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onecanonlife · 3 years

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Tommy and Wilbur fell apart a long time ago, and there was never any time to mourn the pieces of what they were.

But here's the most important thing: Tommy doesn't give up on the people he cares about.

(Or: on grieving, graves, a past that refuses to let go, and learning to look forward at long last.)

(word count: 5,619)

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

“You know,” Tommy says, “I never really got to—to mourn you. Not properly, anyway.”

He’s not sure what response he’s expecting from Wilbur. He’s not sure why he’s saying anything at all. He’s not sure why he’s here.

That last one is a lie. He scuffs the ground with his shoe, and then pretends that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t expecting you to mourn me,” Wilbur says, in that stupid, even, condescending tone of his, the one that he uses whenever he thinks Tommy has said something incredibly obvious, when he’s got an idea in his head of how things are and what people mean, regardless of the way it all actually is. “In fact, I rather thought you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He has no patience left. No patience left for the look in Wilbur’s eyes, no patience left for the way he focuses straight ahead, barely sparing him a glance, no patience left for the way he speaks, measured and calculating, every word he says carefully weighed against the end result, curated for intent and impact. No patience, and he had precious little to begin with. “I’m not even—this isn’t about you.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. It makes him look like a prick. “Oh?” he says.

“Because I would’ve,” he continues, doggedly. Now that he’s started saying it, he’s damn fucking well going to finish it. “But, y’know, you blew it all up, so we had to rebuild, and then I got exiled” —His voice doesn’t waver at all— “and then shit just kept on happening, so I never got to decide. How I felt. I never got to think about it.”

Wilbur laughs, then, and it’s the laugh that he hates, because it’s the laugh that’s not genuine. He knows what Wilbur sounds like when he’s happy, and this isn’t it. Hasn’t been it for a long time.

“Not sure there’s much to think about, there,” Wilbur says, and he scowls.

“Shut up, you prick,” he says. “And yes there was. That’s not something you get to choose. What I feel.”

“I’m not trying to—” Wilbur starts, but he shakes his head, going back to talk over him, because no, he’s not doing this. Not today, and not here.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he says. “You always do this. You go, you go mimimimi, I’m Wilbur, and I understand everything about how people think and I’m always right and you are all wrong, and you, I dunno, man. You just. You just don’t. You don’t know. You think you know things, but you don’t. You’re not always right. And I’m—I don’t fucking know why I’m bothering with this right now, but it’s not so you can tell me that I shouldn’t be. Because that’s not something that’s up to you.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?” Wilbur says, and his voice isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind, either.

“I just said I didn’t know—”

“Because if you’re asking me if you should mourn me, you already know what I’m going to say to that,” Wilbur says. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he says, and tacks on a quick, “Not like that,” but Wilbur’s face has already hardened, and yeah, there’s a million better ways he could have put that, but that’s the thing about talking to Wilbur. His brain is never firing on all cylinders, as it were, because it’s too busy trying to figure out if he should associate him with warm summer days and the haze of potions and a strummed guitar or explosions and drifting smoke and blank eyes and the awful realization that what he thought would make everything right didn’t do anything at all, and that nothing would ever be right again.

And before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater stretches out, vines trawling over the edge, leaves sprouting from between the rocks, sunlight catching on the pool at the bottom, the flag fluttering lightly in the wind. Before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater has grown over, time pressing itself into the cracks. Before the both of them, L’Manberg is a crater. It wasn’t always.

“You make everything so fucking difficult,” he says.

“It’s what I live for,” Wilbur says.

“It’s what you died for, too,” he says.

Wilbur pauses.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.” But for once, he doesn’t elaborate, and Tommy glares at him. Only for a moment, because there’s no point in glaring when someone won’t see. Won’t look. Wilbur has his eyes turned to the crater, and Tommy has his eyes turned to Wilbur, and something about that is how it’s always been. The vines have grown over the earth’s old wounds, but Tommy can’t help but feel like they’ve curled around his ankles, holding him to the spot, the moment, and every moment that came before.

I never got to mourn you, he doesn’t say again. I never got to mourn you, and I feel like I should. But you’re here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Wilbur won’t hear him. And if he does, he won’t understand.

-----

He collects bits of the past like buttons, or stamps, or memories.

He has his discs. He’s hesitant to play them, even now. Hesitant to take them out of his enderchest. He has his home, still in the same spot, all this time later. His hill, his hole, his garden, their bench. He sat on that bench and heard Wilbur, once, reaching out from beyond the grave, and Wilbur told him he was proud, and something in him ached in the same way that his scars now do when it rains.

He has some of Friend’s wool. Just that, just wool, because he doesn’t know how to knit, and he doesn’t know who would teach him. He can sew a little, but it was something born of necessity, of the need to patch up uniforms and close the tears over freshly dealt wounds, and he can still feel the needle pricking into his fingers, again and again and again. He never could figure out how to hold it so that it wouldn’t. He bled for L’Manberg in more ways than one.

Deep inside a chest, he has two uniforms. Blue and red and white. One is a size too small. The other is several sizes too large, and always will be.

He still goes to pray, sometimes, though not as often as he did. He got the chance to meet god and found no one there, so it’s a little tricky, these days, being faithful. But he’ll go to Church Prime, because no one else really does, so he’ll have the whole building for himself as he strides up to ring the bell, to ask for guidance and favors, to pay his homage at the feet of a higher power that he cannot believe cares. On the best days, he’s tempted to try to conduct a service. But there’s no point when there’s no one to hear it but himself. Even he can’t bring himself to put on a show for empty pews.

He prays, and nobody answers, and sometimes he can’t help but remember the void, the tearing, ripping nothingness, raking him to shreds again and again, where he was not alone and yet nobody came.

He considers visiting Tubbo. But Tubbo has his own life, and a mansion he hasn’t moved into, and a town that Tommy does not belong to, and an allegiance that Tommy does not share. He considers visiting Ranboo, but that’s either the same as visiting Tubbo, or it’s the same as visiting Techno and Phil, or it’s the same as visiting Wilbur.

So he looks at his discs and doesn’t play them, bunches his hands in wool that he has no use for, and calls out to a god he can only now offer false homage. He holds to the past, and wishes he could believe he has a future. Wishes that he didn’t see obsidian and curtaining lava whenever he closes his eyes.

-----

The first time he hears Wilbur play again, he hides in the forest like a fucking coward.

The guitar is strummed hesitantly, haltingly, interspersed with silence every few seconds, as if Wilbur is struggling to find the old positions, struggling to move his fingers just right. He wonders, then, if limbo took away his calluses. He didn’t think to look. Thirteen odd years without playing a guitar is bound to make anyone rusty. Tommy wonders if Wilbur’s fingers will bleed if he presses down on the strings hard enough, and then he banishes the thought from his mind, because something in him revolts at the idea of Wilbur bleeding. Of Wilbur trying and trying to play until he—

There is something to be said, here, about using yourself up in the pursuit of something greater. There is something to be said, here, about holding matches ‘til they burn down to the skin, about stairs without handrails, about things that are never meant to be and yet claw their way into existence anyhow. There is something to be said about pushing too far, too quick, and flying too high.

Wilbur’s not singing. Is just going from chord to chord. And Tommy hides behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark, because it has been so very long. Wilbur didn’t play in Pogtopia. Wilbur barely played in L’Manberg. The last time he heard the twang of this instrument was sitting by a campfire, plans for a van in the works, the night sky starry and welcoming above them, his chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the flames. And Wilbur smiled at them, smiled at all of them, and his voice was light and sure, his notes soaring.

Wilbur’s not singing. After a moment, he starts humming, softly and meandering, and each turn in the melody hits like a wrench, like he’s dragging the notes out behind them, yanking at the tune whenever it goes somewhere he doesn’t like. It’s a lot of leaps and skips and jumps, a lot of highs to lows and then highs again, and something about it sounds like wailing. There are no words, and there is no happiness.

But he’s playing. He’s playing, and does that count for something? There was no music for such a long time, no music in the darkness and no music even in the light, and now there is music in the grey twilight, and it is not happy music but it is music. Wilbur is playing again, and Tommy’s not going to cry, because what kind of pussy cries about hearing a guitar? So he doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t venture out from this spot, either. He stays there, and listens as Wilbur sends his voice shooting up into falsetto and then back down again.

It’s good that there are no words, maybe. They’d be sad. He can tell.

“That sounds nice,” Ranboo says, all of a sudden, and Tommy jolts at the same time that Wilbur’s hand must jerk, a discordant clash of notes, something that can’t even be called a chord. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” Wilbur says, after a pause. Tommy almost creeps out to see his expression, because he can’t picture it. Can’t tell from his voice what his face is doing. “I was just about done anyway.” There is another pause, and a rustle of clothing. Standing. The crunching of leaves underfoot. It’s nearly autumn again, and already the leaves are changing, falling.

It would be wrong of him to resent Ranboo. He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes him. Rather a lot. Hiding it is probably pointless now, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. But Ranboo is occupying the space that should be his, that once was his. There is a van in a forest, and a guitar song winding its way through the branches and the roots, and everything is different and everything is the same, and the new story is written without him in it. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks it is not this. He thinks it is not to be left behind.

And Ranboo does not know Wilbur well enough to hear the lie in his voice.

They go off together through the trees. Tommy stays. Runs his hand across the tree bark, and tries not to put his emotions into words. Better to let them drift along as is. Better not to give them voice, because whispers turn into shouts all too easily, and there is not enough space here for shouting.

-----

There’s a thing about graves. There’s a thing about graves and who gets one, and who doesn’t.

He didn’t think about it at the time, the fact that Schlatt—Schlatt the tyrant, Schlatt the enemy, Schlatt the man who had Tubbo executed—got a funeral, and a tomb, has one even to this day, and Wilbur got rubble and a room sealed off and untouched. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no burial. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no gravestone to deface or to ornament with flowers or to kick or to scream at or to kneel beside and speak to or to cry or to do any or all of those things. He didn’t think about it at the time, because there was rebuilding, and then there was a house on fire, and then he doesn’t like to think about it.

And there was Ghostbur.

Wilbur hates Ghostbur. It makes him angry, the way that Wilbur hates Ghostbur. Ghostbur was good, and Ghostbur was kind, and Ghostbur tried his best, and Ghostbur did not deserve to die in the way that he did, terrified, with no one there by his side, with only shouted numbers to soothe his terror, and Ghostbur does not deserve to be stuck in a train station for all of eternity. So he makes Ghostbur a memorial, because it’s all he can do, and the first time he’s next to it at the same time as Wilbur, he meets his eyes squarely. A challenge. A dare. And Wilbur looks right back at him, and then to the gravestone, and his lips curl into a sneer.

And he says nothing at all.

He says nothing at all for a long time. Until he does, and it’s all made so much worse.

“Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” Wilbur asks, and it’s all very even and nonchalant, so much so that it might have him fooled if he didn’t know better, hadn’t heard time and time again exactly what Wilbur thinks of the ghost he left behind him.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he demands.

“An honest one,” Wilbur answers.

“Right,” he says. “Because you don’t lie anymore, or whatever the fuck.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur agrees, and that is a lie. Tommy would be insulted if he weren’t so tired of it. “Really, I’d like an answer.”

“What does it matter?” he snaps. “He’s not here anymore. He’s not here anymore, and you are. No changing that. I’m fucking stuck with you. You’re like, you’re like a leech, you know that? A leech in my brain.”

Wilbur smiles tightly.

“I’d rather be a leech in your brain than dust in the ground,” he says. “Like he is.”

“Shut up,” he grits out. “Don’t—just don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Alright, then,” Wilbur says. “I won’t. If it upsets you that much.”

And he doesn’t. And the grave stays.

And it is not until later that he thinks about the thing about graves again, about who gets one and who does not. There is no grave with Wilbur’s name on it. There was no soil to lay him to rest, only cold, hard stone, a room undisturbed, a monument to destruction. And had there been time, he would have thought about it more. Would have taken it upon himself, perhaps, because the thing is, in the end, that maybe Wilbur deserved better than to be remembered as the man who destroyed his nation. Deserved better than to be remembered solely by the ravine’s dark corridors and the smoke that clung to him like foreshadowing and the way his eyes looked dead, dead, dead for a long time before Tommy watched Phil plunge the sword into his chest.

Because he was not only that. It hurts to think about, how he was not only that. But sometimes, things that hurt to think about ought to be thought about. Because Wilbur was shattered edges that Tommy knows only now that he could not fix, because Wilbur did not want fixing, but Wilbur was also laughter and a gentle hand on his shoulder and the words “I’m proud of you” that lit him up like sunlight, and he was kind and he was kind of a dick and he was brilliant and Prime, maybe Tommy should have known. Should have known that there was going to be a fall. But he looked up to Wilbur like a child to a shooting star, and it’s a long time before children understand that shooting stars aren’t stars at all, and that the wonder of them comes from self-destruction.

But before Wilbur fell, he shone. A beacon in the dark. Hope, freedom. And before he was those things, too, he was Tommy’s brother. Just that, and nothing more, because more was not needed.

And he received no grave.

It’s a question of time again, and a question of mourning, and a question of how he was ever supposed to grieve when there was no time for it at all, and when a ghost shadowed his every footstep and dripped blue from cold fingers and insisted that nothing was ever wrong. But for the first time, he wonders how Wilbur thinks about it. Graves, and ghosts. And who gets a grave, and who does not.

Who is mourned, and who is not.

Who is given up on, and who is not.

The question echoes once again: “Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” And this time, Tommy hears no taunt in it, no mocking, no cruel joke about the ghost who deserved so much better. Only bitterness, and exhaustion, and resignation. Like Wilbur already knew what answer he would be granted.

That’s a realization of some sort, that Wilbur believes he prefers him dead. It’s a realization of some sort, but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s ghosts and there’s graves, and there’s the living and there’s the dead, and both are left waiting for relief that never comes. It’s thirteen years in a train station and it’s months without knowing what to think, without having space to breathe, without being able to process that his brother was unwell and then that his brother was gone. It’s too much time and too little, too much distance and too little, and Ghostbur did not deserve what he got, but neither, he thinks, did Wilbur.

That thought feels right. And wrong all at once. Bitter, heart-wrenching. That Wilbur deserved better. They all did, that he knows—but Wilbur did too. And that thought is muddled up in all the rest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but it’s there. If there’s anything to be done with it at all.

-----

Here is a fact: he kept Dream alive for Wilbur’s sake.

Here is another fact: he doesn’t know if he regrets it.

Because here is the thing: he remembers that day, remembers the pain and the fear and the devastation, and he remembers the moment it all turned around, cowering behind Sapnap and behind Eret until the time came to step forward, to take the axe in hand and deliver the blow, to deliver himself to safety, finally, finally. And he remembers the words bitten out from Dream’s mouth, panicked, desperate, and he remembers what he said. He will never forget.

And the decision, in that moment, was far easier than it had any right to be.

It became harder, later. Because he made the decision thinking, in large part, of the person that Wilbur used to be. Of a quick, charming tongue and flashes of smiles and music and song and leadership and knowing what to do, always, and Prime above but Tommy missed that person. And so maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he thought, in that dark room, with the portal swirling behind him and the entire server at his back, that he could get that person again. That Wilbur would return, and that it could all go back to the way it used to be. Discs spinning in the sunrise, the server at peace, his brother with him.

But death put those thoughts to rest.

Because death proved to him that Wilbur had only gotten worse. Because in death, Wilbur was happy he was there, did nothing but talk to him and make him play competitive solitaire as he was torn apart atom by atom. Because Wilbur—he became so very certain that Wilbur, if released, would bring nothing but harm to the server again, would tear everything down, because there was something in his voice, in his eyes—

But that was then. And now, Dream still lives in prison, rots but lives, and Wilbur has a burger van in a forest with a friend and spends most of his days lounging about or making eyes at Quackity or talking up a storm but doing jack shit, and Tommy doesn’t know what to make of it, and doesn’t know how to admit that maybe his idea of what Wilbur would be like and what Wilbur would do wasn’t entirely accurate.

And he still doesn’t know if it was worth it. Worth the constant fear, worth knowing that one day, Dream will be out, will come to him, will try to finish what he started. He tried to prevent it and only made it worse, only led Ghostbur to his doom by his innocent, trusting hand, and Dream resurrected—

A monster, he would have said, once. He no longer knows if that is fair.

Because here is another fact, one that he is only now beginning to understand: Wilbur is very, painfully human. He’s always known, and yet he hasn’t, because once, he thought Wilbur hung the stars and the moon and all things bright and glowing and good, and he thought that Wilbur could never be so human as to be fallible, and then it turned out that he was wrong. And it was easy, in the aftermath of that, to figure that Wilbur was perhaps some kind of monster instead, and everyone around him said as much.

But that, he thinks, goes too far in the other direction.

His hopes will never be realized. He will never have the old Wilbur back. He clings to a past that clings to him right back, that has him in a chokehold and will not let go, but Wilbur is something else entirely. The rest of the past does not live and breathe, is contained in his overflowing chests, in uniforms that don’t fit him, in the church’s empty hall. The rest of the past is made of things he can hold, but he has never been able to hold Wilbur. Not then, and not now. And there is no hope of making of them what they once were.

