammend... R. Harick... I. Helpin... Your finger followed down the column, each name seeming drearier and more hopeless.

"Mr. Dolan?" you heard from the other room.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Is (Y/N) your girlfriend?" Luke asked.

Grayson promptly began coughing uncontrollably, hacking and wheezing, and a chill ran up your spine, heat baked the back of your neck. No, you weren't Grayson's girlfriend and his flirting was harmless, but you were curious to know what he'd say, so you leaned in closely and listening keenly to Grayson's next words. "Uh, um, uh Luke it's- it's more complicated than that," Grayson spoke, his voice raspy and cracking.

"How?"

Yeah, how?

"Well, um, I- I don't know how to explain that, Luke."

"Why?"

A giggle escaped past your lips at Luke's determination and Grayson's obvious struggle. "I- I, um,-"

Grayson's stuttering was cut short by a soft rumble overhead followed almost immediately by a burst of lightning. You frowned and glanced at the window, fully aware of the forecast but hopeful that it would blow over. From the looks of the blackened sky, it wouldn't be disappearing anytime soon. Soft pellets of water began showering your room and it's thin shingles, heavy enough to pierce through the silent air. And again, another bit of thunder rolled in.

"(Y/N)?" Grayson called. "You okay?"

As if you'd be in any harm in your own home during a thunderstorm. "Yeah Gray, I'm good. Are you okay?"

There was silence and then a shuffling of footsteps. Then Grayson walked up behind you and said, "We have a problem."

You wheeled around in your chair and furrowed your brows. "What?"

"Luke's afraid of thunderstorms," he whispered, avoiding your eyes.

You slid off your seat and padded into the living room to find Luke tucked in the cushions of your couch, tears streaming soundlessly from his big doe eyes. Your heart wrenched beneath your ribcage and you hurried over, sliding into the spot beside him and grabbing his hands that were shaking in his lap. "Hey Lukey, you doing okay?"

Luke nodded robotically, his nose bouncing and the tears rushing down his face.

"Luke, how can I help?" you asked, stroking the side of his head.

His body went rigid and he shook your hands off him, scooting a few inches away. You felt rejected.

"Hey Bud, do you wanna keep going with our math? Get your mind away from all this noise?" Grayson offered, lifting up his worksheet.

Luke shook his head, tucking in on himself and wrapping his own frail arms around his own frail legs.

"We could maybe watch some TV?" you proposed, cocking your head towards the flatscreen. It seemed like Luke's ears might have perked up at this. He stared at you silently with his big brown eyes and asked for permission, even though you'd just offered. "Yeah, we can watch some TV," you said. "Do you like cartoons?"

Luke just stared, but you got the message. You'd learned his mannerisms over the past twenty-four hours. Flicking on the television, you surfed through the channels in search of a good cartoon before landing on Scooby-Doo.

"Have you ever seen this show?" Grayson asked, nudging Luke.

He shook his head, and you three fell in silence, watching the show chase across the screen.

Lost in thought, you began to wonder if this would be the case for every kid, or just Luke. Would you always take the kids in for 72 hours? Or was Luke just special for you? How often would this happen? Was Grayson always good with the little kids? Could he be a reliable source if you couldn't get them to budge?

Probably not, you decided. You felt incompetent and useless and downright stupid caving and fleeing to Grayson for aid. Not that you regretted it.

Would Grayson ever talk to you after this? Was this just for Luke, or was there some friendship between you two? Or maybe something more?

Probably not, you decided again. Sneaking a glance at him, engrossed in the show, you decided, definitely not. He might not be Long Valley's golden boy any longer, but he was still far, far out of your league.

"It's definitely the bank teller," Grayson said with complete certainty. "He's hijacking his own bank so he can take all the money but remain seemingly innocent."

You stifled a giggle and eyed him incredulously. "For sure, Gray."

"It is!" he whined, pointing at the screen excitedly. "You just wait and see."

"Luke, who do you think it is?" you asked, bumping him with your elbow.

Luke looked between the two of you and then said, so quietly, "Whatever Grayson said."

-

As the night dragged on, so did the storm. Eventually, the power surged out and left the three of you sheathed in blankets, surrounded by candles, and playing Candy Land in the dim glow. Conversation was limited and gentle; Luke was exceptionally scared, though he was too nervous to voice his concerns. So, he just sided up next to Grayson and shielded himself under Gray's big, long arm.

"Grayson, there's no way you're driving home in this weather. You can't," you said with finality, craning your neck to sneak a glance at the buckets of water blurring the sky.

Grayson nodded in agreement, moving his figurine several spaces forward. "Yeah, I don't think so either. Can I sleep on the couch?"

After a moment of thought, you nodded and hopped from your spot under a mound of blankets to fetch him a few pillows. Glancing at the clock, you noticed it was nearing the bedtime you'd given Luke, so you waddled on down to the living room to deliver the mournful news. "Lukey, it's time for bed."

It seemed Luke was unordinary in every sense because he didn't fight you on it. He simply unwrapped Grayson's arm from around his shoulders and glided past you to the guest room.

"He's a quiet one," Grayson noted, tugging his blankets tight on his body.

"Yeah," you agreed quietly, staring down the hallway Luke had slipped through. "I don't know if that'll go away or not."

"I'm going to go read him a bedtime story," Grayson said, his voice gentle and kind.

As he trailed after Luke, Where the Wild Things Are in hand, you decided that maybe everything about Grayson was gentle and kind. You saw it in the way he talked to children, the way he never raised his voice, the way he laid a hand on any person he talked to, his palm huge and warm and soft, just for reassurance. Grayson was a gentle giant with his intimidating stature and his ginormous muscles; he'd never hurt a fly.

You listened to Grayson's voice float through the air, speaking of monsters and trolls tucked in the thickets of trees, and felt a flutter in your chest.

At last, you heard Grayson mumble his goodnights and the creak of footsteps on your hardwood. He hobbled his way to the couch, plopped down, and patted this seat beside him. Sheepishly, you tiptoed over and flopped into the space next to him, your blanket tightly secured around your figure. After a few beats of silence, of you two just staring at each other, you said, "I don't know who is worthy of taking in that boy."

Grayson shook his head, his lips pursing for a moment. "I don't think anyone is. Well, anyone besides you."

You stared down at the cushions with their plain brown fabric, scrunching your brows together. "I don't think I'm very good at this, actually." He snorted about you and you shot him a glare. "I'm serious."

"Maybe, but you're wrong," he argued loftily. "I don't think that kid has ever felt so much love in his life."

You shrugged a limp, lame shoulder. "Probably not, but that's just because any love is better than none. I just don't think I'm handling this well. I'm not sure he really likes me."

Grayson smiled crookedly and cocked his head to the side. "I think he likes you. You guys can talk without even speaking," he noted.

A smile worked its way onto your lips. "Yeah, there's that. But... I'm not trying to take it personally, the kid's been through way more than we know. But I just wish he liked me. It feels like he just tolerates me," you breathed, scratching at your arm.

