#with his tiny tulip on top of the helmet
Text
Skeletons in the Closet
Well, I’m supposed to be working on the next Face Down chapter, but I can’t stop thinking about this. So, here’s the first chapter.
From the time that Taehyung had presented as an omega at 13, he’d wanted to have pups. He’d stand naked in front of the mirror after showering, letting his hands rub his still flat stomach and imagine what it would be like to be pregnant. He imagined the joy on his mate’s face when he told them, speaking softly to the delicate bump in the first few months, and how it would feel for the pup to move for the first time. Taehyung had dreamed of having a pup so often as a young omega. His own eomma told him that it was something most omegas would ponder on, but not like Taehyung. When she had walked in and caught him daydreaming and stroking his stomach, she’d tried to discourage his overactive imagination. She’d scolded him the second time she caught him, so he’d wait and do it when no one else was home. There were also a few times at school when he’d done it after cheerleading practice when he was able to shower alone.
Taehyung had never told any of the people he dated how badly he wanted a pup. Even the sweet female alpha, Eunji, he spent his heats with when he was old enough to have a heat partner. He kept it buried in his chest, a treasured secret only he needed to know. Until he met Yoongi.
Honestly, Taehyung had thought the stories his halmeoni had told him when he was a tiny pup about soulmates being real was bullshit until he went to a party his freshman year of college with his roommate; Yoongi walked in and the world around him stopped moving when their eyes met. He’d been standing in the corner nursing his only cup of somaek for the evening chatting quietly with Jimin. He and Jimin had clicked immediately from the first time they met, so he’d been holding his cup giving Jimin a pep talk to go speak with the cute upper classman he liked from his dance class. Their friend, Bogum, was hosting the party, and when he swiftly walked over to throw his arm around a taller man, Taehyung’s eyes followed the motion. Beside the person Bogum was enthusiastically hugging was literally the most gorgeous alpha Taehyung had ever seen. He was a couple inches shorter than Taehyung and adorned in all black leather, a motorcycle helmet under his arm. Taehyung scolded himself for staring for a moment until the man looked up and met his eyes from under the brim of a black ball cap he’d slung over horrible helmet hair.
He'd been gorgeous with his broad shoulder line and painted-on leather pants, but when he looked up and Taehyung’s eyes met onyx his breath caught in his throat. The eyes gazing into his own were sharp and prettily shaped but held the spark of mischievous intelligence. Taehyung’s mouth dropped open a little when those eyes skirted down his face to trail down his body, taking in the outfit Jimin had insisted he wear: a silky black button down tucked neatly into a pair of Jimin’s own skinny jeans. The man’s eyes stuttered a little on the upswing at 3 undone top buttons that revealed a flimsy red mesh undershirt, then stayed on Taehyung’s lips coated in a fine layer of soft red lip stain for a few seconds too long before looking into Taehyung’s eyes again and smirking a devilish half smile. Honestly, Taehyung pinched himself hard when he crossed the room to stand right in front of Taehyung.
“Hi,” he drawled.
When he got close, Taehyung shivered when the alpha’s scent washed over him. Taehyung had grown up on a farm in Daegu situated on the edge of a forest, and this alpha smelled so good. This alpha smelled like standing in the forest in the middle of a rainstorm, and to a country boy who’d grown up romping through a forest constantly, this alpha smelled like home. Mine, his omega chirped in the back of his mind.
“Hi,” Taehyung replied after a moment of letting his brain restart.
The alpha laughed silently at that. “I’m Yoongi. What’s your name, Tulip?”
“Taehyung.”
Taehyung’s heart stuttered again in his chest at the pet name. No one had ever called him anything remotely like one of the prettiest flowers in his halabeoji’s garden before. Over the course of the next several hours, the two talked about anything and everything from the corner of Bogum’s flat while the party went on around them. Taehyung learned that Yoongi was also from Daegu, having grown up closer to the city center. He wasn’t a college student anymore as he'd graduated early into an internship but was still super active in the underground rap scene around Seoul and wrote his own music. He was determined to make it as a rapper, and his passion shone in his eyes as a fierceness Taehyung had never seen in anyone else. They talked about everything from their favorite foods to their wildest dreams (Yoongi to be a rapper and Taehyung to have his own clothing line) to their favorite cafes around the city. Before either of them realized it, the night was winding down. At some point, Jimin had gotten the nerve up to go and dance with Taemin and had gone home with him. When the party started to thin out, Taehyung glanced at his phone to find it was nearing 3 am.
“Wow. I didn’t realize how late it was,” Yoongi said after seeing the time on Taehyung’s device. “Let me take you home, Tulip. It’s too late for a flower as gorgeous as you to be roaming the streets alone.”
Honestly, it wouldn’t have taken much convincing for Taehyung to go along with him but being called gorgeous sealed the deal. Taehyung had grown accustomed to being called “pretty,” “a perfect omega specimen,” and other slightly demeaning things over the course of his life by alphas who just wanted to knot him. But Yoongi was sincere. He wore his emotional honesty on his face and Taehyung was sure he’d never be able to lie to him. So, when Yoongi took his hand and led him out the door to where he’d parked a sleek black street bike and wrapped him in his own jacket before placing an extra helmet on his head, Taehyung let him. It genuinely felt good to let an alpha take care of him for once. Taehyung wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s waist as he drove them the long way back to Taehyung’s apartment and gloried in the way Yoongi’s scent spiked a little when Taehyung rested his head gently on his shoulder.
When Yoongi pulled in front of Taehyung’s building and turned his bike off to walk him to the door, Taehyung’s omega piped up again to say, “Mine.” Taehyung had been ignoring that feeling until they got to the door and Taehyung slid the leather jacket off to give back.
“Keep it, Tulip. Wear it until our first date. Then I can wear it once it’s soaked in your scent so that the whole city knows I belong to you,” he’d growled against Taehyung’s lips before finally kissing him.
Taehyung had honestly expected the kiss to be devouring by the growl that had crept into Yoongi’s voice, but it wasn’t. Yoongi’s lips were soft, and the kiss was sweet. Taehyung could taste the glass of whiskey Yoongi had sipped from during the party as he sucked the flavor off Yoongi’s tongue. The kiss made Taehyung more drunk than alcohol ever had as he slowly sank into the swirl of scent whipping around him from Yoongi’s strong arms around his waist. Yoongi nibbled on his bottom lip, then pulled back from the kiss to press his forehead to Taehyung’s collarbones.
“Can I scent you, Tulip?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Taehyung sighed back. “Please, Alpha.”
Yoongi took his time rubbing his face slowly into the dip of Taehyung’s throat and licked softly across his scent gland. He thoroughly mixed his strong forest scent across both sides of his neck and pulled down the neckline of his undershirt to bite down on his skin, laving his tongue across the mark. The light pine scent mingled perfectly with Taehyung’s sweet amber scent and blossomed heady into the air around them. Taehyung was trembling with want when Yoongi finally pulled back to stare into his eyes.
“I’ll call you later today, sweet Tulip. Sleep well.”
Taehyung had stepped into the door of his apartment building but peeked through the window in the door as Yoongi sauntered back to his bike and grabbed the helmet Taehyung had worn. Yoongi giggled and buried his nose into the helmet to get a whiff of Taehyung’s natural fragrance before putting the helmet onto his own head. Watching the alpha wear the helmet that Yoongi had snapped onto Taehyung’s own head just to be close to him a little longer made Taehyung’s heart thump in his chest. After Yoongi started his motorcycle and headed out, Taehyung had walked to his second-floor apartment. He forewent showering when getting ready for bed so that Yoongi’s scent would linger on his skin. He started to lay down in his bed without it but seeing the leather jacket slung across his desk chair made his heart thump, so before he laid down he grabbed the jacket and wrapped it across his shoulders instead of a blanket. He fell asleep that night with his nose buried in the collar where it had stroked against Yoongi’s scent gland.
The next morning, Taehyung had startled awake when Jimin jumped on top of him.