There is no going back.

So was it worth it, then? To keep Dream alive, and to receive this, this man who varies between manic energy and calculated calm, who speaks with a whip in his tone at some times and unbearable softness at others, who proclaims Dream his hero and then claims he would have killed him, if he could, for what he did? Was it worth it, and is it worth it, and how is something like that measured at all?

Wilbur is a tightness in his chest when he speaks and a ghost that won’t leave and a ghost that died and a thousand words like a thousand stinging hornets and no picture that could encompass all of them, all of what they are and were. Wilbur is Wilbur, and Wilbur is not safe, not anymore, and perhaps Wilbur is not even good—but there, that, that is wrong, and he won’t make this mistake twice. Wilbur is good, it’s just that he’s forgotten that, and Tommy is so, so very tired of having to be the one to try and remind him. And Wilbur is empty space and Wilbur is a space too full and overflowing around the fractured edges, and Wilbur is too bright and too loud and too quiet and too little and too much, and even now, even still, Tommy does not know where they stand.

Was it worth it, to have this?

He doesn’t know. But sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if Wilbur were still dead, if Wilbur were never, ever coming back in any shape, in any form, and his throat closes up and his eyes sting, no matter how much he has laid out his hatred for the man, his regret at going into the prison that day. He tries to imagine a world without Wilbur in it, in which he has given up on Wilbur, and even now he doesn’t like it, even though maybe he should, and that is, perhaps, answer enough.

-----

“Why do you keep coming here?” Wilbur asks him.

“I dunno,” he says, instead of a hundred other things. “Why don’t you ever fucking leave?”

Wilbur just looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. Tommy thinks he can guess why; he so rarely slept during their exile, but Tommy is thinking about limbo, and train stations, and how whenever he closes his eyes, part of him is convinced that his heart has stopped beating. He wonders if Wilbur, for all his sunrise-obsession and constant movement and moments of utter wonderment at the world around him and the way he doesn’t move whenever a creeper approaches him, feels the same way.

“There was a reason I asked Ranboo to do this with me instead of you,” Wilbur says, suddenly, apropos of nothing. Tommy feels himself still. “I mean—actually, I asked Phil, and Phil was all, oh, Wil, go and make friends, and I was like fuck you I’m not twelve years old anymore but Ranboo’s pretty great so it worked out. But I—I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t get it. Why you choose to keep coming ‘round here anyway.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s not to get?”

Wilbur shoots him a look, eyebrows going up and mouth slanting all sympathetic-like.

“Tommy,” he says, slowly, as if talking to the child that Tommy has not been in a long, long time, “I’m not what you want.”

Several answers form in his head, and then dissipate just as quickly before he’s able to reply. “‘S that right?” he says, and something boils within him, hot and snapping and popping.

“I can see it when you look at me, man,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t even sound upset. “You’re—and I mean, I don’t blame you for it. I was awful to you, Tommy. I don’t deserve anything less than your scorn. But you and everyone else, you’re all waiting for what I’m going to do next. You’re all waiting with bated breath. Scared of the next disaster I’m going to cause. So you don’t—you don’t have to be here, Tommy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

There are so many things he could say. Your disasters always cause the most damage to yourself, is one of them, and then there’s a simple, you think I don’t know that? Because how many times has he told himself that same thing? That he doesn’t need to be here? That it would be better for him if he wasn’t? And some part of him must listen, because he’s not actually here all that much. He has other things to do. A life outside of this, outside of this forest on the edge of a fake desert and a van that makes pretty shitty burgers and one Wilbur Soot, like a portrait from the past and yet nothing like that at all, because portraits are shadows, still images, permanent and unchanging, with mo mutable future, and Wilbur Soot is none of those things.

He has a life. He has Tubbo, still, even if it’s all changed. He has others. He’s not alone.

Wilbur’s right that he doesn’t have to be here.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he says. “Stop trying to make my decisions for me.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says. “You always are. It’s my fucking choice whether I want to be here or not. And I’m making that choice. Not you. Me. And sure, maybe one day you’ll manage to get rid of me for good, but you’re gonna have to fucking work at it, and I don’t see you trying.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here, Tommy,” Wilbur returns, and the words seem to fall so effortlessly, like easy acceptance, and why, why is it this of all things that Wilbur seems to take in stride? Why is it this and not a thousand other things? Why is it this and not the fact that despite it all, despite every warning sign and every indication that maybe it might be better for him to give up after all, Tommy is still here?

“I didn’t want you gone, either,” he snaps, and Wilbur falls completely silent. So he continues, because who knows when he’ll have a chance to say this again? That’s the thing about chances; they’re difficult to count, impossible to anticipate, and he bollocksed up the first one he got, to try to break through. “I never wanted you gone in the first place. So maybe I don’t—maybe I don’t fucking know what I want. Because I never got to just live with that. There was never a chance to—there wasn’t even a fucking grave for me to visit. I never got to figure anything out, and now you’re back and nothing’s the fucking same, so maybe I don’t know what I fucking want. Maybe I don’t fucking know if I want you here, but I didn’t want you gone. I didn’t want you to be dead. And then you were. You just were, and I couldn’t—did you expect me to be alright with that?”

It’s a question of mourning, and a question of graves, and a question of chances and who deserves them. And Wilbur just looks confused.

Fuck him.

There’s so much more to say, and he can’t say any of it at all, and the past chokes him like a knot of vines or a clump of flowers in his throat, but he’s still breathing. He’s still breathing, breathes again, whatever, and Wilbur is the same. They’re the same in a lot of ways, maybe. On the other side of the final death, trying to hold onto and release the years gone by all at once. Moving forward, but stuck in quicksand, and they’re never going to get out if they don’t let each other.

“You’re my brother,” he says, and that’s all. As if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Fucking ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says.

“You’d better be,” he says.

And impossibly, the vines uncurl, and the flowers come floating up, and when he takes a step forward, it comes easily.

There is a van in this forest, and it is not the same van. Some distance away, there is a crater in the ground, and nature has draped itself over the ruins of the lives they once had, and the flag still flaps at the bottom, and they are never, ever going to be able to rebuild what they lost. The crater will always be a crater, a scar in the earth. Healing, healed, grown over and stitched shut, but still a scar.

And there is a man standing in front of him who is not the same man that he knew. Not the same man that he claimed for his family, and who claimed him in return.

But he is not the same, either. Perhaps nobody and nothing is. The past clings, and he clings tighter, but perhaps he needs to loosen his grip, because despite everything, there is a future out there, somewhere past the next sunrise. They are going to get older. They are going to live. So he has his discs and his uniforms and his wool and his prayer, and he has this, too, because it is his choice. To take a step forward, and wait to be met in the middle. To dare to turn ahead, to believe that there is something awaiting him. The both of them.

And he thinks he might finally be able to let himself grieve. Grieve, and let go. Grieve the dead, and what they had, and what they might have, and grieve for the fact that there was no grieving, no grave.

And then, let himself hope that they will have better after all.

-----

The next time he hears Wilbur play, he steps out from behind the tree.

And maybe the song is a little less sad.

And maybe nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

And maybe it will be alright.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #crimebois #/rp #dsmp fic #cat writes fic #long post #sometimes you just. you just gotta write some c!crimebois y'know?

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superhero--imagines · 3 years

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Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here!

A/N: not superhero themed. I just read midnight sun and had this idea and I don’t feel like making another blog so.... hope you like twilight lol

There will be a part two, and just a reminder, I’m still looking for beta readers so DM if you’re interested!

* It probably starts with you reading midnight sun, you remember reading the books/watching the movies when you were younger.

* Man, you really forgot how bad this book was. The writing itself is good, but the plot...

* It’s like everything revolves around Bella, everything is created for her.

* You almost feel bad for the other characters

* Well, whatever, you’ll finish the rest of the book tomorrow and never think about that awful franchise again.

* When you wake up you feel an ache in your head. But you didn’t drink last night, maybe you’re dehydrated

* You shift, noting the smooth silk of the covers. Now you’re alarmed.

* You don’t have silk sheets

* You see a mirror in the corner of the room, and rush over

* The face that looks back at you is different then yours

* It’s the same in some ways, but different all the same

* The curve of your nose is slightly off, your lips are thinner, eyes a little closer together.

* The memories begin to flood in, in this world you were on a graduation trip with your parents, you got an all inclusive package. Three days of sightseeing in Volterra.

* You got sick on the last day, when you were signed for a tour of the castle, your parents went without you

* That was the last you saw of them

* You dumbly followed, asking question where you shouldn’t. And ended up at the volturi’s door

* Aro had grasped your hand to see how much you knew, only too see nothing. Likewise Jane’s powers did not work as well

* They were astounded by this, it appears this was several years before Bella was introduced to the story

* And so, you became a prisoner of the tower

* Your soul must have been in this body for quite some time, but you’ve only remembered now, that’s the only explanation for why their powers didn’t work on you. Your consciousness is not of this world.

* There’s a short knock on your door

* “Are you decent?”

* You call back and Alec pops his head in.

* “Ready to go to the library?”

* He looks so kind. The boyish grin that stretched across his face as you shook your head.

* It was in direct contrast to the sadistic personality you had become accustomed to in the books

* “I need a few more minutes”

* You half expect him to lash out at you for being slow. By he only nods, closing the door and waiting outside for you to finish.

* He was you friend. You realized

* He IS your friend

* You think back as you turn on the faucet. He didn’t like you at first, being assigned to guard a human was insulting

* But he started to warm up to you once he heard you play the piano

* This body was quite used to the ivory keys. And so you charmed him as best you could, half for your survival, because the happier you kept him the less likely he was to kill you.

* And half because- you were so lonely, the Loneliness echoed in this body like an ache. Suddenly an orphan, in a continent where you knew no one. All you had was this boy.

* How long have you been here? You kept a talley at one point, but abandoned it after the thirtieth day. What was the point? You would either die or become one of them

* A shiver erupts through at the thought, in your past life you were a vegetarian, you didn’t relish in the idea of killing something alive and moving.

* You pull on a sweatshirt, ripping of the chanel tag. They bought you the nicest things money could buy, the most lavish food you could have.

* They did the same thing with the tourists they lured, keeping them happy and well fed, the same way the cows that became wagyu beef might be cared for. That way when it came time to slaughter, the meal was that much more delicious.

* You suspected this was similar, that should you be an unnecessary addition, you would make a meal suitable for their palette

* Alec basically talks your ear off the entire way to the Volturi library, mostly about literature

* “What are your thoughts on Anna Kerenina?”

* “That the patriarchy needs to be burned to the ground.”

* “That is.... valid”

* He even talks when you’re at the library, much to the annoyance of a few of the other patrons

* “Which book are you looking for now?”

* You stop mid motion on the ladder and turn to look at him. His ruby eyes glowing, he looks bloated. Like he’s fed too much.

* “Alec, why are we friends?”

* You really should keep your mouth shut. Alec was the only real ally you had, you shouldn’t say anything that might put him off

* And yet, it unnerved you, because the Alec in front of you was a very different character then the one you had come to see.

* He looks at you like you hung the moon,

* “Because you’re the most interesting human in the world”

* You burst out laughing, earning several glares.

* “I-I’m sorry Alec, but I’m not, I’m just the most interesting human you KNOW, there’s way more people who are more interesting than me.”

* You expect to see him offended, and he does, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes

* “I’m not so sure about that”

* The days creep by, reading books, eating snacks, it’s nice

* You learn, that Alec hasn’t talked to a human in a very long time. Outside of the screams he heard after devouring one.

* He hasn’t been outside the castle walls in many years, possibly a century.

* “What’s the best part of the human world?” He asked you once

* It’s the 90’s, so smartphones haven’t been invented yet.

* “One tree hill and friends”

* “Well you have a friend right here”

* “No friends the show”

* “The what?”

* And that’s how you got Alec hooked onto cable television

* Who knew the cure to vampire- sadism was a healthy dose of Jennifer Aniston fumbling about on screen

* “Is this what life is like?”

* You shrug, it was what college had been like for you in your past life.

* “It’s kinda what schools like, but i never got to be on my own”

* This body was only 18 after all.

* Alec doesn’t say anything, but his expression falters

* Alec’s only now starting to understand the life you will be denied once Aro decides when to turn you

* Jane joins later

* One day when you and Alec are lazing around the library when she appears, she says nothing, just sits down next to Alec and reads a book

* You’re sure they hear the uneven thumping of your heart as you turn back to your book. Her power doesn’t work on you, you remind yourself

* Not that she even needs it, she could snap you apart like a Kit Kat bar

* And if it came down to it, you’re sure Alec would let her, he might like you but his loyalty’s always remained with his sister

* “So... you watch human television together?” Her bright red eyes flickered from Alec to you.

* You nodded, never sure what exactly it was that would set Jane off

* You had seen enough in the books to know her moods were compatible at best.

* “I would...like to join” she awkwardly looking away, and you were sure if she could, she would be blushing.

* Honestly it’s kind of cute.

* “Sure, the more the merrier”

* And that’s how you basically adopted the sadist twins

* It’s a little harder to get Jane to open up, but once you make a comment about how Phoebe was the best character in friends, she starts to open up

* “Humans are cruel, even when they’re kind it’s only because they want something from you.”

* “Is that what you think about me? That I’m only nice to you because I want something?” she meets your eyes for a few minutes before turning away

* “I’m not sure”

* You understand very gradually why they’re so twisted

* They’d been treated terribly during their human life, in every kind act lingered a dark shadow, in even minor misunderstanding the image of a monster

* Their centuries in the Volturi didn’t help. Under Aro’s ruthless tutelage, and Caius’s sadistic tendencies, They had no one they could trust but each other.

* They were only surviving just as you were

* “Sometimes I wonder how much of my loyalty is real, and how much of it is Chelsea.” She whispers one day, so quietly you barley hear it

* You rest your hand on hers, it’s the only comfort you could think to offer

* When Jane grasps your hand in hers, she breaks every bone in your hand

* She doesn’t understand the pained screams or your mangled hand fit a second, and then she realizes what she did

* Alarmed she carries you halfway around the castle screeching for someone to help

* You pass out from the pain, when you come to you’re in your bed, a very cold hand holding your own

* “How are you feeling?” You don’t recognize this vampire, but you don’t really know anyone outside of Alec and Jane.

* You feel light headed, a warm feeling washing over you, you must be on some strong drugs

* “My body’s still grieving, but my mind is sharp.”

* It’s incoherent at best, but there’s truth to it, your body is still grieving for your parents and the life you’ve lost, but your otherworldly mind is ten steps ahead, cross referencing every action.

* The man offers a short chuckle

* “You really did a number on your hand. I’ve done what I can but...”

* You look down to your hand, half surprised by the bright yellow cast encasing it

* You had figured you would wake up to be a vampire, it just made sense, these were unfamiliar human aches to them after all and vampirism was a simple and effective cure

* They must want something from you, if they’re keeping you human

* You suspect it’s something along the lines of how they waited until Jane and Alec were burning at the stake to save them, so their power would be that much more potent

* Maybe they’re doing the opposite with you, trying to make you as happy as possible to see what effect it has on your ability

* It’s too bad you don’t have one

* “Thank you for your hard work.” You mumble, being human for a little bit longer is well worth the pain.

* “How did you break your hand?”

* “I held Janes’ hand”

* Your doctor let’s out a short laugh

* “That sounds about right”

* You smile, it does sound right, of course you would break your hand that way

* The conversation flows naturally after that, you talk about all sorts of things

* “You think vampires have souls?” He quirks an eyebrow

* “I’m of the opinion that a soul is something you create through hardship and struggle, being able to live longer means that you have more opportunities to have the experiences that result in a soul”

* “That’s an intriguing notion, I wish I had brought my son with me.”

* You’re about to ask about his son, when you’re interrupted by the door swimming open

* “I heard you were awake, are you alright?” Alec rushes in, his eyes frantic

* “Yeah these drugs are top notch” you press the button that releases the pain killers and let out a giggle

* “Is that alright? Humans are awfully sensitive.” Jane pipes up from behind Alec, you hadn’t noticed her in your haze.

* Your doctor chuckles

* “I’m aware,” he’s smiling but it’s strained

* “What’s wrong?” You ask, he was so calm until a second ago, he doesn’t answer you

* “I’ll give you three a moment.”

* You only register he’s gone when you hear the door close

* The twins rush over to you, Jane is kneeled by your side, while Alec hovers over you

* “I-I’m sorry I hurt you, I forgot-I didn’t remember.” You we’re sure Jane would be crying if she could

* “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” You raise your cast encased hand and give her a gentle pat on the head. “From now on, physical signs of affection will just be one sided.” You joke, which makes Jane grin

* “I’ll practice with some animals before I try touching you again”

* The three of you chat for a bit, they’re both surprised by your cast and ask several questions about its “primary function”

* “I didn’t know there was a doctor here” you murmur, feeling drowsy

* “Carlisle’s not with the Volturi, he’s from another coven in the new world.”

* Your drowsiness flies away in a second

* “That was Carlisle?”

* Jane looks somewhat confused but nods.