"Well, he agreed with me that you're pretty, so there's that," Grayson smirked, watching you duck your head in embarrassment.

"Well that's nice of you two..." you muttered, tugging your sherpa around you tighter.

"No, it's just a fact. You're pretty, (Y/N)."

Suddenly, your blanket was entirely unnecessary, because your body was overheating with this romantic attention from Grayson Dolan himself. His eyes burned your skin and his body, a few inches away from you, was like a furnace. "You're pretty, too."

It came out croaky and strangled, but you meant it. You had eyes, after all.

Grayson chuckled, his dimples full in display. "Thank you," he whispered.

Then, you were sharing an awkward beat where he was looking at you and you were staring at the ground with complete determination. And then, you were hopping from your spot and hurrying into the kitchen to grab your binder, ignorant to Grayson's laughter.

"You need to help me find someone worthy of fostering this kid," you breathed, discarding the blanket altogether.

And so the two of you sat there well into the night, flicking page after page, name after name, hopeful to find a soul kind enough for a soul as vulnerable as Luke's.

-

It had to still be night when you awoke, startled, to the shadow of a boy standing in your doorway. You'd seen enough horror films to know that this meant imminent death, but after rubbing your eyes once, twice, you noticed it was just Luke.

"Hey buddy?" you called out, folding yourself upright. "What's up?"

Luke was holding the blanket you'd purchased for him a few days ago in his tiny hands, his knuckles white. "The storm," was all he whispered.

The storm. The wind was whooshing and swirling in every which way, tossing branches into each other and smattering rain against your rooftop. How do you fix that? You couldn't just ring up Mother Nature and tell her to calm down.

"Um," you mumbled, glancing around the room. "Do you- do you want to sleep in here?" you offered, patting the spot beside you. Luke stood and waited for about a minute before slowly creeping toward the empty half of the bed, hoisting himself up on it and peeling back the covers. He turned his back to you, crumpled his knees into his chest, and lied there silently. You had half a brain to screen him with his blanket and tuck it around his small, small body, and then the two of you went to sleep.

-

Slow like a sloth, you opened your eyes and blinked slowly, lazily, letting them adjust to the sunlight pouring through the windowpanes of your bedroom. You'd hardly registered that your jaw was tucked on top of a little boy's head, or that your arm was secured around his tiny frame. He fit perfectly in the cave of your belly, the two of you just a large ball in the middle of your bed, blankets and all.

You lifted your head to see Grayson standing in your doorway, his shoulder pressed against the door frame easily, a smile on his lips. "Morning."

Grayson Dolan standing in your doorway when you first wake up. Now that was a concept high-school-you would have snorted at.

"Morning," you whispered, careful not to wake up Luke. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven. I was thinking we could all go and get breakfast at the Gingerbread Café," Grayson offered, still gazing warmly at the nest in your bed.

"God, that sounds amazing. Okay, let me get dressed and-"

"No! You have to go in your PJs! That's like, law," Grayson argued instantly.

You glanced down at yourself in your reindeer, well-worn pajamas and shrugged. There was no use arguing; you'd never get out of those pajamas unless absolutely mandatory.

You nodded and unraveled yourself from Luke, shook his shoulder gently, and then zipped out of your home, into the Gingerbread Café and played the best game of iSpy over bacon and eggs.

-

Again that afternoon, you sat on your coach, rifling through sheet after sheet of names of foster carers.

"I don't even recognize one of these names," you whined, flipping a page.

"Me neither," Grayson agreed.

Luke was tucked in the corner of the living room, legos crowding the floor in a clutter. He'd actually been playing with them, to both Grayson's and your astonishment.

"And you don't have any like, social worker friends? Nobody that you know?" Grayson asked, lifting a brow.

"No, I'm brand new to this, Grayson,"  you defended. "Literally the only person I've met in this town that knows anything about social work is Nancy Hoff-" You dropped the book of files you were holding, your blood surging through you. "Nancy Hoffmann! Oh my god, how could I forget Nancy! Oh my god, oh my god," you squealed, jumping to your feet.

"Nancy Hoffmann does social work? No way," Grayson gasped.

"Yes! Yes, she said she's in the system, go look, please, please, go look!"

"N. Hoffmann, right under I. Helpin," Grayson grinned, gazing up at you with hope, hope, hope in his eyes. "Are you going to call her?"

"Yes," you stated, digging out your phone and beelining for your room. "I'm going to call her right now."

And you did. And Nancy was so excited to take care of a little one, especially a little one like little Luke McIver, that she started to weep. And you started to cry. You could have flooded the whole room with your tears. And you absolutely hoped and prayed Luke's life would look up.

-

Later that Saturday night, once Luke was in bed and you and Grayson sat tight on your couch watching reruns of vintage Scooby-Doo episodes (and trying desperately to guess who the villain was each time), Grayson turned to you and asked, "Wanna get ice cream sometime?"

His words alone sent a chill down your spine, cold and then hot, warmth sticking to the back of your neck. "No," you blurted.

And you could see the hurt flinch on his face, the emotions vivid in color on his sleeve. But there was a problem.

"I feel- I feel like it would look... unprofessional, right now, to date a coworker, especially after I royally fucked up with this whole Luke thing. Call it a Fluke," you giggled nervously, biting your lip. "I- Grayson, you know I would love to, you can probably tell how nervous you make me, but this seems just... It just seems unprofessional, especially when I still have Luke in my custody."

Grayson's eyes softened. "Well, what about when Luke's out of your custody? Can we get ice cream then?"

Your hands twitched nervously in your lap. "I... we would still be coworkers, Grayson," you whispered, holding onto your willpower by a thread.  

He inched forward, invading your space in a way that left you gulping.

"We would, wouldn't we? We'd be coworkers just like half of the teachers in this school that are married to other teachers," he murmured, inches from your face.

His body heat radiated onto yours and you worried for a moment that you'd melt right into that sofa. "You think about it," he finalized, smirking and rising from his seat. "Or, sleep on it. I'm heading home."

He thundered into the foyer and slipped on his shoes and glanced back at you, who was hiding behind the hallway's bend. He grinned, shucked on his hoodie, and headed outside.

Were you just going to let this go?

Certainly not.

You dashed out behind him, waving your arms in the headlights of his car manically, acting like a real loon. You skipped over to his car and waited for him to roll down his window, itching to just spit it out. "I don't have to think, I'd love to get ice cream with you, coworkers be damned."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he chuckled, grinning up at you. "I'll see you tomorrow to introduce Nancy and Steve to Luke. Sleep tight, (Y/N)."

-

You awoke again with Luke cradled under your arm and a knocking at your door. Grayson was undoubtedly up at the crack of dawn every day, which would explain why he was pounding on your door at eight in the morning. Both groaning, you and Luke rolled out from under the covers and padded lazily through the halls, separating at the living room where Luke crawled into the nest of blankets jumbled on the couch as you traveled to the entryway to let Grayson in.

"Hey," he announced when you dragged open the door. Glaring at him, you wordlessly spun on your heel and shuffled into the living room. "Don't tell me you're mad because I woke you up," he laughed, on your heels.