“Who’s jacket do you have, Tae Bear? Did you go home with someone?” Jimin asked as they cuddled in Taehyung’s bed.
Taehyung told him all about meeting Yoongi and how they’d talked all night, about the kiss, and about his intimate scenting before leaving. In the middle of Jimin telling him all about how his night with Taemin had been, Taehyung’s phone lit up with a text.
“God, Tulip. What have you done to me? I can’t stop thinking of you.”
That random meeting was followed by 2 whirlwind weeks of dates: a picnic by the Han River, cooking dinner together at Yoongi’s apartment, taking long walks through campus after Yoongi picked Taehyung up for class, coffee-and-cocoa dates, and one early morning breakfast date when Yoongi had been in the studio all night. It culminated in Yoongi inviting Taehyung and Jimin to come watch him battle at an underground rap club in a slightly seedy part of Seoul. He invited Taehyung into his world and Taehyung nearly combusted when Yoongi got on stage, challenged to a rap battle by some punk called B. Free. Yoongi ate him up and spat him out on stage in front of a screaming crowd. When the MC called the battle in Yoongi’s favor, Taehyung felt the first droplets of slick slide down the inside of his thighs. And when Yoongi leapt off stage and pressed Taehyung to the bar with sweat sliding down his temple from the stage lights, Taehyung couldn’t stop himself from kissing him with more feral desire and less finesse than he’d wanted. They left the club right then, Jimin heading to Taemin’s apartment to watch a movie together and Taehyung to spend the night under Yoongi.
The next morning, they showered together. Yoongi washed the sweat and the mix of their cum from Taehyung’s thighs and pressed kisses to the hickies littering his skin.
“Tulip, I need you to be mine. Will you?” Yoongi asked him as he knelt between Taehyung’s thighs after their shower where he’d stooped down to rub lotion on his legs.
“God, Alpha. I thought you’d never ask,” Taehyung groaned back before kissing Yoongi deeply.
They were practically inseparable after that. Even when they had differing opinions or arguments, they had a rule that they wouldn’t sleep until the issue was resolved. This rule served them super well and held them together through so much, including the death of Taehyung’s grandparents, Yoongi doing a second internship in Los Angeles, and Taehyung struggling through his finals to graduate with his fashion design degree.
They moved in together as soon as Yoongi came back from America. He’d done the internship as a producer for other people, but he still desperately wanted to be a rapper. So, he worked part time as a producer, but still did the grind at the underground rap clubs in Seoul, winning a few prize pools and slowly building an underground fan base as Agust D. At the same time, Taehyung worked his ass off to graduate then got a part time job as a barista so he could help with rent and groceries even as he searched for a job in fashion.
Taehyung and Yoongi struggled for a year to make a name for themselves in their own industries. Taehyung hadn’t had much success, but after nearly 15 months of throwing himself into major underground rap competitions, Yoongi got scouted. He went to multiple meetings with the executives at Assassination Records and the night that Yoongi signed the contract is the day he learned Taehyung’s secret.
Taehyung was standing naked in their bedroom, having just showered and rubbed the unscented baby lotion he loved across his skin. He stood, just staring at the full-length mirror at the corner of their bedroom, running his hands across his stomach and dreaming of having a pup. He had just turned to the side to look at the softness of his lower stomach, where he knew his womb was tucked safely behind the skin. He stroked lovingly across the soft skin and imagined the joy of a life growing inside him. And for the first time ever, he had a face for the alpha who’d give him a pup. Yoongi. Yoongi would be so excited and overjoyed. Taehyung had had the honor of watching Yoongi hold his brother’s new pup just hours after she was born and how he held her close and pressed his nose into the newborn-silky hair, sharply inhaling the distinct mingled scent of her parents and the gentle milky undertones of a new pup. Yoongi had held her for hours and whispered mellow secrets to her in his raspy voice while his brother and his mate took a long nap after a difficult birth.
Taehyung was lost in his daydreams of giving his alpha a pup of his own when Yoongi startled him out of them. Yoongi slipped into the bedroom and wrapped his arms around his omega’s waist, snuggling into his scent before speaking. “Whatcha thinking about, Tulip?”
“About how it will feel when I’m pregnant. How I can’t wait to carry our pups,” Taehyung murmured back.
Yoongi’s scent spiked at his admission. “You want alpha to give you a pup, Tulip?”
“Please? Please, Alpha. Want a pup.”
Taehyung knew that it shouldn’t be possible for him to get pregnant at this point, since he was on birth control, and they usually used condoms for ease of clean up. But something about Taehyung begging for Yoongi to give him a pup unleashed something in Yoongi. He felt nearly feral as he walked Taehyung over to their bed and laid him down on his back.
“Alright, Tulip. Alpha will give you a pup,” he growled into the skin of Taehyung’s abdomen.
Before the night was over, they’d fucked so many times that Taehyung honestly couldn’t count how many times Yoongi had cum inside him. It had been nearly like Yoongi had been tossed into rut by his admission that he’d wanted a pup so much. As they laid in each other’s arms, slightly sticky from still drying sweat, they talked softly about their future and the contract that Yoongi had signed. Yoongi had argued for several weeks to make sure that a dating ban wasn’t written into the contract because he refused to give Taehyung up in order to achieve his dream. Taehyung fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning with his alpha spooned to his back and his alpha’s callused hands slowly stroking his abdomen where a pup might grow.
A few weeks passed where Taehyung didn’t give their night together too much thought. Yoongi brought him with him to give him a tour of the record label building and make sure that he was put on the short list of outsiders allowed to access it and contact him at any time. Yoongi had told his new managers and the executive that scouted him that Taehyung was his number one priority and he’d always come first. He thought they’d understood where he stood, even if they couldn’t fathom why. As far as Yoongi was concerned, Taehyung was his soulmate and as soon as his debut was secured, he was going to mate him and make him his Tulip forever.
Then Taehyung got sick. The first time he woke up to vomit out his insides at an obscene hour of the morning, he literally just thought he had food poisoning. They’d gone to dinner at a new café two nights ago, so Taehyung just assumed something about the food had disagreed with him. But it kept happening for a solid week and a half. Every morning would find him violently expelling the previous night’s dinner into the toilet while Yoongi worried and fussed and rubbed his back.
“Tulip, please. Call your doctor. I’m going insane with worry,” he’d begged.
“Okay. I’ll call as soon as they open. But you have to get going. Jiwoon will kill you if you’re late to recording today,” Taehyung had said.
Jiwoon, Yoongi’s manager, made Taehyung very uncomfortable. He stared at Taehyung like the omega was a cockroach crawling into his dinner every time Taehyung dropped by the studio to see Yoongi. He never just showed up, knowing that his wonderful soulmate was hard at work on his debut album, and he never stayed long enough to disrupt the process. He’d drop in long enough to bring Yoongi an Americano from his part time job and kiss him goodbye or on nights when Yoongi was going to be late, he’d pop in to drop off dinner for Yoongi and the other producer he’d been working with. But Jiwoon would look at Taehyung like he was disgusting or make snide comments about omegas not knowing their place in the kitchen. Yoongi tolerated the comments because he was working his ass off to debut, but that didn’t mean he didn’t glare at the other alpha every time. No one was allowed to speak of Taehyung that way.
So, the day that Taehyung found out his dream had come true by some miracle of his failed birth control, Taehyung couldn’t wait to tell his alpha about the pup. He left his doctor’s office with the positive test result and a tiny ultrasound photo of a tiny bean-shaped pod and went straight to the Assassination records building to surprise Yoongi. Taehyung had his phone in his hand, and they’d always shared their locations with each other. It was something that kept Yoongi’s anxiety levels when they were approaching Yoongi’s rut and Taehyung’s quarter annual heats at a manageable level. Taehyung walked into the front office building, smiling at the sweet receptionist manning the front desk and started toward the elevator. He’d almost made it there when someone grabbed his arm and jerked him into an empty workroom.