* A flutter of hope erupts in your chest, it’s so strong even your grief stricken body feels it

* You might have a chance. It’s slim, Carlisle has a family he loves and needs to protect. But still, they were strangers once too. No different than you.

* It’s a way out of here

* The next few days follow in a drugged haze, Alec and Jane visit every so often, and Carlisle engages you in occasional conversation while checking progress on your hand

* “Why are your eyes gold?” You know, but well, you need him to believe the lie

* “It’s a bit of a long story” he says with a wary smile.

* “I’m not going anywhere”

* He sighs, a genuine smile encompassing his face as he recounts the tale.

* Even though you’ve already heard it all before, it still makes you cry

* Even in the haze, you know something’s.... off

* There’s something about the way Alec won’t meet your eyes when he talks to you, and the uneasy weight that lingers in the air whenever someone else is in the room

* On the third day, it’s Aro who visits you, Alec and Carlisle in tow behind him.

* “Oh my, all that internal bleeding, how awful”

* Even you can feel the insincerity, but it’s the first you heard about internal bleeding

* So that explains it, the drugs and the aches all along your body, it wasn’t just your hand, you were dying

* “Don’t worry, we’ll save you” Aro’s smile is cruel “won’t we Alec?”

* Alec looks afraid, almost pained, but he nods

* Ah, so this was punishment for Alec too. Until that moment, when Jane broke your hand, Aro must have been ignorant to how close the three of you had gotten.

* You close your eyes, you knew this would happen eventually. There were only two ending to this story, and it seemed one had finally been picked

* You feel a pinch on your neck, right above your collar bone, no worse than a flue shot.

* You wait for the pain, the vivid screams you remember from the books and movies, but it never comes.

* Instead it’s just a warm numbness that spreads across your neck and left shoulder.

* “It doesn’t hurt” you murmur, you feel a cold hand rest against your forehead, Alex’s hand.

* It’s so gentle, he must have practiced on some animals first, you think.

* “No the pain comes later.”

* And so you drift into inky black unconsciousness, the last sleep of your human life in this world.

* You dream that you’re sitting at the bottom of a tree, a fig tree, like the one Sylvia Plath wrote about

* Each fig a different path, half of them have already fallen off, dark, as they rot at your feet

* “How do you do it?”

* You look to your side and find the person who’s face you see in the mirror, they’re hugging their knees to their chest, dark circles under their eyes

* “How do I do what?” You ask, they bite their lip

* “How can you be so strong when you’ve just lost everything?”

* You see their eyes brim with tears, and you look away, to the tree that looks over you both

* “I don’t know” It’s the truth, you have an unfair advantage in this world, because you know all the secrets each person carries, while yours remain shrouded in darkness. And yet... it’s not why you persevere

* “All I do know, is that I want to give them hell”

* Your counterpart grins at that, and to your surprise, you feel a smile stretch out across your face

* Yeah, it’s not about power, you just want raise some hell in this backwards misogynistic world.

* “I guess that’s the one you’re picking then huh?” Your counterpart points to a fig, it’s on the tallest branch of the tree, so far out of reach it almost seems unobtainable

* But you only nod

* “Yeah, I think that’s the way I’m going to go”

* They look at you and smile.

* “If you ever get the chance, I hope you punch that jerk Aro right in the face”

* You laugh.

* When you finally awake, you’re still laughing. A smile etched onto your face.

* Everyone’s there, all looking at you with concerned glances.

* Yeah, you’re going to have a lot of fun in this world.

#twilight #twilight saga #twilight imagine #twilight headcanon #Volturi headcanon #Alec imagine #edward cullen imagine #carlisle cullen #superhero--imagines

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lavandermin · 3 years

Text

if all stars fell at once (2) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 2.5k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | eventual smut

The moon was high behind the peaks of mountains; a deep navy sky clear in display of its many twinkling stars. Though the land was asleep, the crickets softly hummed their conversation and a few fireflies speckled the dark.

Perhaps it’s your high spirits at the change of routine and tender moment under falling stars, but the scenery around you has never looked more magical.

“If you continue to stare up at the sky while you walk, you’ll lose your footing and fall.”

You turned around at Xiao’s comment, face still alight with a grin you were sure made you look like a giddy child. The faint smile on his lips gave away his amusement.

“And if I do, will you be there to catch me?”

“Anywhere, anytime,” Xiao reassured, arms crossed over his chest.

Though it was a rhetorical question, the power his aura exuded as an adeptus solidified his words as not only a confirmation, but a promise.

Approaching the steps that lead further up the village to where your house was tucked away, you paused. Noticing this, Xiao looked up at you and was met with your outstretched hand— patient and waiting. His lips slightly parted in brief confusion, and the innocence his eyes held reminded you of a kitten curiously approaching something new.

Endearment. It pulled your heartstrings in the honeyed melody that had you in its audience.

There was brief hesitation. His gloved hand slowly settled into yours and he quietly allowed you to lead him up the stone steps of the winding hills. The warmth rose high on his cheeks, unnoticed by you as you led the way in your sleep-driven haze.

The exhaustion of the day seeped into your bones as you hobbled tiredly over to the familiar front door. Xiao watched attentively as you sluggishly fumbled around for a vase to hold your glaze lilies while getting ready for bed. Mortals were undeniably limited in their energy— always dependent on slumber and moments of rest to replenish and recharge their energy. However bothersome it seemed to Xiao before, seemed to have a change of heart upon seeing your switch in demeanor. It was… cute, and such thoughts filled him with the overwhelming need to just— hold you safely in his arms.

Gods… he was so touch starved and didn’t even know it. Such strange urges only served to further vex & confuse him.

Kneeling by your bedside, he pushed some hair out of your face. You were comfortably under a sea of blankets, the warmth of them quickly promising to have your wish come true. Through heavy lids, you gave him a goofy grin; mind aloof with lulls of sleep.

“Thank you for watching the stars with me.”

There you go again. Thanking him for such trivial and insignificant things. It flustered him. No— it made the fearsome Conqueror of Demons bashful.

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Xiao uttered softly, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair. You only hummed and relaxed into his touch in response, too tired to chide him.

“Did you mean it?” you groggily muttered from under your covers. “Wanting to get to know me more.”

Xiao nodded. “Rest now. We can talk later.”

The yaksha froze in his advances to leave, feeling the faintest tug on his sleeve.

“Stay… please, Xiao,” you begged weakly. “Just until I fall asleep.”

There was an uncharacteristic mix of fear and defeat in those words alone. It made his chest twinge with hurt. The wish you made earlier… Was sleep truly that difficult for you? He wondered what would impede your nights with restlessness. With a defeated sigh, the yaksha settled back next to you.

“Thank y–“ Xiao cut you off with a breathy chuckle, placing his hand over your eyes.

“Just sleep. I’ll stay.”

Not even two minutes had passed, yet you were already fast asleep. So, you were only keeping awake out of stubbornness… Somehow it no longer surprised him. Xiao watched as your breathing became steadier, face relaxed into your tranquil state of sleep.

Though the promise was only to stay until you were fast asleep, Xiao found himself unable to leave— unwilling to leave. To wish for enough sleep… it only left him wondering what the issue there was.

Perhaps a year ago he would have scoffed at the idea of trying to solve a human’s sleeping problem. My, how you've gotten him wrapped around your finger. Still, he sat in the dark room washed over by pale moonlight and stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. Were you a light sleeper? Or perhaps it was insomnia, though it would contradict how fast you fell asleep. The only other possibility he could consider was an external force that came to make a ruckus at night.

Part of him was fighting to just leave. It was none of his business to be a sleep therapist.

I wish to get to know you better.

The wish he made— though he didn’t believe in mortals’ naive, wishful thinking, he truly did want to know you better. That single want was the thread that bound him to his current disposition.

Before he knew it, he had already stayed an hour. Muffled whimpering pulled him out of his thoughts as he glanced back over to you. There was a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead as you shifted around. Your brows were furrowed in discomfort and face in a frown that shifted from fear to stress.

Ah. Nightmares.

Somehow the thought had escaped him, and now he was reminded of the unpredictability of mortal dreams.

Dream eater. That’s what he once was. The memories of his past, the dreams he painfully consumed, were enough to raise bile in his throat in a suffocating feeling. He wasn’t sure how to help you. Comforting others was never his strong suit and the thought of eating your dream… It made his hand tremble. In anticipation or fear, he couldn’t say.

The hesitation was clear, seeping into his movements as his hand slowly drew closer over your head.

“It’s… okay,” he quietly reassured, awkwardly patting your head in what he attempted to be a comforting motion. “I’m right here.”

Slowly, your face eased into a more relaxed state. Your breathing returned to a steady rhythm as you settled back into a restful sleep. Perhaps the nightmare had already subsided for the time being.

Xiao hadn’t realized until now how his shoulders stiffened with lingering worry, nor how he had held his breath to see your expression change. He scoffed inwardly at himself, rising from the bed and descending back into the night to continue his eternal back-and-forth with the karmic debt that hung over his shoulders.

“I’ve long gone past the point of no return.”

——

“Emissary Ganyu, what a pleasant surprise running into you today.” You warmly greeted the busy-bee secretary of Yuehai Pavilion. Her entrance to Bubu Pharmacy was graceful, and she warmly reciprocated the greeting.

Slight embarrassment dusted her cheeks as she privately added, “P-Please, the formality is a little… You don’t have to use the titles. I’m content with just being Ganyu when we meet.” She waved a hand dismissively at herself. “But I digress, what brings you here today?”

With a tired sigh and halfhearted smile, you gestured toward the box of medicine herbalist Gui was packing for you. “Nothing severe. I just ran out of medicine for headaches and remedies for stress.”

Ganyu’s expression softened with knowing concern. “Has sleep become an issue once again?”

You nodded, handing the herbalist what you owed with a grateful ‘thank you’. “Slept rather well last night at least. I feel fine today,” you reassure with a smile.

Being alive as long as she has, Ganyu has known your family for generations and witnessed all that has traversed them for as long as she can remember. The stresses that ail you— the sources of your sleeplessness— Ganyu knew them well.

The sole remaining descendant of your family. Perhaps she saw herself in you, and that’s why she kept her promise to your grandmother of being someone you could rely on.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Ganyu sighed, expression relaxing from its worry. “I came here to drop off licensing renewals and paperwork for Baizhu. If you’re feeling up to it, we can catch up with a quick lunch.”

Ever the busy-body, you mused fondly.

“I’d like that.”

Never a dull moment with her, Ganyu was quick to get you in step with her schedule flow. Luckily, you were rested enough to keep up with her today.

You anxiously fiddled with the napkin on your lap. “Isn't this a bit… much?”

Seated within the highly-regarded Liuli Pavilion, you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Such enticing dishes laid out before you… smelled expensive. It wasn’t the first time you’d been brought to eat here with her, and though it was a rarity you were still never one to indulge too much in lavish luxury from the city.

“Not at all,” Ganyu wholeheartedly reassured. “It's my treat for such a rare occasion.”

“You spoil me, Gan…”

As you both idly chatted over delicately prepared meals, you couldn’t help but notice the not-so-subtle glances Ganyu would take toward your lap every now and then. With a half-hearted sigh and a growing smile that betrayed your feigned exasperation, you set down your utensils.

“Okay. Alright.” Ganyu’s eyes sparkled, already knowing you caved. “Just ask what you want.”

“The charm,” she started, eyes intently observing the small charm that dangled securely from your hip. Never one to miss something new about you. The attentiveness from the adeptal blood that flowed within her, presumably. “Where did you get it? Ah! Pardon my prying— I don’t mean to be nosy...”

With delicate fingers, you picked it up, eyes glossing over it. The beat of your heart picked up ever so slightly.

“It was a gift.”

Left next to the vase of glaze lilies, the glint of the charm catching the morning light drew your attention toward it. You delicately picked up the item, tracing the butterfly engraved on the wooden diamond with your fingertip. The piece of amber that dangled from it with an ornate tassel was warm on your palm.

A single note on a small piece of parchment laid next to it.

‘An adepti amulet to stave off evil. Should you need me, call my name.’

“Xiao…” Ganyu started, clasping your hand in hers. “He must truly consider you someone special. It’s not often he gives gifts— despite how surprisingly skilled he is in intricate crafts.”

Warm and fuzzy, your chest pounded with overwhelming emotion. A handmade amulet… It was beautiful in its simplicity, and carried meaning in its subtle details you had yet to decipher. You had to remember to thank him for it later.

“He’s a very gentle person. I’d also… like to get to know him better,” you absentmindedly mused, recalling that mysterious masked boy caught in the thundering rain all those months ago. Though reserved and self-guarded, Xiao was never anything but polite albeit a bit distanced for a while.

It seems they get along well together, Ganyu noted, gaze holding a tender fondness like one would with a sibling. Maybe this was the new walk of life you needed when all other roads were erased.

——

“Can’t I just-”

“No.”

You huffed through your nose, exasperated. “You’re being unfair.” Xiao only raised a brow in response.

“An adeptus prolonging your lifespan would be considered a divine blessing to any other mortal out there,” he countered, pushing you back into bed with a gentle nudge that you didn’t fight back. “Rest.”

Making me go to bed early is some divine blessing... Such sarcasm you would keep between yourself and your thoughts alone.

“Xiao, it’s only nine o’clock! The moon just barely appeared in the sky. And with the Lantern Rite just around the corner, I want to get as much of my part finished.” But your protests fell on deaf ears as he continued to diligently pile on any blankets he could get his hands on. With a defeated sigh, you allowed your body to sink more comfortably into the mattress. “Is something wrong?”

Your voice came quiet, the question lingering with worry as Xiao sat on the edge of the bed— his back facing you. Oftentimes it was still hard to tell what he was thinking, for there was a lot about his past that was unknown to you and it seemed to weigh heavily on his mind recently. He didn’t need to tell you for you to know there were things he wasn’t voicing— not without your encouragement and patient reassurance.

“Can I ask?” Xiao started, his voice rather quiet like he was afraid of overstepping a boundary. “Your nightmares— how often do they haunt you?”

You were taken aback. “A-Ah, you saw…?”

With a silent nod, the bed creaked as he readjusted himself to finally face you. “That night you told me to stay… You looked distressed in your sleep.”

“They only happen sometimes,” you reassured half-heartedly with a dismissive wave of your hand. The subtle, sharpened squint of his eyes told you he saw right through your downplay.

“Lies will do you no good. But in regards to them, I...”

Xiao paused, looking away briefly. The way he avoided your gaze, the jaded look in his amber eyes— there was something he was fighting with himself to say.

“I can get rid of them, if you wish it.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly in confused curiosity. “You can… do that?”

At this point, you would take any method to end some of your daily exhaustion. But the way his hands balled into fists at his lap suggested he didn’t have a good history with it. Still, he nodded, his eyes closed as he concentrated on grounding himself— convincing himself to tell you. Now that he had propositioned it, there was no turning back. He had to explain it but the memories—the screams— they stopped the words at his throat.

His mind was going a mile a minute in a constant war, the resolve to see through what he had started diminishing. Yet all at once, it stopped and his eyes shifted down to your quiet reassurance— your hand placed atop his fist. He took a steadying breath.

“I’ve eaten dreams before,” Xiao started, eyes closed as he reminisced. “There exist several methods developed over centuries to perform it. Many are painless and safe. A nightmare or a dream—either can be eaten and it would be as if you had no recollection of it afterwards.”

“So… it wipes it from my memory?”

“In a similar concept, yes.”

You nodded slowly, brows scrunched in thought as you processed the idea.

“Do you trust me with doing this, should you have nightmares?”

All it took was a moment. You were quick to melt away his doubts with the warmth that radiated from your softening gaze. And with a gentle squeeze to his hand, you replied.

“I trust you.”

#adeptus xiao #xiao #xiao/reader #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #eventual smut #developing relationship #mii writes #genshin fanfic #fluff #xiao fluff #pwp #ganyu #genshin ganyu #fic: iasfao

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karamfilmare · 3 years

Text

White Gold and Maple

Kazuha x reader

Dedicated to my lovely mutual for her birthday @ahtsuwu -- sorry it came so late. You deserve this!

Description: Kazuha is behaving oddly, and for what reason?

Content: fluff, humor (?), surprise birthday, Kazuha being just the best bean. Modern AU (I think), light swearing(?), mentions of a spouse passing away (don't worry it's not too sad),

A/N: Sorry if this is shorter than my usual pieces and not as detailed. I wanted to get a short piece out, I hope it's fine. Also, not edited or proofread, sooo oops.

Stirring from your sleep, you stuck a hand out to find your boyfriend and sneak in close--only to find the spot was unoccupied and cool. Lifting your head, you frowned at the absence.

"Kazuha?"

You swung your legs off the mattress and walked around, confused by the silence in your home. Until you heard some light humming.

Finding your way into the kitchen, the smell of warm maple wafted around you. You found Kazuha standing by the stove, his hair messily put up in a loose bun, as he cooked what appeared to be some breakfast. He did not appear to notice your presence yet, so you quietly walked up behind him and slipped your arms around his waist and leaned against him.