You opened your mouth to protest when Luke said, "Yes."

You and Grayson exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. "Luke has spoken, and I agree. Yes, Grayson."

You hobbled over to Luke and curled up next to him on the sofa, stranding Grayson alone to stand and watch.

"What time are we all heading over to Nancy and Steve's?" Grayson mumbled to you, eyeing Luke cautiously.

You sucked in a breath and decided that this was a good time to introduce the idea to Luke. "Lukey," you announced. "we think we found you a good home for a little bit, okay? Would it be okay if we met with them later?"

Luke looked at you uncertainly and said, "No more sleeping with you?"

Your heart dropped into your stomach with the reality that Luke may have gotten too attached--that you may have gotten too attached. "No more sleeping with me," you mumbled, your lower lip jutting out reflexively. "I- but Luke, I'll still visit all the time, promise. And we'll still have our weekly counseling sessions, and-"

"Will Mr. Dolan still visit?" Luke asked, staring at you, his eyes flickering momentarily to Grayson.

"I..." you trailed off, unwilling to make that promise.

"You know it, Kid," Grayson said, squatting to Luke's height. "I'll be over with Candy Land all the time."

"So what do you say?" you asked, grabbing for Luke's hand.

Luke squeezed back and said, "Yes."

And so you went to Nancy's.

The Hoffmann's yanked open the door before you could even knock, dressed in their best formal gear, and you glanced down at your jeans and hoodie and winced. This was why you weren't very good at this stuff. "Welcome!" they cheered, ushering the three of you inside. Nancy gave you a sidelong look as Grayson filed in behind you, a glint in her eye.

Luke was holding onto your hand tight, tight, tight, and you bent down and picked him right up, setting him on your hip. "Luke, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann," you introduced, pointing to each of them respectively. "Mr. and Mrs. Hoffmann, this is Luke McIver." Luke clung to your sweatshirt's fabric, fisted the material and pulled himself closer. "Don't be shy Luke, say hi," you said.

They waved brightly, big smiles on their faces and Luke waved back.

"Everybody can come to the living room, we have fruit snacks and pudding cups," Nancy said.

You knew they'd be better than you already.

-

On Monday, the five of you (Luke, Grayson, Nancy, Steve, and you), caravanned to the Gingerbread Café with a court document in your briefcase with plans to head over to court after, skipping school entirely, much to Luke's (and your) excitement. Once you arrived at the courthouse, you met with Luke's assigned social worker, Emily, the judge, and that was it.

Standing in the echoey area, the judge asked, "Are all parties present?"

Glancing around at the tiny, tiny group, you giggled. "Uh yes, Your Honor," you said with complete seriousness.

"Who is the legal guardian in question?" she asked, scanning over her document. "Is Alexa McIver here?"

You bit on your lip and said, "No, Your Honor, she's currently in custody."

"Alright," she nodded. "Who is the present carer, and the preferred foster carers?"

"Um, I'm the current carer and Steve and Nancy Hoffmann are the foster carers," you said, pointing to the couple standing beside you. They waved giddily, hardly pressured by the legalities.

"Okay," the judge said, a lack of formality in her tone. "Let's get this show on the road."

The judge handed over a packet, 'In the matter of the welfare of Lucas McIver: CHIPS/EPC' titling the top. Beneath it was what seemed like hundreds of documents, all waiting for their own special signature from their own special foster parents, Nancy and Steve Hoffmann.

And after half an hour of "sign here"s and "initial here"s, the judge turned to Nancy and Steve and said, "By the law of Long Valley, I formally grant Steve and Nancy Hoffmann full foster care custody of Lucas Christopher McIver. Court, dismissed."

And you turned to Nancy and found her with tears in her eyes and you turned to Luke and found him with one big, toothy grin.

"Time for ice cream, everybody!" Nancy squealed, throwing her arms around you tightly.

You shared a smirk with Grayson and said, "Definitely."

"(Y/N)," Luke said, tugging on your pants.

"Yeah Luke?" you said, ducking to his level.

Luke leaned in close and cupped his hand around your ear. "My favorite color is yellow."

-

You sat at Moo's with a cone of cookie dough ice cream in hand, chatting with livelihood with the group. It was, by definition, perfect. Grayson kept sneaking glances at you, looking away when you caught him, dimples dotting his cheeks. Nancy and Steve demanded--and more miraculously, received--a full autobiography from Luke himself, as shy as he was. What his favorite class was (which, to Grayson's dismay, was not any of his, but instead gym class), what his favorite animal was, and so on.

Luke offered you a taste of his delicious cookies 'n' cream ice cream (in exchange for a lick of your own, of course) and grabbed for your hand a few times. It was bittersweet to have him be so affectionate right as you were about to let him go.

When five o'clock rolled around, the Hoffmanns said, "Staying true to our legal work, we are removing Mr. McIver from your custody," with all formality and then some.

Giggling, you nodded. "Take 'im away, coppers."

Luke turned to you and wrapped his arms tight around your neck and you kissed his cheek and willed yourself not to cry. This was so, so good for him.

"Do you guys need a ride home?" Steve offered, seeing as you all banded together to get to court and Moo's.

You opened your mouth to graciously accept when Grayson said, "Nah, we can walk."

Looking at him excitedly, you clamped your mouth shut and nodded, a ditzy grin on your mouth.

"Right," Nancy chuckled. "Well, we'll be on our way then, bye everyone!"

"Goodbye Luke, see you tomorrow!" you cheered, waving him away.

Watching the car zip out of the parking lot, you sat beside Grayson, your senses heightened with anxiety. "And then there were two..." Grayson joked, leaning back in his seat. "Ready for our date?"

You turned to him and shook your head, gleeful and nervous. "Yeah, I could use another cone," you giggled. "Even if it's freezing out and we have to walk home now."

"I'll keep you warm," he smiled, propping his chin on his fist.

You were sure the butterflies bursting in your stomach or the blush staining your cheeks was more than enough to keep you steaming hot.

-

As you walked down the pavement, slow as snails, Grayson tangled your fingers together. It was adrenaline inducing, holding hands with Grayson Dolan. You had your third helping of ice cream in your hands, licking stripes of it and scuffing your shoes down the sidewalk.

"What is that?" you asked, pointing to the cone in Grayson's hand.

"I don't know, actually," he shrugged, swiping his tongue across the treat. "I couldn't read some of the names so I just pointed to whatever looked promising."

"What do you mean, you couldn't read the names?" you giggled, your brows furrowing. "They're right on the glass."

Grayson nodded, fully aware of that. "I know, but I have dyslexia, I can hardly read at all," he snorted.

"You have dyslexia? I didn't know that," you said, licking a long dribble of ice cream.

"Yeah, why else do you think I teach kindergarten? I'm constantly relearning the alphabet," he joked, snorting and smiling to himself.

You giggled and said, "Well, I don't know, maybe just to make vulnerable elementary counselor's swoon," taking a jab at flirting smoothly.