Jiwoon and some big thug that Taehyung had never seen before were the ones who drug him into the room. Luckily, Taehyung had tucked the results and ultrasound photo into his back pocket when he left the doctor’s office so Jiwoon couldn’t see them.
“What are you doing, Jiwoon-ssi? I just need to speak with my alpha for a moment. I’ll be quick I promise.”
“That’s the thing, Omega. You aren’t seeing him today. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave while you still can,” Jiwoon growled.
He motioned to the thug in the room, who slapped Taehyung hard across the face twice. Taehyung instantly pulled back and rushed to the door to try to escape. He needed to get out of here to protect their pup. Before he could reach the door, the big alpha grabbed his arm and jerked him back into the room, holding his arms behind his back.
“Here’s the deal, you power hungry slut,” Jiwoon said as he grabbed Taehyung’s phone out of his hand. He dropped the device on the floor and stomped on it until his boots shattered the screen and bits of plastic popped off the side. “If you don’t leave, I’ll do that to you. Yoongi signed a contact with me, and he doesn’t need some little whore distracting him. So if you leave today, I won’t break you like I broke your phone.”
Taehyung had tears sliding down his cheeks and his left eye was beginning to swell from how hard he’d been hit. He just nodded and said, “Okay. I’ll go.”
“Never contact him again, Whore. Or I’ll make you disappear. Permanently. Yoongi is about to make me a ton of money.”
As soon as the alpha gripping his arms released him, Taehyung ran. He ran out the door and towards the entrance to the building. The receptionist had gone to lunch, so he didn’t encounter anyone else as he left the building. He ran a couple of blocks from the building before his terror and need to protect the pup growing inside him allowed him to slow down and flag down a cab. The taxi driver asked him if he was alright upon seeing the slowly darkening black eye and inhaling the overwhelming distressed omega scent in his car. Taehyung was barely able to get out the address to the building where their apartment was and didn’t realize until later that the beta driving the taxi didn’t charge him for the ride until later.
When Taehyung’s shaking hands were struggling to enter the entry code for the building, he glanced over and saw the thug who’d been with Jiwoon getting out of a second taxi across the street. Taehyung ran up the stairs to their floor and jetted into their apartment. He pulled a dining room chair over and slid it under the handle of the door to barricade himself in. He was sobbing in distress at this point and started throwing the most important things into a medium sized duffle bag. He was only able to pack the things he couldn’t leave without, including the baby blanket his halmeoni had knitted for him for his first born, a photo album of photos of him and Yoongi, and a few other things. Before he left, he grabbed the notepad that hung on their refrigerator that they used to make grocery lists and jotted down a quick note.
“Yoongi, I can’t tell you what has happened, but I have to go. I don’t want to hold you back from the amazing career you will have. I will love you until I die. Love you so much, Taehyung.”
Then Taehyung removed the chair from the door, and left the apartment for the last time, leaving his apartment keys on the counter beside the shakily written note. He walked to the corner with his duffle bag in hand and flagged down a taxi to take him to the train station. It wasn’t actually that far from their apartment, but Taehyung couldn’t take the chance of being alone with Jiwoon’s thug having followed him. He paid the taxi driver when they got to the station and went in and bought a one-way ticket to Busan.
Taehyung had gotten lucky that he didn’t have to wait too long for the train. When it pulled in 15 minutes later, Taehyung found a seat in the back corner of the car and held his duffle bag in his lap, pressed to his chest. He cried nearly the entire 3-hour train trip. He stepped into the station and snagged another taxi from the line offering rides to travelers and handed the driver the envelope from his brother that he’d gotten for his birthday 3 months ago. The driver set off then and they drove for 20 more minutes to drop him off in front of a small house in the suburbs of the city. Taehyung had been saving all of his tips from the café to buy Yoongi a special pair of headphones for his birthday that he’d been daydreaming about, so he’d grabbed the bills out of it's hiding place. He didn’t want to use his debit or credit cards so that Jiwoon couldn’t trace him. But that also meant that Yoongi couldn’t trace him either. This was the only thing he could do to keep their tiny pup safe.
Taehyung couldn’t help himself from looking over his shoulders as he rang the doorbell on his brother’s house. Taehyung and Seokjin had always been close, but even moreso since their grandparents had died. Seokjin’s mate, Hoseok, answered the door.
“Taehyungie! We weren’t expecting you. Are you okay?” he said.
The relief of being somewhere safe slammed through him and Taehyung collapsed at the weight of the terror he’d been through. Hoseok caught him when he stumbled before frantically yelling for Seokjin back through the house. At the sound of Hoseok’s call for help, Seokjin came flying through the house towards the door. Seokjin rounded the corner to see his baby brother unconscious in Hoseok’s arms and scooped him up to carry him into the house. When Seokjin laid Taehyung on the couch and noticed a slip of paper gripped in his hand. Seokjin eased it out of his hand and was faced with the grainy ultrasound photo with a tiny red arrow labeled “baby” pointing at a small kidney bean shape in the center.
“Well, that’s one way to find out we’re going to be uncles, Seokie,” Seokjin murmured to the beta at his side.
Taehyung had only been unconscious for maybe 20 minutes when he slowly opened his eyes. Hoseok was fidgeting in the armchair beside the couch while Seokjin had perched on the edge of the couch beside Taehyung. Taehyung’s eyes fell upon Seokjin’s face as he was looking between the ultrasound photo in his hand and Taehyung’s still flat stomach.
“Jinnie?” Taehyung said softly before beginning to cry again.
“Oh, Tae. What’s going on? Where’s Yoongi?”
At the mention of his alpha’s name, Taehyung sobbed loudly. “He’s in Seoul. And he can’t know where I am. I found out I’m pregnant this morning, and when I went to his new studio to tell him, I got slapped around by his manager. He broke my phone and a hired thug slapped me around a little. I had to promise I’d never see Yoongi again to protect our pup. And I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Taehyungie, we have a spare bedroom, and it’s yours for as long as you need it,” Hoseok replied. “You’re our family too. We’ll help keep you and the pup safe.”
Seokjin agreed as he hugged Taehyung close. “Do you have everything you need in that tiny duffle bag?”
“Not even close. But I just grabbed the things that were the most meaningful and ran. I’ll have to shred my debit card and credit cards and get new numbers and a new job.”
“Don’t worry about getting a job, Tae. We’ve been looking for a barista and cashier for my bakery. I’ll call and cancel the interviews scheduled for tomorrow. You can settle in tomorrow and start the day after,” Seokjin replied.
“We’ll go shopping tomorrow too and grab you the things you need for working and necessities. We have a couple of extra toothbrushes so you can use one of those. What else do you need?”
“I had to leave behind my sewing machine and all my clothing making supplies.”
Seokjin pondered for a moment before speaking. “I honestly think I might have Halmeoni’s sewing machine in storage in the shed. I know her sewing box is in the closet in the spare room. It’s yours.”
They ordered in dinner that evening and Taehyung showered in the bathroom attached to the spare room. When he came out, he delayed dressing in the borrowed set of Seokjin’s pajamas to stare at his stomach in the mirror.
“Don’t worry, puppy. I’ll keep you safe no matter what,” he whispered as he stroked his still flat stomach. “And even though you can never meet your Appa, just know that he loves you too and wants you just as much as I do.”
Part2
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
I Am Not A Robot (In One Post!!)
Nico di Angelo stared out his window, the skull head ashtray in his lap overflowing with ashes, cigarette butts, and burnt out joints, yet instead of ashing out the open window, he continued to ash into the tray.
He was sat on the ledge of the bay window, it being big enough to be a bed for an average height person. He gave a huff as he watched the boys playing soccer on the lawn across the street, smiling and laughing.
He can't remember the last time he laughed. Hell, he doesn't even remember what it sounds like.
Don't even get him started on his smile, because he's sure he'd rip his face in half if he even tried.