"Oh, I didn't know you were awake. I wish you'd sleep in a bit more, I was going to wake you when I was ready."

"But I missed you," you murmured, slowly breathing out a sigh of content into his back. "I'm glad to see you."

"Ok, go sit down, I'll bring the food over in a bit."

Sitting down at the stool at the counter, you propped your head up on your hands, watching him move about. He turned around, the rich scent of maple and pancakes filling the air. Setting down your portion, he continued to watch you eat, asking if he did a good job with them, before laughing at your enthusiastic nodding, since your cheeks were full of sweet fluff. Your morning had gone along well, with not too much trouble, before he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"With deep regret, I must leave to attend to some things, but it shouldn't be long, alright?"

"Already? Ok, good luck."

And soon enough, he was out the door, leaving you to clean up after the couple of dishes left from breakfast.

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

Bzzzzt Bzzzzt

Reluctant to get off the couch, you ambled to your phone on the nightstand of your room, seeing a text from Beidou.

"Call me."

"Really?" you wondered out loud, knowing Beidou wasn't really one for conversations in the morning. Shrugging, you

"Hey."

"Yo. Listen, can you swing by where I'm at? I'm bored and I need company. Ningguang is shutting me down again, saying she's busy or some shit, ya know, the usual."

"Uh, sure, that's fine. Just send me your location, I'll come by."

"Great! I'll text you the location. Don't be late."

Don't be late? Seriously? From Beidou? "Fine, 'captain', I won't hold your important self up."

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

"So, I didn't think you'd be a mall person, Beidou."

"Nah, I just felt like it today, though. So, are you doing anything for your birthday?"

"My wha--"

Oh.

"Crazy that you remembered. But no, nothing planned."

The dark-haired woman quirked an eyebrow up, letting out a small sound. "Well, alright. This'll be my gift to you then. Let's go."

She dragged you along the mall, going from shop to shop, usually checking out food, candies, booze, and some clothes. After indulging in some boba tea and candies, you passed by a quaint little shop that caught your eye.

"Wanna go in? Come on, you seem interested." Beidou encouraged you to enter the shop, and you both quietly walked along the little stands. Earrings adorned a turning stand, necklaces and colorful rings were in glass cases, engraved paperweights, and other such pieces filled the room. You noted that these pieces didn't have the cold, pristine look of big designer jewelry stores.

"Huh, they look handmade, don't they?"

"Oh yes, every piece you see here is handcrafted by my family," a new voice startled you, an older woman with strands of grey enhancing her light brown hair. "Sorry for sneaking up. You've a keen eye."

"They're lovely." Indeed they were, the meticulous attention to detail. The rings looked like they were braided in gold, the gemstones inlaid upon them glittered under the light. Chains were linked carefully, the pendants all unique in some fashion. These pieces had character, something you would not mind having every day on your person.

Something caught your eye--a white gold ring with your birthstones, all laid along a pattern around. Not an engagement ring by any means, but something you visualized adorning your finger on a daily basis.

No, I might come back later and purchase it sometime. If it's not there, it wasn't meant to be.

"Ah, this one? My son made it to commemorate his late wife for her birthday, which is today. She passed several years back, but he chose to never forget her. This year, he decided he would create this ring that was similar to the one he made for her on an anniversary of theirs." The woman's eyes turned down slightly, her smile falling a bit. "But don't worry, he made this piece so that someone may show their love to their partner once again. Would you like to try it on?"

You hesitated, but Beidou coaxed you to try it on, before switching her attention to her phone. The woman slipped the ring onto your ring finger, finding that it fit you perfectly.

A grin appeared on her face. "It suits you, as if it were made for you."

Staring at it for a moment, you felt the slight longing for it, not just because of its appearance, but for the story that came along with it. You shook your head before slipping it off. "I might come back sometime later and see if it's here. I don't have any way to pay for this at the moment, I apologize. But it is beautiful."

"No worries. It might find itself back to you in some manner."

Perhaps, but unlikely. Nodding your head, you trudged along out of the store, expecting Beidou to be behind you, only to find her still inside the store, talking to the owner of the shop. Several minutes later, she hurried out, a faint smile lingering on her lips.

"Don't ask."

"I-- alright."

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

You parted ways with Beidou shortly after, and just as you leave the mall, you receive a text from Yoimiya.

"Hey, I can't make it on time to pick something up, could you go to this location for me, please? I'll make it up to you, PROMISE!! <3"

Shrugging your shoulders, you replied asking for the address, to which she replied with a pinpoint of the location. You texted Kazuha where you were about to go, just in case he made it home before you.

Except, the location wasn't a building. It was a large tent on the top of a hill, away from town. You found a slip of paper and picked it up, wondering whether the person was inside.

What the hell is Yoimiya picking up over here? Is she doing illegal business? What is going on here?

Just before you began to spiral in your thoughts, the tent opened up, revealing a smiling Kazuha. "Well, I'm glad you could make it. Come on, you're just in time."

"Just in time for--"

He pulled you close to him, guiding you to the other side of the tent next to the tree. Motioning for you to sit down, he settled himself right next to you. "Have you read the paper?"

Shaking your head, you pulled the slip of paper you found, finding words on the page in Kazuha's pretty handwriting.

The universe was blessed this day

When the heavens opened up

and you descended on earth

To touch my life.

The stars remain in your eyes,

And I wish on every single one,

That I can be called

Yours.

"Kazuha..." you breathed out, your mouth not able to form the words, as your gaze turned to the beautiful man before you.

"Look up."

At his urging, you turned your face up to the night sky. Several beats passed, before a streak of light shot up, before breaking into a large burst of colors. Several more shot up, taking your breath away. The show of sparkles

"Is that--"

"I had a bit of help to set up this moment. I hope you liked it."

Silence settled in, realizing that he was so excited about your birthday all this time. So the sudden texts from Beidou and Yoimiya weren't just random, they were planned.

"Oh, one more thing." Kazuha searched a pocket and pulled out a small box, bringing your hand close. "I heard from Beidou that this caught your eye, and I couldn't let it slip. So..." The ring you found earlier appeared once again before you, settling onto your ring finger once more. "I got it as a promise for us."

The emotions that built up within you finally spilled, tears streaming down slightly. "Kazuha, I swear...I'm--I'm in bliss right now, just being here with you. I just..." You placed your hands on his face and pulled him in for a soft kiss, which was immediately reciprocated.

The tenderness of the moment cemented a new shift in the relationship, one marked with devotion, rich and sweet, like maple. A birthday like this? You would remember for the rest of your life.

#kazuha x reader #kazuha fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact #kazuha #genshin impact fluff #to my lovely mutual Ori #° ori <3

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jbbarnesnnoble · 3 years

Text

Look Me in the Heart

Summary: [Mel Edit: I goofed and didn’t put the right summary. I am a fool]

You and Natasha have been together for several years. You want forever, and she’s pulling away.

Features/Warnings: Angst;

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/Reader

Notes: This is a request from last year that I finally got inspiration to finish. As always, I’m opening to revisiting fics!

Request: “Could I request a Natasha x fem!reader fic please? Like one where Nat x r have been together for years but for the last year or so, R has wanted to get married but Nat keeps saying she’ll never get married. Nat doesn’t pay much attention to her anymore. One day, R, Yelena and Nat meet and Yelena pays a lot of attention to R, making her feel real good and making her blush and giggle every time Yelena compliments her/flirts with her. Nat gets annoyed and calls r out once they’re home (1/2)(2/2) They fight and r tells Nat all she’s been feeling lately. Alone, unloved, just there to be a fucktoy for Nat and nothing else. Nat promises her they’ll get help and they’ll fix their relationship, that she’ll try harder and make an effort. Thank you so much :) xx”

Word Count: 1942

Your fist connected with the bag in front of you. It felt good to release the tension that had been building from everything. Fury was on your ass lately about your mission reports. Steve was on your ass about slacking in your training. And you had been stressed by Natasha’s lack of communication.

You and Natasha had been together for several years, since you’d joined the Avengers, just before the fall of SHIELD. You knew what you wanted, and it was forever with her. The topic of marriage was one the both of you danced around. Last time you had brought it up, she brushed it off. You knew you could live without getting married, but it was something you wanted with her and something you’d wanted for some time. You wanted to be on the same page, to know if it was something to put on the shelf. You’d be okay if it wasn’t something she wanted, you just needed to know and an answer was never given.

“What’d that bag ever do to you Rose?” Sam asked. You jumped a little before looking over to where he was leaning against the wall. You hadn’t seen him come in.

“Everything, Jack,” you joked. It had been a running joke between you and Sam since a mission gone wrong on the water that evoked the infamous scene from Titanic. You both fit on the door.

“What’s really wrong?” he asked. You sighed. Sam could read you better than anyone, barring Natasha. It was why you two were frequently partners on mission. You worked well together, seamlessly moving from one mission to the next.

“It’s relationship woes. We had a...disagreement before she left on her mission. I brought up the big M again,” you explained, moving to sit on the bench as you grabbed your bottle of water. Sam sat down beside you.

“Eventually you two do need to have that discussion. Is that all that’s bothering you?” he asked.

“I feel like she’s pulling away. You know how my last relationship went,” you told him. He let out a light laugh before speaking.

“Your ex was a piece of work. I know you. And I know Natasha. Natasha is the furthest thing from your ex. Have you told her how you feel?” he asked. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You hadn’t brought it up. You weren’t sure how. You didn’t want to appear clingy. It was one of your fears when it came to voicing your feelings.

“To paraphrase Jersey Shore, I don’t want to appear like a stage five clinger,” you grumbled. You glared as Sam doubled over with laughter.

“I thought you hated that show,” he said when he caught his breath. You looked anywhere but at him. You hoped Bucky wouldn’t murder you for what you were going to say.

“I’ve been binging it with Barnes and Rogers when we have free time,” you admitted. At that, Sam had completely fallen off the bench laughing. You shook your head at your best friend. If that was the price you had to pay to end the conversation on your relationship issues, you’d pay it. Even if it meant facing the wrath of Bucky for letting Sam know that bit of information.

You both left the gym, headed for the living room. You knew Natasha was due back that day and that she was bringing Yelena with her. Yelena had met up with Natasha and Bucky on the mission. You liked Yelena, when she’d come around. She had her own room at the compound, but wasn’t formally an Avenger. She liked the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Tony was more than happy to offer her a place to stay.

You were in the middle of watching a rerun of The Nanny with Sam and Steve when the trio arrived. The three of you had just placed the pizza order, knowing the others would be in and out. You stood up and walked to Natasha, who placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I’m going to go shower before dinner gets here. Save my seat for me?” she asked.

“Always,” you replied. Bucky and Yelena both took their leave as well, all three of them in need of a shower after their debrief with Fury and Hill. You saw the look Sam gave you and just shook your head. Natasha was most affectionate after a mission. But by the end of the evening she’d be shrugging you off. It was a cycle that you had grown used to. You weren’t sure when things had changed.

Dinner arrived along with a freshly showered Natasha who sat down beside you, one hand on your thigh, itching for the contact. But you knew by the time dinner was done, Natasha would no longer be beside you. That she would come to bed after she was sure you were asleep. Unless she wanted to relieve tension. You felt more like her personal fucktoy than her girlfriend some days. A body to warm her bed and get her off. There were no bedtime conversations. There was no cuddling. No moments that belonged to just the two of you that didn’t involve sex. You hated it.

You stood and stretched some time after you finished dinner. You felt Natasha’s eyes on you. You knew it wouldn’t be long before she followed you to the room the two of you shared. For once, you were going to turn her down. You set about your nightly routine, taking a quick shower and brushing your teeth before pulling on pajama pants and a tank top. You weren’t surprised to see Natasha lounging on the bed when you entered the room.

“I missed you baby,” she murmured as you sat on the bed. She knelt behind you, bringing one hand around to trail up your stomach to your breast. You rebuffed her attempt.

“Not tonight, Nat. I don’t think dinner sat well,” you lied. You heard her huff and bit your lip in an attempt to hold the tears at bay. You heard her get under the covers and wondered where things had started to go wrong before getting under the covers yourself, your back turned to her.

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

The next morning, Yelena was joining the two of you for breakfast in your room. Room was an understatement. Each Avenger had their own kitchenette and living space with a separate bedroom. It was really like a small apartment. Most times though, the team could be found in the common spaces unless they wanted time to themselves or they were off compound on missions or visiting friends and family.

You were making pancakes. Yelena had volunteered to help. Nat had left on her morning run and had only mentioned that Yelena was coming over before she left. You felt at ease with the blonde. You doubled over in laughter as she smudged flour on your face after saying you had a spot of flour on your nose. Neither of you had heard Natasha come in until you heard the thud of her water bottle on the counter, startling you.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” she asked, glaring at Yelena.

“We were just making breakfast, Nat. It’ll be done soon. Why don’t you go grab a shower?” you said to her. With one last glare, Nat stalked from the room angrily. You sighed.

“She loves you, you know,” Yelena said softly.

“Sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes,” you muttered. You set about setting the table, pouring coffee for Natasha, made just like she liked it. Breakfast was tense. Yelena threw a couple flirty comments before Natasha’s glare made her stop. She knew when to stop. The tension ramped up throughout breakfast, even as Yelena engaged Natasha in conversation. After breakfast, Yelena excused herself when she sensed the tension had only grown, making an excuse about having promised Wanda she would spar with her. You steeled yourself for the fight that was brewing.

“Seems like you and Yelena are getting on just fine,” Natasha said, her tone even and her eyes cold. You scoffed.

“Yes, Natasha. We are. I figured you’d want your sister and I to get along,” you replied as you began picking up the dishes to bring into the kitchen.

“I didn’t mean flirt with her! I know that look,” Natasha said.

“It was harmless,” you told her.

“Was it? Because it seems to me that you want to be anywhere except with me these days,” Natasha argued. You laughed. Truly laughed.

“Oh that’s just rich coming from you. Natasha we rarely share a bed anymore. When we do, it’s a quick fuck. It’s like that’s all I’m good for anymore. Being a warm body,” you cried. Natasha paused. Surely that couldn’t be true. She tried to think about the last time the two of you had gone on a date. The last time you two of you just spent time together. She was drawing a blank.

“I’ve been busy,” she said weakly. She knew it was a poor excuse. You’d been busy too. But you always made time to see her. And she would just brush you off. Natasha wasn’t so sure she could salvage the situation. She had never been on the receiving end of the disappointed look on your face. She didn’t like it.

“What are we Natasha? Anytime I bring up marriage you skirt the subject. Say not now. Later. When is later, Natasha?” you asked. You wanted answers. You knew this was going to be a make or break conversation for your relationship. You hoped it wouldn’t be a break. You weren’t sure you could handle losing her, not like this.

“You know how I feel about marriage,” Natasha replied.

“Do I? You always deflect,” you said, your voice lowering. You knew the pair of you were on a collision course with the point of no return. You were desperate to reign in your tempers before that point.

“You want to marry me? After everything I’ve done, everything you know about me?” she asked. Her voice betrayed a vulnerable side of Natasha you had never seen. A softness you had never heard in her voice before.

“Of course I want to marry you! I want to shout from the rooftops that Natasha Romanoff is mine! My wife, my love. But that doesn’t matter, Nat. As long as I have you, I’m happy. Married or not married, as long as you're mine,” you argued. The two of you stood for a moment, looking at one another. You wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel her arms wrapped around you. She stepped toward you, gently taking the dishes from your hands and placing them on the table beside you before bringing one hand up to cup your face.

“There is one thing I know for certain in this life. I don’t want to live it without you by my side. I haven’t been fair to you lately. I shut down instead of talking to you and it took until now for me to realize how close I’ve come to losing you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. You took her other hand in yours, squeezing it gently.

“Then we’ll talk to someone. Because Nat. I don’t want to lose you either,” you replied. You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, embracing one another in a way you hadn’t in so long. There were still discussions to be had. But they could wait. For now, you took comfort in one another, knowing that come tomorrow the real work would begin.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff/reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanov/reader #natasha romanov x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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all-things-fic · 3 years

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things.

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it.

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe.

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’.

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place.

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude.

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care.

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him.

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years.

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness.

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch.

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning.

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy.

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch.

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over.

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety.

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt.

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is.

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes.

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you.

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music.

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch.

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark.

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try.

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat.

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap.

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours.

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging - one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in.

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it.

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring.

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain.

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night.

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction.

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is.

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper.

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry.

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different.

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him.

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.”

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction.

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first.

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he?

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap.

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed.

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage. You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.”

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.”

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown.

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however.

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.”

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them.

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before.

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry.

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.”

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore?

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact.

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped.

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined.

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in.

And neither did he.

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you.

Understanding was vital.

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete.

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore.

And for once you didn’t feel alone.

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became.

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here.

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t.

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.”

“We were both drunk, it happens.”

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?”

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes.

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug.

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door.

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting.

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers.

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question.

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in.

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished.

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar.

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar.

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of.

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately.

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double.

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.”

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment.

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning.

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment.

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him.

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity.

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?”

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them.

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape.

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile.

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him.

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him.

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn’t like what he found?