He looked at you with a blush and a grin. Silence fell over, but not the uncomfortable kind. You could walk sidewalks as the sun set and eat ice cream for the rest of your life with Grayson. The thought alone stirred the frenzy of butterflies in your belly.

"You know, I always thought you were gorgeous in high school," Grayson murmured, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Oh, shut up, no you didn't," you groaned, smacking him with your shared fist.

"No really, I did! And you went to prom with Alec Jenson and I was so mad," he moaned, throwing his head back for dramatics. "I beat myself up over it for like, a month."

You shook your head, gazing far off in the other direction. "You're a terrible liar."

But Grayson wasn't lying, and he made sure you knew it. He halted in place, tugging you back to him. "I'm not lying, I'd be an idiot not notice someone like you," he breathed. "And I definitely know that now."

You bit down on your lip to contain an enormous grin, one the size of the sun glowing in the distance, and looked into Grayson's soft honey eyes. Time slowed down, the world dimmed around Grayson, and all those other cliches. And then, he was dipping in close and kissing you with sugar-sticky lips and soft and gentle, just as you'd imagined. Absent-mindedly, you went to weave your arms around his neck and then realized you had dropped your ice cream in order to do so.

"I-" you panicked, eyes wide and glancing down at the ground. Grayson's shoes were splattered with your cookie dough ice cream, wet and sticky. "Oh my god, I'm so-"

A boom of laughter sounded from Grayson and he shook his head. "They're already messy. Now get back up here, I'm not done kissing you."

You were more than happy to oblige.

-

A year and change later, you tapped your foot outside of the Hoffmann's home, Grayson by your side with party hats adorning the crowns of your heads. You had a cake in your hands and Grayson held four gifts, each stacked wonkily on each other. "Think they went out for his birthday?" Grayson asked, his breath fogging in the chilly December air.

"No, they told me they'd be here! God, it's fucking fr-"

"Hey!" Nancy greeted, pulling open the door. "Sorry, the oven was going off and Steven couldn't find the-"

"It's okay, don't worry," you giggled, stepping inside the home. "It wasn't too cold." Grayson leaned over and pinched your side, confronting your lie. "Where's Lukey?" you asked, your head moving about to look for him.

"He's in the living room surrounded by presents. Steve and I went kind of overboard," she chuckled.

You wandered into the living room after setting the cake down on the kitchen table, eager to spend some time with your favorite little boy and even more excited to give him his gifts. Grayson and you had also spoiled him with lego sets, hot wheels tracks, and a homemade ice cream maker. And, well, something else.

"How's the birthday boy?!" you greeted, opening your arms for a very hyper Luke to jump into.

He wrapped his legs around your waist and pulled you as tight as he could against him, his cheek pressed into yours. He had definitely grown since the last time you held him; you could barely handle the weight.

"Good!" he yelled.

"Luke, inside voice," Steve chastised from the couch, a familiar grin on his face.

"Right, sorry," he said.

"Do you want to open some presents or what, Kid?" Grayson offered, setting down the tall stack.

Luke nodded giddily, detangling himself from you and seating himself on the carpet. One by one he plucked the wrapping paper off, his gasps getting bigger and bigger with every present until he reached the last one. "What's this?" he asked, spinning the fabric in his hands.

"It's a Power Rangers sweatshirt," you said, gesturing to the item. "If you don't like it, we can return it."

"Just like my old one," he gaped. "Is it my old one?"

"No," Grayson explained, "but it's the same design, just warmer. And it'll fit you nicer."

Luke nodded and then slipped the clothing over his head, stuffing his arms through the sleeves. There he was, seven-years-old and yet so, so different. He still had his big brown eyes and his messy, floppy curls, but his face was full and his body was healthy and his mind was creative and open. He was Luke McIver as you'd always wanted to see him; human.

Before you could cry, you said, "Luke, you look handsome!"

"Do I?" he asked, glancing down at himself.

"Sure do, Honey. Now, we have one last present for you," Nancy said, exchanging a look with Steve.

She handed over a little envelope to Luke and he pulled out a slip of paper. "Would... you be... our son? What does that mean?" he asked, reading slow and brokenly.

Your hands flew to your mouth with excitement and love, and you decided crying was the only option at that point.

"Luke," Steve began, grabbing his wife's hands. "Luke, we want to be your parents. Like, forever," he chuckled.

"I thought you already were?" Luke said, glancing around the room with confusion.

"No, Honey, you get to choose if you want us to be or not. We completely understand if not," Nancy said, her voice quavering.

Grayson pulled you into him and you could tell he was holding back a spout of tears. He kissed the top of your head and waited.

"Oh. Well then, yeah. Yes," Luke said.

And by the following Monday, he was little Luke Hoffmann.

#grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagines #ethan dolan imagine #dolan twins fanfiction #dolan twins #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagines #dolan twins imagines #dolan twins imagine #youtube #writing #masterlist

[comingofagefilm]

Kindness | Wong Yukhei/Lucas

Synopsis: this one’s about being friends with a boy whose heart is bigger than his appetite (sometimes)

Genre(s): angst, coming-of-age, friendship, highschool au, college au

Warnings: uhh some minor swearing, brief mention of counselling + a cheesy ending.

♡ Author’s Notes: honestly, this is an apology letter to my friend back in 2018. I wrote this during that time of conflict and am only publishing it a year later oop

PRESENT

     You’re watching Lucas with such fondness in your eyes; there is also amusement but that’s because everything is amusing when it comes to Lucas. The boy is loud and big in everything he does and right now his big mouth has moved from the pantry to inhaling the contents of your fridge.

“Hey, don’t you have a date tonight?” You ask Lucas, watching as he rips open a box of oreos.

Lucas nods his head vehemently in response, grinning all the while he stuffs an oreo into his mouth.

“Then why are you eating now?” You deadpan.

“I don’t know man,” Lucas mumbles in between bites. “You know I get hungry when I’m nervous.”

It’s true, you snort. Lucas was all words and false bravado but when it came to actually following through with his flirtations, he became more or less a nervous wreck.

“Well it is always fun to see you nervous around cute girls”. You make your way to your couch pretending like you didn’t see Lucas pout at you before shoving another two oreos into his mouth.

“Ooh, can I eat this ice-cream?” Lucas asks even though he’s already opening the lid of the ice-cream tub.

“Yeah but don’t eat all of it again or else my sister’s going to kick my ass,” you mutter with some distaste. Your warning is met with obnoxious laughter.

“Your sister loves me,” he proclaims and you can’t help but agree. Your little sister absolutely adores Lucas as much as you do but you don’t say anything. Instead, you peer over your shoulder at Lucas, who you see has taken the liberty of using a soup ladle as a spoon, and smirk at his childishness.

“Wow, you’re such an idiot,” you say in a tone laced with nothing but endearment.

“Oh come on man, you love me!” Lucas grins. As he leaps over the couch, his foot nearly knocks you square in the jaw.

“Ugh,” you groan, shoving his foot out of the way, “how is it summer already?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he replies, grinning widely.