He put the ashtray aside, pulling his knees to his chest. He nestled his chin between them, continuing to watch.
One of those boys turned to look at him, and Nico froze as the others turned to stare him down.
"Hey!" one kid shouted, his black hair untamed, like he had just rolled out of bed, "Wanna join? Might be more fun than watching!"
Nico shook his head, "No, I'm good-"
Another boy, a Latino, shorter than the first, spoke up next, "But why not? We're one player short of a team, anyways!"
Nico stood up and leaned out the window, staring at the five boys there. "No, I'm good, thank you very much."
The blonde boy shrugged, "He doesn't want to play, guys."
"Awe, man!" the Latino said.
The Chinese boy shook his head and spoke up, barely loud enough for Nico to hear, "If he doesn't want to play, he doesn't have to... Plus, he kinda scares me."
At that, Nico slammed his window shut, glaring at them all. He flipped them off, and went to sit on his bed.
Curled up on his purple comforter, he fell into what he hopes will be a dreamless sleep.
~
He woke up the next day in a cold sweat. Everything was fine, up until he fell into that dark hole.
He hated that hole, with all it's horrid hallucinations and ghastly smells and horrifying noises.
He quickly threw the blanket away- how did it get on him and not below him?-, and stood up, going to take a quick shower.
He stared at his reflection afterwards, glaring into his own eyes.
He proceeded to brush his teeth, his eyes never leaving the stare into his own soul.
He had mastered this technique. Why? It was a distraction.
He quickly got dressed, before heading to his window, opening them up and sitting on the ledge, grabbing his lighter, smokes, and ashtray from beside him.
Just as he had taken the first inhale, a knock sounded at his door, followed by a sniffing sound.
"Dammit, Nico! I told you not to smoke in the house!" came the voice of his step-mother, Persephone.
He hated her, she was always switching between nice and mean with him.
"Fuck off, you bitch, I don't have time for you."
She slammed open the door, glaring at him. "You dare? I should call your father right now and-"
"And what? He won't fuckin' pick up. He never picks up. Not since Mamma and Bianca died, right?" he said coolly, smirking as she tensed up.
"Don't you dare mention her-"
"Suck it up, he cheated on you with her. Twice. And then once more with Hazel's mom. Yet you hate me the most. How so? Why not hate the man who cheated on you, because you aren't enough?"
Persephone merely walked over and smacked his ashtray out of his hand, his smokes and lighter flying out the window with it.
A loud crash rang out as the crystal skull broke.
"Don't. Smoke. In. My. House. You. Insolent. Brat!"
Nico pushed her away, grabbed his satchel from where it was perched against the windowsill, and nodded, "Fine. Next time, I'll smoke in your room, and leave all the ashes in your makeup and burn holes through all your favorite dresses. Cunt."
She was about to smack him, he could tell, so he did what he always did when she attacked him.
He jumped out the window, landing in her garden and rolling to his feet. He smirked up at her, "I think I crushed those pretty tulips that just bloomed! Sorry!"
She started screaming at him, but he was already in the garage, starting up his motorcycle. He took off down the street, heading towards his favorite place in the world.
The graveyard.
~
When he got there, he parked his bike and tossed his helmet to the side, sitting on his haunches in front of the gravestones before him.
"Hey, Mamma, Bianca. It's been a while."
He sighed, moving to sit with his legs crossed.
"I know I shouldn't break her rules, and I know I shouldn't fucking snap at her and piss her off, but she does everything she can to hurt me. I hate it."
He could feel the tears starting to fall, hitting his hands which were clasped so tightly in his lap he swore he was about to snap his own fingers in half.
"I had the nightmare again, Mamma, about-" He stopped himself, choking back a sob.
"I miss you, Mamma, Bianca. Sometimes I... I just want to be emotionless, like a robot."
~
"Hey, Nico... I heard from Persephone what had happened, I'm sorry she broke your ashtray, I know how much it meant to you," Hazel said softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Whatthefuckever, she can do what she wants..." Nico mumbled.
"You don't always have to be on top, you know," she replied, gently taking his hand in hers.
"I feel like I have to-"
"Because you can't show weakness, right? It's okay to be vulnerable, you don't have to act like the tough guy all the time."
Nico said nothing, merely stared out the window where his new plastic ashtray sat.
"You've been smoking a lot, lately."
"I know."
"You're just a baby, Nico. You shouldn't smoke so much..."
"I'm seventeen, Hazel."
"I know, but your lungs aren't fully developed yet."
"If I wanted advice, I'd go to a counselor or a medical professional," he snapped.
"...Better to be hated, than loved for what you're not," she said, before standing up.
He snatched his hand away, and she left, closing the door behind her softly.
~
It's been a year since he started watching the boys.
He sat perched on his window ledge as per usual, a new (although metal) skull ashtray sat in his lap. Persephone was gone, so she couldn't yell at him.
He stared out the open window, and noticed the black-haired boy and his friends were out front again, playing some demented form of tag.
The Latino looked up at him, and waved.
Despite his better judgment, he waved back.
He was just being polite, is all.
"Yo!" the blonde boy yelled, "Wanna play with us now?"
"What the fuck are you idiots even playing, anyways?" Nico questioned.
"TV Tag!" the black-haired boy said, smiling goofily.
Nico's heart stopped at that look on his face.
No, no. Not today. Begone, thoughts.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
The Latino stepped forwards, grinning wildly. Nico's heart did a flip.
"It's when you yell out a TV show name, and crouch down. The person can't idle by you, or tag you until you stand up. You can only crouch for ten seconds, though, but it's fair play to yell out another right afterwards!"
"That doesn't sound very fair at all, that should be illegal."
The blonde boy laughed, loud and booming. It made Nico's cheeks heat up.
Fuck, they're all hot.
"I like this kid!" he said.
The black-haired boy grinned, "Frank isn't here today, so if you want, you can fill in for him!"
Nico thought for a second, before putting out his smoke. He stood up, and promptly closed his window, disappearing from their sights.
"Awe, man! Percy, you scared him away!"
"I'm sorry, Jason, I didn't mean to! Besides, Leo probably did it, not me!"
"Hey! Jason, are you going to let him talk to me like that-"
"Gods, it's like watching a buncha old married couples. Maybe I should just go."
They all stopped talking, and turned to face Nico, who stood a few feet away, a smoke hanging from his lips.
"Smoking kills," the blonde boy- Jason, Nico recalled-, said.
"Exactly."
Jason made a choking noise at the blunt tone, and the Latino- Leo, the black-haired boy had called him- laughed.
"Cat got your tongue really good, eh, Superman?"
"Shut up, you stupid Christmas Elf."
"Jason, how could you?" he said, faking a sob. He turned to the black-haired boy, "Percy, are you going to let him talk to me like this?"
Percy rolled his eyes, "No, Repair Boy. Jason, play nice. Leo, stop being dumb."
Leo gave a gasp, falling against Jason. Jason caught him, rolling his eyes in turn.
Percy turned to look at Nico, "Hey, name's-"
"Percy," Nico said, smirking. "The blonde is Jason, and the tiny shit is Leo. I pay attention, you know."
Leo gave a cry, "You've embarrassed me in front of the hot goth! how could you!"
Jason dropped him, "Well, it does give Percy an advantage."
Nico stared at the three, "What?"
"Why do you think we've been spending so much time outside since we first noticed you?" Percy said, chuckling. "Me and Leo thought you were cute. Everybody's been trying to help both of us win a chance, well, except for Frank, who's apparently dating your-"
"Oh fuck no. That's Frank Zhang? Holy shit, that kid is dead-"
"Wait! He's really nice, we swear-" Jason said.
"No, he borrowed my Myth-O-Magic cards a few months ago from Hazel and spilled pop on them. Hazel's kept him away from my wrath for this long, but no more. Dead, he will be."
They all stared at him for a few moments, before collapsing to the grass in fits of laughter.
"That's why you want to murder him?" Leo said, wiping tears from his eyes.