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated.

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.”

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly.

“Not if I have my way.”

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs.

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his.

“Different, but better.”

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away.

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged.

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh.

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his.

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck.

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you.

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved.

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back.

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too.

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show.

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him.

“You don’t have to-“

“No?”

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused.

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling.

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue.

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear.

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt.

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away.

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself.

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more.

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks.

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting.

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents.

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling.

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.”

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession.

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed.

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable.

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you.

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more.

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge.

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders.

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks.

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were.

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too.

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time.

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before.

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things.

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips.

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking.

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour.

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch.

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,�� he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale.

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again.

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

#gbsxmaschallenge #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles christmas #harry christmas

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

Text

Today in Tolkien - October 6th

This is the night of the attack at Weathertop, when Frodo is stabbed with the Morgul-blade.

In the morning they found, for the first time since they had left the Chetwood, a track plain to see. They turned right and followed it southwards. It ran cunningly, taking a line that seemed chosen so as to keep as much hidden as possible from the view, both of the hill-tops above and of the flats to the west. It dived into dells, and hugged steep banks; and where it passed over flatter and more open ground on either side of it there were lines of large bolders or hewn stones that screened the travellers almost like a hedge.

Aragorn tells the hobbits that the path was made by the men of Arnor to access their forts along the walls when they were fighting Angmar, but that long before they had a great watch tower called Amon Sûl on the summit of Weathertop, and there Elendil watched for the coming of Gil-Galad in the days of the Last Alliance. Sam sings a portion of the song of Gil-galad that Bilbo translated.

It was already mid-day when they drew near the southern end of the path, and saw before them, in the pale clear light of the October sun, a gre-green bank, leading up like a bridge on to the northward slope of the hill. They decided to make for the top at once, while the daylight was broad. Concealment was no longer possible, and they could only hope that no enemy or spy was observing them. Nobody was to be seen moving on the hill. If Gandalf was anywhere about, there was no sign of him. On the western flank of Weathertop they found a sheltered hollow, at the bottom of which there was a bowl-shaped dell with grassy sides. There they left Sam and Pippin with the pony and their packs and luggage.

On the top of Westhertop they find the sign Gandalf left three days ago, and Aragorn interprets it. The rocks and grass are all scorched with fire from Gandalf’s fight with the Ringwraiths. Aragorn says he expects it will be at least 14 days from here to the Ford of Bruinen. The fact that they still manage to make that time even after Frodo is severely wounded - they reach the Ford of the 20th - is impressive on the part of them all. Frodo sees black specks on the road, two coming from the east and three from the west; Aragorn agrees that these are Black Riders, and they conceal themselves and go back dien the hill. Sam and Pippin find a Ranger camp, but there are also footprint of other boots from a day or two ago. Aragorn agrees with Sam that he dies not like the dell they are in, but there is no time to find anywhere better before nightfall. They make a fire as a defence, and at night Aragorn tells them old tales, including the Tale of Tinúviel. I wonder if, in Aragorn saying that the ending of that tale is not known, Tolkien is poking fun at his unfinished manuscript of the poetic Leithian.

Shortly after Aragorn finishes the story, the moon rises, and they see and sense the Ringwraiths outside the dell. The Ringwraiths approach, and Frodo under their influence puts on the Ring; what he sees of the Ringwraiths is matched by the movie depiction very closely. Frodo is stabbed by the Witch-king. Aragorn orders them to put Frodo by the fire, then disappears for some time, reawakening Sam’s suspicions; when he returns, Sam draws his sword and stands over Frodo. Aragorn has been trying, without success, to find out why the Ringwraiths have left rather than attacking again; he is very concerned by Frodo’s account, and then takes Sam aside and tells him he concludes that Frodo’s wound is intended to place him under the Ringwraiths’ control. Aragorn goes off to find athelas, which is uncommon and little-known in the North.

Frodo feels pain from the Morgul-wound on the same day in the two following years. One year later, he and the other hobbits and Gandalf have just left Rivendell the previous and are crossing the Ford of Bruinen:

When they came to the Ford of Bruinen, he halted, and seemed loth to ride into the stream; and they noted that for a while his eyes appeared not to see them or things about them.

“Are you in pain, Frodo?” said Gandalf quietly as he rode by Frodo’s side.

“Well, yes, I am,” said Frodo. “It is my shoulder. The wound aches, and the memory of darkness is heavy on me. It was a year ago today.”

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,” said Gandalf.

“I fear it may be so with mine,” said Frodo. “There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?”

Gandalf did not answer.

Then, a year later, in Bag End:

One evening Sam came into the study and found his master looking very strange. He was very pale and his eyes seemed to see things far away.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Frodo?” said Sam.

“I am wounded,” he answered, “wounded; it will never really heal.”

But then he got up, and the turn seemed to pass, and he was quite himself the next day. It was not until afterwards that Sam recalled that the date was October the sixth. Two years before on that day it was dark in the dell under Weathertop.

This is also the day that the story ends, the day that Sam returns to Bag End from the Havens.

The three companions…spoke no word to each other until they came back to the Shire, but each had great comfort in his friends on the long grey road. At last they rode over the downs and took the East Road, and then Merry and Pippin rode on to Buckland; and already they were singing as they went.

I only just noticed this on this reread; and I find it particularly moving. Merry and Pippin do not feel any special need of silence themselves; soon after they part from Sam they are singing. But they recognize, without anything needing to be said, that Sam needs silence in companionship; and they give him that, though the whole of a week-long journey together (Frodo departed from the Havens on Sept 29th), and it is a great comfort to them all. (And for someone like Pippin, who is not particularly noted for his tact, it also shows how he’s grown over the course of the story.)

But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.

He drew a deep breath. “Well I’m back,” he said.

The final thing that I think we’re supposed to draw from this ending being on Oct 6th, the anniversary of Weathertop, is to conclude that by this time Frodo has reached Eressëa, and this year will no longer be pained by his old wounds.

#today in tolkien #tolkien #the lord of the rings #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #pippin took #merry brandybuck

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poptod · 3 years

Note

Would u be up to writing a crack fic where Ahk eats some dodgy food and gets violently ill from it and in his food poisoning induced delirium starts to like hallucinate and think that gods are against him and hanging out with him and stuff. so yeah. (also omfg never noticed the ostrich part in NATM!!!)

notes: YEA that fucking ostrich is hilarious and YES this sounds fun. u didn’t say if this was xreader or if this was in egypt or in the museum so i took some liberties, hope that’s alright! i also really ran with this so apologies for the length WC: 2,222

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Now, now, that’s no way to refer to your husband,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You are not - we’re not married,” you hissed.

“Not yet,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. Ahkmen wasn’t King yet, but you still held the position as his advisor, placed there by both Ahkmen’s choice and his father’s insistence.

Now, however, you were focused on a different, more pertinent issue. An entire bag of almond date rolls had been thrown away for Ahk to find, opening the sack to find them untouched. Since he had little to no self control—which was why you were there to begin with—he immediately began eating them.

“There isn’t anything wrong with them,” he said through a mouthful.

“You don’t know that,” you said, still glaring up at him.

He swallowed before promptly stuffing another whole roll in his mouth.

“Stop that!” You said, and batted the sack out of his hand.

The cinch released and the rolls went flying down a sandy hill, reaching the river outcrop at the bottom. Ahk watched, miserably, as they disappeared.

“You have access to date rolls anytime you like in the palace,” you reminded him.

“But it’s such a long walk back, and I like it here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the forested hill overlooking the Nile. Shade stretched over your bodies and the reed blanket beneath you, allowing the wind to cool your sun-beaten skin.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you said, leaning back to lie down.

“How funny, then, that you are my life,” he said with a grin, following you till he propped himself up on his elbow, his free hand resting on your chest.

He stared at you, scanning you as you half-glared at him.

“What do you want?” You asked, looking up unimpressed.

“A kiss,” he said, puckering his lips.

“Shut up!”

You shoved him onto his back, laughter wracking his body.

A little while later you found yourself once more obeying Ahk’s whim, though his father had warned against that, and followed him in short steps down the tall dune. Solidified, plant-filled earth gave way for free falling sand that drifted off the slope and towards the riverbank.

The water during this time of year was at a steady but slow pace, flowing from south to north as the sun’s rising and setting indicated. Wind that once cooled you now brought hot air, exacerbated by the overzealous sun, who you imagined could burn even your ink-black skin. Sand avalanched around your still feet, landing you at Ahk’s side.

“Luncheon will be soon,” you reminded.

“I’m aware,” he said flatly. “Can’t I simply enjoy myself for once?”

“No.”

He waded out into the water, his shoulders tensing at the chill and only releasing as he went deeper. Once the red water reached his knees, just barely soaking the edge of his skirt, he called to you.

“Come join me,” he said, offering you his hand.

“We should go back to the palace,” you said.

“Come now, it’ll be hours before lunch,” he whined.

“It’s one hour. And you can’t be wearing that,” you said, gesturing to his outfit that consisted of no more than a skirt, partially torn and covered in dirt.

“Then take it off me,” he said with a sly grin.

You scowled at him, going over your options for a moment before you acted.

Once you decided, you waltzed into the river, soaking your sandals as you approached him. Satisfaction filled his gaze as you came closer, his hand still outstretched to you.

At last you took his hand, tugging him forcefully towards you. He let out a grunt, but before he could say anything, you reached forward and released the clasp keeping his skirt on him, allowing it to fall in the running water and drift away.

“Hey!” He cried, attempting to go after it, but stopped by your hand still in his. He turned back to you, a shocked look on his face as he said, “what was that for?!”

“Dawdling. Let’s go back to the palace.”

“Like this?!” He yelled, gesturing to his naked body. You snorted.

“You don’t mind. I know you don’t. You just want to be mad at me,” you said in a definitive voice.

“I don’t-“

“Come on, Prince,” you said, tugging him past you so he stumbled towards the shoreline. As he just barely got his standing you slapped his butt, pushing him forward further.

Ahkmen fell silent—as he rarely did—after he’d been dressed and was on the way to the garden, where the Pharaoh had arranged a feast he made and placed for himself, his family, and the ambassadors visiting from Punt. You were not invited, but you watched from above alongside the youngest Prince’s manservant. Ahk’s room was placed right above the western gardens, large arches within allowing a plenty good sight out, which you and Naguib took advantage of.

“He’s squirming an awful lot,” Naguib noted after several minutes of silence.

Naguib laid on his stomach, his chin propped up on his palms, in turn resting on his elbows on the stone floor. You sat nearby, leant against one of the arch pillars with a tablet of baked limestone on your lap.

At his comment you looked over the ledge, easily finding the trademark golden crown Ahk bore.

“How so?” You asked.

“Look at his legs,” Naguib said, and your eyes turned to his fidgeting crossed legs, “and his hands.”

His fists were clenching and unclenching.

“Should we check in on him?” He asked gingerly.

“.... nah,” you said after a moment. “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just upset I slapped him on the arse.”

Naguib choked on his own spit, bursting into manic laughter.

“You slapped the prince’s ass??” He asked incredulously through gasps of laughter. “How’d he react to that?”

“He stripped me,” you answered, returning to your tablet with little waver in your voice.

“What -“

“That might’ve been because I took away his skirt, though. In that case, he just looked at me really strangely,” you said.

“How so?”

You twisted your expression to reflect what you remembered, a strange mix of confused, angered, and one feeling that was almost always at the forefront of Ahk’s mind—horny. Naguib burst into another round of laughter.

Several minutes later, after your conversation died down, Naguib looked back over the ledge and frowned.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“Who what?”

“Ahk, he isn’t there anymore,” he said, pointing to the empty cushion where Ahk had been sitting. You shifted to see.

“Huh. What do you think happened?”

Bursts of metal latches and swinging hinges interrupted you before either of you could think of an answer, followed by the wooden frame of the door slamming against the other wall. Both of you darted to look behind you, finding several different servants entering, a limp Prince in their arms.

Instantly you jumped to your feet. Naguib joined you, though much slower, and you both made your way to his bedside once the servants set him down.

“What happened?” Naguib asked, a hand on the bed as he looked up to one of the servants.

You set your hand over his forehead, testing his temperature, and using your sense of magic to reach into his veins, searching for a perpetrator.

“He hasn’t got a fever,” you noted, earning a nod from the servant tending him.

You made to search again before Ahk moved, groaning softly as he curled into himself, clutching his stomach.

“Ahk? Are you alright?” You asked—probably too quickly—as you knelt at his side, panic pounding its way into your heart.

“Ugh,” he grumbled, just barely wheezing out his breaths. “Alive. Right now.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“Stomach,” he breathed, halting as he flinched, his hands moving to slap over his mouth.

“Bucket!” You said to the servant, who nodded and rushed for one of the buckets in the nearest closet. “You’re going to throw up, its alright. Get it out.”

“Ughhh...” he mumbled, convulsing forward again as he attempted to hold it in.

In a flash the servant returned, rushing to set the bucket down beside the bed. You held it up, helping him scoot dizzily forward before he hurled.

Things continued in a similar fashion until the setting of the sun, the western rays finally sinking beneath the distant mountain horizon. Crickets and firebugs chirped, bringing in the cool breeze of evening, sending shivers down Ahk’s sweat-sheeted shoulders and back.

You ran your fingers through his hair, hoping to raise the curls off his heated forehead, but he raised his hand to stop you.

“No,” he slurred, “too sick... repetitive.”

“Alright,” you said softly.

His dizziness persevered from the evening into the night, but his vomitting had luckily stopped, though he did try to retch on an empty stomach twice. By then he was passed out from exhaustion, still shivering in his sleep. You stayed at his side without fail, raising his sheets up to cover him, and removing them when he broke out into another sweat.

At midnight, his eyes fluttered open.

The first thing he saw was you—surrounded by a halo of brightly glowing stars, colored in red, yellow, and purple. His sickness had faded but the delirium remained, and he reached out blindly for your face.

His fingers dragging across your eyes and cheeks brought you back from your meditation, shocked at his consciousness.

“You’re awake,” you said with a relieved sigh, your knees digging into the cold stone beneath you.

“Hathor?” He mumbled weakly, his eyes still half-closed.

“No, no,” you said, taking his hand down from your face and clasping it in your own hold. “Piye. Remember? How do you feel?”

“Am I dead?”

“Not as far as I know. You exhibit all the tell-tale signs of being alive,” you said, chuckling.

“... Bastet?”

“Also no. Piye.”

“Peets....” he mumbled before promptly falling back asleep.

The next time he awoke was a little later on, towards the very, very early morning. He once again broke you out of your meditation, this time with words rather than smothering your face. His state of aberration had yet to improve.

“Piye?” He asked softly, a husk of a voice.

“Yes,” you said, smiling. He remembered your name. “How do you feel?”

“When d.. you’re... you’re glowing,” he murmured.

“I what?”

He reached forward, and you flinched away, stiffened by a soft touch that traced down your jawline.

“You’re... glowing,” he said, louder, drawing in a deep breath as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“Calm down, Ahk,” you warned him, pushing the hair off his forehead. “You’re going to work yourself up.”

“No,” he said with a strange sense of urgency, holding your face in the palm of his hand. You subconsciously leaned your cheek into his touch. “No, I need to see you.”

“I’m right here, with you.”

“Not in my dreams,” he breathed out, the words brushing his parted lips, now paler than ever.

Fever.

Vomitting.

Fatigue.

Gagging. Weakness. Dizziness. Chills. Sweating.

What would your father say?

He didn’t need to consult the numerous stacks of books shoved into his office to know what Ahk suffered from, but he was far away in Thebes, and you wouldn’t dare leave the Prince’s side, in fear of his condition and the wrath of his father should he suffer grievously.

“I told you not to eat those date rolls,” you chided, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. That must’ve been the cause—sickness carried through infirm food. You could think of nothing else.

He didn’t say anything. Not for a little while, at least. He continued to blink, albeit slow, and stared unceasingly into you.

“He is in your eyes,” he whispered, his own eyes flickering between yours. “And... speaking.”

“Who do you see?” You asked softly, suddenly reluctant to blink.

“Heka.”

Not a God of magic, but the personification of it. The genuine representation of healing and enchantments. His fertile, black skin made of the Nile’s silt was reflected in your own complexion—darker than night, flanked by eyes that appeared to glow against the midnight of you.

“What is he saying?” You said, readjusting yourself beside his hand, a seriousness edging your tone. Claims of Heka were not to be taken lightly.

“Pledging.. love.”

“For who?”

“... me,” he whispered.

“Beloved of...”

“Beloved of you,” he interrupted before you could finish your thought, a smile creeping at the edges of his pale lips.

You chuckled softly, reaching up to stroke your thumb over the back of his hand. He was returning to a saner state of mind.