You snort; as if having to attend compulsory night classes in your final week was considered fun.

“Take that back,” you say half-heartedly. Lucas just giggles at your demise. He’s already finished with his classes and only has one exam to prepare for while you‘re suffering through classes and assignments that you probably shouldn’t have put off until now.

“Why was everything much easier back when we were kids?” You ask, a bit dramatically.

Lucas gulps down a spoonful of ice-cream and wags his soup ladle around in what you assumed was disagreement. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Care to elaborate?”

Lucas looks at you with a playful gleam in his eye that makes you sit up straighter.

“Well, do you remember when it took you until halfway through fourth grade to invite me to play with you?”

You glare at him dead in the eye, fully aware of this conversation’s direction, and mutter your next few words with a little bit more bitterness than intended.

“Oh please, you were the one with that group of kids, remember? The ones who hated my group for ‘taking you away from them’ — like they weren’t the ones who brought this upon themselves for talking shit behind your back.” You pause to exhale loudly through your nose and somewhat recollect yourself. Thinking about the past just made you automatically defensive for some reason (oh you knew the reasons), even though it had been over a decade since the incident happened.

“You have to admit though, we had the absolute cliché kind of mean kids at our school.”

Lucas’ face suddenly changes into a sombre expression and you wonder if you went too far by bringing up the past.

“Yeah, elementary school was a nightmare,” he says grimly as he stares off into the distance.

Then he’s turning his head back towards you with a goofy smile and you consider throwing a cushion at him when he breaks into his comically high-pitched, wheezy laughter.

*

It was easier to make friends back in elementary school. But for Lucas, well, it was super easy to the point where it was laughable.

Lucas was always big in everything he did and so with his big heart and even bigger personality, it was nearly close to impossible for anyone not to find him endearing. Not to say that you weren’t friendly; you were just very selective of who you wanted to share your precious recesses and lunchtimes with. Unfortunately, this also meant that you sometimes ignored other children who were interested in playing with you. And Lucas was right; it wasn’t until halfway through the year when you and your friends agreed that he should join your group effective-immediately.

     It just so happened that you were quite the observant student. Although teachers would say that your class participation and grades were average, you were always complimented on your keen observation skills.

“Always looks out for others” was a sentence you often heard throughout your childhood years and it didn’t mean much to you then because that’s what you thought everybody else did. That is, until you were proven wrong by a group of gossipy 10-year-olds.

     A few weeks back, you overheard these boys talking about Lucas and didn’t like what they were saying about him. Afterwards, you found out that these gossipy 10-year-olds turned out to be Lucas’ so-called friends and so, being the one to “always looks out for others”, as your teachers would say, you took matters into your own hands. His family life was, after all, his own personal business. You weren’t just about to let these kids believe that they were better than Lucas and therefore could say mean things about him just because they had two parents and he no longer did.

     It was during English class when one of the notes you passed to your friends slid down to the very end of your row where Lucas sat. “Do you want to play with us at lunch?” The note had read in half-cursive, half-print handwriting. Lucas had turned to look at your group, who were all leaning over their desks and eagerly awaiting his answer, and then back at the note. He gave a quick thumbs up as he mouthed a “hell yeah!” and with that simple exchange, the beautiful friendship between you two had begun.

*

When Lucas’ voice first cracked, you could hardly hold in your laughter. It happened when you were on the way to school. Lucas had offered you oreos when you told him that you only had a banana for breakfast and you scoffed at him before pointing out that oreos were not a staple breakfast food.

“Don’t worry man” became one of Lucas’ favourite things to say and when he said it to you this time around, his voice cracked. You had stopped in your tracks, not believing what you had just heard, and burst into laughter. Lucas had started whining for you to stop but his voice cracked again, and you laughed even harder. He tried crossing his arms to make himself look sterner, but the corners of his lips had already begun quirking upwards and next thing you knew you were both laughing wildly on the footpath.

     During your time in high school, Lucas was considered odd but charming by majority of the school, staff included. Sometimes his ability to be amused or distracted by the smallest things was questionable and it had gained him the nickname ‘One Brain Cell’ from Jungwoo two year-levels ahead. Of course, Lucas had embraced this nickname, like many other things in his life, with bright eyes and an unshakeable grin.

     Voice-cracking aside, Lucas did undergo more obvious physical changes. You fully noticed this over the summer before your last year of high school when he surpassed many other boys in both height and build. You found it odd, but unsurprising, that Lucas had garnered a reputation for himself as a ‘playboy’. The boy did love attention and by now you were well acquainted with his flirtatious behaviour. But when this school year came around, the number of students who observed his every move had surprised even you.

There were rumours that followed you into every class; some of which, left you wondering why people had so much free time. It felt like you were kids again but instead of the kids gossiping about Lucas’ recently divorced parents, these students were spreading rumours that were exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness and convincing themselves that at least SOME part of it was true.

It didn’t occur to you that Lucas didn’t need protecting.

Lucas, being — well, Lucas, just wanted to breeze through high school without worrying about what other people thought he did during his spare time. To you, his patience was admirable; his obliviousness, not so much.

     Jungwoo, who always seemed to witness Lucas’ most eccentric moments, once asked you if Lucas really was a player; if he really did sleep with those college girls and broke the hearts of the younger ones.

Look at him, you said and gestured towards Lucas. Lucas was busy giggling behind a slightly terrified Mark, waiting to scare underclassman, Chenle, from behind a classroom door. He just wants to be loved, you told Jungwoo. Jungwoo rolled his eyes at you but his lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.

Before you knew it, the younger boy let out a high-pitched screech that you swear you could still hear ringing in your ears even now.

     Although you hate to admit it, Lucas tended to be right about a lot of things while you were growing up. So when he told you that you were too nice for your own good, you shoved your books into your locker way harder than necessary.

“Is this about those boys I reported? Because they had it coming.” You scoffed while Lucas’ hand went to the back of his neck.

He rubbed the spot anxiously. “It wasn’t a big deal,” Lucas had said. At this, you gritted your teeth and made a few hand movements that you hoped conveyed some sort of message that said no, it wasn’t right at all. Lucas shrugged as if he had mentally heard your message.

“You’re always looking out for others but sometimes I’m afraid that you’re not looking after yourself,” he added quietly. This gave you pause. Lucas was hardly ever quiet, nor was he the type to openly admit that he was afraid of anything. If he was afraid, he would’ve masked it with humour or even something slightly self-deprecating. This was different and your face softened when you met his slightly worried eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. But when you went home that night, you couldn’t fall asleep as Lucas’ words replayed in your head.

Maybe you were too nice for your own good.

You lifted the blanket over your head and curled into yourself all the while the words “nice”, “gentle” and “kind” morphed into something darker in your mind, something more self-sacrificial. Did it become an obligation for you to be compassionate towards others? Or was it always that way? You felt like a fraud and that everything you had done for other people in the past was to soothe your own twisted ego.

The pain of having these thoughts taking over your mind and your body made you want to cry so badly. At this point, you knew that you needed an explanation or validation of some sort from somebody that you trusted. And you loathed yourself for it.