"We... We thought-"
"That it was cause of what he said last year," Percy managed to get the whole sentence out, before giggling uncontrollably once more.
"I'm surrounded by idiots," Nico deadpanned.
"Yep, indeed."
"Wanna play that game?" he asked.
Leo's face lit up, "Si, indeed!"
They all stood up, exchanged looks, and then yelled in almost perfect unison, "NOT IT!" before taking off in different directions.
Nico soon learned physical activity was not meant to be done in skinny jeans.
~
"Hey, Mamma, Bianca."
It's been two months since he's last visited them. He'd been so busy running around with Leo, Jason, Percy, Grover (Percy's best friend), and Frank (who turned out to be really cool, even replaced his deck with a limited edition one), and had completely forgotten his promise to visit them every day.
The first time since he was ten, nonetheless. He's eighteen now.
"I made some... Ah, friends, I guess," he said, not sure how he felt about having friends.
The word tasted strange in his mouth, he doesn't think he's ever had any friends, not like the five friends he had made.
"...I kinda like them..."
"Awe, we like you too!" Leo Valdez said, appearing at his shoulder.
Nico almost had a heart attack, "What-? Why-"
Jason Grace, Percy Jackson, and Frank Zhang stood next to Leo, each with a bouquet of flowers. Nico stared at them all.
"My Mama died when I was seven, she was buried just over there," Leo said, smiling sadly, "Next to my twin brother."
"My mom died when I was about eleven, I think, I was abandoned outside this military facility- nobody claimed me-, so I didn't find out until I ran into my sister out on a mission with Leo, who I had picked up along the way with my girlfriend, Piper."
"And you?" he asked, turning to Percy.
"Here for emotional support," he said, brandishing two bouquets of red roses.
Nico stared at them all silently, "So-"
"Maria is a nice name," Leo said, sitting down next to where Nico sat hunched in front of the graves, "And if she had even a bit of your face on her, I bet she was gorgeous, too..."
Percy sat on the other side of him, placing a bouquet in front of the graves, "I'm sure Jason's mom won't mind. Bianca... That name sounds familiar. Was she an archer...?"
Nico nodded solemnly, "One of the best. At such a young age, she was already on the waiting list for the Olympics."
Percy went pale, "I knew her. I met her and you at a casino years ago."
"You- You were the boy with the blonde? That boy you left with was-"
"Grover, yeah. Annabeth is my other best friend, but nobody can compare to the G-Man."
Jason stood off to the side, and silently slunk off to his mother's grave.
Leo sighed, "Guess we've all met each other before, then. I remember her, too, she and Hazel used to play hide and seek with me and my brother Sammy Jr. all the time, up until he died."
"Sammy... Jr...? The kid she had a crush on?"
"Yeah, I had a crush on her, too, until I met my ex Calypso. Boy, that went to Hell-"
"-when he found out she had tried to seduce me while I was on-and-off dating Annabeth," Percy finished.
"Woah... We've got some fucked up connections, don't we?" Nico said, smirking.
"Yeah, we do," Percy replied, leaning back against the grass.
"Where'd Jason go?" Leo asked, looking around.
"Over here!" came the voice of the blonde.
"Oh, he's paying respects. Come on, Leo, let's go do that, too."
"...I'll come with, I can talk to them later," Nico said, standing up with the other two boys.
"Are you sure? You seemed to be having a decent one-sided conversation with the dead, Neeks," Leo said, chuckling silently.
"Yeah, yeah, Valdez. Let's go."
~
"Happy birthday, Baby Bat Wings!" Leo cried, waving a party streamer around.
Percy laughed and swung his arm around his shoulders, Leo following suit.
Soon enough, Nico had six boys hanging off of him, Jason, Frank, Grover, and Will Solace- who was the latest addition to their little group- soon joining in on the group hug.
Nico can't remember when he smiled so hard, but he'd gladly accept his face splitting in half if this was the reason why.
He blushed a deep crimson red as his two crushes, Leo and Percy, kissed each of his cheeks respectively.
~
"You've been hanging with the unloved kids a lot," Persephone accused, glaring at her step-son. "You've never really trusted or even liked them before, what happened?"
"He's just magnetic, he picks up all the loose pins," Hazel says, smiling sweetly at the wickedly bi-polar step-mother.
Persephone sniffed, "Yes, but he really shouldn't. I looked them all up, they all have criminal records or bad school reputations!"
"I'm nineteen now, Persephone. I can do whatever the fuck I want."
She got a wicked gleam in her eye at that, "Yes, you're right. So, you're an adult, now... Get the fuck out of my house.”
Nico stared at her, before turning to Hazel, "Can she do that?" he questioned, looking like he had just witnessed the most fucked up thing in history.
She shrugged, "'Dunno."
"Call Dad, then, see what he says!"
"He won't pick up the phone, and you know it," Persephone replied. "You have twenty-four hours to get the fuck out of my house, before I call the cops for thievery, breaking into my house, and vandalism!"
"Excuse the fuck you-"
She pulled out her phone, dialing 911. "Try me, Nico. Where's your mother to save you from my wrath now? I should have kicked you out as soon as you turned sixteen."
Nico glared, and rushed up the stairs, calling Leo to come get him. He grabbed all his clothes, pillows, and blankets and threw them out the window, packing his more fragile stuff and personal items into his multiple backpacks, his satchel, and his one suitcase, and dragged them all downstairs.
He spat in her face before leaving, Leo and Percy (who had offered his much bigger six-seater as a substitute for Leo's pick-up), helping him load up all his stuff.
They drove off, and Nico felt truly alive for once.
~
"Don't be so pathetic, Nico, just sing! Come on!"
"Shut up, Jackson, I will not-"
"You called?" Leo sang, prancing into the room, dressed entirely in Percy's clothes. He wore a black towel wrapped around his head.
Percy rolled his eyes, "Oh gods, not this again."
"Oh gods, not this again," Leo said in a mock imitation of Percy, "Look, I'm Perseus Jackson! All tough, all sexy! Dumb skater boy!"
Nico laughed, "He was a skater boy, she said seeya later boy-" he stopped himself, realizing he had been singing the lyrics.
The two boys stared at him, "Wow..."
"Such beauty," Leo said, smiling.
"Amazing..." Percy said, in awe.
Nico blushed, "Guys, come on... I'm not that good-"
"Better than Percy, he sounds like a dying whale!"
"You wound me, you shit."
"Suck it, Aquaman."
"When, where, how ha-"
Nico let out a squeak, "P-Percy!"
"Jealous, much?" the sea-green eyed boy said, smirking.
"I'm gonna be sick," Leo said, fake gagging.
"Both of you are dumb, absolutely not," Nico said, noticing how Leo's face lit up and Percy's face fell.
Oh boy, was he as smitten with them as they were with him.
~
Another nightmare, and Nico woke up screaming, thrashing at his blankets as he tried to sit up.
The sounds of footsteps came echoing down the hall, and Leo burst in, wearing nothing but a white tank top covered in grease stains and a pair of red Deadpool boxers, Percy appearing behind him wearing Superman pajama pants.
"What's wrong?" Leo asked, concerned.
Percy looked anxious, "Nightmares, buddy?"
Nico couldn't help it when he started crying, reaching out to them like a pathetic baby.
They both swooped in and hugged him, Percy settled behind him and Leo nestled up against Nico's chest, both mumbling soft, soothing words and holding him tight, but not too tightly as to trigger a flashback of any sorts.
"Mamma... Bianca... And I-"
"Shh, take your time..." Percy whispered, rubbing his cheek against Nico's hair.
"Yeah, Neeks, don't rush yourself."
"I felt so... Vulnerable... In that cave. We got stuck down there for a week on a field trip to Greece, there was this gas..."
Percy tightened his grip around Nico's waist, and Leo burrowed deeper against Nico's stomach, his cheek pressed against it.
Nico took a deep breath, before continuing.