“Perhaps so,” you murmured.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Night at the Museum #Ahkmenrah

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blueskrugs · 3 years

Text

Fallin' in Love (in the Middle of the Night) | Joel Farabee

or, as I said in a text to @nazdaddy a couple weeks ago: "hear me out. summer camp AU with beezer." I really miss summer camp and I feel like bee fits the vibes. I've been going to camp since I was 12 and a lot of this is based on that camp and the experiences I've had there. have fun reading!

tagging: @marcoscandellas @stlbluesbrat21 @dembenchboys @poltoncarayko @robthomissed @letmeplaytheblues @troubatrain @ayohockeycheck @blackwidowrising @aria253264 @antoineroussel @starswin @glassdanse @ch-ristiane @majdoline

length: 11k words

There was a new counselor at camp this year. His name was Joel, and no one knew much of anything about him. Most new counselors were freshly aged-out campers, or were dating a current counselor and got dragged along for the week. Joel was neither, and he’d been quiet and keeping to himself since he climbed out of his car and dumped his bags in Cabin 24 earlier that afternoon.

Avery found herself glancing over at Joel more than once while she caught up with some of her friends. He was hanging back from the clusters of other counselors, leaning against a tree and fucking around on his phone, though there was no way he was getting any reception all the way out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. His baseball hat was on backwards, and his hair was sticking out in tufts from underneath it.

Avery’s co-counselor, Caroline, nudged her in the ribs and followed her gaze. “Think he’s cute?” she teased.

Avery scoffed, but she didn’t look away as some of the guy counselors pulled Joel into whatever dumb argument they were already having. “I’m not dealing with that shit this year,” she said. Every year without fail, there were camp crushes, and they never ended well.

“He’s in our age group,” Caroline told her, which Avery knew already. They’d all gotten the cabin assignments last week, and Avery had been wondering about the new guy since then. “You’ll get to know him, maybe change your mind,” Caroline said with a grin.

Avery rolled her eyes but didn’t get a chance to respond because the camp director was trying to get everyone’s attention so they could head up to the chapel for orientation. They went slowly, still chatting in groups and clusters, yelling out to each other as they made their way up the hill, past the dining hall and towards the chapel. Avery still found herself looking over at Joel as he ambled alongside the groups of counselors. He’s still quiet, though he’s obviously listening to the conversations around him, trying to catch up on years of history and inside jokes. He caught her eye as they duck through the double doors into the AC and sent her a grin.

Caroline might’ve been right about the cute thing.

The chapel on the campgrounds isn’t much of a chapel, and is more a big open room with some of the best wifi anywhere on the property. Somehow, Joel ended up sitting next to Avery in the circle of chairs set up in the middle of the room. He’d grabbed the orientation packet every counselor got and was flipping through it eagerly. Avery snorted softly, and she reached out with her foot to nudge Joel in the shin.

“Don’t worry, dude, it’s all common sense stuff,” she told him. Even the other new counselors, the ones who had just aged out of being campers, didn’t look concerned, though being at camp for a few years was definitely more than enough to know how to basically run the camp.

Joel looked up at her and grinned again. “Yeah, I’m getting that,” he said. “I don’t think I got your name earlier,” he added.

Avery was wearing a sticker with her name scrawled on it like everyone else, but she refrained from rolling her eyes. Barely. “It’s Avery,” she whispered as Austin, the camp director, stood in the middle of the circle.

“Who’s ready for some icebreakers?” he said, way too loud for the small space. Everyone groaned, and Caroline and Avery shared a look from across the circle. “Don’t be like that, we have some new faces, and it’s been a while since everyone’s seen each other,” Austin said.

By Avery’s count, Joel was the only counselor who was truly new, but there was no stopping Austin once he was in Camp Mode.

Two and a half hours later, after they’d painstakingly gone through every page of the counselor’s manual, they finally broke for dinner.

“Is it always like that?” Joel asked as they trooped back down the hill to the dining hall.

Caroline and Avery groaned again. Joel sent them an amused look.

“Every fucking year,” Avery told him.

“I think I have the manual memorized,” Caroline added.

Joel laughed. “Something to look forward to next year then,” he said.

Avery raised her eyebrows. “The kids haven’t even shown up yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself, you might change your mind before the week is over.”

He wouldn’t really, probably, but a week of yelling kids, walking several miles in the August heat, and shitty food definitely had the potential to drive the weak of heart away. It wouldn’t be the first time, and if they did scare Joel off, it wouldn’t be the last. Joel sat across from Caroline and Avery for dinner.

“Eat up, bud,” Avery told him, watching as Joel pushed food around on his plate. “This is the best food you’ll get all week.”

Camp food was notorious for being barely edible on a good day, but because the counselors got in for orientation on a day in-between camp sessions, the kitchen staff was able to make them an actual meal. It still wasn’t the greatest food, but at least it hadn’t been made in bulk and left to sit under heat lamps.

Joel sighed, but reached for the serving bowl next to him for seconds.

Campers arrived in two buses on Sunday afternoon, but first came breakfast and way too much downtime for the counselors. Austin always said it was good for “bonding,” even though most of the counselors had known each other since they were kids.

“How did you end up here anyway?” Avery asked Joel, who was sitting across the table from her again. He’d told her and Caroline at dinner the night before that he was from upstate New York, which was decidedly not anywhere near their little campground in the Midwest wilderness.

“Thought it would be fun,” Joel said around a mouthful of eggs.

Avery never did eat those powdered eggs they served that were a sorry excuse for fresh scrambled eggs. “Please don’t talk with your mouth full, gross,” she told him.

Joel just winked at her.

The counselors lounged around at the lakefront until it was time for the buses to start showing up. Avery caught Joel’s eye at one point in the chaos of unloading kids and their bags and directing them to the right cabins, and she laughed at the look of overwhelmed terror on his face.

The madness of the first day always made it pass quickly. Before Avery knew it, it was after dinner and everyone was trooping down to the fire ring for the opening night campfire. Avery watched as Joel’s campers clustered around him as they walked.

“Who is that?” one of her girls asked. Avery tore her eyes away.

“New counselor, Joel. He’s got our age group, I’m sure you’ll get to know him,” Avery told her. She just hoped they liked him once they got to know him.

Avery ended up sitting on a log with her campers, right behind Joel and the boys. She stared at the back of his hat while she zoned out, half-listening to the same welcome speech Austin gave every year. His backpack was unzipped.

Avery reached down and absently picked up one of the wood chips by her feet. She ran her thumb over it, still pretending to pay attention to whatever Austin was saying. One of her campers next to her caught on to her idea and snickered.

Avery tossed the wood chip in her hand into Joel’s backpack. It landed with a quiet clang as it hit a can of sunscreen, but Joel paid it no mind.

“How many before he notices, do you think?” she whispered.

“Only one way to find out,” Kate whispered back.

Avery picked up another wood chip. In the next five minutes before Austin called all the counselors down for introductions, she landed a little over a dozen more wood chips in his backpack, including one that bounced off of his back and in.

“Backpack’s unzipped,” she told him as she carefully stepped passed him, hitting the bottom of the backpack.

“Thanks, hey, what the f-“ Joel caught himself. He glared at Avery as he zipped up his backpack.

Avery laughed and went next to Caroline in the line of counselors.

It wasn’t a campfire without s’mores, and they broke out the marshmallows as the sun went down. The oldest campers were always in charge of the campfires and s’more assembly, so Avery was catching up with some of her former campers on the logs near the fire. Joel plopped down on the log next to her, one leg stretched out on either side, s’more in hand.

“Want one?” he asked, holding it in Avery’s face. His fingers were sticky with melted marshmallow.

Avery pushed his hand away. “Pass.”

Joel looked personally offended. “What kind of person doesn’t like s’mores?” he asked. Now he had melted chocolate on his upper lip. Avery was carefully not looking.

“This one,” she said. Joel reached out and tugged on her braid. “Ow, what the hell?”

“Just making sure you’re a person and not, like, a robot or something,” he said. Avery just rolled her eyes.

They found out the next morning that they were letting the boy cabins and girl cabins of the same age group sit together this year for meals. Somehow, it was actually less chaotic than if they were separated. Which is how, once again, Joel ended up across the table from Avery at breakfast. She had accepted her fate. He smiled at her, looking far too awake for so early in the morning.

“Hey! Beezer!” one of the boys yelled from the other end of the table. It sounded like Cameron, Avery thought.

“What?” Joel yelled back.

“Beezer?” Avery asked, because what the hell.

“Hang on.” Joel banged his knee on the table as he went to go talk to his boys.

“Beezer?” Avery repeated when he came back, still rubbing his knee.

“From my last name, Farabee,” he explained. “They said Joel is a weird name, so I said they could call me Bee or Beezer.”

“Yeah, because Beezer is so normal,” Avery muttered. Joel kicked her under the table.

It rained Monday afternoon. It was one of those late summer thunderstorms that blew up fast and didn’t really last very long, but it rained hard enough and long enough that all activities after lunch were cancelled. Which meant they were all trapped in their cabins with their campers.

Some of the girls were doing who-knows-what in their bunks, while most of the boys had elected to stay in their cabin with Sam. Joel had followed Avery and Caroline, though, and was now lounging in the common area with them and a handful of their campers.

“I’m bored,” Joel said. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Caroline threw a Goldfish at his head. “Ow,” he said, watching as it bounced to the floor. “Hey, I could’ve eaten that,” he whined. Caroline threw another Goldfish at him, but this time he caught it and popped it in his mouth triumphantly.

“Does anyone have a deck of cards?” Caroline asked.

“Spoons?” Avery asked, getting up to dig her cards out of her bag.

“I have markers!” one of their girls yelled, dashing off to her bunk.

Joel was sitting up again and looking more interested when Avery came back and sat back next to him. She tossed the deck to Caroline to shuffle.

His hat was crooked, and Avery absently straightened it as Joel asked, “How do you play spoons?"

Caroline gasped. “How have you never played spoons before?”

Joel shrugged as he watched the bag of markers get dumped over the table in front of him.

“It’s like musical chairs, but with cards and spoons,” Avery explained. “Alright, how many are playing?”

“That explains literally nothing,” Joel said. “I’m in.”

Avery carefully counted out six markers and laid them out on the table. Caroline started dealing cards to everyone. Joel poked Avery in the arm; she ignored him.

“You’re gonna get four cards,” Avery started explaining. “The goal is to get four of the same number, four queens, four sixes, whatever. Carol is dealer, she’ll keep sending cards around one at a time. If you see a card you want, keep it, and pick a different card from your hand and pass it on instead. First person to four of a kind grabs a marker, the person who can’t get a marker is out, and then there’s one less marker in the next round.”

Joel blinked at her a couple times. “I think I’m still confused.”

Avery laughed and patted him on the leg. “You’ll figure it out,” she told him, picking up her cards.

Joel did figure it out, but only after he was too slow in the scramble for a marker in the first round and got stuck watching for a while.

“I want back in,” he complained. He poked Avery in the back with his foot where she had moved to the floor in front of him. “You’re too fast.”

Avery reached behind her to smack his hand away. “Years of practice, bud. And you’ll get back in when this game’s over.”

Joel stuck his tongue out at Avery, but only Caroline saw it.

By the time the rain let up a little over an hour later, Avery had nearly elbowed a camper in the face fighting Joel for a marker (which she won), Joel threw a marker across the room so Caroline couldn’t get it (and was automatically disqualified), and no less than three fights had broken out.

Basically, they’d had a great time. They still kicked Joel out to go back and deal with his own campers for a while, though, on the grounds of infringing on their territory.

On Monday night, Avery was standing outside her cabin, trying to make sure her flashlight actually worked when Joel came over to her.

“What’re you up to?” he asked.

Avery clicked her flashlight off. “What’re you up to?” she countered.

“Stealing extra snacks from the staff cabin,” he said easily. “You didn’t answer me.”

Avery smiled at him. He was still wearing his baseball hat, turned around the right way now, even though it was well past dark. “I was gonna go for a walk around the campgrounds,” she told him. “Carol’s in with our kids, and I usually go out for a while before bed.”

“By yourself?”

Avery almost laughed at how worried Joel looked. “Bee, I know every inch of this campground, I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.” And then before she could think better of it: “You could come with me if you want.”

Joel’s face lit up. “For real?” Avery did laugh at his face this time.

“Yes, for real. Just let me get a hoodie.” It was still summer, but nights on the lake got chilly.

“Here, just take mine, I won’t need it,” Joel said quickly. He tossed her the hoodie he’d been wearing at dinner.

It was big on her, and warm, though it no longer carried any of his body heat. It smelled like bonfire smoke and whatever deodorant Joel wore. When he turned to head back to the main path, Avery tucked her nose into the collar and took a deep breath.

“Alright, where the fuck are we going,” Joel asked when Avery caught up to him.

Avery shrugged, though she wasn’t sure how well Joel could see it in the dark. She said, “I don’t know, we usually just wander around for a while.

“We?”

Avery usually went on night walks with one of the guy counselors she was friends with, Alex, but he wasn’t there this summer. “You don’t know him,” Avery said.

Joel huffed. “So what, am I just the other guy?” he asked.

Avery laughed. “Something like that. Ooh, there’s a paintball course on the back corner of the grounds, if I can remember how to get there,” she said, already turning so she could head in the right direction. Maybe.

“Oh, lit!”

Avery could not, in fact, remember how to get to the paintball course. They’d made it partially there before Joel got freaked out because he was convinced he’d heard something in the woods behind them. Avery telling him it was probably just a raccoon did not help.

So, they ended up turning around and heading towards the front end of the campgrounds. There was a vacation lodge on that side of the lake, which had never quite made sense to Avery. She could see some of their lights glistening on the black lake. It was a clear night, and there was no one else around, which meant stargazing. Well, after Avery convinced Joel they weren’t trespassing by laying on the tennis courts.

“Do you know anything about stars?” Joel asked. He didn’t look over at Avery, still gazing up at the sky.

Avery snorted softly. “Nah, I just think they’re pretty. You can’t see stars like this in the city.” There were still some lights scattered around the campgrounds, but it was nothing compared to the light pollution of a city. “Our old camp director used to tell us one of those myths about how the stars were created, but I don’t think I remember enough of it to repeat it.” He also used to scare the kids with ghost stories, but Joel didn’t really need to hear about how the campgrounds were haunted just yet.

“Great story,” he said. Avery smacked him on the stomach. “Ow! Hey, be nice to me, or I’ll leave you out here.”

He wouldn’t, and they both knew that.

“Hey,” Joel said suddenly, pointing straight upward. “Is that Orion?”

“Isn’t Orion a winter constellation?” Avery asked. She had no idea where Joel was pointing.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

They mostly laid in silence, just watching the stars and enjoying the closeness and the quiet. Avery always missed hearing the frogs at night when she wasn’t at camp. The black night sky stretched endlessly above them, dotted with stars. Avery would live under these stars if she could. It was getting late, though, and they still had to be up bright and early the next day, so when Avery caught Joel yawning for the third time in as many minutes, she sat up.

“Time for bed?” Joel pouted up at her. “I know the mattresses here aren’t comfortable, but I promise it’ll be better than sleeping on a tennis court,” she told him. It had only been one day of actual camp, and she could already feel some aches settling in. “C’mon, Beezer.”

Avery stood up and stretched before offering Joel a hand up. He groaned as she pulled him to his feet. They made their way back to the cabins together, still in comfortable silence, Avery still wearing Joel’s hoodie.

Joel was carefully peeling a banana when Avery and her campers made it into breakfast Tuesday morning. His hat was facing the right way for once. She dropped her backpack on the bench and groaned.

“What took you guys so long?” he asked. Almost all of the other cabins had made it to the dining hall already. He moved Avery’s bag onto the ground at his feet. “C’mon, sit, food’s coming out soon.”

“Ava lost one of her shoes, and we all had to look for it,” she told him. Joel snorted. Avery tapped the bill of his cap, shoved it down lower over his eyes. “No hats at meals,” she told him.

Joel rolled his eyes, but he took the hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Or what?”

“Or it goes on the moose,” Avery said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the taxidermied moose head that hung over the door.

Joel gave her a look, like he definitely didn’t believe her. He’d learn.

When Avery got back to the table from the bathroom before lunch later that day, there was a baseball hat hanging from the moose’s antlers. Joel was hatless and disgruntled-looking.

“Told you,” Avery said, swiping a potato chip from his plate.

She took pity on him later and fished his hat down with the broom handle.

Swim time down at the lakefront had always been Avery’s favorite parts of summer camp. In the middle of all of the craziness of the week, the lake was always peaceful and calm. Avery could take out a paddleboard or a kayak and just float, away from yelling kids, losing track of time in the glassy blue surface of the lake. She’d spend a whole day out there if they would let her.

She had snagged a paddleboard and had made it out to the middle of the lake. She was chatting with a couple of her campers when Joel approached on a kayak. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Hi, Beezer!” the girls in the canoe chorused. Avery grinned at him.

Sam came up on Avery’s other side on another paddleboard. He floated up until he bumped into Avery’s board. She wobbled, but didn’t fall over. “Oops,” Sam said.

Avery pushed Sam’s board away with her paddle. His balance wasn’t as good, and he toppled over. “Oops,” Avery echoed. Sam flipped her off where he thought the girls couldn’t see.

It was warm in the sun, and Avery leaned on her paddle, tilting her face up to the sun. Joel poked her leg with his kayak paddle. When Avery glanced back at him, his cheeks and nose were red from the sun.