It took whatever little energy you had left to push the blanket down enough for you to reach out to your phone and message Lucas. None of your friends really had the best sleeping patterns and this was one of those times you were glad that Lucas was awake at this ungodly time.

[2:18AM] dude it’s 2am and i’m having an identity crisis… did you really mean what you said about me being a people-pleaser?

You had messaged Lucas in a private chat where he replied a few minutes later.

[2:18AM] Lucas: uhh ye. u love people and people love u. u have a good heart man. y r u up?

But?

Lucas: But I can look after myself sometimes ya know?

I know… I just really hate it when people are assholes for no reason. Like, why do they have to be like that? And to someone they don’t even know as well.

Lucas: Hahaha. People can be assholes sometimes but life goes on, even after high school.

I know.

Lucas: Do you??

You stared at your phone incredulously. There he was again, implying that you were too worried about the opinions of others.

Hey just because I like to see the good in people doesn’t mean that I am THAT naïve. Like I told you before, those guys deserved what they got. I was saving you a semester of being the main topic of their gossipy asses.

Lucas: Uhh

Okay that came out worse than I expected. I can see that now. I’m sorry. Fuck. What’s wrong with me!?

Lucas: No one’s telling you to let go of your bubbly personality.

I was never bubbly, you take that back.

Lucas: You know what I mean. Anyway, it’s not bad that you believe that there’s still good in the world. It’s just – well it’s just a part of who you are man.

Can I tell you something? It’s going to be really childish and maybe it is naïve of me to still be thinking this way but I think I’m going to type it out anyway because I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t haha.

Lucas: Dude of course. Go ahead.

Okay so I sort of had an epiphany before. First, I thought about all those losers that have made your life harder. Now I know you say that it’s okay and that it doesn’t affect you but I just want you to know that it affects me a lot. And I know that you’re probably sick of me trying to protect you all the time too… I don’t know why I always do it but I feel like I’m just dumping whatever issues I have onto you and that’s definitely not fair. Lucas, honestly, you always seem to look like nothing affects you from the outside. I know it does though. But it just messes me up that I get defensive all the fucking time. I hate how not everyone is kind, that not everyone has other people’s best interests at heart. I hate how the actions between other people affect me so much even though it’s not about me. But then I thought about it for longer and realised that, well, all these thoughts are a part of growing up right? Soon I’ll learn that I can’t help everyone and that not everything is about me. But it’s just so hard sometimes. I hope this make some sense…

It’s hard for you to express your concerns. Lucas knew this, didn’t comment on it then, and only read patiently as you continued to open up.

Your hands were shaking as you were about to type out the next few words for the very first time.

Anyways what I’m trying to say is that I think I need to go to the school counsellor or something because I’m literally about to explode.

You shut your eyes tightly in fear of what response you would get. But when you opened them again, Lucas had sent you a small paragraph of his own.

Lucas: Hey, I feel so stupid for not knowing that you probably felt that way. I’m sorry but you know how spacey I am sometimes. But it’s not your fault. I guess I’m just not used to accepting or even responding to people’s concerns towards me, even when they mean well. But uhh… my therapist is helping me with that. Yeah I have one of those. If you want, I can help you call the place that I go to IF you’re not comfortable with going to the school one? And like you said, you’re always looking out for me and I really do appreciate it but just know that I always have your back too.  

There was a brief silence, tersely broken by Lucas.

Lucas: Uhh, where’d you go? Hello? So this is what happens when I express myself.  

You had to pause and swipe away at your eyes before you could type back.

Wait a second, I’m crying.

Lucas: Oh… :(

Sorry that I suggested that you were a robot with no feelings.

Lucas: Look, I love you and I trust you. I knew that you were going to be there for me back then when I needed someone to talk to but I also knew, and my dad knew, that I also needed professional help. Back then I was even more closed up than I am now.

Back then? How long have you been going?

Lucas: Since we first became friends.

Oh crap. Alright, I need you to knock me out when I start acting like a therapist instead of your friend okay?

Lucas: Don’t worry, you’re not my therapist. My therapist is actually double your age and a lot taller. In fact she’s almost as tall as me and I haven’t told her yet, even though I’m meant to tell her everything, but her tallness makes me feel like I’m losing my individuality because I’m so used to always being the tallest person in the room… like always.

I’m serious, Lucas. I don’t ever want to be your therapist. :(

Lucas: It’s like… without my height… who am I?

It was just like Lucas to make any situation more funnier than it actually was and you tried your best not to grin at your phone with tears streaming down your face.

Shut up I’m serious.

Lucas: So you don’t think I should wear high-heels to assert my dominance?

Lucas.

Lucas: Okay!! HAHAHA. Seriously though, I’m happy that you can trust me more. We’re practically young adults now and we can have these conversations because we’re all in this together man!!

Says the one who eats Oreos for breakfast.

Lucas: And that is my choice as a young adult.

You know you’re actually really smart, Lucas. Like that thing we learned in Psych – emotionally intelligent? Anyway, I’m glad we had this convo.  

Lucas: Thanks boo. Seems like I suddenly have the energy to cram for tomorrow’s test. OMG… is this the power of friendship?

Good luck dumbass. 

 *

     There was this one incident that happened not too long ago that tested Lucas’ seemingly endless amount of energy. Lucas had entered the library hoping to study with you but as soon as you saw his heavy eyebags and slumped shoulders, you told him to go to sleep to which he responded by immediately passing out on the thick textbook in front of him. Luckily, it didn’t disturb anyone else, besides you of course. 

     Nowadays, you keep a close eye on each other. Lucas is still the literal big mouth who clears your fridge and/or pantry every time he comes over to your house but some things are different. Now you’re using your own money instead of the money your parents would give you specifically for grocery shopping, even though you always got just breakfast food and snacks. When you got your part-time job, you started stocking up on actual food but it was hard to find the time to prepare meals in between your schedules. Usually, you didn’t like to skip meals so you usually snacked on something in between your breaks but recently you haven’t found the time to do even that.  

     So now you have evening classes and Lucas has a date with a cute girl he met through Mark. Lucas is eating the rest of your snacks and wondering why you’re rejecting his offer of your food. And when you let it slip that you haven’t eaten anything since 7AM, Lucas’ jaw drops in the most dramatic way that it does and you pray to god he doesn’t yell at you. But he does, in the loudest and most loving way he knows. 

“WHAT IF YOUR BLOOD SUGAR GOES DOWN AND YOU FAINT BECAUSE YOU ONLY HAD HALF A BAO?” Lucas drags his fingers down his face in horror at the prospect of not being able to finish food and more importantly, of you not being able to finish your food. 

You close the door behind you before turning around and fixing him a big smile. Lucas just continues to stare at you in horror and confusion.

“This isn’t something to be happy about man!!”

The fondness in your eyes return and you reach forward to ruffle his hair.

“Oh my god, don’t worry I’ll eat something else on the way to class.” You grin widely before adding in your best impersonation of him: “Don’t worry man”. Lucas sighs exasperatedly but can’t help but grin back at you.