"We were trapped for five days. Mamma... Got sick first. The gas created hallucinations, and... Her heart couldn't take the horrors. She started screaming about a lightning storm, shoved us out of the way, and then... She tripped and fell, landing face first on those ground spike things..."
Percy looked horrified, but Nico didn't see, so he continued on.
"Bianca got sick next. The smells really got to her. She thought she was in a metal scrap yard, and got... The ceiling collapsed on top of her," he said shakily, "I was left alone for the next three days, until they found me. I was malnourished and traumatized, and Dad... He left. Business trip after business trip.
"Last time he called me was when I was eleven... He said he wished I had died instead of Bianca, she wouldn't... She wouldn't have been as much of a failure as I am," Nico said, his whole body shaking as sobs wracked his body, occasionally breaking free.
He felt vulnerable, so very vulnerable.
"The noises were what fucked me up the most, mixed with the smells and hallucinations of monsters and demons and... And my dead family..."
He broke down entirely, turning slightly to latch onto Percy. Leo sat up and clung to them both in turn, tears of his own spilling down his cheeks.
"I'm so sorry," Leo mumbled, "I know what it's like to watch people you love die... I watched Mama and Sammy die in a fire... I started it..."
"I watched my mom get strangled to near-death as a kid... Stayed by her side in the hospital for a few days before I went off with Grover and Annabeth. Ran away to find the sick fucker who attacked her, this guy named Minotaur, he called himself..."
"We're all fucked up," Nico gasped, laughing silently.
"And vulnerable," Leo added.
"But that's good," Percy said, smiling softly through his own tears, "That means we aren't robots."
"Can you teach me how to feel?" Nico asked softly, "Can you turn my power back on...?"
"We'll try our fuckin' best."
~
After a year of living with the two, Nico said something that made the two boys stop and stare.
"I like you both. Fuck, I'm in love with both of you."
"What-" Leo questioned, ears going bright red.
"How-" Percy questioned, dropping his lucky pen Riptide, which he's had for years but never really used.
"I. Love. Both. Of. You," Nico said once again, even more bluntly than the first. "And I don't know how, I just know I do."
The two boys shared a look, before they both broke into huge smiles.
"Fuck. Yes," Leo said.
"So... How the fuck do we smash? Do we take turns or-"
"Percy!" Nico scolded, face flushing.
"Why don't we find out tonight?" Leo asked, smirking. "Would be a great way to celebrate our three-way."
"Wait, so-"
"Yes, Ghost King, I'd happily share you with Repair Boy," Percy said grinning.
"As long as I can be a bottom, I hate topping," Leo said.
Nico laughed, and instantly crashed onto the couch between them, moving the resumes they had been filling out.
The two snuggled up against him, and Nico smiled.
I am not a robot.
{La Fin}
~Ashton Bende
#perleico#percico#valdangelo#nico di angelo#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#heroes of olympus#leo valdez#leo/nico/percy
55 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hanakotoba 花言葉
My entry for @genyattazine, featuring art by @heronfoot! Pre-orders are still available, so please consider purchasing! All proceeds go to charity. :)
He laughs as he cradles the flower in his hands. He cups it to his power core, several degrees hotter than his system’s recommended temperature.
Before the weight of the tiny, fragile bloom colors everything that is to come, Zenyatta’s heart soars.
Or, a Genyatta hanahaki fic.
99 percent.
Zenyatta has never seen the ocean before. The others follow Winston through the huge, salt-worn door into the watch point, but Zenyatta excuses himself to walk the cliffs.
His sensors register the mild chill (13.2 degrees Celsius) and gentle breeze (16.7 kilometers an hour), a data set, one of an endless sea that fails to account for the experience of them. The humidity (73.5 percent), dampness along his chassis, the salt in the air from the waves below (33 parts per thousand) against the sensors of his intake chamber.
“It’s so beautiful here.”
Deep, modulated, tinny from his respirator. The sound soothes Zenyatta, and the awe, the appreciation in each word, makes him fond.
“Truly.” Zenyatta replies. “You have not been here in many years. How do you feel?”
Genji falls in step next to him. Known variables: the shape of his shadow, the hues he casts, the gentle hum of his machinery, many times more advanced than Zenyatta’s own. Between one journey and the next, in the minutiae of lessons and koan and sparring matches, Zenyatta has come to find comfort in them.
“I am not sure nostalgia is the word. Being at this watch point again…” The silence between Genji’s thoughts, his mindfulness, Zenyatta also cherishes. “...is bittersweet. I was not in the right place to appreciate its beauty before.”
“What is most important is that you have a chance to experience it now.” Zenyatta hums.
“You are right as always, Master.”
The cheekiness of his tone is not lost on the omnic, who laughs.
“Not always.”
Genji steps closer to the edge of the cliff. Zenyatta turns to him as a quiet hiss muffles the distant crash of waves. Genji’s eyes are closed, his posture loose, comfortable; his chest expands as he takes in the cool, salted air, free of his respirator.
He has seen Genji many times without his helmet. It is the first time he sees him in the glow of the late afternoon sun, wind fluttering his matted hair, black with a tinge of gray. The first time he exists for a precious few seconds in the moment, without the weight of his burdens balanced on his soul.
It is a whisper. A hiccup. A gentle, blooming twist, so deep within Zenyatta he cannot identify its cause. It is not the golden warmth of the Iris, though it is warm: small, but powerful, concentrated in a drop of pure energy. It pulses like a tiny overload, one too many data sets, one too many amperes.
Only later, in the privacy of his own room, does he notice it in the mirror.
Just above his power core, nestled between the top two pistons, is a hint of bright pink. Zenyatta shifts with great care, curiosity overriding what should be fear, unease, trepidation. With gentle maneuvering, he works the obstruction from his chassis. His orbs, which had been rotating in a smooth circle around his head, still.
Grasped carefully between servos and smaller than the circle on his palm is a lotus bloom, mostly closed, petals tinged green with youth.
Zenyatta stares for several cycles. Its composition, its measurement, its fragrance, reveal nothing of its purpose. Then, as if he has skipped forward in time, he returns to himself, orbs resuming their slow orbit before settling around his throat.
He laughs as he cradles the flower in his hands. He cups it to his power core, several degrees hotter than his system’s recommended temperature.
Before the weight of the tiny, fragile bloom colors everything that is to come, Zenyatta’s heart soars.
87 percent.
Be it luck or fate, Zenyatta’s room has a balcony. It is modestly sized, outfitted with a small table and two rust-flecked chairs.
The blooms within his body are rooted deep, and even with dexterous hands, he cannot remove them from their source. Each time they are different species of flora, and Zenyatta finds a gentle, curious joy in identifying them. Lotus. Bluebells. Gardenias when Genji had fallen asleep next to him, his gentle snores rousing Zenyatta from meditation. Cactus blossoms after a morning of sparring, when Genji had removed his helmet and sweat glistened down the skin of his throat. His fans still quicken when Zenyatta remembers it, the deep-seated pulse of warmth that had no outlet—alien, terrifying, and desperately coveted. Jesse hailed to Genji right as it happened, and Zenyatta had never been more grateful for the man’s boisterous salutations than when it allowed him a quiet escape.
Each flower after the first, which he had pressed flat and preserved in the pages of his oldest and fondest book, he transplants. They should languish, struggle in the climate, some out of season, other rooted in improper soil. Yet, each prospers in whatever environment Zenyatta gives it, sustained, perhaps, on something that cannot be measured. First in cans and old crates, whatever he could find, then in terracotta pots, brought back from missions when his companions had discovered his hobby.
It should terrify him when the plants multiply, each overgrown leaf and petal warm with fragrance, and maybe it does, somewhere far off, ripples that finally kiss the shore. Closer to his heart is amusement, the pleasant grip of affection. His brother had been right, more so than he thought. Born. Created. Raised. Programmed. Both produced physical manifestations of their emotions. Suffering.
Love.
63 percent.
Dr. Ziegler requests his assistance in the med bay.