“Are you wearing any sunscreen?” Avery asked him.

Joel shrugged. “Nah.”

Avery tsked at him. Sam had made it back up onto his paddleboard.

“Hey, Aves,” he said. “Water feels nice, you should try it.” He was holding his paddle a little like a spear.

They weren’t allowed to swim out in the open water of the lake where all the kayaks were, but they could get away with it if they “fell” in, which is how the counselors usually ended up spending most of their time on the lake trying to knock each other into the water. Avery knew where this was going.

Avery paddled backwards once, trying to get out of Sam’s reach, but she bumped into Joel’s kayak instead.

“Oh, no.”

Joel’s grin turned a little wicked. Avery didn’t have time to brace herself before Joel was shoving her paddleboard, and it went out from under her. She heard everyone laughing as she hit the water with a splash. She came back up, pushing her wet hair out of her face, and hooked her arms over her board. She glared at Joel.

“Rude,” she told him.

Joel shrugged. “Thought you looked hot,” he said.

The water did feel great, actually, though Avery was loath to admit it to either of the boys. Avery sighed and heaved herself back into her board, but she didn’t stand back up, instead sitting with her legs hanging in the water on either side. The girls in the canoe were still giggling, so Avery used her paddle to splash them.

“Hey, come on, they’re innocent!” Joel protested. Avery splashed him next.

Tuesday night meant all-camp kickball on the lower fields.

Avery had never been one for making a fool of herself in team sports, so she was lounging on a blanket in the grass with Caroline and a couple of the counselors for the older girls, safe from any stray flying kickballs. Avery was just debating digging through her backpack to reapply bug spray when Joel made his way over to them.

His hat was perched backwards on his head like always, and he was squinting into the setting sun as it dipped below the treeline. His forehead had gotten sunburnt from being out on the lake earlier. “We’re getting a counselors game goin’. You girls in?” he asked, but Avery had a feeling it was directed more at her than the other three.

She raised an eyebrow up at him and absently swatted at a mosquito on Caroline’s leg. “I don’t do sports,” she told him.

Joel’s face fell. Avery hadn’t even realized how earnest he’d looked. Someone on the other end of the field called his name, and he glanced over his shoulder. “You sure? It’ll be fun,” he tried.

Avery had grown up with most of the other counselors, knew firsthand just how competitive they all were. Fun, maybe, but also intense and way too serious for summer camp kickball.

“I’ll pass,” Avery said.

“Your loss,” Joel tossed back over his shoulder as he jogged away again.

Caroline was smirking. Avery half-heartedly smacked her on the arm. “He definitely has a crush on you,” she said.

“Does he think he’s being subtle?” Meg chimed in from the other side of the blanket, not looking up from the friendship bracelet she was making.

Avery flopped backwards onto the blanket with a groan.

Avery was still on her back, dozing off while listening to the sounds of yelling kids filling the humid air, when Caroline reached over and poked her in the ribs.

“Your boy is up to bat,” she said.

Meg snorted as Avery sat up and leaned back on her elbows to watch. “He’s not ‘my boy,’” Avery grumbled. Then, “Is it still called an at-bat in kickball?” She burst out laughing as Caroline rolled her eyes.

Joel was indeed up next, and Avery watched as Joel kicked the ball and sent it sailing over Drew and Sam’s heads. He easily headed to second base, but the grass was still wet from the rain on Monday, and he wiped out as he stepped on the rubber base. All four girls on the blanket burst out laughing. Joel was still sitting in the grass, looking somewhat disinclined to move.

“You really looked like you were having fun out there,” Avery said to him later, as they all walked back up to the cabins in the dark. “That wipeout was great entertainment for us, too.”

Joel took a step to the side so he could bump into Avery, but reached out to steady her when she lost her balance. “Whatever,” he said. “That really hurt, actually.”

Avery just laughed.

Joel showed up late to lunch on Wednesday with a giant bandage covering his knee and dried blood down his leg.

“What did you do to yourself?” Avery asked as he dropped into the empty spot next to her and reached for the nearest plate of food.

He still had ash streaked across his cheek from firebuilding that morning, when he’d bet Avery that he could build a fire faster than her. (He’d won, but only barely, and because he’d used a battery instead of flint, like they were supposed to.)

Joel didn’t pause in piling food on his plate. “Jackson left his water bottle down at archery, so I went back down to get it for him, and when I was running back up the hill, I slipped on some loose gravel and fell. I think there might be some gravel in my knee now,” he said. Some of the kids at the table laughed.

“You’re a mess,” Avery told him with a sigh.

They were back down the hill towards archery after lunch on Wednesday to hang out in the Nature Center for the afternoon.

“Alright, please fill me in on what we’re doing today,” Joel asked, falling into step next to Avery.

One of Joel’s campers turned around to walk backwards in front of them. “We get to play with snakes!” he said. His name was Jack, Avery was pretty sure, who was very different from Jackson. It all got a little confusing after a while.

“Cool!” Joel said.

Avery rolled her eyes. She poked Joel in the ribs. “You would get excited about that.” He flinched away and pouted at her. It wasn’t that Avery hated the Nature Center, but the animals were the same every year, and you can only get excited about them so many times.

“What? Snakes are cool,” Joel defended.

“Boys,” Avery sighed, walking faster so she could be next to Caroline instead.

Disdain in front of Joel aside, it was fun to get to chill in the AC and hang out with the animals for a while. There was a little milk snake that loved to chill out in people’s hands named Dudley that all the counselors were weirdly fond of. Plus, they got to play around with the ferret they had, which was always highly entertaining.

Joel was just as excited as the kids, which Avery had to admit was kind of cute. He bounced around and looked eagerly into various cages with the kids. Avery and Caroline watched from a couple of the chairs in the corner, content to just hang out until the snakes came out.

“D’you think I’d get in trouble if I put him in Joel’s hood?” Avery mused, idly watching Dudley calmly wind his way around her wrist. Joel’s back was to her, and he was wearing a hoodie despite it being nearly 100 degrees outside.

Caroline giggled. “That’s mean.”

Dudley was making his way back towards Avery’s hand now. “He did say he wanted to hold him,” she said. And with that, Avery took a step forward and carefully deposited Dudley in Joel’s hood, where he promptly curled back up to sleep.

“What are you doing?” Joel asked.

“Just fixing your hood,” Avery said innocently, patting him on the shoulder and taking another step forward and pretending to read the info card of the cage they were standing in front of.

“Avery.” Avery glanced over at Joel. His arms were crossed, but he looked like he was fighting back a smile. “Why is my hood moving.” It wasn’t phrased much like a question.

Avery bit back a smile of her own. “Is it?” Dudley’s head popped out of the hood just then, slithering up onto Joel’s shoulder a little bit. He startled, then shot Avery a dirty look. Avery couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re actually the worst, why.” Dudley continued to make his way across Joel’s shoulder, happy to explore. “Help,” Joel whined, “I don’t think I can reach him, and I don’t wanna drop him.”

“Hold still,” she said, carefully reaching to grab Dudley back out. “Here, he likes to be held.”

Joel obediently held his hands out to take Dudley from Avery. “Hey, take my picture will you?”

Even if Avery never spoke to Joel again after this summer, she was definitely going to keep the picture she took of Joel grinning at the camera with a snake in his hands.

They were walking past the dam later when one of the boys stopped short. Joel, not paying any attention, bumped into him.

“Hey, Avery,” Jack said.

“Hey, Jack,” Avery said back.

“Can we go check out the cemetery?”

Avery shuddered. “Absolutely not.” She wondered who had told the boys about it.

Joel looked at Avery, wide-eyed. “There’s a cemetery here?”

“Yes, and we’re not going back there,” she told him. Several of the boys groaned, put-out. Joel still looked a little nervous, so Avery added, “These grounds used to be privately owned. The cemetery is hidden behind the dam, most people don’t even know about it.” That last part was directed more at their nosy campers.

They had started walking again. Up ahead, one of the campers yelled, “Wait, does that mean no one’s told Beezer that the campgrounds are haunted?”

“They’re what?”

Avery was not too proud to admit that she hated the barn dance a little bit. It was fun for a little while, but after about twenty minutes, it just became hot and dusty. Avery had never been good at following along with the steps they tried to teach, and it was a lot more fumbling and embarrassment than it was worth.

This year she made it through the Cha Cha Slide– which they normally didn’t play until the very end– before she dipped and left the barn to go sit back on the blanket with Meg and Caroline. They spent most of their time just laughing at their friends as they struggled to keep up with music. Avery had only been sitting out for ten minutes when Joel emerged from the crowd and made his way towards them.

“Scoot,” he said, carefully sitting next to Avery. Meg raised her eyebrows at Avery behind Joel’s back.

“Not one for dancing?” Avery asked him.

Joel stuck his tongue out at her. “You’re one to talk, you’ve been sitting over here forever.” Avery stuck her tongue out back.

“Real mature, you two,” Caroline muttered from next to them.

“Hey, wait, actually,” Joel said, reaching out to tug on Avery’s arm. He pulled her closer to him, until she was situated between his legs, leaning back against his chest. He draped his arms across her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of Avery’s head. “That’s better.”

“You’re so weird,” Avery said, but she relaxed into his hold. She rested her hands on his and settled back in to watch the semi-organized chaos of the barn dance going on in front of them.

Thursday morning found Joel hunched over a Styrofoam cup of coffee with his glasses on and hoodie pulled up over his head.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Avery said, sitting across from him and swiping his coffee for a sip.

“Hey,” Joel whined, “I need that.”

Avery snorted and handed him his coffee back. “Why are you so tired, anyway?” Avery had gone back to the cabin after barn dance and passed out herself.

Joel made a noise in the back of his throat. “We couldn’t get the boys to shut up and settle down last night.” Said boys were at the other end of the table, looking about as tired as Joel, actually.

“Y’all better wake up down there,” Avery called. “We’ve got Alpine today.” “What the hell is the Alpine Tower, anyway?” Joel asked. “No one will tell me.”

The Alpine Tower was hard to describe, and it was better to experience for the first time if you didn’t know what you were getting into, so Avery just said, “You’ll see.”

Joel groaned and put his head down on the table.

After breakfast, Joel was by Avery’s side, as was becoming typical, as they started the trek towards Alpine Tower. He’d woken up considerably as his coffee hit. “How far is it anyway?” he asked.

“Far,” everyone else chorused. Joel looked taken aback.

“You should know by now that nothing here is ever a short walk,” Avery told him. The shortest walk on the grounds was probably from the cabins to the dining hall, and that was still almost half a mile. Ahead of them, a group of their campers were chattering excitedly about their climbs later.

Joel reached out and tugged on Avery’s braid where it was pulled over her shoulder. “You should give me a piggyback ride.” Avery raised an eyebrow at him. Joel easily had a head on her. “Or you could give me one,” she countered, not really expecting Joel to take her up on it.

Except. “Only if you carry my backpack,” Joel said, already shrugging off his backpack and handing it to Avery.

She laughed. “Bud, I was joking.”

Joel adjusted his hat and came to a stop next to Avery. He was eyeing her expectantly. “Last chance.”

Avery sighed and put Joel’s backpack on over hers. “Jesus Christ, what do you have in this thing?” she asked. It was heavier than hers by a lot. Joel crouched down so Avery could climb onto his back.

“Wood chips,” Joel deadpanned as he adjusted Avery on his back, hiking her up a little higher. Avery tightened her arms around Joel’s neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but Joel didn’t respond as he started walking again, jogging a little to catch up with Caroline and the kids.

Caroline gave them both a look as they reached the rest of their group, but didn’t comment. Joel carried Avery for most of the long walk towards Alpine, and it was mostly fine, except for the moment he stopped to hike her legs up higher around his waist again and nearly accidentally flipped Avery over his head.

He came to a stop as they reached the first big hill. “Nope, ride’s over. Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t do hills.” He let Avery slide off his back and back onto the ground.

“Sweetheart?”

Joel blushed a little and wouldn’t meet Avery’s eyes. Avery purposely bumped into him as they both started walking again. Joel was panting by the time they made it to the top of the second steep hill, but he stopped short once he saw the Alpine Tower for the first time.

“Oh, hell no,” he said.

Avery laughed and went to drop down in the wood chips on the ground next to Caroline.

“What took you two so long?” she asked.

“Joel’s slow,” Avery told her.

“I heard that!” Joel called. He was only a few feet away, sitting on the low bench next to one of his campers.

“You were meant to!” Avery called back.

The Alpine Tower had once been described to Avery as “a rock wall on steroids.” What it really was was a triangular platform fifty feet in the air, and it was up to the climber to figure out how to get to the top. Each of the three sides were varying degrees of difficulty, and it was always one of Avery’s favorite camp activities. When she glanced over her shoulder, Joel was still staring up at it.

“Scared, Beezer?” she asked.

Joel scoffed, but he didn’t quite look like he meant it.

They made it through the safety demonstration and got a couple kids going up the Tower, and Avery settled in to watch, cheer her kids on, and wait for her turn. Until someone started pelting her with wood chips from behind.

“Can I help you?” she asked, turning around to glare at Joel.

He was already in the middle of throwing another wood chip at her, and it hit her in the forehead this time. “Oops.” He didn’t look particularly sorry, actually. “You gonna climb?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “Are you?” Joel just shrugged. “Wouldn’t have pegged you to be scared of heights,” she added.

Joel stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m not. Just-” he trailed off.

“How ‘bout this,” Avery said, turning fully to face Joel. “I’ll race you to the top. I’ll even let you take the easy side,” she told him. She’d been planning on taking one of the harder sides, anyway, but Joel didn’t need to know that. Joel rolled his eyes, but Avery saw a familiar glint at the prospect of a competition. “Unless you’re too scared, Bee,” she added, just a taunt, really.

“Whatever, you’re on,” he said, half-heartedly throwing another wood chip at Avery’s leg. Avery grinned at him, and Joel grinned back. Caroline shook her head at both of them.

After all the kids had taken their turn at climbing, the counselors were allowed to strap themselves into harnesses and helmets. Avery and Joel stood next to each other in the shadow of the Tower, listening as they were attached to ropes and given final instructions by the climbing staff.

“Fuck, this thing is tight,” Joel muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

“Shh, language,” Avery scolded. Their campers were all in high school, and they’d probably all heard or said “fuck” themselves by now, but still. Joel flicked her in the helmet. “Hey, be nice to me, and I might let you win.”

Joel huffed. “Let me win, sure, alright.”

“Good luck, Bee,” Avery yelled to him, already heading over to start her climb.

She was on the “middle” side, which was harder than the side Joel was starting on, but Avery had the advantage of having climbed that side more than once before. It didn’t take long before she had caught back up to Joel, who had sort of gotten himself stuck.

“Help?” he called, trying to look for a way to keep moving forward.

“Sucks to suck, Beezer,” Avery called back, reaching up to pull the cargo net she was about to climb towards her. This is where it got harder, requiring more upper body strength than Avery actually had, but when she glanced back over her shoulder, Joel had gotten himself unstuck and was moving again.

She stopped paying attention to Joel mostly after that, though she did hear a thump and then an “Ow,” that she was assuming was Joel hitting his head on something, which would definitely not have been the first time someone had done it.

She was about to climb her last stretch of cargo net when she heard, “Shit, why are you so good at this?” from below her. “Quit checking out my ass, Joel,” she yelled without turning around. She cackled when she heard Joel make loud noises of protest. It didn’t really matter; she had a race to win.

In the end, Avery barely made it to the top of the Tower before Joel. She had just stood up on the platform when one of Joel’s hands appeared, grappling for the little rock climbing rocks they had for grip on the top of the platform.

“A little help?” he asked. She could just barely see his head.

“You made it this far, you can do it,” she told him, but she took a couple steps closer to him. It was entirely ungraceful, but Joel eventually scrambled onto the platform and then to his feet.

Avery took a moment to appreciate the view. They were high, above the treeline, and trees stretched out in all directions for as far as Avery could see.

“Fuck, we’re high up,” he said.

“Stop saying fuck,” Avery chided, but she offered him a high five. “Told ya you could do it.”

“Have I told you that I hate you?” Joel asked, shaking his head. He took the high five, though. “Wait, how do we get down again?”

Alpine Tower took up most of the morning, and by the time they all made it back to the dining hall, lunch was already in full swing. Joel stretched out on the bench with a sigh.

“How am I already sore?” he asked, to no one in particular.

Avery nudged his leg. “Move over, dude, the rest of us have to sit, too.”

Joel groaned, but sat up, though he was still sitting sideways on the bench. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on Avery’s shoulder. She patted him absently on the thigh. One of the campers was setting out lunch on their table, and she was trying to see what it was.

“I’m tired,” Joel said. He was quiet for once, and Avery barely heard him over the general din of lunch.

“You can take a nap instead of coming out to the mud cave, meet up with us again for swim time,” she said, knowing full well he wouldn’t do that. He’d been talking about the mud cave ever since Avery had told him about it on Sunday night.

Joel sat upright again. “No way, I wanna get dirty.”

Avery groaned. “Please never say that again.” Joel wiggled his eyebrows at her. She knocked his baseball hat off his head.