“You better show me video proof or else you’re dead.”

“Jokes on you, I’m already dead inside.”

Now it’s Lucas’ turn to ruffle your hair and instead of feigning irritation, the gesture makes your heart swell up with tenderness; for you loved your big-hearted, big-mouthed, big-stomached friend.

#nctwriters #nct scenarios #nct fics #wong yukhei #lucas scenario #yukhei scenario #nct angst #yukhei #lucas #wayv scenarios #wayv

[thetreecorner]

You Can’t Run From This (Logan Sanders x FTM!Reader)

Request?: Yep!

Requested by who?: @infinityonthot

AU: Human/High School AU

Characters: Logan, Roman, Patton, and Virgil Sanders, FtM!Reader

Warnings: lots and lots of angst, cursing, mentions of a mini panic attack, NOT A HAPPY ENDING, a flashback in which the birth name of the reader is used. Also, kind of unedited?

Words: 2,871

A/N: I listened to “Runaway” by Against the Current while writing this. It doesn't fit the story 100% but it's pretty close. Give it a quick listen!

(Also, fun fact, but my HS did Almost, Maine (which I mention in this story) my Junior year and I played Marci)

---

Logan Sanders was the smartest dumb ass you'd ever met, and he was your best friend. Logan had always been good with numbers, and with science, and with his writing, but when it came to social interactions the boy was a dud. Maybe that was what attracted you to him. You'd always been attracted to the awkward, nerdy type. Logan fit that perfectly.

You'd met Logan back in elementary school along with his twin brothers, Patton, Roman, and Virgil (you'd never meet quadruplets before so your head spun the first time you saw the four of them together in the same room).

Roman had always been too loud for your taste. You enjoyed his enthusiasm to a certain extent, but the boy never ran out of energy. It was as if he siphoned it out of you and into himself, because the tireder you got the more energy he had for himself.

Patton was an absolute sweetheart, so much so that he seemed to give you cavities every time you talked. And as much as you enjoyed his company, the two of you were never close. Patton was stuck to Roman's side like glue. The two would come up with the most imaginative stories. The kind that only had happy endings, which you weren't too fond of. You'd tried to tell them that not every story has a happy ending, but the puppy dog eyes Patton gave you (and the smug one from Roman) stopped you.

Virgil was a mystery for many years. In elementary school he never spoke to anyone except his siblings, and it was always in a quiet, secretive tone. Even after you'd been friends with his brothers for three years he hadn't said more than a handful of words to you (most of those words being “sorry” or “hi”). You didn't have your first real conversation with the introvert until your freshman year, where the two of you had been put into the same PE class. You had to talk him through a mini attack when he realized he'd have to wear shorts and no sleeves in front of the whole class. The two of you got pretty close after that, and more often than not Virgil was stuck to your side as if you were one of his brothers.

But of the four brothers, you had always been the closest to Logan. Patton, Roman, and Virgil always stuck together, but you noticed early on that Logan kept to himself. Instead of getting up to play with the others during recess, he sat up against the wall of the classroom to read or do homework. The books he read intrigues you - The Invisible Man, Murder on the Orient Express, Sherlock Holmes. He almost never read the same book for more than a couple of days.

You had approached him one time during recess and plopped on the ground next to him, leaning on his shoulder to get a look at the book.

“What are you-”

“What's an ‘evil eye’?” You'd cut him of, scanning the page he was on.

“What?” He sounded annoyed, and confused, but you were determined.

“It says right here ‘his evil eye’. What about the man's eye is evil?” You frowned.

“Have you never read Edgar Allan Poe?” You shook your head, pigtails flying. You hated when your mom put your hair up. She never did a simple ponytail, she always insisted on pigtails.

“Mommy won't let me. She says they're not for kids my age. But you're reading it. Is it scary?” You kept your eyes on the page.

“No, (birth name).” His short answers frustrated you.

“Can you read it to me?” You sat back, finally looking him in the eyes.

“What?” He was frowning. You didn't like the way he looked when he frowned. You wished he would just smile for once.

“I'm kind of a slow reader. If I try to read it over your shoulder, I won't be able to keep up. But if you read it out loud I'll be at the same part you're at no matter what.”

“Shouldn't you be playing? Like the other kids?” He'd turned back to his book, but you knew he wasn't reading because you. Could see he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Why? You're not.”

After that day, whenever you got bored of playing with the others, you'd sit with Logan and he would begrudgingly read to you. Your parents were impressed with the way your reading level went from that of a first grader to that of a fifth, but you never told them about the stories Logan read to you, because a lot of them were books your mom told you that you'd have to wait to read until you were older.

Like Frankenstein. You and Logan had constant arguments about who was at fault in the book.

By Sophomore year, the two of you were having reading competitions to see who could finish their book first. More often than not Logan won (though, admittedly, you let him win sometimes).

You enjoyed Logan's company. Even if he had been rather cold when you first met him, Logan had become your most trusted friend. He was the first person you'd told about being transgender, and you were the first person he had told about being gay. You'd assisted him in coming out to his family, and he had comforted you when your mother took the news of your identity as if you'd told her you had stage four cancer.

Your father, on the other hand, had taken you directly to the barber when it was his weekend (your parents divorced when you were young, and your father got the weekends) to get your long hair chopped off. Your mother had been furious.

That was Freshman year, and though she didn't like it, your mother eventually “came to terms”, as she called it, with you being a boy. She tried, albeit not very hard, to remember to call you by (name), though the slip ups she made were frequent.

You couldn't wait to move out to live with your dad.

Or with Logan.

The two of you had discussed moving in together for a while, maybe inviting Virgil to join you. Logan had mapped it all out, and the idea excited you. As much as you loved your father, you wanted the kind of freedom that came from living away from your parents. Not to mention you had a major crush on the nerdy boy, and living with him would bring you happiness you'd never had at home.

From what you could tell, Logan liked you too. Despite his usual distaste for human contact he had no problem with you leaning on him while the two of you read in silence, or when you held his hand when at the mall so you wouldn't get lost in the large crowds. He didn't yell at you when you mused his hair or when you jokingly pinched his cheeks. He would always tell you if you were about to go to far, or if he wasn't in the mood for contact, and you respected that.

It was Junior year the first time someone asked if the two of you were dating. You were having lunch with Patton and his small group of friends because Logan had decided to have lunch with his Science teacher, and Virgil was home sick with the flu. June, a small brunette with big green eyes whom exclusively wore pastel sweaters and ripped blue jeans had been the one to ask.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Logan! You two are adorable together, I was wondering if you were dating.”

“June,” Patton has begun to warn her when you just shook your head, cheeks dusted a light pink as you scooped some leftovers from home into your mouth.

“No,” you told her. “We're not.”

“That's a shame! You two would make, like, the perfect couple.”

“Uh, thanks?”

That wasn't the last time someone asked you.

You'd joined tech crew for the school's production of Almost, Maine, and while you and Chase Kent had been messing with the lights he too asked if you were dating Logan. Apparently he'd seen the way you two looked at each other and “how could you two not be together?”