She had managed all support operations in the early days of the recall, but as her duties increased with each new member, Zenyatta helps however he can. He often catalogued her findings and corroborated medical treatments, and during extended shifts, when the doctor stared unseeing into the cold glow of her holopad, he brewed her coffee sweetened with ten milliliters of honey.
Today, however, his sensors record a second voice as the door slides open.
The conversation dies to the sound of Genji’s respirator reattaching. He sits next to Angela near her desk, empty besides a holopad and a tiny vial of muted orange. It shouldn’t surprise him; they are close now, appreciation replacing the old bitter, anger that had soured their relationship a decade prior.
Her hand, steadily balanced on his knee, tightens once before letting go.
Genji does not look at him.
“Zenyatta, thank you for coming. We were just finishing up,” she says.
“Of course.”
Zenyatta hovers in the doorway, uninvited in all but word. A tinge of discord as familiar as his own chassis brushes against him.
“Is something troubling you, my student?”
The tightness around his eyes says what Genji will not.
“I do not wish to discuss it.”
Genji walks past him at 1.3 times his normal gait, hurrying with a vestige of calm. The door hisses shut. Angela sighs.
“I’m sorry you had to see that. He came in suddenly with an urgent matter.”
She pockets the vial while studying her holopad.
“My apologies as well. I did not mean to interrupt.”
Genji had not looked, had not felt like that in several months, not since before they had left the monastery. Had he been the cause? Interrupted a moment years in the making—
“Zenyatta.”
He meets her bright eyes. Only then does he notice what holds her attention.
Zenyatta tilts his head down, watching the steady crawl of vines, thorned and nicking delicate circuitry. From them, tiny buds of shocking yellow bloom against the tired gray of his chest. It hurts in a distant way, pinched like something caught between nodes, too deep to fix.
Her face is milk white, though her voice is steady.
“I have never seen an omnic with this before.”
Zenyatta nods. He lifts his servos, catching a finger beneath an unfurled rose. Small enough to rip away, to hide before anyone could see.
“It is still early in its progression,” he offers.
“Let me take a look at you.”
Zenyatta climbs onto the examination table.
She tells him what he already knows: potentially deadly, cured in one of two ways.
“I do not know omnic physiology well enough to perform the operation. Brigitte may.” Angela shakes her head. “Though I have the feeling that you will not be making an appointment regardless.”
“You know me well, Dr. Ziegler.”
“Well enough to make me worry.” She smiles though the pinch in her brow doesn’t ease. “What happens here is confidential. However, I would advise action. Whoever it is, they would not wish to watch you waste away.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
Her palm is warm on his shoulder, rougher than her unlined face suggests.
“Please take care of yourself.”
34 percent.
Zenyatta taps the last of the hibiscus into dark loam. The pot is large this time, proportional to the flower, a pleasing contrast to the more delicate plants in his collection. Soil clings to the joints of his fingers, but unlike the twist of roots within his body, it is easily removed.
“Wow. It is really coming along.”
A beat. A shudder.
“It is.”
32 percent.
Zenyatta stands with terracotta clutched in his hands, joints tight, slow. They are always such now. Mid morning sun brightens the garden into an ever-shifting kaleidoscope. Surrounded by the manifestation of his feelings while their cause stands scarcely a foot behind him serves as a surreal experience.
“I, uh, brought you something.”
The path of his orbs jumbles for a moment. It had been a several days since he had seen his student. Their last meeting reverberates silently between them, a topic not yet breached, not when Zenyatta struggles to protect the relationship they have.
Zenyatta steels himself, then turns to face Genji.
Clasped between the white and gray of his student’s hands is a potted, unbloomed tulip.
“Not as impressive as these exotic breeds, but it should thrive in this climate.”
“I did not know you were knowledgeable about gardening.” Zenyatta’s array brightens. Oh, how he forgets himself, unable to tamp down the swell of joy as Genji places it among the others.
“I’m afraid I’m not. I had to ask around the city.” Genji smiles softly as he glances back at him. “It should not surprise me that you are able to encourage the flowers themselves to try their hardest.”
29 percent.
There is no crawl. No twinge. The flowers burst from his chassis with near staggering force.
21 percent. He freezes only a moment, core trembling, but Genji is turned toward the balcony, admiring the blooms.
Zenyatta nearly trips as his hover module offlines. He knows there will be questions, but he cannot answer, not yet. He does not have the words. The time is wrong, wrong—
Genji calls after him, but Zenyatta doesn’t look back, cannot for fear of exposing himself. His feet clatter against the dark, metal hallways of the watch point, but luckily (unluckily), Genji does not pursue.
15 percent.
He does not avoid Genji. Not on purpose. Zenyatta does not eat, so he steers clear of the mess hall. Dr. Zeigler had banned him from active duty, watch point operations included, so Zenyatta spends most days in his garden. He tends it even as his power dwindles, mindful contemplation replaced with daydreams of half-baked confessions.
His gaze falls to the tulip that Genji had given him. It had struggled at first, a few cold nights throwing its health into uncertainty. Zenyatta had brought it inside, the added warmth giving it the chance it needed to bloom into a beautiful, glossy red that stands out among the rest.
The truth...
The truth is he is afraid. Could he really face Genji, soft eyes softer with pity for the old, scuffed omnic who had helped him when he was at his lowest? Genji would be kind. Maybe he would even humor him, and that would be the worst of all, a bandage over an infected wound that needed to be lanced and scraped clean.
But selfishness battles just as hotly. To look at Genji and feel nothing.
He would die from that too.
11 percent.
It has come time to talk.
Zenyatta expects hesitance, but as always, Genji surprises him. He arrives within minutes, wordlessly sits next to him on the tattered rug lining the center of the balcony. The flowers whisper, the garden bright and overflowing, gems, grand and small, glittering in the afternoon sun.
“I know you have been troubled these past weeks. My hesitance has caused you undue suffering.”
Genji doesn’t move.
“Often we assume that our feelings are known and cherished. A touch. A token. That action alone is sufficient.”
Zenyatta wants to laugh; of everything they have been through, this is where his resolve stumbles.
“We forget that it is necessary to voice these feelings aloud.”
The sea wind catches the flora, the heavy, overgrown leaves shuddering in the tepid air.
“Words are limited. They are fickle. An expression of them will never come close to articulating the feelings of the soul.”
Ten percent. The vines crawl and twist around his core. His synth glitches.
“Master—”
“Please, Genji.”
He clutches his chest, staggered by the not quite pain of energy rerouting. The scent of his garden revives him, each one catalogued, remembered, relived.
Nine percent.
Zenyatta looks at his orbs, deactivated and nestled within the nooks of the planters. He hasn’t possessed the power to control them in a fortnight.
“You have come far. Changed so much. You possess a strength that could save this world.” His core trembles as he speaks. “If something were to keep you from it...from finding happiness and purpose...I could not bear it.”
“I fear I may be such an obstacle.” Yet, he must press on, cling foolishly to hope.
Had he not been so close to shutdown, perhaps he would’ve known then. The shifting emotional energy from those nearby is lost to him in his final hours.
“It is impossible to describe how much I—”
Genji’s only give is his fingers sinking into his thighs. His student snaps forward, folding in on himself.
The sounds freeze Zenyatta’s words in his synth.
Loud, wet coughs rasp through Genji’s respirator, so painful it makes the vines around his core seize, makes Zenyatta ache.
He moves with what little energy he has left, hands flattening to Genji’s spasming back. A pathetic trickle of harmony warms his palms. His array powers off for a few, horrifying seconds. Not yet. Not now, with Genji injured—
Five percent.
The impulse strikes, the last, bent match in the book.
“I love you.”
His voice breaks hard over the word, doubling its syllables, mimicking an embarrassed stutter rather than an expulsion of the last of his power.
Everything is quiet. Still. Like being in the center of the monastery cloisters, where the howl of the wind and the sounds of life fade, the hum of his own systems muted within its immensity.