The two cabins met back in the circle drive outside the dining hall after lunch, dressed in their dingiest clothes and oldest shoes, ready to pile into the old van that took them out to the edge of the campgrounds. For once, Joel wasn’t wearing a baseball hat. He couldn’t stand still, bouncing around while he chattered with his boys while they waited.

The van pulled up, as rickety and rusty as ever, helmets were handed out, and everyone clambered into the van. There wasn’t a lot of space, and it was hot as the van made its slow way across camp.

“Why is everyone wearing their helmets already?” Joel asked, as the van hit a bump in the road and Joel bounced high enough in his seat to hit his head on the roof. “Ow, okay.”

Eventually the van came to a stop at the creek that cut across the overgrown field they were in. Everyone piled out of the van, blinking in the sunlight.

“So, where’s the cave?” Joel asked. A couple people laughed.

“Across the creek, through the field, and then about another mile into the woods,” Avery told him, patting him on the shoulder as she went past him towards the creek. The campers had already started wading across. When she glanced back over her shoulder at him, he looked a little dismayed.

The creek was clear and cold despite the late summer heat. It came up just past Avery’s waist as she splashed across. The field on the other side was just as overgrown as the one they started in, if not more, and everyone tried to get through it and away from all the bees as fast as possible.

“Is it really that far of a walk?” Joel asked as he caught back up to Avery. His nose had gotten sunburnt at some point, was peeling a little.

“Unfortunately,” Avery said. They were walking back into the shade of the woods now. Avery’s shoes were still squishing a little from the creek, and she could already feel a blister forming on her heel.

Joel groaned, but he was otherwise quiet as they kept walking. They walked in silence for a while, and Avery basked in the sunlight filtering through the trees and the sounds of the birds and cicadas.

“How much farther?” Joel whined after a while. Avery bumped sideways into him.

“We’re almost through the week, don’t tell me you can’t handle a little walking now,” she teased.

Joel bumped into Avery back. “Sorry, one of us walked all the way up to Alpine Tower today,” he said.

“Hey, I walked up the hills at the end!” Avery protested. It wasn’t like she had begged Joel for a piggyback ride, either. Joel rolled his eyes at her.

They had finally reached the cave, and everyone was clustered around the permanent member of the camp staff who would lead their group. The kids were listening eagerly, but Joel was paying attention to literally anything else.

Avery nudged him with her elbow. “Focus, Beezer,” she whispered.

Joel stuck his tongue out at Avery, but started paying attention to where their leader was warning them about bats. “Hang on, you never said anything about bats,” Joel hissed. In front of them, the kids were lining up to head into the cave. Avery just grinned at him and shoved him forward to walk in front of her.

It was immediately cooler when they stepped into the cave. With all the rain on Monday, the water was higher than some years, and it was quickly up over Avery’s shins. In front of her, Joel clicked his flashlight on, but it did little as they made their way deeper into the blackness of the cave.

“Shit, this water’s freezing,” Joel said, way too loudly.

Avery laughed quietly. She felt her shoe unstick from the mud as she took another step. “I don’t know what you expected,” she whispered. It was hard to navigate the uneven footing in the dark and the water, and she tripped a little bit as the ground sloped suddenly beneath her. She caught herself with a hand on Joel’s back. “Shit, sorry,” she said.

Joel didn’t say anything, but he slowed down a bit so Avery could stay closer to him and his little circle of light. He kept a hand outstretched behind him in case Avery tripped again. It was quiet in the cave, just the sounds of everyone making their way through the muddy water and the occasional quiet giggle or curse from the campers. Avery lost track of time a bit, and before she knew it they had reached the back of the cave. All flashlights were turned off, and they stood quietly in the pitch black for a few long moments. Joel was standing close enough to Avery that she could feel his body heat, chasing away some of the chill of the cave. When they finally turned to leave and headed back out of the cave, Joel’s hand found the small of her back, steadying her, just for a second.

At the mouth of the cave, their leader insisted on streaking mud across everyone’s face before they could leave. Joel wrinkled his nose and poked at his cheek as they stepped back out into the sunlight. “Feels weird,” he complained.

“The mud is what you have a problem with?” Avery asked. Yeah, it itched a little as it was drying, but they were also covered in muddy water, well past both of their knees.

Joel just shrugged.

The walk back to the creek always seemed longer. It was still hot and humid, even in the shade of the woods, but it felt worse after spending almost an hour in freezing water and the damp dark of the cave. Everyone walked slower, dragging their soggy feet.

Joel ended up in the creek ahead of Avery. The kids were splashing around, relishing in the clean water.

“Hey, Bee,” Avery called.

Joel turned towards her, but Avery missed a drop-off of the rocks that made up the creek bed, and stumbled. Joel caught her quickly before she face-planted into the water.

“Careful,” he said, grinning down at her. “No need to throw yourself at me,” he added.

Avery rolled her eyes. She had found her footing, but Joel was still clutching her arms. She pushed at his chest and laughed as his heel slipped and he fell backwards. He disappeared under the water for a moment.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” he said when he reappeared.

Avery tried to dash away, but the water came up over her waist, which made it hard to move quickly. She splashed as much as she could, but she felt Joel grab her around the waist and haul her backwards until they were both falling back underwater. Avery shrieked. Joel let go of her after they both went under, and Avery pushed herself away and stood back up. They were both soaked now. Joel was laughing, and Avery couldn’t help but to laugh, too.

“Alright, you two,” Caroline yelled from the shore. “Quit flirting and get out of the creek.”

They both grumbled about it, but they made it to the other side of the creek without further incident.

Back into the van everyone went. It felt less hot with everyone still chilled from the cave and playing in the creek. Joel slid in next to Avery, pressed up against her side. They were stopping off at the lakefront swim next instead of going back to their cabins, and Avery was looking forward to spending more time out in the sun on the lake. Joel nudged her in the ribs with his elbow, drawing her attention away from where she was staring out the window.

“You goin’ out on the lake?” he asked quietly. The van jolted, and he ended up nearly in Avery’s lap for a moment.

“Of course,” Avery said back.

“Wanna grab a canoe together and chill?”

Avery thought for a moment. “Not interested in trying to knock me off a paddle board some more?” she teased.

Joel shook his head, grinning at Avery. His helmet was off, and his hair was a mess from being underneath it. “Too tired,” he said.

“Lame,” Avery said. Then, “Dibs on the front of the canoe.”

It didn’t take long to change out of their drenched and muddy clothes into swimsuits and commandeer a canoe. Joel got stuck doing most of the steering, with Avery only paddling when necessary. They mostly just drifted, letting the breeze push them along the open water. The lake was steel grey, the sky above them dark with clouds that had rolled in while they were in the cave, threatening more rain. Avery sat back and let her fingers brush across the water.

“Hey,” Joel said. His voice echoed a little, carrying across the lake. “Look at me for a sec.”

Avery turned as much as she could without jostling the canoe. Joel had his phone out, and when she turned, Avery heard the artificial shutter sound as Joel snapped a picture of her. She flipped him off with a grin; he took a picture of that, too.

The dining hall seemed extra loud that night, campers running back and forth between tables, everyone desperate for a few extra minutes with their friends before everyone went their separate ways the next day.

“You’ve got a little-” Joel poked the dried mud Avery still had across her cheekbones, sitting next to her at their table.

She swatted his hand away. “Shut up, I didn’t have time to shower after swim.” Joel slid down the bench, away from Avery. “Okay, rude,” she said. Joel grinned at her. He didn’t move any closer.

After dinner was the closing campfire. They were at the big fire ring this time, down near the lakefront as the sun set. Joel found Avery sitting on one of the benches off to the side of the fire by herself and plopped down on the bench next to her. His backpack made a muffled thump when he dropped it in the wood chips at their feet.

Avery dropped her head to rest on Joel’s shoulder. “I’m tired, Bee,” she whined. As much as she loved camp, it usually kicked her ass by the end of the week.

Joel laughed softly and patted Avery on the thigh. “Last day tomorrow,” he reminded her.

Avery stared into the flickering flames until her eyes went unfocused. “But I don’t wanna go home.”

She didn’t want to leave camp, her happy place, didn’t want to leave Joel, who she was maybe falling in love with, didn’t want to leave her friends and the endless days of summer behind.

Joel laughed again, but it wasn’t mean. “I get that.” The kids were starting in on their s’mores. “I wasn’t sure how much I was gonna like it here, honestly. Especially when I got here and everyone else already knew each other, and I was just the new guy.”

Avery lifted her head and looked at Joel. The firelight was casting shadows across his face, but he was gazing out over the lake. His hand was still on Avery’s leg, just above her knee.

“Did you like it after all?” Avery asked. She thought about him talking about next year on the very first day, saying he thought camp would be fun.

Joel grinned then, and it was familiar and comforting. Avery hadn’t expected that to happen at the beginning of the week.

She found herself wanting to see Joel’s smile forever.

“Yeah, I did,” was all Joel said. Avery put her head back on his shoulder.

They were quiet for a few minutes as the sun sank fully below the treeline and the lake glowed red next to them. Avery shivered in spite of the warm air as a wind blew. Joel bumped her head with his shoulder so Avery sat back up, and then he was bending over to dig something out of his backpack. He dropped a hoodie in Avery’s lap. She hadn’t seen him wearing it ever during the evening, which meant he’d thrown it in his bag just for her. She pulled it on with a small smile.

“You might not get this back, bud,” she told him, tugging the sleeves over her hands. Guys’ hoodies always seemed more comfortable than any sweatshirt Avery had ever owned herself.

Joel just shook his head at her and tugged on her braid, but it was gentle, half-hearted.

“Oh, wait, I’ll be right back,” Joel said, jumping back up and disappearing towards the s’mores table. When he came back a few minutes later, he had a s’more in one hand.

“What, nothing for me?” Avery teased.

“No, because you don’t like chocolate, you freak,” Joel said, but he reached into his shorts pocket and triumphantly produced an unopened sleeve of graham crackers, tossing them to Avery. She squinted suspiciously at him as he sat back down. “Carol told me you’ll eat the graham crackers,” he said casually.

Avery opened the crackers carefully and stuck one in her mouth. “Thanks, Bee,” she said around it. It came out softer than she meant for it to.

Joel winked at her and stole a graham cracker.

Every year, there were rumours of campers planning to sneak out of their cabins on the last night of camp. Really, they were terrible at being discreet about it, but they thought they were being subtle. Regardless, the counselors still had to be careful and watch to make sure no one actually did manage to sneak out.

Which is how Avery and Joel ended up sitting out in front of the stars at the small fire ring in front of their cabins, perched on the cold stone wall with both of their cabins in view. Avery was still wearing Joel’s hoodie.

“Do you think they’ll actually do it?” Joel asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Avery shook her head and tilted her chin to look up at the stars. “Probably not, but I’m not about to get in trouble with Austin if they do.” It had happened once while she was still a camper, and it hadn’t exactly been pretty the next day with an entire cabin in trouble.

It had been cloudy earlier in the day, but it had cleared up, and the stars were as bright as ever above them. The moon was low and yellow in the humid air. Avery wished for a second that she had a camera to capture this moment, a memory to last forever.

Joel mimicked Avery, looking up at the stars. “Bright tonight,” he said. Avery hummed in agreement. “Hey, you know what we should do after the kids fall asleep?” he asked suddenly.

Avery raised an eyebrow at him. “Sleep?”

Joel huffed out a quiet laugh. “I wanna check out that cemetery you guys were talking about,” Joel said.

“At night?” Avery said. “Hell no, it’s creepy enough during the daytime,” she told him.

She’d been back there once before, years ago. There were broken headstones scattered throughout the overgrown grass, and it was shaded by the dam and a dozen trees, making it cooler, even in the heat of summer. It felt like it was a world away from the rest of the camp, quiet and eerie, and Avery had zero plans of ever going back there.

Joel rolled his eyes. “You know what else we could do?” He turned so he was facing Avery.

She tilted her head to look at him. He was smiling softly at her. It was a little scary how quickly he’d become a part of Avery’s life, how she went from knowing nothing about him to trusting that he’d always be by her side.

“I don’t know, Joel, what could we do?” Avery whispered.

Joel’s smile grew, and then he was leaning in. Avery’s eyes closed as their lips met. Joel’s hand was wrapped around one of Avery’s wrists, thumb rubbing absently over the skin there. When he pulled away, he was still smiling. They were sitting closer together than they had been, though Avery wasn’t sure which one of them had moved.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” Joel admitted.

“Well, why didn’t you?” Avery asked, and then she was wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. She could feel Joel smiling into the kiss, even as he tugged her closer.

Distantly, Avery heard a cabin door open. She pulled away to turn and look, and Joel dropped his head to her shoulder. Avery ran her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. Caroline was walking towards them.

“I was going to tell you that the kids are asleep and you two can come back inside, but you seem pretty busy,” she said once she got closer.

They both flipped her off, and she laughed at them as she turned and headed back into the girls’ cabin. Avery shivered in spite of herself then. Joel rubbed his free hand over Avery’s thigh, a little bit for warmth, and a little bit just to touch her, because he could do that now.

“Last day tomorrow,” Joel murmured. Avery leaned closer.

“Don’t wanna talk about that,” she said. She looked back up at the stars, hoping that they would have some answers, for how she was feeling, for how she was going to go back to a normal life after this.

Joel used a finger to pull Avery’s chin towards him again, to press one last kiss to her lips. He used the hand on her wrist to pull her to her feet.

“Better get to bed,” he said, and it sounded a little wistful.

As much as she didn’t want to leave Joel, Avery was cold, and her ass hurt from sitting on the concrete wall for so long. “Walk me to my door?” she asked. The cabin was only a couple hundred feet away, but she was going to hold onto every last moment. Joel held his arm out for her to loop hers through. “Don’t want to get attacked by a raccoon or something,” she added.

Joel ducked his head and stole one last kiss when he dropped her off, Avery’s hand already on the doorknob.

“See you tomorrow,” she whispered to his retreating back.

The last day of camp was always weird. The buses didn’t come to pick up the campers until after lunch, which left several weird hours of downtime to kill in between cabin cleanout and the time everyone actually left camp. Even with everyone still lingering and saying their goodbyes, with the cabins standing empty, camp had an eerie and melancholy feel.

Cleaning out the cabins was always a mad scramble of kids hunting down their belongings and cleaning up week-old messes. They only had half an hour after breakfast before they had to be out of the cabins, and there was never enough time.

“How does someone always lose a towel?” Avery asked Caroline. “How do you not realize you don’t have your swim towel?”

Joel had sat next to Avery at breakfast, like usual, but they hadn’t talked about the night before, or what was going to happen in the future. Avery was trying her best not to think about it. Which is to say, it was all she could think about.

Caroline waved her hand in front of Avery’s face, jarring her back to the present. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked.

“Joel,” Avery admitted.

Caroline smirked. “I can’t believe it took you two that long to get your shit together. Thought for sure you’d be hooking up after the first night.”

Avery shoved at Caroline’s arm until she fell off the path and stepped into the grass, cackling. “Why am I friends with you.” Caroline stepped back on the sidewalk. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do. Summer camp is a whole different world from everything else.”

“I think you’re overthinking this,” Caroline told her. Ahead of them, Joel was helping one of the younger boys carry his heavy bag. Avery sighed.

“I don’t even think he lives around here,” Avery said, remembering when Joel had told them he was from New York. She had never thought to ask how exactly he’d come across their little camp, how he’d ended up in the Midwest.

Caroline shoved her back. “You know how you could find all that out?” she asked. “Talk to him.”

They had caught up to Joel. “Who are we talking to?” he asked, shooting Avery a knowing look.

They lost him in the chaos of trying to organize all the kids’ luggage into the proper bus piles, but he cornered Avery in the basement of the dining hall as she was about the head back upstairs.

“Hi,” she said. He was wearing his hat the right way around for once. Avery reached up and flipped it backwards, so she could pull him down for a quick kiss. Joel’s hand was warm on her waist.

“What was that for?” Joel asked, but he ducked down to steal another kiss. “Heard we needed to talk about something,” he went on, without waiting for Avery to respond. She poked him in the stomach, got him to back off from where he was caging her in against a wall.

“How does this work?” Avery asked. Joel had taken a step back, but he stayed close, close enough that Avery could see the way his eyebrows furrowed when she spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“Camp doesn’t last forever, Joel,” Avery said.

“So what, this has to end?” Joel asked.

Avery took another step away from Joel. “I don’t know, does it?” she snapped. “What even is ‘this,’ anyway?”

Joel stepped closer and took Avery’s hand. “I don’t know, but I know that I like you, and that I want to find out,” he said.

Avery looked up at Joel. The look in his eyes was earnest, genuine. She felt the fight drain out of her. “How do we do that?” she murmured.

“We’ll figure it out as we go, yeah?”

Avery smiled. “Yeah.”

When they made it back upstairs, Caroline was shuffling a deck of cards, and there was a pile of spoons stolen from the kitchen in the middle of the table. Joel was still holding tightly to Avery’s hand as they walked. A couple campers made room for them at the table, and his hand rested on her thigh instead. Avery leaned into his side.

“Deal us in,” she said.

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