Another time, it was a girl you barely knew, and then someone you had never even met, but apparently knew Logan from Chess Club. The more people who asked you, the more you realized you wish you could say yes.

There was only a couple problems:

One, even if everyone told you, even if for a while you believed it yourself, you would never be 100% confident that he liked you the way you liked him.

Two, in all the years you'd known him Logan had never once went after someone he was even slightly interested in. At first you thought of it as a blessing, but now it was a curse.

This left you with two options. Tell one of your friends your situation and force them to force you into asking him, or wait a million years to see if Logan would take the first step, both of which you were not keen to try.

Patton had been your biggest supporter in your endeavor to get together with your nerdy best friend. He always encouraged you to “take the leap”.

“I know my brother,” He would say. “And he definitely like-likes you.”

No matter how many times he told you this, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully believe it. You were positive that neither of you were going to make a move.

That was, until that night.

You and Logan had been working over the phone on some math homework you’d been having trouble with, when you had cracked a stupid math-related joke and he drowned in a wave of laughter.

Hearing him laugh caused your heart to swell. At school, hanging out with friends, he was so calm and collected and the most you’d ever get out of him was a small chuckle, a slight smile - but this. This laugh could have brightened up even the darkest of your days.

Then, you felt something you hadn’t felt for a very long time. You felt the pull, the need for him to be yours. A wave of confidence you’d only felt when standing up for your friends against those who threatened them, or when you’d agreed to join the Improv club with Roman.

It was now or never, you told yourself. You’d never be this confident again, not in a million years and a lot of wasted birthday wishes.

“Hey, Logan?” You said, cautious and unsure.

“Yeah?” He’s said as he came off his high.

“You remember that one time, when Patton explained happiness like a puzzle with a million pieces?” You asked him. You remembered it clear as day. You could never get the comparison out of your head.

“I believe so. One of his more poetic moments.”

“You remember how he said that, even if it took someone a long time to find their edge piece, finding it makes life a little more bearable?” You asked.

“Yes, I believe that’s what he said?” Logan sounded confused, and for a moment you were tempted to just say ‘never mind’ and drop the topic.

But not this time.

No.

This time, you took in a deep breath and let your next words spill out.

“Well, I think I found mine.” There was a moment of silence.

“Did you?” He still sounded confused, and panicked wracked your body.

He’s going to reject me.

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god-

“You.” Silence. A long silence.

“Me?” He finally said, and you couldn’t read anything in his voice.

“Yeah. I, uh… I guess I’ve been trying to tell you this for a while, Lo… I really, uh… I really care about you.”

“I care about you to.” He said, but you could hear the uncertainty in his voice. He didn’t understand. Or maybe he did and he wasn’t going to admit it.

“No, Lo… I... “ You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Just drop it, please just drop it-

“I like you, Lo.” More silence.

“Oh.” Was all he was able to muster out.

“Yeah…”

“I have to go.” He said suddenly, and before you could get another work out he hung up.

That night had been one of the hardest in your life. You spent the majority of the next couple hours crying, and texting Logan with no replies. You texted Patton, who said that Logan hadn’t come out of his room. You texted Virgil, who said he wasn’t opening the door. You even texted Roman, who was apparently out and had no clue about the situation at hand.

When you went to school the next day, you didn’t see Logan. You didn’t have any classes together, but you didn’t see him in the halls or at lunch, and all of his brothers said he was at school.

Every text was ignored, his brothers could never get a word out of him concerning you.

You felt broken.

The longer this went on, the further into depression you fell.

One week became two. You stopped texting him.

Two became three. You stopped asking his brothers about him.

Three became four, and you found comfort in Virgil, Patton, and Roman’s company. They would eat lunch with you, and hang out after school. They filled in the hole Logan had left in your heart friend-wise, but still you continued to hurt. Your dad was worried - hell, your mom was worried. But you would tell them nothing was wrong. Lying about how you felt became second nature.

Then, one day after school you found yourself sitting outside, waiting for your dad to pick you up for your weekend fun, when you heard him.

“(Name)?” You tensed up, the sadness and the anger you’d repressed throughout the day returning. You said nothing. “You okay?” He said, his voice quiet. You nodded slowly.

“I’m fine.” You grumbled, an obvious lie. As he sat beside you, you found yourself scooting away.

“How’d your science project go?” He asked casually. You tugged at the drawstring of your hoodie, eyes searching the road frantically for your dad’s car. Why couldn’t he arrive sooner?

“Fine.” You said, hands finally folding in your lap.

“That’s good. You had a brilliant idea. If you got anything less than an A then your teacher is-” You’re so frustrated you can’t stop yourself from cutting him off.

“Stop.” You tell him.

“What?” You scoff at his confusion, and finally lift your gaze to meet his.

“Just stop. What are you trying to do?” You ask him, biting back your anger.

“I was… I was just trying to have a conversation, (Name).” He said, his tone a mixture of confusion and hurt. But you didn’t feel bad - no, nowhere near. You were livid.

“No, Logan. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks - you don’t just ignore your best friend for weeks and then just start up a casual conversation. Especially not after what I told you.” You tell him, grabbing your bag and standing up. You check your phone, and see a text from your dad that tells you he’s only a couple blocks away.

“(Name), I’m sorry.” Logan said, his voice soft.

“That’s not enough.” You snap, shoving your phone in your pocket. “I’m sorry doesn’t fix what you did.”

“Can’t we just drop it?” He sighs, and it’s like he pokes your anger with a stick. You want to scream at him, so that’s what you do, and you can tell it catches him by surprise.

“No! No, Logan, we can’t! This is not something we can just save for a later date! You can’t run from this!” You tell him, and he stands up too, taken aback.

“I’m not running from anything!” He argues.

“You’re running away from me! I like you, Logan! I have for a very long time, and you have no clue what it took for me to tell you!” You take a moment to breath. “You hurt me, Logan.” You tell him, your voice barely above a whisper. You can see your dad’s car pulling up.

“I never meant to.” He tells you meekly.

“Well you did.” You say, moving away from him. He goes to take your hand, but you pull it away. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

“(Name), I-” He starts, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to him.

“My dad is here. I gotta go.” You tell him, your feet rushing you towards the familiar red truck.

“I’ll text you!” He calls out, but you’re already hauling yourself into the passenger's seat.

“Drive.” You tell your dad. He gives you a worried look, and you know he probably sees Logan standing helpless outside.

“Is everything alright?” You shake your head vigorously, holding back your tears as best ad you could.

“Please, just drive.” You say again. There’s a moment before you feel the car begin to move, and you watch as your best friend fades in the rear view mirror.

It was your turn to run.

#Logan Sanders #Logic Sanders #Logan Sanders x Reader #x reader #Logan #Angst #Sanders sides #Logic #reader insert #Male Reader #Transgender Reader #FTM!Reader #youtuber egos #Thomas Sanders Sides #Human AU #High School AU #reese writes #tree writes #my writing #mine #request #TW: misgendering