For a moment, he wonders if his audial receptors have failed.
Six percent.
The immobilizing tightness in his body eases, a fist slowly but surely unfurling. His servos slide off Genji’s back as he straightens. He registers a familiar hiss.
His array fizzles, then powers online in stages, monochromes to vivid color.
Genji’s looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. He wipes at his mouth, drawing Zenyatta’s attention.
The bright blue of petals smears over his lips.
“Zenyatta,” he breathes, awe warming into a smile that brightens his whole face. “The color suits you.”
Genji’s hand closes the distance between them, settling between his top two pistons.
The same petals coating Genji’s lips bloom along his metal. A swan song, it seems, as they wither and shrivel before his array.
“Forget-me-nots,” Genji says, then his smile grows mischievous. “You led me to believe you were a green thumb. Cheater.”
Zenyatta does not have the energy to laugh, but he cannot resist the cautious joy that manifests in his bugging synth.
“A lie of omission. No one had asked,” he murmurs.
Genji’s hand shifts higher, the lightest touch against the gold chrome of his faceplate. There is no teasing lilt, no sheepishness. Quiet but clear.
“I love you, too.”
Zenyatta settles his hand over Genji’s, squeezing, leaning into his touch. They draw close, the smooth whisper of the garden reduced to the dry rattling of fall.
Just before their faces touch, Zenyatta speaks.
“You may find my french kiss lacking.”
Genji laughs against his chrome, heat and softness settling over the seam of his mouth.
“Whatever will we do?” he whispers, kissing him once more.
In the following days, after Zenyatta recuperates under Brigitte’s care (and many stern lectures), Genji helps him clean the balcony. They compost the decomposing remnants of the flowers, and repurpose them as a base for a new garden.
It is meticulous work, but rewarding. With the sun just beneath the horizon, they survey their progress. Planters line the ancient railings, each filled with properly spaced seeds hidden just beneath the surface. Local flora that would survive readily above the sea.
The only mark of color within is the tulip, fully bloomed, a promise of what’s to come.
518 notes
·
View notes
Text
Skate or Die: A Triumph Thruxton With A Street Art Vibe
As someone who spent his teen years with a skateboard under his feet, I see parallels between the skate and custom bike worlds. As with surfing and art, there’s a common thread lurking just below the surface.
But the influence is usually very subtle. It’s more evident in the riders, their personal philosophies and the clothes they wear, than the actual motorcycles themselves. So what happens when the worlds of motorcycling, skateboarding and art collide?
This audacious Triumph Thruxton from down under, that’s what. If you’re of the school of subtle customization, avert your eyes. But if like me you still wear Vans, and have a skateboard gathering dust somewhere in the house, read on.
It’s the result of a collaboration between Rogue Motorcycle’s Billy Kuyken and Hans Bruechle, better known as HandBrake the Artist. The pair crossed paths twelve months ago at a motorcycle show in Western Australia, where the seed was planted for a joint project.
“I was walking up and down the street at the York Motorcycle Festival, and the one thing that caught my eye was Billy’s bike,” Hans recalls. “He had all these retro helmets on his truck, so the first thing I said to him was ‘what do you think about me painting a helmet?’
That was it—we got in touch and well, the helmet thing never really happened, but it kind of evolved and I really wanted a custom bike—the time was just right.”
The pair threw mockups and ideas back and forth to settle on a style. And then it was clear that a previous-gen Triumph Thruxton would be the perfect donor. A low mileage 2011 model was sourced, and the build started.
There’s a lot to take in here, but the first thing that caught our eye was the skateboard deck seat—and the mono shock arrangement lying just below it.
“Hans has his own skateboard label, so I told him we can’t do a bike without a skateboard as the seat,” Billy explained. “We obviously had to cut half the frame and throw it in the bin for the mono shock conversion.”
Billy modified the swing arm, fabricated new shock mounts, and wedged in a YSS shock. The duo wanted the tail to be as minimal as possible, so Billy has cleverly hidden the new subframe between the skateboard deck and the seat pan.
“It was about making the frame as invisible as possible,” he says, “to get that lighter look on the rear. It was basically to give the idea that you’re actually sitting on a skateboard.” It’s covered by stunning black and white upholstery from Poli Motor Trimming, who normally work on luxury and exotic sports cars.
Riffing off the theme is a Stellar truck, modified to hold a pair of combo tail light-turn signals from Moose. Keeping the arrangement tidy meant running the wiring through the actual truck.
The area under the tail’s dominated by a chunky 5.5” wide Excel rim, laced up to the stock hub. The guys wanted the front to look just as beefy, so they fitted the upside-down forks from Suzuki GSX-R1000.
The unique finish on the fork legs is a Kashima coating—it’s a low-friction coating that you normally see on stanchions or Fox shocks, and it also has a color unlike anything else.
Getting the forks to fit meant replacing the front rim to a conversion hub from Cognito Moto. It also meant new triples, so Billy designed a new set. The top clamp also houses a tiny Motogadget speedo, and a few personal touches…
“We wanted nothing on the top of the triple clamp,” Billy says. “And it’s made so everything is basically invisible in the way that it’s clamped. We did some extra cool stuff, like putting HandBrake on the front of the clamp and Rogue on the top section. The clamp is CNC machined—I did the programming while my own personal machinist did the actual production.”
Out front is a 7” LED headlight, mounted on a pair of custom-made brackets for a ultra-close fit. A set of clip-ons with aftermarket controls finish off the cockpit, fitted with Motogadget grips, switches and bar-end turn signals. (Billy also installed their M.Tri signal adapter to make everything with the Triumph’s electronics.)
The stance is perfect, but that’s also down to a gentler mod. Billy nudged the fuel tank down by an inch to fine-tune the lines. Then he fitted a Motone gas cap, with a HandBrake logo machined into it.
With improved handling—and more grip from a set of Pirelli Supercorsa tires—there was no need to tear into the Triumph’s modern motor. So Billy just built up a new exhaust system, capped off with a pair of Tulip mufflers. And he installed a set of Malossi velocity stacks to help the Thruxton breathe better.
When it came time to colorize the Triumph, Hans stepped in. It was always the plan for him to hand-paint a number of components with his signature street art style. He settled on black and white (like a lot of his work), but he knew it needed a hit of color.
So the frame was sent off to the powder coaters for a luscious cherry red coat. The tank and rims went off to Diablo Moto for a faded white to cream base (and later a clear coat), and then it was time for Hans to get busy.
“I actually painted the rims and tank in one weekend—I painted for 31 hours. I remember getting it all back and thinking what am I going to do? I started on the rims, because for me, the tank is the most important thing to get right. If you cook that, it’s the first thing everyone sees, so I left that till last.”
“I didn’t have a plan, but that’s kind of my style—the plan is no plan. I chose a lot of female faces—like pinup girls but with a lot of funky faces, you know, ones that are wearing aviation helmets, nose rings and stuff—that’s my style.”
Complementing Hans’ artwork is a host of special little features. The sprocket cover is a Rogue-designed part made specifically for the Thruxton, and the chain guard is a one-off, adorned with Hans’ logo and web address.
The rear brake reservoir cover’s another one-off, cut to one of Hans’ designs. The Triumph logo on the engine casing’s given way to a Rogue badge, and the gear shifter tip has been replaced by a stack of skate wheel bearings.
“The bike has turned out way better than what I initially hoped for,” says Hans. “I’m pretty happy with my artwork, but I’m blown away with that Billy has done—it’s phenomenal. I think it’s a really good showcase of we do.”
The Rogue x HandBrake Thruxton is an unashamed fusion of styles that’s probably not for everyone. But it’s also packing an impressive set of tech upgrades.
As for me, I’m dusting off that skateboard, pulling on my Vans and heading out.
Rogue Motorcycles | Instagram | HandBrake the Artist | Instagram | Images by, and with thanks to Jeremy Hammer at RIDEJOURNAL | Instagram
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
